Balestone (22 page)

“
Accendo, accendo, accendo
,” Tiberius chanted, focusing his mind on the magic that swirled around him.

The counter spell was so cold that Tiberius wanted to recoil from it, but doing so only gave the invisible power an edge over Tiberius’ own magic. He thrust the portal forward, and the cold magic seemed to invade his mind. To Ti it felt like he had suddenly broken through thin ice and plunged into an icy river. The portal froze, the magical fire raged just inside the portal, but no heat reached Tiberius. He leaned on his staff and did his best to keep control of the powerful spell.

He pushed forward again, and the icy power struggled against him. It was a contest of wills, and Tiberius knew that everything he cared about was at stake. He pressed hard, even when his mind began to ache and the room dimmed in his vision. A long terrible moment lingered, and Tiberius wasn’t sure what was going to happen. He was pushing hard, but the icy power was just as strong. Then at last Tiberius felt his opponent’s will weaken. Ti didn’t know if it was a moment of doubt or a lack of strength, but he rushed forward, pressing with renewed effort. And then the resistance was gone. Earl Marcus raised his spear defiantly just before a torrent of fire spewed from the portal.

To the guards watching, it must have seemed like the fire just appeared from nowhere. They all fell back from the raging heat. Tiberius shifted his focus to containing the inferno. He knew the fire could spread across the polished stone floor consuming the guards, Rafe, Olyva, and even himself, so he held it at bay, only allowing it to rage around the earl.

There was no scream of pain, no attempt to flee. The earl’s body just fell and burned. The stench of burning flesh was repulsive, and one of the guards retched. Then Tiberius recalled the fire and closed the portal. A charred lump was all that remained of the earl.

Orryn stood staring in disbelief, and Olyva ran to Rafe, who was just coming around. Tiberius sagged onto his staff, trying to catch his breath. The soldiers moved around Orryn, who was staring at the earl’s remains. Tiberius heard people rushing to the feasting hall, and there were cries of alarm. Tiberius realized that he needed to get Rafe and Olyva out of Hamill Keep as soon as possible. He had no idea what had taken possession of the earl’s body, but there was a possibility that it might return.

Tiberius’ mind was filled with fears. What if the entity returned? Would he be able to recognize it? What if it attacked Lexi before he could get to her and protect her? What would the people of Hamill Keep do once they realized he was a wizard? The last question was the first to be answered.

“Sorcerer!” someone shouted. “They’ve killed the earl!”

Tiberius hurried over to Rafe, who was slowly getting to his feet.

“Are you okay?” Tiberius asked.

“Think jaw’s broken,” Rafe said through clenched teeth. “Hurts like hell.”

“Okay,” Tiberius said. “I can fix that. But we don’t have time now.”

“Why not?” Olyva said. “You stopped whatever that thing was that controlled my father’s body.”

“It’s her!” someone cried.

A crowd had gathered in the entrance to the feasting hall. There were servants and citizens, and they all looked horrified. One of them was pointing at Olyva and shouting to the others.

“She’s a witch!”

“Let’s go!” Tiberius said.

“This way,” Olyva said calmly. “Follow me.”

The crowd was surging toward them. The earl’s guards stood up, but they didn’t level their spears or try to stop the mob of people rushing toward Tiberius and his friends. Olyva took Rafe’s hand and pulled him toward the back of the hall, near the dais. Tiberius stopped only long enough to snatch up Rafe’s sword. Then he was running to catch up and stay ahead of the throng of people sprinting across the empty room to catch them.

Olyva led them through the door the earl had come through when he came into the feasting hall. There was a small anteroom and a staircase that led upward. Tiberius ran to catch up, his boots slapping hard on the stone floor. They climbed the stairs and then ran down a hall and into a large room that was obviously the earl’s bedchamber.

“What is happening?” Olyva’s mother asked.

She hurried to wrap her body in a fur-lined robe, but Tiberius saw the bandages around her fragile-looking body. There were dark bruises on her thighs, and she moved stiffly, as if every step caused her pain. Desyra was there, standing behind her mother looking frightened, and the old healer was in a sturdy-looking wooden chair near the bed. They could hear the throng of people coming down the hallway. Many had hesitated to follow the trio up the stairs to the earl’s quarters, but some didn’t. Tiberius threw the door closed and slid the small wooden locking mechanism into place. The lock wasn’t meant to keep people out but rather to hold the door closed during intimate moments.

“That lock won’t hold,” Tiberius said.

“We have to get out of the city,” Olyva said.

“Are you mad?” the healer said.

