Arcane Enchantment (Unbreakable Force Book 2) (3 page)

9

Adaryn

“
S
o . . . you and Aaric, huh?” Bran and I were the only two up. It was dawn, the sun just barely lighting the horizon. Aaric was still wrapped up in his blanket, breathing the slow, deep breath of sleep.

As I prepared the small cook fire for breakfast, Bran crouched next to the fire pit, watching me.

“Yes,” I said guardedly. “Aaric and I.”

Bran frowned, looking down. He absentmindedly rolled a small twig between his fingers. “You're in love with the man who enslaved you. Your captor.” His voice was expressionless, but his fingers tightened convulsively, breaking the twig. “That's not . . . normal.”

I chuckled dryly. “Normal is overrated.”

“I'm serious Adaryn.” Bran fixed me with a dark stare. “I want to know
why
you love him, because that's messed up.”

“That's none of your business,” I snapped, glaring at him. “I've already told you he didn't hurt me or do anything wrong, aside from capturing me.” I looked over at the sleeping figure, love welling in my breast at the sight of Aaric. “He's different from the other Oppressors, Bran. Different from everyone, really.”

“Thank heaven for that,” Bran grumbled and I rolled my eyes.

“You'll see. Don't judge him for what he
was
. It's completely different from who he
is
.”

Our conversation was brought to an abrupt end when Aaric snorted loudly and sat up, rubbing his bleary eyes. His hair stood on end.

“Light the fire, please,” I said to Bran. I smiled fondly at Aaric who blinked blearily at me, and stood to find some water.

I walked away from the small camp, thinking about what Bran had said. Maybe he was right. Most slaves never felt anything but hatred and anger toward their masters. At the very least they viewed the matter with weary resignation. Only a few seemed to develop loyalty to their masters. I thought of Ember and Kingsley and shuddered. Now
there
was a messed up relationship.

I found a small stream not far from the camp. I bent down and filled our water skins and looked up when I heard footsteps. Aaric came to stand beside me.

“Is everything all right?” he asked. “Bran looks ready to chew nails.”

“He'll be fine.” I didn't look up, pretending to be focused on my task. “We don't see eye to eye on some things.”

“Can we trust him?” I looked up at Aaric's question. His eyes were serious.

I sat back on my heels, thinking a moment. “I don't know,” I finally said. The fact bothered me. “I would like to think he's here to protect me, but he's loyal to the clan. If Oisin gave him orders that I'm not aware of . . .”

Aaric sat down beside me, and we were silent for a moment, troubled at the unspoken thought. I didn't
really
know Bran's reason for coming, but at the moment I could only hope it was to protect me, like he said.

Aaric drew my forehead to his, cupping my chin in his hand and promptly making me forget what I was thinking about a moment ago.

“We're going to be all right, Adaryn.” His lips brushed mine. “We'll find this sky jewel, and make everything right.”

I hugged him. “If there even
is
a sky jewel.”

Aaric laughed. “If not, we'll think of something.”

He stood, and offered a hand to pull me up. I took it and, standing, headed back to the small camp.

10

Aaric

“
Y
ou've been to Sen Altare?” Aaric asked Bran. Adaryn rode slightly ahead of them, scanning the horizon. They’d been traveling for over a month, now. The rolling hillsides had given way to dry, grassy planes, and then to rocky lands sparsely wooded and covered with sagebrush. Aaric thought Bran and Adaryn were being excessive in their scouting, but, he supposed, it was better safe than sorry. Both admitted that they didn’t trust Aaric to do a proper job of scouting, and did it themselves, though Adaryn never let Aaric leave her sight. Aaric let them. It gave him more time to write notes and read the few books he had brought from Ruis. He quickly learned how to do both while riding, a trick that seemed to greatly amuse the nomads.

“I’ve been to Sen Altare a few times,” Bran answered. The road rose and dipped in this terrain, but he rode his horse easily. “It's been several years, but I've been there. As I recall, it's quite different from Ruis.”

Aaric nodded, looking at Adaryn as she rode ahead of him, back straight on her shaggy pony. She had fiercely insisted that it was, in fact, a horse, if a little stocky, but Bran still teased her about it.

“Are there magistrates?”

“No. Sen Altare is ruled by a king.”

“There's someone out there.” Both men looked up at Adaryn as she spoke. She was peering at a thicket of straggly trees several paces ahead of them. Aaric couldn't see anyone, but he knew his eyesight wasn't as good as Adaryn's.

“It might be a brigand,” Adaryn said. She stopped her horse and looked around uncertainly.

