Chapter 40 Breaking Point #2
She ran to them alongside several townspeople who’d seen the blast. Two large men rolled an unconscious Connall over and dragged him beyond the reach of the fire’s fury.
Hazel ran for Agnes, scooping underneath her arms and attempting to pull her away, but she was not strong enough.
A rough hand landed on her shoulder and patted, gently telling her to move aside.
Reluctantly, she did, and a third man dragged Agnes to safety beside Connall.
Breathing. They were both breathing, thank the gods.
And they were out of immediate danger, though the growing blaze was putting off searing, singeing heat that threatened to melt the flesh from their bones if they stayed there much longer.
She looked over her shoulder at the burning cottage in time to see part of the roof collapse, sending a column of smoke and ash and embers into the night sky.
Someone behind her broke into a fit of coughing, and Hazel turned to find Connall rolling to his side, trying to sit up. He was coughing fitfully, unable to catch his breath, reaching for her.
“Hazel,” he rasped, “You came.”
A sob escaped her throat as she ran to him, dropping to her knees and helping him sit up.
“Of course I came, Pa. I came as soon as I could. Shh, don’t speak.
” She turned, frantically looking for help.
Where is Slaide? “Water! Please someone bring us some water!” she shouted to anyone who would listen.
A woman jogged over with a waterskin and offered it to them. “It’s only about half full, but—”
“It’s perfect. Thank you.” Hazel cut her off, tipping the waterskin to Connall’s mouth and pouring the water in a little at a time. He coughed and gagged at first but was able to take a few mouthfuls.
“Agnes…” he managed. Hazel looked over her shoulder at Agnes’s unmoving form.
“She’s going to be alright, but only if we get her out of here. There’s a mob coming.”
His eyes widened as if in realization, transforming into something hard and unmovable.
“Stay right here,” she said, knowing he wasn’t going anywhere fast, but understanding that Connall Callahan was not one to be deterred by much, not even a brush with death.
She rushed to Agnes, where a woman was tending to a gash on her cheek.
Another laceration stretched the length of her left eyebrow, her bottom lip was blistered and split, her hair was singed, and her forearms were covered in blistering, bubbling burns, flesh completely lost in places.
The amount of pain she had to be in was overwhelming to think about.
But she was breathing, and she was being tended to. Now to get everyone out of here before…
Her planning was interrupted by thundering hooves and the shouting of men. She looked up to see torchlights glowing in the distance. It was too late. Agnes’s burning home had served as a beacon for their exact location, and the mob had arrived. They would have to make a stand.
As the mob approached, the townspeople did something unexpected: they prepared to fight.
Hazel had never seen this kind of mentality from them before.
What was usually “every man for himself” had suddenly become “no man stands alone” as they set aside their water buckets for short swords, daggers, and pitchforks, abandoning the still-blazing cottage behind them.
Magnus brought the fight to one of their own, and they would go down swinging. Maybe the townspeople of Larksridge hadn’t been as complacent as she’d thought. But more than likely, this was Connall’s doing.
A grunt came from behind her, and Connall was climbing to his feet. He was remarkably unscathed, save for a few burns blistering his skin. His face was smeared with soot and ash, the corners of his eyes wet with tears from the heat and sting of the fire. But he was whole.
She sprinted for him, slamming into him as she wrapped her arms around his body as much as she could. He stutter-stepped sideways, catching her and hugging her tight.
“Oh, my girl,” he said. “I thought I’d lost you.”
She pressed her head into his chest, tears streaking down her cheeks. This was all she had wanted. This was home.
He looked down at her with warmth in his eyes, holding her away from him as though to look her over. “You’re alright, then?”
“Yes, Pa. As well as I can be considering everything.”
Concern overtook his face as he remembered where they were. The shouts of the mob grew closer.
“Pa, we need to get everyone out of here. They’re coming for her.” She glanced over to Agnes, who was still being tended to a safe enough distance from the blaze.
“Who are they? How did you know to come here?” he asked. Right. He has no idea what I’ve been doing this past week. What I’ve been through and seen.
