Call of Sunteri (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 2) (29 page)

The members of the Elite seem to recognize what the song means. They don’t hesitate or question. They draw their weapons. Prepare for battle. I watch Flitt zoom to Azi. Tuck herself into her collar as the knight pulls her helm on. Behind me, Mevyn clings to my bandolier.

“
Stay here
,” he says to my mind, but his words hold no power anymore. Just for the sake of defying him, I charge the door behind the others. Out of the tavern. Into the street, where the dark clouds drop sheets of drenching, freezing rain over us all. Mevyn doesn’t follow. I didn’t expect him to.

At first it’s confusing. People everywhere. Chaos. Rain. Screaming. Darkness. Thunder. The ring of steel on stone and wood. Cries of pain. I can’t see. The rain is in my eyes. Something skitters toward me. Something small. Fierce. Teeth. Claws. I draw my knife. Slash at it. Feel the blood wash over my hands as its life drains away. I wipe my eyes. Try to see what it is, but another one is on me. It bites my bracer and I shake it free and kick it away.

There’s a flash of light. A sizzle. A hiss. An explosion of magic so powerful that everything around me is thrown back. I can’t hear anything, not even the rain. That’s because the rain has stopped. I wipe my eyes again and peer up at the sky. Not stopped, shielded. Beside me, Rian lowers his hands. Narrows his eyes. The barrier is just big enough to fit us all. Just tall enough to cover Bryse’s head. We huddle together inside of its protection, all ready with our weapons.

Without the rain to blind me, I can make out our attackers now. Dozens of them. Bears. Wolves. Field lions. Foxes. Mixed in with them are strange creatures, small and knobby. Some look like the Wildwood, with spindly legs and mushrooms and grasses sprouting from their backs. Others are uglier. Dog-like men, with patches of shaggy fur and snouts that drip with mucus. All of them pace outside of the barrier, snarling and snapping and watching and growling.

The animals try to charge us and bounce off of the magic. The dog men throw spears and shoot arrows that can’t penetrate the field. Bryse guards Cort and Donal behind his shield, which is the size of a large door. Benen stands with his back to the giant, his own shield up, his hammer ready. Azi stands beside him, and on his other side Lisabella mirrors her daughter, holding a long sword ready.

“What in blazes? What a way to wake up!” Bryse booms. “What’s all this?”

“Sorcery,” Rian calls from beside me. “Look for the source.” He squints past the shield, past the chaos of animals snarling and snapping at it.

“Sorcery? Not again,” Cort groans.

“And Necromancy, from the looks of it,” Benen points into the distance. Skeletons, marching toward us. They grin widely. Remind me of the fallen fairies at the roots.

“I hate those things,” Bryse grumbles over his shoulder.

Something else is there, past them. Dark and powerful. Not the Dreamwalker. Something just as strong, though. Just as ruthless. I stare into the space where I can feel it until I see it. Him. A man in a dark robe with a hood that covers his face.

“There!” I point, and he moves away. Toward a house. His gesture rips the door from its hinges. I tug Rian’s sleeve. Point again.

“I see it,” he says. “I see him.”

The others turn. Watch as the Sorcerer beckons. From the darkness of the doorway, three figures emerge. A woman, a man, and a child. Commoners. They’re weeping. Begging. Walking with stilted motion. Like Nan. Like Zhilee and me, when he came to take us. I pull a knife from my bandolier. Coat it with blue. Don’t care what’s blocking me from him. Don’t care about the creatures in my way. What he’s doing is despicable. Horrible. Unforgivable.

Nobody tries to stop me. I charge. The wild animals tear at my arms and legs. Pain shoots through my wrists, sears into my legs where they bite me. I don’t let it stop me. I barely feel it. All I see is the Sorcerer. The innocents. I scream. Not in fear, in rage. It works. I have his attention.

He turns to me. Spreads out his fingers. Casts a spell. It breaks apart around me. Fails. I laugh. Skid. Throw my knife. Watch it plunge into his robes. Watch the flames take hold. Watch his face fall. He grasps the handle. Pulls it out. Laughs at me. The flames die. They barely touched him. Just singed his robes a little.

