Chapter 38
CHAPTER 38
I rush through the woods, branches whipping my body and face. My bare feet slam over the snow and moss, snapping twigs. An enormous fallen tree blocks my way, and I leap above it, hurtling through the air. I land with jarring force on the other side, nearly slipping on the ice.
I steady myself and keep running.
My palm is sweaty on the hilt of the axe.
From behind me, the shouts of the King’s Watch ring out. They’ll easily track me, following my footprints in the fresh snow. They probably have horses, and I suspect some are good trackers. If I run in a straight line, they’ll cut me off ahead.
I veer to the left, pumping my arms hard to keep going. As fast as I’m running, my lungs should be closing on me right now, but they’re not. Even if I don’t fully understand my magic, I feel it pouring strength into my body like a rushing current, a thundering river of buried power. It makes me faster, lighter, like I’m gliding over the earth instead of hammering against it.
Angry shouts pierce the air, coming from several directions. They’ve split up to catch me.
An arrow slams into my thigh, and the pain rips through me, jagged, blinding. I can’t breathe. I stumble, dropping the axe. Grimacing hard, I grip my thigh, trying to stanch the bleeding. With an agonized grimace, I rip the arrowhead out. Blood gushes from the wound, staining the snow. I grunt in pain, but I have to keep going.
I reach for the axe again and pick it up.
The agony makes it hard to think straight, and my heart is slamming hard. I’m hobbling now more than running, and shaking and sweating. The voices are closing in on me. Even though it’s cold out, I’m sick with nausea, and I can’t feel my feet as they sink into the snow.
A warrior appears, prowling between the oaks. He lunges, startling a blackbird into flight, the noisy cry cutting though the silence.
All the magical strength that had been coursing through my body seems to have evaporated, and my lungs contract. I’m wheezing, trying to catch my breath.
What happens if I die out here? Will they hide my body, bury it in the snow like Arwenna’s? No marker, no funeral?
I imagine no one finding me here, a mystery lost to time, lying undiscovered and decaying like autumn leaves beneath the snow.
I have only a second to act.
My attacker rushes at me, and I’m already swinging my axe before I realize it. With a grunt, I manage to hit him in his side, the blade sinking deep into his flesh, carving into his stomach. His silver eyes widen in shock, and he stumbles back.
He clumsily swings his sword at me. He’s not long for this world, but he’s fighting to the last moment. I duck, and his blade whooshes above my head. With my uninjured leg, I kick him in the chest, and he slams back into the earth, bleeding onto the snow.
Twigs snap behind me, and I whirl to meet a second attacker. Red hair streaming behind him, he runs at me, snarling. I dodge his thrust, then lean forward and touch his bare neck, unleashing my powers at him.
I find a chaotic mind, a tornado of violent thoughts, a picture show of all the horrific things he wants to do with me. His sadistic and perverse thoughts are irrelevant. I unleash a torrent of power into his psyche, drowning his thoughts of blood and breaking bones, flooding his emotions, his memories. His jaw goes slack, and his sword tumbles from his hand. He crumples to the snowy snow, his mouth hanging open.
I pick up his sword and drive it through his chest. A final puff from his lips, a last exhalation, and he breathes no more.
Pain rips through my mind in the next second, and I gasp and lean against a tree. Red drops spatter on the white snow. I touch my nose, and blood trickles onto my hand. So much fucking blood around me.
Nauseated, I lean down to pick up the dropped sword. An arrow thunks into the tree next to me. I’m ready to fall over in the snow and give up, but I force myself to keep going.
I stagger on through the woods, my thigh pumping blood.
Vaguely, I wonder what would happen to Mom if I died now. Would she end up homeless in Camelot? Would she find someone to look after her as she grew older, thinner, sicker?
A memory flickers, one I haven’t thought about in years. When I was little, Mom left me alone in the house, and I woke from a nightmare about ghosts. Terrified, I searched for her, but the house was dark and empty. The floors creaked beneath my feet, and I knew the ghosts were there, waiting. Panicked, I ran blindly until my forehead cracked against the sharp edge of a shelf. I remember feeling utterly, completely alone.
It’s the same feeling now, injured and stumbling blindly around. I keep going, gripping the stolen sword. My head pounds.
I don’t go far before I reach a cliff face, the rock sheering up to dizzying heights. The granite wall towers above me, stretching in either direction, too sheer to scale. A few vines climb up it, but not far enough to get me anywhere, and they break partway up the rock.
I hear calls from both sides. They’re drawing closer, surrounding me.
My blood roars in my ears, and I whirl with my back against the cliff face.
I’ve got nowhere to go. This is where I make my last stand. I imagine Tana flipping over the death card as she sits on her bed.
Gasping, I search for anything else I can use to defend myself. A few boulders surround me, but they’re too low to act as much of a shield against the arrows. I reach down, pressing my hand against my injured thigh.
Fear vibrates through me. I grit my teeth and try to stay calm.
Closing my eyes, I summon my magic, reassured by its charge deep within my chest. I don’t want to give up here. I don’t want to end up buried under the snow, forgotten by the years. I want to live .
And then I sense something, a familiar, comforting presence in my mind, a deep, sensual voice, almost like my unconscious was searching for him, lowering the shields I’d erected against him.
Talan’s voice whispers in my thoughts. He’s still mostly blocked by the veil in my mind, but not as much as usual. I can sense his fear for me. He must have returned to the cottage and found it empty. He probably saw all the footsteps stomping the ground around the hunting lodge and found the open window. The dark, rich touch of his power brushes my thoughts. He’s sending his magic to locate me.
He knows he can’t get into my mind, that I always protect myself from his powers, but he’s trying anyway. And I’m sure he’s also tracking me on foot, trying to follow the frantic zigzags of my footfalls between the trunks and the trail of blood from my injured thigh.
“Talan!” I shout.
But it only calls my attackers closer. I hear their cries around me as the men realize my position. Meanwhile, Talan is still desperately searching. He’s too far and hasn’t heard me.
A few men appear within the trees roughly forty yards away and spot me.
I crouch, gripping the sword. Talan will never track me here on time. I’m on my own.
But there’s another way to let him know where I am.
For the first time since I arrived in Brocéliande, I let the veil in my mind drop.