CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Hours passed in a blur as they tore through the Waulden countryside.
Rain bit into their exposed skin as they journeyed toward Ilain’s location.
Deckard stared at the horizon in a daze.
The Night Relic sent coils of power through him, drawing at his magic again and again, but he quelled it with an inner self-fury.
His insides quaked with the knowledge of what he’d done, of all those people he’d killed.
What had become of him? He didn’t recognize the monster who so ruthlessly took those lives. Even as a soldier on the border of Ephria and Wauld, he’d counted every death at his hand. Twenty-one. That number increased in the fight against Blount and his Night Mages, but only by a fraction.
Now, it’d risen by nearly twice that original number.
And the worst part was: The magic felt good.
The power of it, surging through his whole being, shocked him. He’d felt alive while under the magic’s grip. His heart beat steadily, his head cleared, and his body thrummed with control. It provided an illusionary authority, a boldness to do whatever came to mind, regardless of the consequences.
Deckard could finally understand the megalomania of the Mages. He now knew what drove the Mages of Auld to view themselves as deities. It was little wonder they were always cast as the villains. Magic like that couldn’t be trusted.
Perhaps that’s why he’d been opposed to his magic from the start. Maybe he’d felt the aggression and chaos it spurred within him. Innately, he’d felt a villainous power welling up inside of him and sought to quell it all along.
Ilain was right; the magic was finding its way out. First, with Hewitt’s ghost. Now, with this murderous display. He had no control over his power. He never had.
Deckard’s gut trembled with discontent. He’d seen the fear and shock on Ethenn and Evylin’s faces. He could feel the immediate distance she’d placed between them after that damning kiss.
The horror of his mistakes lanced through him.
His rage to save Evylin overrode his good sense.
He’d given himself over to the darkness of Night, letting it wield him rather than using it as a tool.
He’d lost control. The magic was intoxicating, deluding him with its power.
The moment he kicked that door open and his eyes met Evylin’s, all hope of containing his feelings had flown out the open window and into the vast gray skies of Wauld.
It moved at the speed of lightning, arcing down to strike the terrae.
He’d taken the leader’s sight with a flick of his wrist, shadowing his vision in pure night.
The guards were down next. Then Evylin caught the knife, her magic flaring.
He hadn’t had time to consider any of it.
Suddenly, he was across the room, and she was in his arms with no regard for anything but one another.
Kissing Evylin always caused his body to heat unnaturally and sent his head into insanity. But this time, as magic burned through both of their veins, it increased every sensation tenfold. He didn’t think he would have had the presence of mind to stop if she hadn’t shoved him away.
And it was that mindless, lustful act that made him feel all the more vile.
Magic made him the worst sort of villain. He’d killed thirteen men without thought. Then he’d forced himself on the woman he loved.
The forests of Wauld thinned as they rode, the bordering mountains looming ahead.
Deep gray storm clouds capped the mountains and drifted to block out the gloomy evening sky.
Ethenn slowed his horse at the front. They’d attached Auden’s horse, where they’d carefully bound the Mage to the saddle, to the young hunter’s mare, and he led the two steeds to the side of the road.
“We should be close,” Ethenn said, his hood obscuring most of his face. “But we didn’t set a meeting point.”
Deckard struggled to find his voice or his willingness to command. After his crime, he felt as though the leadership of their troop should be taken from him. “Can you track them?” he asked, the words coming out in a strangled tone.
Ethenn nodded, then untied Auden’s horse from his. He handed the reins to Evylin. “I’ll be faster on my own.”
Evylin took the reins reluctantly, her gaze flashing toward Deckard. He could sense her fear in the look. She didn’t want to be alone with him.
The three of them pulled deeper into the small, wooded area, unwilling to risk any potential incursions or questions about the unconscious body on a horse by fellow travelers.
Then Ethenn went off to scout for their troop.
In the near half hour of his absence, Deckard didn’t bother to attempt a conversation with Evylin.
He left her to her thoughts as the Night Relic continued to plague his.
He should have given it to Ethenn. But they’d been in such a rush to leave, he hadn’t considered parting with it until this moment.
His head and stomach roiled, his limbs trembling with the struggle of containing the power within.
Was this what it was like for Evylin? No wonder the Day Relic was so intoxicating to her.
If its joy and life had filled her with the same urgency as the Night Relic’s tug on his dark, twisted thoughts, then he couldn’t blame her for wishing to keep it.