Behind me everything is chaos again. My charge broke Rian’s ward. The Elite are swarmed by skeletons and forest animals and dog-men. The Sorcerer thrusts his hand out again. His spell shoots toward me in a spray of red and yellow sparks. It fizzles as it reaches me. Breaks apart again. My immunity to his power makes me giddy. I laugh in his face.

“The orange. Quickly!”

I sneer at Mevyn’s voice in my head. Take another knife. Fumble with an orange vial. The commoners stalk toward me. The man, the commoner, grabs my throat. Closes off my air. I can’t breathe. I coat the blade, or hope I do. I can’t look down to see. Can’t breathe. I hope this works. My vision is going black. I know where the Sorcerer is, the one who’s controlling them. I aim. I throw. I pray that it meets its mark and doesn’t hit an innocent.

A sizzle. A spark. A flame. A horrible scream. The commoner’s hands loosen. He falls on me, pressing me into the ground, into the mud. He’s heavy. Crushing. Lifeless. No, still breathing. I try to push him off, but his wife has fallen on me too. They hold me to the ground. Press me into the mud like the roots, like the trees. I will myself to take slow breaths. Not to panic. Someone will see me. Someone will help me.

The sorcerer lies nearby, ash and flame. I did that. My knife. My shot. All around us, the animals scamper away. Freed from their spell, free to hide now that their master is defeated. There’s still fighting, though. Skeletons and dog-men and Wildwoods. They’re all too busy fighting them. They don’t know I need help.

I try again to shove the man off of me. I fight to breathe. I can’t, though. He’s too heavy. Too heavy, and nobody sees. Nobody knows. I try to keep my eyes open, but I can’t. I have no air. No breath. The darkness takes me. I black out.
 

Tib

“Tib, get up.” Weight is lifted. Rolled away. Someone shakes my shoulder. Rough. Frantic. “Tib, hurry!”

I can’t move. The breath has been squeezed out of me. I’m dragged away. My throat burns. Rain drenches me. Mud seeps into my pants, my boots. I gasp for air. Cough.

Music. Mandolin music. Beautiful singing. The rain stops. I’m inside on the wood floor. Whoever is dragging me stops. I open my eyes. Push my hair out of my face. Watch Ki run off again. Out of the tavern. Into the rain. Into the fray. Skeletons. Magic. Dogs and creatures.

I push myself to my feet. Start to run back out into it. I can sense another one of them, the source of a spell. This one dark. A Necromancer. Someone grabs my shoulder, though. Pulls me back. Pushes me into a chair. He’s young. Azi’s age. Dark hair. Serious looking. Dacva, I think Rian said his name was. He puts his hands on my chest. Prays. I feel my throat open up. I can breathe. The pain leaves. I feel much better.

“Thank you,” say. I jump up and try to run out again. The action makes me dizzy. He puts an arm out. Blocks my path.

“You need to rest a moment,” he says. I hesitate. Outside, the battle is raging fiercely. I want to be out there, not in here.

“Rest, Tib.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” I shout at Mevyn, who’s tucked safely into a space between the shutter and the frame, watching out the window. I turn to Dacva. “Not you, sorry.”

“You have to give your body time, or the healing will be undone,” he says. “Sorry. My healing is weak. It takes longer to set than Father Donal’s.” He shifts himself on the bench so he can see past Mya, who’s standing near the open door, playing. Her song makes my heart drum in my chest. Makes me believe I could take down every last one of those enemies out there. I want to go back to it, but I heed Dacva’s advice. I try to be still.

In the street, the fight is fierce. Hard to make out, with so many enemies on so few defenders. I look for the villagers who were under the spell of the Sorcerer, but I don’t see them. Their door is back on its hinges, closed tightly. Brightly colored light splashes across the house fronts, dancing erratically. Its source is the center of the fray. It beams from Azaeli, who swings her sword with fury and purpose. At her collar, Flitt’s bright hair bounces with Azi’s movement. The light is hers.

Creatures who charge her are completely blinded by the fairy’s glare. They swing and bite ferociously but miss. She hits their heads with the flat of her blade. Knocks them out cold. Dog-men and Wildwoods are strewn in defeated piles at her feet.

Beside her Rian scans the distance, searching for the source, watching for more Sorcerers. There are three more. I know there are. I can feel them. There’s also the storm that hovers. The darkness. Dreamwalker.

