Chapter
45

Aodren

HOW DID THEY FIND US?

The snowstorm had to have covered most of our tracks.

As I stand there, baffled, Captain Omar hobbles toward the window. He’s in the poorest physical condition I’ve ever seen, and yet he straightens in preparation to fight. At least he’s a league better than he was last night.

“You must’ve led them here,” the woman named Seeva practically spits at me.

“He cannot have tracked us. There was too much snowfall,” I say, though it’s clear by the angry set of her jaw she’s not listening. I grip the hilt of my sword. I don’t know what’s facing us outside, so I cannot say we’ll make it through this alive. But I’ll die trying. “I gave you my word last night that you are under my protection. For as long as I live, I’ll keep my word.”

She scoffs and throws an arm out toward the window. “Protection? Is that what you call this? This is your fight, King Aodren.”

Agreed. Jamis is my fight.

Omar keeps one eye out the window, and one on those of us gathered in the room. Cohen moves to the opposite side of the window where Omar stands.

“What weapons are in this house?” Britta crosses to where Katallia stands tucked against the wall out of the window’s view.

“Can you shoot a bow?” The woman studies the bandage around Britta’s arm.

Confidence brightens in Britta’s eyes at the mention of her weapon of choice. She moves her arm in a demonstrative circle as if to say, Look, I’m healed. “I drank some Beannach water last night. My arm is much better than before.”

“Injury or no, the bounty hunter’s daughter can handle a bow better than probably any man in this room,” Cohen says.

“Even one that’s nearly her same size?” Lirra gestures to my height.

Cohen shrugs. “Aye. Seen it before.”

Katallia hurries from the room and returns momentarily with a longbow.

Britta takes the weapon without argument, her fingers pulling at the bowstring to test the tension. “This’ll do.” With the window in her focus, she adds, “Maybe it’ll give me some more distance.”

“Jamis won’t hesitate to bring the fight to us,” I tell Britta, knowing the man’s ruthless rules of war. Strike first. Destroy your opponent before they have a chance to weaken you, he once told me. “If you can take a clear shot, do it. Are you sure you’re up to the challenge? Your arm—”

“My arm is fine.” She turns to Cohen. “How many men have you spotted in the trees?”

“Six so far,” he responds. “All appear to be archers.”

“Six in the trees and six on the field?” She worries her lip.

Leif hurries into the room, with a smaller bow in hand. It’s a closer-range weapon, but Britta takes it. “It may be more manageable, but I can try to use both. If I had my recurve bow—”

Glass breaks. I run toward the commotion with Britta on my heels. We stumble into the next room, finding a burning arrow on the ground. Flames have spread to the curtains.

I rush to them. Grabbing a blanket to cover my hands, I smack the flames away. But the blanket lights on fire. My palms pulse with pain.

“Stop, stop.” Britta rips it off me.

The smoke is thicker now. It takes a beat before I realize a charcoal plume is crawling along the ceiling, coming from another room. The door of that room bursts open, and two women I briefly met—Yasmin and Torima—run out.

“Men are shooting arrows from the back woods!” Torima yells in warning. She halts, her angry gaze seeking out Seeva. Torima drops her face into her elbow, her blond hair pooling over her arm as she coughs against the smoke.

Seeva pushes the woman toward the main room while Yasmin follows behind, appearing more focused than the rest of the group.

I hold my burned hands close to my body, cursing myself. In the main room, chaos from fiery arrows has erupted. Jamis’s shooters land two more arrows inside. But based on the flames I can see outside the window, our bigger problem is that we’re all going to be burned alive. Smoke and flame dance through the thatching.

“Seeva. Need help here.” The drawn wrinkles in Lirra’s brow shine with sweat. At first I think it’s because of the intense heat, but then I notice the unusual wind moving through the house. When Lirra was introduced to me earlier, someone called her an air Channeler. I think she’s trying to blow out the flames, but it’s only making the fire worse.

I yell at her to suck the air out of the room, but she shakes her head and gestures to the open door and the window.

“Too much coming in,” she says.

I point out the new batch of the crawling flames to Seeva. “Can you do something?”

“I already am,” the woman snaps. Beads of moisture break out on her brow.

Smoke thickens the air and burns my eyes. I notice Seeva’s extended hands shaking. One at a time, the arrows extinguish, but the amount of smoke in the room makes it impossible to breathe.

We have to get out. Which has to be exactly what Jamis wants, and yet we’ll die in here. I yell for everyone to evacuate and to take cover as they go. Other than the archers, we don’t know what else is out there.

Leif and Britta exit first. Bows drawn and ready, they provide cover as the rest of us pour unceremoniously out behind them. Little fires rage all along the walls, leading from the home to the barn and stable. Before Lirra can make it to where I am tucked beside the stable’s opening, an arrow lands at her feet. She yelps and jumps back.

Across the way, protected by a pine tree, Britta leans out from the trunk and returns shots. She continues loosing arrows one after another by holding a cluster in her release hand. As soon as one is gone, she has another one loaded. Jamis may have started with six archers and six men on the field, but Britta’s arrows hit two. Leif knocks out a third.

“Take cover by the stable,” Omar yells.

“Two left,” Leif calls over his shoulder. He remains at the corner of the stable so he can pop his head out and shoot when necessary. We’re safe here, for the moment, but the roof of the stable is thatched. If they light more arrows, it’ll only take one well-placed fiery tip to burn the roof down.

“One left,” Britta says. “And my quiver is empty.”

“Got him!” Leif’s cry sends a sigh of relief over the entire group. Against their arrows we were nothing but prey for the taking. Now they must come after us, fight on an even field.

