CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
WHAT LESSONS ARE LEARNED by going through adversity? What sweet rewards lie only at the end of an arduous, dangerous journey?
From Ozora’s personal journal.
To magesight, Fraser’s form blazed with numin, and the chair he was tied to sounded like it burst into splinters as he stood. Gordon shrieked, “No!” and the splash of his feet as he skidded to a stop next to the bench sent a chill wave surging over me.
He snatched me up; my head rocked violently with the motion as he swung me across his chest, and held me in place with one arm. Blindfolded and bound, the jerking about disoriented me.
“Step away from her, Gordon.” Fraser’s voice was calm and deliberate, a steady anchor to cling to, and, knowing he was free settled me. I let the deluge continue to fall. It wouldn’t hinder him, only Gordon.
“Seems more like you should step back.” Gordon’s answer rumbled where he held me pressed to his chest.
“You know you won’t leave here alive if you harm her.” Fraser’s voice hardened, advising Gordon to think carefully about his next action. “Let her go, and let’s talk.”
Gordon’s shoulder shook, and his fingers dug into my arm.
I grunted, but the sound didn’t make it past the gag.
Squirming did nothing but cause his arm to flex and fingers to clutch ever tighter.
My groan gurgled at the back of my throat, and I thrashed again, involuntarily, as I struggled to breathe against the gag and his ever-tighter grasp.
The second talisman thumped against my chest in my struggles.
Cleobah had also pulled the one I’d made to protect women against anyone who might try to take advantage of them physically.
It was bespelled to make the wearer feel hot as a forge to anyone who touched them.
Anywhere. Instantly. It wouldn’t burn clothing, and the wearer felt nothing.
Only the assailant.
Like the rain talisman, this was bespelled so all the wearer had to do was will it. No chants or extra touches needed.
Gordon reacted predictably. He screeched in my ear and threw me away from him as fast as possible. I tensed for impact and thudded into Fraser. We still fell, but he took the brunt of it, rolling us both.
The darkness was filled with Fraser’s ragged breathing, loud next to my ear, mingled with the sound of bootheels and splashes that rapidly faded. Both of us trembled, waited.
Nothing happened.
Fraser fumbled to pull off my blindfold and gag.
His anxious face hovered close for only a moment before his lips reclaimed mine.
Time stopped, and I knew nothing but the taste of him, his need scorching against my own.
Too soon, he stopped, only to crush me to him with both arms, his voice hoarse in my ear.
“Ozora. Ozora.”
The rain cascaded over us, and I didn’t care; it was his element and would only heal him.
His arms tightened around me, slick and warm, holding me close, trembling as he murmured my name again.
My heart overflowed. I wanted to cry with relief, with joy, with gratitude that we were both whole and together.
His arms relaxed. “I need to get those ropes off you.” He picked me up, set me on the bench and went looking for a knife, returning within moments.
Once he’d freed my hands, I grabbed his head and dragged him to me. The knife clattered to the floor as his hands slid around my waist and around my back.
How could I have ever doubted this man held my heart? Aching regret coursed through me that I’d nearly destroyed us. Pain mingled with joy sent tears coursing down my cheeks, hidden in the drenching rain.
His lips brushed my chin, then the shell of my ear, before pressing a series of kisses down my throat. My senses reeled, chasing away thought. All that mattered was him, the feel of his wet, slick skin under my seeking fingers, and the pouring rain that seemed to make us one.
“Isn’t that sweet?” Gordon’s sarcasm cut through our moment.
Fraser’s touch changed as he pulled away to face his former friend, became one that carried the energy of death. As he rose to his feet he transformed into a lethal predator.
From behind him, I spotted our former captor carrying a longsword in one fist, and glowing with a bright silvery nimbus. His eyes were no longer dark walnut to match his hair, but bright silver.
That can only mean... The Cilirian mage had overtaken Gordon and appeared to be controlling him through a sigil. Fraser ran to the table and grabbed his sword while Gordon simply stood there with an expression of mixed dismay and fury. Indeed, he seemed momentarily frozen in place.
Fraser prowled back in front of me as he drew his sword from the sheath, and tossed the leather case to the side.
“Old friend, you’re not yourself,” he said.
