Rebel's Cage (Book 4) (57 page)

‘Make it easy on yourselves,’ DeMassey called out. ‘Stand apart, drop your weapons and nobody will get hurt.’

‘What do you want?’ Micah spoke up boldly, neither moving away nor dropping his sword.

‘Just the boy. You can go free. Get back on your horse and ride away.’

‘He’s lying.’ Andrew was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering, but he still knew a lie when he saw one. ‘Don’t believe him.’

‘If you want him, you’ll have to take him,’ Micah called back, defiant, so much strength in his voice that Andrew felt instantly ashamed. How did he get to be so brave when he was the one facing death?

No order was given that he could hear, but before he could
move, the Malachi jumped down from their horses and advanced. The first blow sent him reeling backwards, unable to counter the greater weight of his opponent. Micah stayed with him, but he had his own opponents. Two men crowded in on him and he swung around to put his back to Andrew’s so they could cover each other.

Frantically Andrew tried to remember everything Micah and Finnlay and all his other teachers had tried to pound into him, but every time a sword crashed down on his own, the impact drummed all thought out of him. Hard, jarring, loud and shocking, the noise alone crowded in on him, shattering every ounce of confidence he’d ever mustered.

They were going to die.

Where
were his powers?

Sweet Mineah, help us!

*

Robert was swept away by a terror that flooded through his bones in a tidal wave, blinding him, tapping into the demon directly and stealing his soul.

He pulled his horse to a halt, gasping for air, staring into the night.

Jenn?

No answer.

Jenn!

The silence darkened. He tugged on the reins hard, wheeling his horse. With a savage kick, he sent it into a flat gallop.

He would be too late.

He moved as one with the horse, breathing as it did, letting it make all the decisions, leaving him ready, power surging through him, held back only by his will and nothing else.

The demon sat around him, his cloak of darkness, champing to be set free, to blanket everything …

*

Blinded, Andrew couldn’t see anything, only feeling the blows he tried to fend off, tried to duck. His hands ached holding the sword; they were sweaty and losing their grip. But he had to stay close to Micah or the Malachi would cut him down in a heartbeat.

He couldn’t think over the fear. Everything was bigger, sharper, harder, more vicious than anything before. Everything was darker; the violence consumed him.

Could he hear his name being called over the shouts of the Malachi? He ducked another blow and behind the Malachi were Jenn and Finnlay and they were fighting too, fighting to get close to him.

But the forest was on fire, and they were so far away.

And then he did hear something, something thundering beneath everything else: pounding hooves on the hard winter ground. Coming closer, bright and vengeful.

Robert. His sword alight with fire, raised ready to strike, heading straight towards them.

*

He could see everything. As he raced towards the mêlée, he counted off twenty-four men, eight of them dead and three with bad wounds. And DeMassey was there; this was Nash’s doing.

It should have been darker. It was night, but the forest was lit by trees burning, branches dripping flames to the snow-covered ground. And there were Jenn and Finnlay, beset by Malachi, their blasts filling the air, neither giving ground. But Jenn was far from Andrew and Micah.

Too slowly he moved. To his right, the Malachi aimed a combined burst of fire at a tree above Jenn and over the noise, he could hear its mighty trunk crack under the blast …

To his left, Andrew cried out as his sword was finally knocked from his hands and, defenceless, he faced …

Robert’s horse stumbled. With a cry of blind rage in his heart, he pulled it up, kicked it hard again and headed left.

Towards Andrew.

*

His fingers numb and slippery with blood, Andrew tried to duck down and grab his sword, but the men facing him got too close, pointing to his throat, making him freeze. From the corner of his eye, he could see Robert galloping closer, and then he was upon them, his sword swinging, cutting down two men at the first pass, another two on the second.

Terror tore through the Malachi like wildfire, but still Andrew was trapped. Then, just as Robert was upon them, Micah seized his arm and, with a shove, pushed him right into Robert’s path. With a violent wrench, Robert grabbed him and swung him up onto the saddle behind him, his sword cutting more fire into the night.

And then they were free of the Malachi, galloping into the forest until, with a hard turn, Robert headed back, his sword still flaming. Andrew clung on to him, heart pounding, hands shaking, desperate to find Micah in the mess, to find Jenn and Finnlay, but all he could see were Malachi racing to their horses, leaving their dead behind, their cries of panic illuminating the night.