Bran frowned, walking his steed forward. “He may just be a traveler.” He stiffened in alarm as several men seemed to rise out of the ground before them. They were armed and one leapt at Adaryn, brandishing a sword.

Aaric spurred his horse toward her, fumbling for the belt knife the nomads had given him. Confound the blasted arc-bow he left at home! Why didn’t he bring it?

Bran galloped past him, a pale blue sword in his hands. One of the strangers pulled up a drawn bow, arrow aimed for Bran's heart. Adaryn hurtled summoned fire at the man with a shriek, causing him to misfire.

Two men ran at Adaryn, spears raised. Aaric pulled his feet from the stirrups and threw himself at one of them. He and the man tumbled on the dusty ground. Aaric frantically tried to remember everything he had read about fighting, but couldn't seem to remember any of it. He grappled with the man's sword, trying to wrench it from him. Adrenaline raced through his blood, his breath coming in quick gasps. He heard chaos and noise around him, but his attention was focused on the man trying to kill him. Snarling with effort, the man shoved harder, trying to loosen Aaric’s grip. Inch by inch, the sword came closer to Aaric’s face. Aaric’s muscles shook with strain. He only hoped that Adaryn would have time to escape.

11

Adaryn

M
y heart clenched in fear as I saw Aaric and one of the men collide. Aaric had hold of the hilt of the man's sword and was trying to take it. I wheeled my horse to help him but another one of the strangers jumped into view, slashing at my mount. I lost my grip on the horse's mane as it reared, and fell in a heap on the ground. I jumped up, and, concentrating on the magic, formed a spear of white-blue fire. I turned with a snarl, facing my attacker. He was a good head taller than me, with a sun-darkened face and sun-bleached messy hair. He had a white scar that ran down one cheek, and pale, colorless eyes. He lunged at me, sword raised. I deflected it with my spear, stumbling back. He was strong.

He slashed again. I jumped aside and swiftly jabbed my spear. The side of his tunic tore beneath the assault, the sharp point piercing his side. The man howled and fell back, holding an arm to his wound. He face was contorted in a snarl and he countered with frightening speed.

I held my spear like a quarterstaff, trying to block his onslaught. I had sparred with Bran and my father in the past, but hadn't done so since my capture. I was out of practice. Within minutes my clothing was damp with sweat, and my breath came in ragged gasps. My limbs shook. My assailant smiled. He knew I was running out of stamina.

Aaric leapt to my side. He was breathing heavily, but held a sword clutched in his fist. Our opponent jumped back, his eyes narrowing before he turned and ran toward the sparse thicket where I had seen movement only a few minutes before. He whistled, and a small white horse bolted from the cover, running to him. The man didn't hesitate or break stride before swinging himself up into the saddle. He thundered away, head bent low over his steed.

I turned and looked for Bran. He was locked in combat with the remaining ambusher, three men lying dead around them. I ran toward him, hoping to help.

Bran flicked his wrist, sending the man's sword spinning over his head.

“Why did you attack us?” Bran barked. He had blood trickling down his face.

The man fell back, fumbling at his belt pouch. He pulled a long dagger out of its sheath. I tensed, preparing to throw myself in front of Bran, but the stranger plunged the dagger into his own chest, ending his life.

The three of us crowded together, looking down at the dead man. Bran nudged him gingerly with the toe of his boot. “He's dead, all right.” He frowned, kneeling down to inspect him better, his brow creased in puzzlement. “Why did he do it?”

“Maybe it's a brigand thing,” Aaric said, chewing his lower lip pensively. “I've read stories about them. Men who would die before giving up their band secrets.”

“Maybe . . .” Bran stood there for a moment longer, staring down at the dead man. “They were brigands, at least. No doubt about that.”

I knelt down next to Aaric, and began searching the man's clothing.

Aaric stared at me, shocked. “What are you doing?”

“They might have money, or some items of value,” I said, not stopping my search.

“Shouldn't we, I don't know, bury them or something?” Aaric cast his eyes around the area, eyeing the rocky terrain. “It seems like the humane thing to do.”

Bran snorted. “Bury the filthy brigands who tried to kill us?”

Aaric didn't say anything, but glancing at him, I saw the steely set to his jaw.

“Bran is right, Aaric,” I said, ignoring Bran's startled look. We had agreed on precious little i
n
the past few weeks.

Aaric glowered at me, but I pressed on. “There could be more in the immediate area, and one escaped, remember?”

Aaric hesitated a moment, then nodded reluctantly, standing. I stood up as well, having found a small pouch of coins on the man. Bran searched the other corpses. I pointed toward the small stand of trees.