“With half his men gone, he’ll retreat. I know the man. We’ll be able to get everyone out of here safely.” Omar coughs and leans against the fence.

“Run from the fight?” Cohen stares at Omar.

“Look around, Cohen. We’re in poor condition. What Leif and Britta have done is given us time. We would be fools not to take it.”

Would we? I disagree with Omar. Jamis cannot be a threat if he isn’t alive. “We should end this now. Jamis cannot make it back to Castle Neart.” If we succeed, we can take Brentyn back without a pitched battle, without paying for it with the blood of hundreds of lives.

Cohen agrees.

Omar dips his chin in a terse nod. “All right. We’ll split up and flank them, half of us going around one side of the stable and the other half going to the opposite side.”

“Will you join us?” I ask the women.

“This is your battle.” Yasmin, the shorter women, speaks for the group. Seeva and Torima glance at her, surprise writ across their faces.

Katallia spins around, her wild red curls flashing against the background of snowy trees. “This may be their fight, but I’ll not let my niece die here today.”

“I give you my word now,” I cut in, speaking quickly while keeping one eye on our attackers. “I will keep the same oath the other men have agreed to. Help us stop Jamis and I’ll see the Purge Proclamation overthrown.”

Despite what I’ve promised, Yasmin crosses her arms and stands her ground. “And what good is the king’s promise if we end up dead on this field? I say we leave. The Guild sticks together.”

“Lirra?” Katallia steps out of the shadow of the stable.

Lirra shakes her head. “I stay and fight with my friends.”

Katallia gives one decisive nod. “I stay too.”

“This is madness.” Yasmin clenches her fists over her chest, pleading with the other women. She edges closer to the stable’s doors. “If you stay here, you’re risking your lives. Jamis is the champion of the Channelers. He wants to elevate us. How can you trust this man’s word? He could be speaking lies out of desperation.”

Seeva’s lids lower over her ebony eyes. “Yaz. What have you done?”

She says nothing.

“Did you inform Lord Jamis of the king’s whereabouts?”

Yasmin’s head swings side to side. “I didn’t!”

I notice Britta’s posture go erect. “A lie.”

The other ladies exchange shocked glances. “Spiriter?” Seeva tips her head to the side. One nod from Britta, and Seeva’s eyes flare a touch in awe before she spins to face Yasmin. “You betrayed us.”

Katallia jumps in front of the fire Channeler as Yasmin creeps back, stricken. “Forgive me. Forgive me, my sisters. I wanted only what’s best for—”

“Leave. Before I set you on fire.” Though barely louder than a whisper, Seeva’s threat tremors through me. I could only be so lucky to have this fearsome woman as an ally.

Yasmin claps her hands over her mouth, catching a sob, and scrambles away. I watch her dart into the woods. Her sudden flight comes as a shock. She betrayed them. Wouldn’t they detain her? Punish her somehow later?

Katallia moves beside me. “Exile will be punishment enough.”

Perhaps that’s true. My experience in the mountains is enough for me to know it’ll be difficult for her to get away, especially now that we’re under attack. If she does make it, she’ll be turned away from anyone associated with the Channelers Guild.

“It’s an honor to work beside a Spiriter,” Seeva says, giving a small bow to Britta. “Let’s fight.”

The two remaining Guild women flank her while the rest of us spread out to take on Jamis. Leif and Lirra follow Britta, while Cohen and Omar stay with me. Coming at them from opposing sides, we break from the stable’s coverage and charge Jamis and his remaining six men.

Taking on a man I’ve sparred with many times before, we meet with a clash of swords. I thrust and parry. The metal clanks and rings. I grunt against the exertion and sweep my sword up again and again. He is sharp, swift, strong. But thanks to renewed energy from the Beannach water, my precision has returned. Seeing an opening, I force myself to follow through. To not lessen the impact. To kill because otherwise I’ll be killed.

My blade slices through the stomach of the rebel guard. His body seizes around my sword. I open my mouth, intending to apologize, ridiculous as it sounds.

Across the field, Cohen makes a clean sweep with his blade, gutting a man. A slash of red stains the winter-white world.

Another man appears at my side, his arm raised. There’s no time to react. His blade will hit before I can swing. I’m dead.

A burst of wind slams me to the ground. It’s so sudden, it pushes the breath out of my lungs. I scramble back, expecting the guard’s blow to land any second. But the man falls at my feet. Above me, Lirra holds an extended blade. Stains of the man’s life splatter the fresh snow around him.

I shake the shock out of my head and scramble to my feet.

“You’re welcome,” the brazen girl shouts at me before running off. There’s no time to wonder where the Channeler girl came from. Lirra yanks a knife from her skirt and throws it at a rebel just as Leif limps out of the way. He clutches his leg where blood soaks his trousers.

“I’ll live.” He pants and hobbles toward her side.

Beyond him, Britta and Omar fight two more of Jamis’s soldiers. So where is the leader of the traitors?

“Aodren.”

I twist to find the man sitting astride his horse, twenty paces away from where Cohen cuts down the last of the rebel soldiers. Jamis eyes the carnage on the field, lifts his hands in the air, and claps. Slow, punctuated hits. “Well done, my king.” He echoes the same sentiment he used when I was younger, when I thought of him as the closest thing to a father.

Another rider appears from beneath the trees. No, two riders, doubled up on the same horse. Their faces register. I might as well have taken an arrow to the chest.

A startled gasp comes from Britta.

Finn bobs on the horse in front of Phelia, his gaze wide-eyed and lost.