Dragonsbane (Book 3) (27 page)

He glowered at her from over the top of his spectacles, and she frowned back. “Let me show you something, mage. You see those girls over there?” She pointed to the bar, where three redheaded serving girls were busy loading their trays with tankards and pies. “They’re sisters. They fled from the Unforgivable Mountains after Titus burned their village and had no choice but to try to find work in the Valley. The man who owned this inn before me … he was horrible to them. He hurt them.

“I came to the Valley because it was the most peaceful place I could think of. I only meant to stay in Crow’s Cross for the night. But when I saw how that man treated those girls …” Her eyes glinted like daggers’ points. “I took matters into my own hands.”

Jake shook his head in disbelief. “But how have you managed to survive all this time? What about the bandits?”

Her hand dipped beneath her collar and returned with a small, flat bottle of murky liquid. “The locals call this
dragon spit
. I haven’t got a clue what it’s made of, but it works about a dozen times faster than ale. Every time they sober up, the bandits storm in here swearing they’re going to burn us to the ground. So I offer them a drink. And before you know it,” she waved a hand about the room, “we’ve got ourselves a peace treaty.”

Jake frowned. “You know you can’t keep that up forever.”

“Sure I can. The cellar’s full of this stuff.” She slipped the bottle beneath her collar and swept the full tray effortlessly onto her palm. She’d gone to walk towards the bar when Jake stepped into her path.

“Your cellar is going to run dry eventually, and then what will you do? What if Titus sends his men through here — or Crevan sends his army? They won’t be so easily
fooled.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“You can’t possibly be happy here. Look at this place!” He stretched a hand towards her, but recoiled at her scowl. “Come with us to the mountains.”

Her lips parted slightly before she shook her head. “No. No, my fighting days are over. I left to find peace, and I’ve found it.”

“
Here
? This couldn’t be the furthest thing from … is that fellow dead?” Jake pointed to a dark corner of the room, where the body of a bandit was sprawled facedown upon the floor.

Elena shrugged. “He’s probably just asleep.”

“There’s blood coming out of his throat!”

“I’ll sweep it up in the morning,” she said impatiently. “The point is that I run an honest establishment and make an honest living. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“You mean you want to stay here and be a — a common tavern wench? That’s right, I said it,” he snapped when she glared. “A
wench
.”

She held his eyes for one deadly second. When she spoke again, she growled each word: “I’m happy here. In fact, I couldn’t be happier. Good day to you, sir.”

He stood, slack-jawed as she brushed past him and marched away. His feet carried him to the hearth. By the time he made it back to his companions, Jake’s thin shoulders had slumped considerably.

Lysander, on the other hand, had made some real progress. “Almost … ah, there!” He grinned as the shackle snapped open. “I just had to be a little rough with her.”

“That’s all well and good, mate,” Jonathan took a deep, gasping breath, “but how’re we going to get out of here? I haven’t been able to feel my fingers for two songs and my poor fiddle’s just about to catch flame. I think there might actually be some smoke whisping off it!”

Lysander’s stormy eyes swept around the room. “We need a distraction — something loud enough that they won’t notice the music.”

Jake had been staring at the floor while they talked. But quite suddenly, his chin shot up. “I’m going to start a brawl.”

“A brawl would certainly do it,” Lysander agreed. “But wouldn’t a nice spell be just as —?”

“I want to punch somebody.”

Lysander’s brows arched high. “All right. Have at it, then.”

Jake strode purposefully to the middle of the room, rolling up the sleeves of his robes as he went. A lone bandit sat at a nearby table, surrounded by a passed-out ring of his companions. Though he was still on his feet, he’d begun to slump over his tankard.

With a deep breath, Jake tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, sir. But your manners offend me.” When the bandit turned, Jake slung a fist into his forehead.

The result left Jake yelping in pain, while the bandit erupted in gurgling laughter.

“Why’d you hit him there for?” Declan hollered from his table. There was an alarming number of overturned tankards scattered before him — but remarkably, he was still conscious.

Jake grimaced as he wrung his hand. “I don’t know. I’ve never hit anybody before!”

“You’ve got to smack him in the nose, right here on the side,” Declan said, pointing.

Jake slung his fist again. The bandit’s nose crunched and a little trickle of blood ran out. But he stayed sitting up — still cackling.

“Eh, that’s no good. You’re going to have to hit him with something else.” Declan swooped an arm out to the side, nearly flattening his branded benchmates. “Grab one of those chairs and smack him over the head with it. Go on — give him a proper walloping!”

Jake frowned at him. “Have you been drinking?”

“So what if I have? Even a drunk giant still knows his brawling.”

With a heavy sigh, Jake pulled a chair out from under one of the bandit’s unconscious companions and drew it over his head. “Sorry about this,” he muttered. Then with a cry, he brought it down.

It struck the top of the bandit’s head with a hollow
thud
. For a moment, it looked as if Jake would have to hit him again. Then quite suddenly, the bandit began to tilt. His cackling stopped mid-stream as his eyes rolled back. He tumbled from his chair, flopping hard onto the ground.

Declan guffawed heartily and pounded his meaty fists onto the table. The bandits, on the other hand, seemed far from impressed. They hardly glanced at Jake before going back to their tankards.

Just when it looked as if they weren’t going to get their brawl, Declan’s bench groaned and finally gave out. It snapped under his massive weight, sending him straight to his rump. His benchmates tumbled on top of him, swearing the whole way down. With one side suddenly so light, the table flipped — dumping a whole bench of mountain bandits directly onto the heads of bandits from the forest.

That did it. 