“The man who escaped had a horse over there. Maybe there's more.” Aaric and I walked over together. He clutched his sword like a lifeline, his face pale.

“Are you all right?” I asked. He shook his head.

“I . . . I've never killed before.” I looked at his sword again, noticing for the first time the blood smears on it. Aaric looked ready to faint.

I touched his arm, feeling my heart brim with compassion. I didn't know what to say. I had never killed someone, and caught up in my scramble for survival, it hadn't occurred to me how it might affect me if I did.

“It gets easier.” Bran caught up to us, ignoring the glare I shot at him over my shoulder. “Give it time, Oppressor.”

Aaric took a deep, shaky breath and moved his arm, avoiding contact with me.

We reached the copse of trees. There were indeed five horses there, none of them tethered, waiting patiently.

Bran whistled admiringly. “They've been trained well, and they're beautiful horses. Let's have you try one, Adaryn. Any one of these looks to be of better stock than that dumpling you've been riding.”

“Russet is not a dumpling,” I said sourly. “He's a perfectly fine steed.”

I had to admit, though, looking at the sleek, lithe creatures before me, that maybe it was time to get a new horse. My eyes locked on one in particular—a magnificent beast the color of midnight. I stepped forward, and, taking it by the reins, swung into the saddle.

A moment later I was flat on my back on the dusty ground, gasping for air. I couldn't breathe.

Aaric stood over me, concern in his face. “Adaryn, are you all right?” He held out a hand, and I took it, climbing shakily to my feet.

Bran couldn't breathe either: the fool man was doubled over, laughing.

I glared at him, thinking quite seriously of summoning my spear again. “You knew that was going to happen, didn't you?”

Bran shook his head, grinning ear to ear. “Nomad's honor, I didn't.” He gestured toward the other horses. “Maybe those ones are a little less well trained. Why don't you try another?”

I wanted to smack him, but merely sniffed, turning away from him. “No, thank you. Russet is much better behaved than these mules.”

Bran arched an eyebrow, and I decided it was time to change the subject.

“Did you search the other bodies?” I asked.

“Just some gold. Their weapons are good, but we don't really need them.”

I nodded. Who needed weapons when you had magic?

“Nomads use weapons.” Aaric spoke. “I've seen your people use knives around camp, and that rock that hit me in the head was just a rock, not magic.”

Bran shrugged. “Summoning too much magic can be draining. When the situation isn't dire, we'll use common weapons.”

He smirked at Aaric, and Aaric glared back. I intervened. “Let's leave. I don't want to stick around any longer than is necessary.”

After staring each other down for another moment, Bran and Aaric both nodded in agreement and we set back to get our horses. The two nomad horses knew better than to stray too far, and Russet for a wonder was only a few paces away, cropping grass.

We left quickly, heeling our horses to a quick trot. If there were any more brigands in the area, it wouldn't do to get ambushed again. Bran took the lead this time, his eyes scanning every tree, bush and hollow. I brought up the rear, searching the surrounding land in much the same manner as Bran. Aaric rode in the middle, and surprisingly didn't have his nose in a book. I sent fervent thanks to the heavens that Bran and I had come with him. It chilled me to think of him trying to face six armed men alone.

It was a quiet camp we set up that night. Bran didn’t want us to risk a fire, so we ate a cold meal of bread and cheese.

Bran gave himself the first watch. Looking at his lean, tall form standing a distance away from us, I felt my heart thaw a little. I didn't like his animosity toward Aaric, but he undoubtedly saved our lives today. I rolled out of my blankets and walked over to him.

He glanced at me for a moment, then returned to watching the wild. “You should go to sleep,” he said quietly.

I sat down by his feet, drawing my knees up to my chest. “Thanks,” I said. “And sorry.”

“For what?” Bran asked.

“Thank you for saving us today.” I said. “Aaric is a good man, but . . . doesn't fight very well.”

Bran chuckled softly. “That, he does not. I'll have to remedy that, to even our odds of survival.”

“And sorry,” I went on, “for being so cold toward you. It upset me that you and the others were hostile toward Aaric, but I suppose I can hardly blame you. If I didn't know him, I'd have a hard time believing he wasn't like the Oppressors, too.”

Bran was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, I heard grudging respect in his tone. “He really does love you,” he said. “I wasn't sure at first, but the way he attacked that brigand who came at you, I know better, now.”

I smiled, feeling warm at the thought of Aaric. “He does.”

We sat together in companionable silence for a few minutes longer before I went back to my blankets. I wasn’t overly optimistic, but after today I hoped that time would thaw the tension between my two best friends.