“Mother, I’m sorry. Father is dead. He was dead before we arrived.”

“Dead?” Desyra said softly.

“It’s okay, darling,” Olyva’s mother said, putting an arm around Desyra’s narrow shoulders. “I guess I knew that. Your father would have never treated me this way.”

“What will happen now?” Tiberius asked.

There was a crash against the wooden door, which creaked but somehow held. Tiberius looked worried. He had never used his shield spell to protect an inanimate object before, but he knew there was nothing to lose at that point.

“
Scuti Incantatio
,” he said, moving the magic to the far side of the door and immediately feeling the blows of hands and feet pounding on his invisible shield.

“I don’t know,” the countess said. “We thought we had more time.”

Olyva’s other two sisters came in through a side door, looking frightened.

“What’s happening?” asked one of them.

“It’s a long story,” Olyva said. “But the point is we aren’t safe here. None of us. We have to get out of the city.”

“Why?” asked the other sister.

“Your father is dead,” Tiberius said suddenly, his words tumbling out of his mouth in rush. “He was dead before he returned from Sparlan Citadel. I’m a wizard. The city is rioting, and Leonosis will probably send someone here to replace your father. Whoever he sends won’t be your friend.”

“Who are you, exactly?” asked one of the sisters.

“There’s no time!” Tiberius said loudly.

There was a crash in the next room, and Olyva’s mother waved them toward the opposite side of the room. She almost cried out in pain as she walked. Desyra held her mother’s hand, and the old healer didn’t leave his seat.

“Through this door we can go up to the roof,” the countess said. “From there we can take the sky ship where we need to go.”

“There is nowhere in the nine kingdoms where you’ll be safe,” Tiberius said. “We’ll have to go down to the blighted lands.”

“No,” said Olyva’s sisters in unison.

“Look, there’s no time,” Tiberius said, sagging against the wall as his shield spell broke. The pounding on the wooden door sounded louder. “Rafe, get them all up to the sky ship. I’ll distract the mob.”

“Let’s go,” Olyva said, moving to help her mother.

“Stay with you,” Rafe said through clenched teeth.

He was sweating, his face pale, and his eyes looked glassy.

“No,” Tiberius said. “Keep Olyva’s family safe. If I’m not back soon, leave without me. I’ll use the cloaking spell and climb back down to Lexi.”

Rafe wanted to argue, but the door sagged, and one hinge broke with a loud pop. Olyva’s sisters screamed, and Rafe nodded. He turned and followed the noble family through the door. Tiberius ran to the window and flung open the shutters. The roof below him angled down.

“Tell them I went this way,” Tiberius told the healer, who grinned and nodded.

Tiberius leaned his staff against the window frame and climbed out the window. He scooted down to the edge of the roof on his backside. Then he rolled over onto his stomach, swung his legs out, and lowered himself slowly.

“There he is!” someone shouted from the window.

Tiberius let his body slip over the edge of the roof, and he caught a glimpse of someone climbing out the window after him, but then he was dangling in space. He tried to look down but couldn’t see what was below him. He felt the roof swaying as people scrambled out onto the slope after him and he realized he was out of time. The only thing he could do was let go, so he did.

Chapter 30

The door from the sleeping chamber led to her mother’s dressing room. It was a large room with ample sitting space. There were long mirrors and tailoring supplies scattered about. They crossed the room as quickly as they could, which wasn’t very fast. Olyva’s mother was in a great deal of pain. Olyva wanted to break off the stems that grew in small patches on her body. The little brown, woody growths were edible and effective at blocking pain, but they also made the person who ate them sleepy. She would have to wait until they got their mother into the sky ship before she could ease her pain.

They were halfway across the room when they heard the door in the bedchamber break. There was a crowd of people shouting angrily. Someone was screaming to kill the sorcerer, while others were shouting that they should find the witch. Olyva was not a witch, and she couldn’t work magic, but she did have abilities. None of those abilities would save her or her family from a mob of angry citizens.

“I knew Father was going to turn the city against us,” Cassandra said in a pouty voice.

“It wasn’t Father,” Olyva said. “Something else was using his body.”

“What are you talking about?” Frezya asked.

“Girls, please,” their mother said.

There was only one other way out of the dressing room. It led to a servant’s room where shoes were polished and gowns were mended. The room was small and cramped, with supplies stacked all around the tiny space. Another door led to a narrow hallway. Olyva recognized the tiny passageway used by the servants. As a little girl she had explored every inch of the castle. She knew that down the long hallway she could access her sisters’ rooms and even her old room, but more importantly, they could sneak across the vestibule to the wide staircase that led up to the roof of the palace.