Swears became insults, insults became punches, and soon they’d started to brawl. The two tables grappled with each other; their cries drew bandits from all corners of the room. They rushed to the center in a swell of shouts — pulling hapless bystanders in along with them. Soon every bench was emptied and the tavern’s belly was a writhing, tangled mass of flying fists.

Elena and her serving girls stood behind the bar as the chaos unfolded. At her signal, they separated: the three sisters went upstairs while Elena ducked into a room behind the bar. Moments later, three cloaked figures drifted down the stairs and out the back door — full rucksacks across their shoulders and heavy purses at their belts.

The moment they’d disappeared, Elena emerged.

Her tavern clothes were gone. She wore her black and scarlet armor once more, with the slitted mask tied firmly around the lower half of her face. She grabbed several bottles of dragon spit from behind the bar and uncorked them. Then she headed for the hearth … leaving a trail of murky liquor on the planks behind her.

“You should leave,” she said when she reached Lysander.

He and Jonathan had been throwing themselves desperately at the edge of the wall of brawling bodies, trying to force their way inside. His eyes widened at the sight of Elena. “You? What in high tide …?”

“You need to go.”

He shook his head. “Never — not without my battlemage!”

Elena rolled her eyes as he went back to shoving. “You there — giant!”

Declan stopped laughing and paused, a wriggling bandit hanging in his grasp.

She snapped her fingers. “Put that down and get your friends out of here. I’ll find the mage.”

Declan slung the bandit into the sea of fists and gathered Lysander and Jonathan under his arms. “Hold tight, wee things!” he slurred. Then he charged sideways into the fray, scattering all in his path.

Elena followed in his wake for several feet. Dragon spit trickled out of the bottles in her hand and onto the floor behind her as she walked. It wasn’t long before she spotted Jake.

He’d taken refuge beneath a table. His thin arms snapped over his chest at the sight of her. “I don’t care what you say — I know you aren’t happy. And I’m not leaving here until you admit it!”

She ripped the table onto its side — along with the handful of bandits who’d been warring on its top. “Get moving, mage.”

He scrambled to his feet.

Elena shoved Jake out in front of her, smashing bottles of dragon spit behind them. When they neared the front door, she grabbed a lantern from among the ruins of a toppled bench.

“Come with us,” Jake pleaded.

Her brows cut low over her eyes. “Are those my gloves?”

“Ah,” he flexed his hands, “yes. I thought you meant for me to keep them.”

“I’d hoped you would keep them. I didn’t realize you’d want to …
wear
them.”

His face turned slightly pink. “It’s not that I
wanted
… nobody was more surprised … and how do you think I feel about it?” he sputtered when she raised a brow. “Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to walk around with a leather impetus?
Leather
. Other mages will think I’m some sort of gutless, slimy warlock —”

“Gripping,” Elena interrupted. “Would you light this for me?”

Jake snapped his fingers over the lantern’s wick and a small flame blossomed on its end.

The dark of Elena’s eyes reflected the light like a mirror. “Thank you,” she said. Then she hurled it to the ground.

Flames sprang from the shattered lantern in a roar, following the path of the dragon spit. Elena shoved Jake out the door and slammed it shut behind them. She clamped the bolts down and snapped locks onto the latches.

“I put these on weeks ago,” she said as she worked. “It’s strange, but not one person ever asked me why there were latches on the outside of the door.”

Jake’s mouth hung open. “You’ve been planning this all along, haven’t you?”

She shrugged. “I suppose the peaceful life
was
beginning to get a bit dull. Now come on,” she grabbed him by the arm, “we’ve got to save my Braver.”

*******

Declan thundered through the crowd and out the gates — Lysander under one arm and Jonathan under the other. Most scattered from his path, though an unlucky few struck his massive shoulders and were knocked aside.

Only when they were a safe distance from Crow’s Cross did he stop.

“Put us down!” Lysander cried. He beat his fists against Declan’s massive arms but the giant only laughed. “Jake’s still in there! We have to —”

Jonathan reached across Declan’s middle and smacked him in the face. “I think it’s too late for that, Captain.”

Lysander looked to where he pointed and gasped when he saw smoke rising from the city. A ball of fire erupted from its middle. It bloomed violently, scattering bits of the inn in every direction, spreading as its flames caught to the roofs of nearby houses.

“Jake …” Lysander’s mouth parted in disbelief. “No, it can’t be.”

A thick stream of tears ran unchecked down Declan’s face. “Poor wee mage!” he bawled.

Fire leapt from one house to the next, lighting their roofs like torches. A crowd of bandits swelled between the gates. Screams filled the air as they tried desperately to escape the flames. They beat each other, crushed heads beneath their heels and climbed over bodies in a panic.

Lysander watched dully for a moment more before his head sagged low. “Jake …” He hung there for a moment, limp beneath Declan’s arm. Then a second blast made his head snap up.

Something like a mighty gust of wind struck the crowd. It ripped the frayed gates off their hinges and sent the bandits flying — spewing them into the night in a flailing, terrified stream.  

A dapple-gray horse charged through the empty space left behind. On his back were two riders: one dressed in night-black armor, and the other …

“Jake? Jake!”

Lysander and Jonathan waved their arms and the dapple-gray horse galloped towards them. More cries split the air. A force of pirates and giants charged over the hill and struck the bandits who’d managed to squeeze through the gates. The pirates darted in with their swords drawn while the giants moved their scythes in steady, sweeping lines — felling their enemies in rows.

With an army standing in their way, the bandits had nowhere else to turn: they stumbled drunkenly towards the mountains, leaving the Valley behind.

The flames rising from Crow’s Cross grew so furious that the pirates and giants had to move further down the road to avoid being overtaken by the smoke. They charged to the top of a nearby hill and watched as fire dragged the city to ruin.