Bryse is not as gentle as Azaeli. He slashes at the creatures, slicing them in two as easily as a scythe through fresh grass. The others fight furiously, driving back the throngs of attackers, sending skeletons clattering to the ground.

I look for my sister, but don’t see her. I see her arrows, though. Firing into the melee from the roof above us. Hitting their mark every time.

I bounce on the balls of my feet impatiently. I need to be out there. I have to fight. I see another one of them, a Sorceress. She stands in an alley between two houses across the street. Her cloak is deep purple. The wind flaps them open, revealing robes of crimson beneath. Red like the flowers. The petals. The scoop of dye in a barrel. She moves her hands gracefully. Fallen skeletons reassemble. Rise. Stalk forward. I draw my knives and my orange vial. I wet the blades.

“
Be smart
,” Mevyn says, watching me.
“Don’t just charge out there again. And add the black, as well.”

I glare at him. Uncork the black. Spread it on. Turn to Dacva.

“Long enough?” I ask him. My heart is racing to Mya’s music. I’m confident. Strengthened. Dacva nods and I start out, but stop at the threshold. Close my eyes. Think about it. How I stepped out of hiding before, for Mya. If I stepped out, surely I can step in again. I will it. I take a step. I feel it again. The shift. The spider webs brushing across my skin.

“Good.”

“Shut up,” I murmur. I stalk away from the tavern. Into the rain. Straight through the battle. Nothing turns to me. No one sees me. Flit’s light dances across my vision. My boots squish in the mud. They’re not new anymore. Properly broken in. Dirtied. Flecked with blood. I fix my eyes on the Sorceress. Watch her fingers in the air, dancing, conducting. Letting those she manipulates do all of the work.

Mya’s song is far away now, but my confidence doesn’t fade. I stride into the alley. Right up to the Sorceress. She doesn’t see me. She has no idea I’m here. I raise my knives like scissors. They slice through her wards like nothing. Take her pretty hand right off. Her wrist sizzles orange, then the black starts creeping up, up. I stare at it. Watch its slow progress, fascinated. She screams. Writhes. Panics.

Then she collects herself. Speaks a word or two. A spell. The black fades, leaving a stump where her hand was. She waits for more to happen. Nothing does.

She screams again, this time out of rage. Thrusts her good hand forward. A charge of red energy wells at her fingertips and bursts toward me. I brace myself. It strikes me with the force of a pleasant breeze. Passes through me. Shoots up and across the street. I turn in time to see its new mark: Ki, perched on the balcony railing high above the tavern door.

Blue light bursts from her necklace. It absorbs some of the spell, but she didn’t see it coming. The force of it throws her off balance. She tries to right herself, but can’t. She plummets. Lands with a sickening, muddy thud. Doesn’t move.

“No!” I scream. I start to run toward her and the air shifts again. I realize too late that I’ve revealed myself.

My skin crawls. Bony fingers catch me by the back of the collar. Drag me back to the alley, out of sight of everyone. More hands clamp around me. Disarm me. Throw my knives into the mud. Wide white grins and dark eyes loom over me. Bones. Death. The Sorceress bears down on me, seething. She raises the charred stump of her arm.

“You’ll pay,” she growls. Snaps the fingers of her remaining hand. A knife of flames stretches from her fingertips. The skeletons press my wrist against the stone of the house. Hold me so I can’t struggle. Can’t kick. Can’t move. Can’t do anything but scream until a stinking bony hand clamps over my mouth. It smells awful. Worse than the roots. Like a grave. I gag. The woman’s eyes glint in the fire. Her face fades into the darkness of her hood. It’s covered with black swirls.

She presses close. Brings the fiery knife up. Holds it to my wrist. One of her bony servants rips off my glove, my bracer.

“Yours will be a suitable replacement,” her laugh is wicked. Maniacal. Insane. She presses the spell-made blade to my skin. I feel nothing. No heat, no slice. The spell fizzles. Fades.

“You little freak,” she spits furiously. “What are you?”

She screams in frustration. Rips a knife from my bandolier. Raises it to slash. I close my eyes. Brace myself. Focus on the sounds of battle outside of the alley to distract me. Maybe someone heard. Maybe they’ll save me. I try to fight, but the skeletons are too strong. Like the roots. I can barely move. I wait for the pain to come.

The blade slices into my skin with searing pain. I fight. I struggle, but they hold me.