The Balborite Curse (Book 4) (23 page)

Tallin shouted out,
“Rhond-risa!”
To his relief, a barrier of glowing energy materialized between them in time and blocked the attack. Skera-Kina roared with savage fury and flung great balls of blue fire in his direction, but they bounced harmlessly off the protective shield.

Sweat covered her body, but she was relentless. Even as she continued her frontal attack, she uttered another dark spell under her breath. The drain from both spells would have killed a lesser spellcaster, but even as her awareness dimmed, she willed herself to ignore the agony and remain conscious.

Branches cracked and snapped behind Tallin
—he glanced over his shoulder at the noise and saw a rustling of leaves before the roots came alive, rising up from the earth to entangle him. The vines wrapped themselves around his arms and legs, enveloping him like the coils of a snake. It was a passive attack, one that he had not expected.

“Anglie-gleis,”
he said, and the vines around his arms loosened slightly.
“Anglie-gleis,”
he repeated again, louder, and the vines turned brittle. Tallin yanked his arms free, but his legs were still bound tight.

Skera-Kina whispered words of power, and more vines sprouted from the earth to strangle him.

As he struggled against his bonds, his shield wavered, and then collapsed. There was a smell of burnt sulfur in the air, and she stepped forward to finish him. Tallin was overwhelmed
—the tendrils wound so tightly around his body that he could not move a finger.

Skera-Kina remembered the sword and turned around to recover it. She found it lying underneath a bush. She snatched it up and rushed back to Tallin, who was still fighting to break free.

Now she stood breathless above him like a pillar of fire. Her lips trembled and her face was pale, but her eyes burned with triumph. “This battle is finished. You fought well, dwarf, but I am the victor. Submit to me now, and your death shall be merciful and swift. Refuse me and I will make you beg for death.”

Tallin jerked up his chin defiantly. “I shall not yield to you,
bloodrat.
Do what you will, but you will not strip me of my honor.
”

Skera-Kina tightened her fist, whispering under her breath. A vine crossed his cheek and wrapped itself around his throat, digging into the soft skin of his neck. “Surrender to me, half-ling,” she said quietly, “or I will slaughter every dwarf that lives inside this mountain.” She wiped drops of blood from her nose with the back of her hand.

Tallin stiffened, his face twisting in anger. “I won’t submit to you!” He struggled and pulled at the vines, but it was useless—he was trapped. Tallin’s eyes sparkled with defiance, and the vines tightened again. His vision grew hazy.

“You worthless, puling half-blood! I will kill all of you!” She tilted her head down and raised the glowing sword in the air.

Just before his consciousness slipped away, there was a loud crash. Skera-Kina glanced over her shoulder and stared dumbfounded as the red gates of Highport creaked open.

Mugla hobbled out slowly, leaning on her cane. She smiled sweetly, cleared her throat, and said, “Excuse me, young lady, but I would appreciate it if you stepped away from my nephew.”

Mugla Hoorlick faced Skera-Kina with a placid expression.
“Nice sword you have there, missy. You should set it down.”

“Stay out of this, you old witch,” barked the assassin. “I’ll deal with you later.” Tallin was unconscious, his skin turning blue as the vines drew tighter around his neck. Skera-Kina leaned down and flipped his head back, exposing his neck. Then she raised her sword again to strike.

Mugla’s eyes narrowed. She pounded her cane into the ground, and it transformed into a glowing staff. A ball of green flame erupted on its knobby end. The old sorceress raised her finger and pointed at Skera-Kina. “I’m asking you to step back, and I’m not going to ask you again.”

Skera-Kina didn’t budge. She looked at Mugla and sneered.

“Have it your way, then.” The old woman raised her staff, and there was a crackling sound. The wind picked up, creating a whirlwind of pebbles in the dirt. The little cyclone seemed to circle about wildly, and then focused on Skera-Kina, driving her away from Tallin and ripping the sword out of her grip. The sword flew through the air and landed next to Mugla’s feet.

Skera-Kina’s complexion became blotchy with anger. She clawed the air, leaping forward to attack the old woman. Without flinching, Mugla swung her staff like a club. Her aim was true, and it struck Skera-Kina hard across the face, knocking her back.