Finally, Ethenn returned and led them to the small camp, farther up the road and well into the woods.
The sky was black above them now, and the rain had turned into a torrent.
When they came upon Thom, Rafferty, and Ilain, the trio was huddled together beneath an indentation in a rock formation.
The tiny alcove couldn’t be considered a cave, but at least it was dry.
The men hurried to help untie Auden and lower him to the hard ground, Ilain hovering the entire time. A flurry of questions rang out from their friends, but Ilain’s were the most pressing. “Is he all right?” she demanded.
Evylin informed her of what the sellswords’ leader told her about the drug and pointed out his wounds.
“How did this happen?” Thom asked as Ilain pushed him out of the way to kneel next to her brother.
“Blount put out a writ,” Deckard explained. “There’s a bounty on our heads now.”
Rafferty’s white-blond brows rose. “For how much?”
Evylin scoffed. “You can’t turn yourself in for gold.”
“Gold, eh?”
Ilain looked up from checking Auden’s vitals. “He’s stable,” she said, her tone tender as she cared for her brother. “The wounds aren’t fatal by any means, and he should rouse shortly. Though I’d like to string up the Time Mages who concocted this strain.”
“Time Mages made this drug?” Ethenn asked.
Carefully, Ilain propped her cloak under Auden’s head.
“Viastasis,” she named the narcotic. “It was originally intended for surgery. It puts you in stasis, locking you in time while the rest of the world goes on. However, this particular strain is specifically designed to torment Mages. It feeds off your magic, keeping it running longer than it should, and there’s a dose of Night magic mixed in to give you nightmares. ”
That explained why Auden’s face looked as though he were fighting off inner demons, his pale skin wan and coated with a layer of sweat as his eyes stared blankly ahead.
Ethenn’s brow furrowed with concern. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
“No,” Ilain said, brushing Auden’s damp and stringy hair off his forehead. “We just have to wait while it works out of his system.”
The highlady took vigil over her brother, whispering softly and comfortingly as she tended to his injuries with small bursts of Day magic. The rest of the troop gave them space, huddled by the entrance. They spoke quietly so as not to disturb the siblings.
“Do you think he’ll be all right?” Thom asked worriedly.
Deckard wondered if it were more for the highlord’s condition or the highlady’s emotional state. “I’m sure he will,” he said. “Ilain wouldn’t be so calm if he were in any real danger.”
“They needed us alive,” Evylin added. “That’s what the writ requires: alive for confirmation.”
“You were lucky to get out of there unscathed,” Rafferty noted, an uncharacteristic seriousness to his tone.
“We sustained injuries of a different sort,” Deckard said with remorse.
He reached up to remove the Night Relic from around his neck.
Handing the Relic to Rafferty, he swallowed his shame to take up his duty as leader.
“We can’t take any more risks. Until we’re back in Ephria, we can’t enter any more settlements. ”
“But,” Ethenn frowned, “that would mean we can’t restock.”
Deckard nodded. “Blount’s writ puts us in too much danger. It bore sketches of Evylin, Auden, and Ilain, meaning none of them can enter. I may be able to get by with a subpar accent, but I don’t know the customs well enough. It’d be too easy for us to get it wrong.”
The other four Ephrians murmured in agreement.
“Can we make it without the extra supplies?” Thom asked.
“We’ll have to,” Deckard said.
Thom grimaced. “Allore help us if one of these horses throws a shoe.”
Evylin ran a hand through her hair. “This is my fault,” she muttered.
“No,” the brothers said at the same time.
Deckard met Thom’s stare, and he backed down.
Turning to Evylin, Deckard forced his comforting hand to remain at his side. “No, the writ is keeping us out of the settlements, not you,” he insisted. “I’m the one who suggested purchasing tents. Your presence changed nothing.”
Evylin’s head hung low, but she didn’t argue.
Deckard drew in a deep breath, stilling the guilt inside of him. “We need to take care of the camp. Rafferty, tend to the horses. We can’t fit them in here, but I want them as safe from the storm as possible.”
“Yes, sir,” Rafferty said, eyeing the rain dubiously.
“Thom,” he turned to his brother, “did you hunt this afternoon?”
“Yes, I managed to get three rabbits,” his brother confirmed. “They’re already skinned; they just need cooking.”
“Ethenn, could you take care of that?”
“Yes, sir.”