Then his eyes did see. The flaming tree, the warning cried out by Finnlay, his mother looking up too late to move, to get out of the way. With a deafening crash, the tree fell.

‘Mother!’

*

Robert barely registered the fires, or the marks in the snow, the horses milling around, the scars of blood and the bodies on the ground. Something inside him said he should go after DeMassey and his men, make them pay for this. His horse stumbled to a halt on scorched grass sodden with wet ash. He slid from its back, landing lightly. Action, his body demanded, action, but there was no enemy left he could fight.

He dropped his sword and ran forward until the heat of the blaze forced him back. Smoke filled the air and he choked, coughing, squinting into the unholy glare.

He was too late. And in the end, the Prophecy …
in the act of salvation … destroy that which he loved …

‘Robert!’ Finnlay staggered towards him, Micah following. They were both bleeding, but neither badly. ‘I can’t find her, Robert!’ Finnlay grabbed his sleeve. ‘Seeking her. I can’t find her. She was wounded. I—’

Robert shook him off, closing his eyes, though he could still see the fallen tree engulfed in flame. He heard Andrew run forward, and Finn and Micah hold him back. After that, he shut the world out.

Jenn?

Jenny? Please? Answer me!

Please?

He closed his eyes, summoned the power, all the raw power that had been building in him since that first moment of blind panic, all the way here, all the way to this moment in his life. He let it go, surging through his whole body. Seeking, burning through the burning forest, looking, knowing he would find what he needed because he had to, because she couldn’t be dead. The Prophecy couldn’t be real. It couldn’t win. Not like this!

He gasped and staggered forward, but Finnlay kept him upright, kept him breathing, and he could feel Micah close by, steady in his silence, See their auras in the black, inky night, see the faint humming glow of the fire and the bloody wastefulness of it and he kept pushing, sliding and slipping until the demon burst inside him, clawing at the power, vicious and cruel and sending it further and harder than he could on his own.

He could no longer control it, but the demon had only ever struck her once, and then with no power. As his terror blossomed, he let the demon free.

His eyes snapped open, feeling for, finding, grabbing hold of the most frail, the most tentative …

Sweet Mineah, yes!
Yes!

He twisted out of Finnlay’s hold, moving forward, both of them following.

‘Robert, wait! You can’t go in there! The fire’s still too hot!’

‘She’s alive, Finn. She’s shielding. She won’t last long.’ He didn’t bother with further explanations.

He threw up his own shield, but it thinned before such forceful natural power and the heat almost blinded him. Then he grabbed hold of the demon inside him, closing his eyes, letting his Senses work as they were born to, making the world out in the darkness, giving him what he needed.

With the vengeance of the betrayed, the demon lashed out, rolling pressure before it like a wave crashing onto a rocky shore. He heard it before he saw it, his eyes opening late to find the tree moving, falling and tumbling back, taking the worst of
the fire with it, sweeping each last piece from where he would be.

He was there without thought, pushing at glowing timbers, kicking things out of the way until, at last, there she was: Jenn, huddled beneath a blackened branch, alive.

He pulled her free, cradled her in his arms as Finnlay dashed forward and helped him. Together they stumbled away to where Micah waited, their gathered horses ready.

Robert laid Jenn down then stood back, to give his brother a chance to check her injuries with hands more steady than his.

‘She’s bleeding, Robert. I need water and bandages and—’

‘We can’t stay here,’ Micah interrupted. ‘If they decide to come back—’

‘Yes.’ Robert turned in the direction the Malachi had gone. He should go after them. He should make sure—

‘Finn, get on your horse. Micah, help me get her up to him. We’ll go to your cottage, tend her wounds there. Andrew, let’s go.’

*

‘No! We can’t!’ DeMassey repeated, his temper running raw as his wounds were jostled. His men gathered around him, those who had survived, who had left their dead friends behind as they’d fled before a wave of unbridled panic. It had hit them all, without exception, a force that could only have come from the Douglas.

‘We have no choice, Luc,’ one man on his left insisted. ‘When Nash finds out we killed the Ally, we’re all dead. And we’ll never get the boy now!’