“Is the sky ship ready?” Rafe asked.

“The earl ordered it made ready,” Olyva’s mother said as they walked single-file down the narrow corridor. “It was supposed to take Tiberius to Sparlan Citadel.”

Rafe was in the lead, followed by Olyva, then her mother and Desyra. Cassandra and Frezya came last.

“Do I have time to gather a few things?” Cassandra asked.

“No!” Olyva said.

“But I need clothes,” Cassandra argued.

“And we should gather our jewelry,” Frezya added.

“There isn’t time,” Olyva argued. “We have to get to the roof and leave the city.”

“Who died and made you queen?” Cassandra snarled. “You were exiled from Avondale. Mother said you were a disgrace. And you don’t want to hear what Father said about you.”

Olyva knew that it was only a matter of time before her sisters started in on her. Banishment had once been her worst fear, but now she saw it as the most liberating thing that ever happened to her.

Rafe waved for everyone to be quiet, then he cracked open the door. The vestibule was empty, and he held the door open for Olyva and her mother. They moved slowly up across the lavish space and then up the stairs. There was shouting and the sound of furniture being smashed. Olyva had been protected from most of Hamill Keep’s problems. Growing up she had thought that everyone was happy and prosperous. But in her later teenage years she was allowed to move about the city, most of which was kept underground. The one thing that Hamill Keep produced was coal, but it required miners to dig deep into the mountain. It was a dangerous and filthy job. Most of the city was built from the tunnels that the first settlers had dug. It was a dank, poverty-stricken city, and the populace hovered on the verge of rioting most of the time. Olyva’s father had been a master at placating the populace. He worked tirelessly to ensure the city had food, clean water, and as safe working conditions as could be obtained in the mines.

Olyva’s eyes filled with tears as she thought of her father. He had been a busy man, weighted down with many responsibilities, but he had also been compassionate. When she’d seen his body in the feasting hall, she’d known immediately that something was wrong. She could never remember a time when he’d looked at her and not smiled. Even when she’d gotten into trouble as a child, he had struggled to discipline her. His daughters were the light of his life, and when he appeared in the feasting hall with a blank stare, she knew something was wrong immediately.

Then she has smelled his decaying body. Whatever was controlling him was holding back the inevitable signs of death, but there was a trace of decay in the air that Olyva had noticed. She could also tell there was no warmth to his body. He was fully dressed, and Hamill Keep was a frigid place most of the time, but her enhanced senses made normal body heat stand out to her. It wasn’t so much felt, as it was different from the rest of the environment. Olyva’s changes had made her acutely aware of everything around her. She could hear incredibly well, smell things on the air from miles away, and feel the air pressure in a room or on the open prairie. These were gifts that the Hosscum had given her, and she appreciated them even as she learned to use them.

When her father had approached, it was almost as if she could see something moving behind his eyes, and the shock of his true condition almost kept her from acting to stop it. She hated that the last time she had seen her father, he had been nothing more than a puppet. And now she would always remember the way his glassy eyes stared at her without really seeing and how he raised his hand to her, something he’d rarely done before.

At the top of the stairs was a heavy door. Rafe opened it, and a strong, cold wind gusted in. To Olyva it felt bracing and invigorating, but to her mother it only intensified the pain she was struggling with.

“We need to get Mother to the ship quickly,” Olyva told Rafe.

He stepped out and looked up. The sky ship was hovering just above the castle. He held the door, and Olyva led her mother onto the rooftop. Desyra went out and waved her arms to get the attention of the men on the ship. Many of them were leaning out over the rails of the ship to see what was happening in the city. Olyva followed their gaze and saw bands of people running around the palace grounds, and several of the homes that were owned by the city’s wealthiest citizens were on fire.

“They’ll destroy the city,” Olyva’s mother said.

“We can’t stop that now,” Olyva said.

“I should stay and try to do something,” her mother continued.

Rafe shook his head. Olvya saw that his jaw was swelling from the savage blow he’d received from the creature masquerading as her father. She could help ease his pain, but not until they were safely onboard the ship.

“They’ll lower the stairs now, Mother,” Desyra said. “It won’t be long.”

Olyva’s sisters huddled around their mother, shivering as Olyva moved to stand beside Rafe. She knew there were people coming, and although she didn’t have a weapon, she was willing to fight to protect her family.

“Move back,” Rafe said. “Help them.”

He pointed at her family.

“Are you sure?” Olyva said.

Rafe drew his sword, and Olyva nodded.

“Be careful.”