“So careless, to leave this in the same room with me. Were you that confident or is someone else pulling your strings, puppet?” He must have noticed the Cilirian numin that filled the other man, along with a strange sigil that floated above his head.
Unlike any other I’d seen so far, it startled me into momentarily pausing my efforts to remove my bindings to stare at the gracefully-designed spell.
Before I could get a good look, Gordon lunged, fast and hard, sword tip aimed straight for Fraser’s heart.
His sword sang like a bell, clear and sweet, as he parried the rush and deflected the blow to slide Gordon’s blade along his.
The dissonant hiss of the scraping blades set my teeth on edge and his laugh was just as unsettling.
A side of Fraser I’d only glimpsed, the dangerous side.
My fingers ached, reminding me I’d clenched them on the ropes around my feet.
I snatched up the dagger Fraser had dropped, and was forced to stop the drenching rain to get a grip on the soaked bindings.
It seemed to take me forever to saw through them, but in truth the blade was sharp and soon enough I’d freed myself.
Fleeting concern that Fraser might still need the extra moisture made me glance back at the embattled men.
I don’t know why I was worried. Fraser was obviously toying with Gordon, whose slashes and stabs were powerful, but without finesse.
His parries and sidesteps seemed to infuriate Gordon.
Or rather, the elf mage. Whoever controlled Gordon had trained with a sword, but was not proficient.
Another slash whooshed past Fraser’s face, a big overhand cut that even I saw coming.
He did have strength on his side, the elf mage’s numin lending power and swiftness, if not skill.
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Fraser’s grin stretched ear to ear.
Another brief flurry of flashing exchanges, the clash and clang of steel loud and harsh in the relatively small room.
“You never should’ve announced yourself when my back was turned.
Gordon would’ve taken the easy kill, so who’s this?
” He pressed forward now, his thrusts and jabs met with parries that seemed awkward, and forced his opponent back toward the open door, away from me. “You’re not even as good as him.”
No answer, if he had one, made it past Gordon’s tight-pressed lips as it became clear that he was entirely at Fraser’s mercy. I’d untangled my legs from the ropes and eased my way toward the table holding my belongings. Conveniently, it took me in the opposite direction of the fight.
The ground shook, and a thunderous roar rocked the little house, shaking it so hard, the warriors were distracted, and forced to stagger apart.
Gordon visibly paled. The blood drained from his face as the brilliant elvish numin dissipated into the ether, vanishing like a will-o-wisp to leave him bereft, and worried.
Eyes that were once more dark brown darted around the room, and the fist that held his sword turned white as his grip tightened.
“Not the fight you picked, is it?” Fraser asked; a razor-sharp edge replacing the humor that laced his tone when he toyed with an elf-controlled opponent.
That was all the warning he gave before he launched a blurry assault that turned his sword into a woven wall of metal.
Gordon, desperate, fought back with far more fury and zeal than the elf mage that got him into this predicament.
“It’s the fight I’ll finish,” he snarled, and parried with more dexterity than before, then lunged again. This time it was a feint, and a thin line of red followed in the wake of his sword tip.
Fraser saw the trick and shifted his weight to compensate. He avoided a more deadly cut, but took the slice on his hip. My teeth ached as I clenched to keep from crying out and distracting him but, he didn’t even seem to notice the scratch that came close to skewering him through his flank.
“It’s how you’ll finish it that should worry you,” he warned.
His jests seemed to heighten Gordon’s desperation, spurring an attack that had all the madness of a cornered animal.
Fraser’s jaw tightened, and with new determination in his thrusts and jabs, he left red lines on Gordon, across calf, and bicep.
Next, he carved a long slash down his opponent’s flank that tore through the fine silken shirt and left a wide red gash in his sword’s wake that had Gordon crying out and staggering.
A brief stillness overtook Fraser, like the coiling of a striking snake, before he launched a brutal assault.
Blow after ringing blow of the clashing swords created a din that drowned out Fraser’s next words, but his opponent reacted like it was a dire threat.
Gordon redoubled his efforts to push through the curtain of steel formed by his enemy’s blade, only to be driven mercilessly into a corner from which there was no escape.
“Cassyrra says don’t kill him!” Taenya shouted from the open doorway. I hadn’t heard her arrive, the sound of her boots in the hall masked by the fight.