Chapter 2 #3
My right hand found Eihwaz’s hilt. My left closed around Isa’s, just in case any fireborn mages were coming for us on this side, too.
‘Don’t let her—'
I ducked, lunged forward, beneath an outstretched arm.
Eihwaz dug into a guard’s thigh, and he went slack at the same moment.
Another sword swept down, and I dodged it just barely, letting go of Isa and grabbing for Uruz instead.
My attacker raised his blade again, I swept up my hand, and sword and knife met in a shriek of steel – a desperate defence, except for the magic forged into every edge and glimmer of my weapons.
Uruz. Strength.
The sword rebounded as if it had been swung into a solid wall of granite, and in the moment of confusion, I drove Eihwaz into my attacker’s armpit, straight through the weak spot in his armour.
He went down without a word.
Four others were hurtling into the room.
Someone was shouting my name behind me. I almost ignored it, then remembered just in time I’d already done that once too often tonight; without averting my gaze from the guards closing in on me, I staggered backwards, slowing them down with my runes.
Outside the window, fire blazed white-hot.
Very, very bad sign, but perhaps we’d get lucky.
Perhaps whatever fireborn mage was out there would not be too powerful, and what little the powers of the isa rune could do against such brutality would be enough.
An arm closed around my waist from behind.
I’d already twisted Eihwaz to stab my assailant when I saw the ice scars on his knuckles. The crystalline cracks gleamed like dazzling gold in the firelight, and …
And not just his scars.
My arm slackened.
The necromancer’s hand was glowing ever so slightly.
As if embers were pulsing beneath that translucent skin – as if sparks were fizzing in his flesh, gathering in his fingertips.
Which couldn’t be a reflection of the inferno outside.
I knew it couldn’t be, and yet I stared at that smouldering limb for a numb moment that could have killed me – because if it wasn’t the reflection of the fire outside …
His free left hand came up on my other side.
Someone screamed, ‘Cover!’
And then fire spilled from those glowing fingers, like the lava gushing from the Estien craters every moment of the day, and there was no numbness left in me.
Fireborn.
He was fireborn.
Was that even possible, for a single person to wield both fire magic and the mists of hell? Why hadn’t he told me? Why hadn’t I noticed – why, why hadn’t I realised I was betraying my deadliest secrets to some sneering royal whose kind had hunted mine to near-extinction?
The stench of burning flesh filled the room. I could barely breathe.
The necromancer’s wiry arm tightened around my waist before I could pull free. Dragged me back while the fire was still roaring. His hot breath brushed over my cheek as he shoved me behind him, towards the window, and rasped, ‘Run!’
Did I have a choice?
All of the village was awake by now, and out for my head and fingers. If I wanted to stay, I’d be better off putting Eihwaz into my own chest, and that …
That wouldn’t do Lark any good.
I yanked myself from the necromancer’s grip and vaulted out through the broken window, knives still in my hands, not giving myself the time to look where I’d land.
Walls of flame rose from the scorched earth on either side of me.
Two wooden huts were burning to my left; the gusty night breeze was carrying flurries of sparks to the thatched roofs behind it.
To my right, a heap of smouldering, human-shaped charcoal suggested people had tried to get in my maybe-ally’s way and failed spectacularly.
A single path forward was left open between those two frontiers of devastation – leading south and into the pitch-dark woods behind.
I staggered forward, dizzy and disoriented.
The necromancer caught up with me a moment later, black cloak snapping around his long legs, fingers still sparkling.
His hood had fallen off with his jump from the window, and only then did I see what the shadows and the heavy wool had hidden from me before – a pair of curved and very fireborn horns, rising from his wavy black hair and curling back along his skull with a last vicious twist at the tip.
I’d been such a fucking fool.
You wouldn’t survive a week without me, Thraga …
‘You could have fucking told me that,’ I spat after him as we half-walked, half-ran down the path of fire – unable to soften the edge of my voice, because Lark may have just been teasing me, but he hadn’t been wrong, and it was easier to blame this deceitful bastard than to blame my own lethal blindness. ‘If I’d known—'
‘Then what?’ His voice was hoarse and barely audible over the roar of the flames, the crash of a roof collapsing behind us. ‘You wanted a necromancer. You’re getting a necromancer. Would you rather have waited for the next candidate to visit your cell tonight?’
No.
Fuck.
‘What house do you belong to?’ Dogs howled behind us, and we simultaneously fell into a trot, then a sprint. The misty line of the forest loomed black as pitch before us. ‘What … what king do you serve?’
‘Does it matter?’ he snarled.
It did matter.
Keep breathing, Thraga.
I jumped over a fallen log, gasped for air.
The village itself lay well behind us now, yet the sound of hollering voices was steadily growing louder.
They’d have horses. They’d have the numbers, and I was about to lay my fate in the hands of a man who answered directly to one of the three fireborn kings – except not to Aranc, because I’d have seen his face around the sprawling halls of the Estien court.
And what in the world would a member of House Garnot be doing here, hundreds of miles away from their lands and the heart of their power?
But the only other option …
Hell have mercy. ‘Please tell me you’re not from Averre, at least?’
‘To the left,’ he bit out, ignoring the question entirely. ‘My horse is waiting by the treeline.’
‘I asked—’
‘I heard you.’ It came from between gritted teeth. ‘I’m declining to answer. Are you in a state to ride?’
Declining.
‘Is that a yes?’ I slowed down as he did, and only then noticed the ink-black horse between the misty trees, waiting patiently despite its flaring nostrils and widened eyes. ‘Oh, hell. It’s a yes, isn’t it? You’re really— I’ve— How—’
He grabbed the reins, then turned to glare at me – good eye narrowed, thin lips tightened into an unmistakable sneer. ‘If something is troubling you, I recommend you use these handy things called verbs and nouns to express yourself, thank you.’
Horses whinnied behind me. Dogs howled, fast-approaching.
I stared at the lean, exquisitely carved face before me, cruel black horns and knife-edged jaw, and barely felt my lips move. ‘House Averre killed my mother.’
Find the witch! someone was bellowing, closer and closer. Purge our lands!
‘Really?’ the necromancer said in a tone of dangerous, honey-sweet interest, barely taking his gaze off me as he stepped into the stirrup and easily swung his leg over the horse’s back. ‘How intriguing. That’s something your mother and I have in common, then.’
I froze.
He spurred the horse forward before I could recover, leaned over, and grabbed me under the armpits without slowing his mount – dragging me into his lap, then into the saddle, as his horse took off into the night and away from the fires and gallows of Svein’s Creek.
The forest swallowed us within moments.