The stairs were lowered from the sky ship. There was no time to tie the wooden stairs to the rooftop. Cassandra and Frezya hurried up the wooden steps while Olyva helped Desyra get their mother onto the shaking stairway. The wind seemed determined to push them off the stairs. Olyva felt a wave of panic as she looked down over the edge of the wooden stairs. She could see the palace roof below her, and the wide courtyard below that, and the city walls, and the mists beyond. She felt that she was impossibly high. At that moment she had a strong desire to be back on the plains with the Hoskali, where she could dig her toes into the soft soil and lift her hands to the exquisite sunlight.

Then she heard shouting and looked over her shoulder. There were soldiers with spears trying to stop them from boarding the ship. Rafe held them back, his sword slashing and thrusting. The soldiers were on the stairs that led up to the roof, and the door was hardly wide enough for two men to walk through. And with their long spears and heavy shields, the soldiers were bottlenecked in the tiny space.

“We need to hurry, Mother,” Olyva urged.

“I’m…” her mother started to say, and then she suddenly fainted.

Her mother wasn’t a large woman. She was tall and very thin, but her sudden body weight made Olyva scream as she swayed on the stairs. Olyva quickly recovered her balance and took hold of her mother.

“Go on, Desyra. I’ve got Mother,” Olyva said.

She had been strong on the plains where she could root her feet in the rich earth and gain strength. Even the raiding warriors had been unable to lift her or move her, but now she was far from the ground and recovering from what had been a long period of weakness. The sun had done much to revive her, but she was still weak. She could support her mother’s weight, but she couldn’t lift her.

“Rafe!” she shouted.

He sprang up the stairs to help. His shoulder was bleeding from a ragged cut, and there was blood on his face, too. He lifted Olyva’s mother in one swift motion and followed Olyva quickly up the stairs. As soon as they reached the hold, the men who worked the ship tried to raise the wooden stairs, but by that time several soldiers had gained the lower steps. Rafe handed Olyva’s mother to her sisters then bounded back down with sword held ready.

The girls all stood frozen with shock as the sky ship rose into the air and Rafe fought the two men who had held fast to their positions at the bottom of the stairs. Spears rose up to stop him, but Rafe battered them away fearlessly. He seemed oblivious to the swaying stairs or the threat of danger as the ship moved out over the city, leaving the rooftop and nearly two dozen of the city’s guards watching helplessly.

Rafe darted down step after step, using his sword to keep the spears away from him. The men at the bottom of the stairs were holding onto their wooden perch with one hand and halfheartedly waving their spears with the other. Olyva realized that Rafe had to get close to the men to fend them off and it wouldn’t take much for Rafe to slip, lose his balance, or be knocked off the stairs. She could hardly breathe as she watched. Rafe showed no fear but hurried down and slashed his sword at the soldier on his right. The man tried to raise his shield, but he was so terrified that he refused to let go of the stairs. Rafe’s sword skipped off the top edge of the round shield and then sliced into the side of the man’s head. It wasn’t a mortal blow, but it caused the soldier to drop his spear and lean far out as he tried to instinctively avoid his enemy. Rafe wasted no time in kicking the man’s shield. The solid blow was more than the poor man could take, and he toppled off the side of the stairs, falling to his death with a pitiful scream of terror.

Olyva felt a wave of relief followed immediately by a wave of panic as the shift in weight made the stairs sway and Rafe lost his balance. He had to grab the thick rope that connected the lower portion of the stairs to the ship, the same rope the men had used to try and pull the stairs closed. Rafe held on and regained his balance. The other soldier dropped his spear and took hold of the stairs in a death grip. Rafe stabbed his sword down on the back of the soldier’s exposed neck. It was a quick, powerful strike, and although deadly, Olyva realized it was a mercy killing. Rafe didn’t even wait for the man to fall but bounded back up the stairs.

The soldier slid back and then fell silently, already dead, and the men on the sky ship hoisted the stairs back into place.

“Your Highness,” said the captain, who was hurrying down into the hold. “We weren’t expecting you.”

“She’s hurt,” Olyva said.

“My men will to see to her at once,” the captain said.

“Rafe and I need to get to the deck. Take my sisters with my mother.”

The captain shouted an order, and four men came forward. They carried Olyva’s mother carefully up the stairs. Her sisters followed as the captain looked uncertainly at Olyva and Rafe.

“The city has fallen,” Olyva said. “The earl is dead. But we can’t leave yet.”

“We can’t?” the captain asked.

“No, there’s one more person in the city who needs our help, and we won’t leave without him.”