“It’s a long story, but I promise I will tell you everything. For now all you need to know is that the High King has re-initiated sanctioned witch hunts. And they’re starting here, with her.” She thought about it for a moment. “Pa, how did you know to come here?”
“She told me,” he nodded toward Agnes. “Somehow she knew. I-I think she sees things we can’t, Hazel. She came and got me. Said she was in trouble and if I thought anyone might help, to bring them along.”
He faced the approaching mob. “So, they think they can take us out that easily, eh?” he growled. Turning to Hazel he commanded, “Get some of the others to help you get Agnes out of here. The Border isn’t far and—”
“I am not leaving you here,” she interrupted. “We all need to go. There’s still time.”
“There is no time.” He put a hand on her shoulder.
“I know you are strong, and I know you want to help, but sometimes the best thing we can do is get others to safety. I will hold them off with the other men to buy you time. Now go!” He gave her a gentle push, spinning her in Agnes’s direction.
She whirled around to protest, but Connall was gone, shouting orders and organizing the remaining men.
Right, then. Time to get Agnes out of here. Hazel sprinted to Agnes’s side, and the woman caring for her looked up with fear in her eyes.
“How is she?” Hazel swallowed the lump in her throat from seeing Agnes in this state. She had to be strong. For Connall. For Agnes. For these people who needed saving.
The woman shook her head. “She’s alive. Breathing fine.
But she is still out of it. I cannot get her to wake.
” Hazel wished she had some of Slaide’s hartshorn powder.
Damn it. Where is Slaide? She’d crossed the paths of many of the same people repeatedly as they bustled about, and he had not been among them.
But there was no time to concern herself with that now.
“We need a way to move her. There’s a wagon over there and we can—”
She was interrupted by the clash of steel and angry shouting of men.
No! We need more time… But it was too late.
The mob was upon them, and they were bolstered by the sight of armed villagers prepared to fight.
Cheers arose followed by chants of “kill the witch,” even though the King had commanded she be brought in alive.
There were so many of them. The burn of the locket stung against her skin.
Swords clanged against one another, men shouting insults and grunting as blades hit their mark.
Hazel watched as one man from the mob swung a mace, crushing the skull of a Larksridge man whose name she didn’t know, spraying blood and brain matter as he pulled the weapon free.
And then he was charging toward the next.
To their right, a member of the mob was run through from behind by a blade, and he collapsed choking on his own blood.
She looked to their left to find a man heading straight for them with a dagger held high, screaming something inaudible as he ran.
He was nearly upon them when his attention was drawn to something more pressing, and he let out a shout that was cut off as a hulking black horse and rider slammed into him.
The man was sent flying, his body landing in a heap on the ground.
A trickle of blood by his ear glimmered in the flickering firelight, and he did not get back up.
The horse and rider dashed into the woods behind what was left of Agnes’s cottage, leaving her to take in the carnage around them.
The woman beside her screamed, and Hazel spun to find a man atop her with a dagger pressed to her throat.
Before Hazel could move, he drew his blade across the woman’s soft flesh, leaving a red rent in its wake.
Her face twisted into a wordless scream as her life leaked out of her into a warm, dark pool on the ground.
He was standing over Hazel then, a malicious grin spread across his face as he took in the one thing standing between him and his prize.
Hazel reached for Sylvie's dagger, preparing to defend herself. The man’s eyes darkened as he laughed at her.
And then she understood why as he unsheathed a broadsword she hadn’t noticed before.
He was going to cut her down where she stood, and there was nothing she could do about it.
He raised the weapon overhead in a two-handed grip, and despite herself, Hazel closed her eyes, preparing for the blow.
When it didn’t come, she opened her eyes to find the man falling over, an arrow protruding from between his eyes, another through his heart.
Hazel spun to find the assailant and was overwhelmed with relief when seven riders in black stepped out of the black smoke like the harbingers of chaos they were.
And one of them was Wolf Mask.
Wolf Mask, the man who had only just led an ambush at Ravenhold. Wolf Mask, who had continued to spread terror around the kingdom. Wolf Mask, who saved her life not just once now, but twice.