‘The best we can do,’ another joined in, ‘is to make it look like it wasn’t our fault! That what happened had nothing to do with us. You must see that!’

‘And what do we say about the boy?’ DeMassey tried to insert reason into this rage. His men were angry that they had been so afraid, and were now determined to get their courage back, no matter the cost.

‘Say he died in the fire.’

‘How is Nash going to know the difference? How important can the boy be if it’s taken Nash this long to get him?’

‘Come on, Luc! We don’t have much time!’

No, it wasn’t their fault – it was
his
fault, for not considering that the boy’s mother might still be in the area, or the Rebel; for risking their lives on something that had nothing to do with them or their ambitions – for dragging his people into Nash’s web of lies in the first place. And because it was his fault, he tried for reason now. ‘You honestly think that burning Maitland is going to achieve that?’

His men clamoured to answer.

‘It would serve them right!’

‘We can make Nash believe. If we all tell the same story, how can he doubt us?’

‘Don’t even say the Ally was there!’

‘We gave them a chance to surrender. It’s not our fault they died – and I’m damned if I’m going to die because of that bitch and her whelp!’

With cries of agreement, his men turned almost as one and galloped towards the manor house, leaving him inside the shadows of a mighty oak.

After that, he could only sit by and watch.

Finnlay dropped the bags on the rug before the fireplace as Micah quickly piled logs for Finnlay to light. The cottage was freezing cold after Micah’s long absence, and smelled faintly of damp. Then Robert brought Jenn in, carrying her as though she were made of glass. With gentle hands, he laid her on the bed.

He was afraid. Finnlay could see it in his brother’s eyes, in his short breaths, in the pale cast to his skin. Robert was afraid.

Finnlay quickly pulled things he needed from his bags. Hopefully, Micah would have more. He turned to Jenn to find Robert smoothing the hair back from her forehead, frowning down at her, unsure whether he should stay or go.

What was it about these two? Was it Fate that drew them together, then tore them apart again? Or was it something
within themselves that refused to see what was so painfully obvious to everyone else around them?

Micah brought bowls of clean water, cloths and bandages. Without saying a word, he moved Robert out of the way and began to clear away the area surrounding Jenn’s wounds. Robert stood back, Andrew at his side, wincing as each new cut was revealed, not seeing the same expressions on Andrew’s face.

Finnlay bent his head to work. ‘Robert, you might want to try Seeking for DeMassey.’

‘I don’t know his aura well enough to Seek him.’

‘Or perhaps just check to make sure they’re not on their way back – or that anybody else is approaching. I need some time to get Jenn ready to travel. If we can get her to Maitland, we’ll be a lot safer.’

‘Of course.’ Robert took two steps towards the door, then turned back to Finnlay, his face hopelessly vulnerable. He went to say something else, but then shut his mouth. He closed the door quietly.

‘Andrew?’

‘Yes?’ The boy was immediately at his side, his face as pale as his father’s.

‘Go and dig out the driest wood from Micah’s pile outside. Just small stuff that will catch and burn quickly. We won’t be here long enough for a big blaze. Can you do that?’

‘Yes.’ Andrew paused a moment longer, then turned and ran outside as though speed alone could help his mother.

‘This is not good,’ Micah murmured, pasting some sweet-smelling salve into the fold of a bandage before pressing it over a wound in Jenn’s side. ‘How did she get these … Damn it, I knew she should have had more combat training – and with a sword at that. By the gods, I was supposed to be protecting her!’

‘No, your job was to protect Andrew, mine was to protect Jenn. Let’s make sure the blame is apportioned correctly.’

‘Oh, right, fine. Whatever you say.’

‘Trust me, Micah. If he thinks it’s your fault, he’ll kill you if she dies.’

‘And he won’t kill you?’

‘I’m his brother.’

‘Yes,’ Micah whispered, the black humour gone from his voice. ‘You are.’

*

In the few minutes it had taken to get Jenn and Andrew settled inside, Robert had completely forgotten that it was still winter outside. His cloak was muddied and covered in ash, smoke and blood, but he pulled it around himself, as he paced away from the cottage, digging his heels into the slimy snow being drilled down into icy water and further, into mud.