Mugla marched forward and strategically placed herself in front of Tallin’s body. She pointed at Skera-Kina with her staff and said firmly, “Now listen, you wicked shrew, you’ve caused enough trouble here already, and I don’t want to have to kill you. So you run along now—just run along!”

Skera-Kina rose up in shock, so livid with fury that she was unable to speak. She charged toward Mugla, her body glowing with energy. Mugla dodged and unleashed a blast of freezing air into Skera-Kina’s face. It was so cold that ice crystals formed on her eyebrows and eyelashes. It stunned her, and she covered her face with her hands.

“Don’t test me, girl. If you push me, you’ll leave me no choice,” said the old witch. Her voice was softer now, more menacing. “I’ve been spellcasting for over
three hundred years.
I
’ve
forgotten
more spells than you
’ll ever know!”

Skera-Kina circled to attack again, but this time she was more wary. She threw a fireball, but Mugla stood her ground, deflecting it easily with her staff.

“Right then,” Mugla rasped. “You’ve run out of chances.” She threw off her shawl and raised the staff above her head. A streak of greenish fire erupted from the tip, and Skera-Kina blinked in surprise as a burst of flame shot toward her. For a moment, the air was filled with black smoke.

Another spell hit Skera-Kina and she stiffened. Seconds later, she fell to the ground, gasping for air. Before she could rise, Mugla cast a blazing circle of green flame around her.

Mugla grinned smugly. “That’s an old spell, dearie. One rarely used—most sorcerers don’t like using paralysis fire anymore, but I find that it has its uses. Don’t try crossing the circle, or you’ll regret it.”

Mugla kneeled down and slapped Tallin’s face gently. “Tallin? Wake up, dear.” She slapped him again, a little harder. This time, he shifted and groaned.

His eyelids fluttered open, and color flooded back into his cheeks. “Aunt? What happened?” His voice was hoarse. “My head’s throbbing.”

“You were attacked. Be still a moment. I need to free you.” Mugla muttered a quick spell, and the vines withered and fell away, exposing deep bruises on his arms and around his neck. She clucked her tongue as her fingers moved across his body. “Your right arm is fractured in two places, and you have several broken ribs, as well.”

Behind them, Skera-Kina paced inside the ring like a caged animal, waiting for the opportunity to escape. Sparks flew as she tested the perimeter of the circle for areas of weakness.

“Get up, Tallin. We must move quickly,” she said. “That spell won’t hold her forever. She’s growing stronger and stronger, and my power is weakening. She’s too powerful—the best I can do is hold her at bay.”

“I can’t allow her to escape,” Tallin protested. “She’s a threat to us all—I must stop her before she invades the mountain.”

Mugla shook her head. “You can’t harm her while she’s within the circle. Any spell that you cast against her will be reversed against you. We must retreat inside the mountain.”

“It’s my duty to stop her before she can harm anyone else!”

“Sorry, but there is no help for it—you’ll get killed if you step inside that circle, and you’re in no shape to fight,” Mugla repeated. “You have half your strength—you don’t stand a chance against her in your condition.”

Tallin felt sick with rage. He wanted to fly at Skera-Kina’s throat. A shower of sparks erupted behind them. Skera-Kina bellowed, hurling magic against the wards that held her.

Mugla frowned. “For once in your life, stop arguing with me and listen!” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “We must go. Her strength is beyond imagining.”

“Very well,” Tallin muttered. He stood up, facing Skera-Kina, and was surprised to see humor in her eyes.

She bared her sharpened teeth and hissed. “I’ll kill you yet, dragon rider. I’ll get you—
both
of you.
”

“You’ve failed to kill me again. Shouldn’t you find other ways to amuse yourself?”

“Don't worry,” she said, advancing to the very edge of the circle. “I’ll destroy you before this year is finished—even if it costs me my last breath.”

Mugla gasped; her face flushed pink. Tallin moved forward to steady her—Mugla’s strength was ebbing fast. “We must get back inside the mountain!” he said.

“Wait!” Mugla said weakly. “Go pick up the sword.”

Tallin looked back at the blade. It was lying on the ground at the edge of the path. He hesitated. “I dare not touch it. It’s enchanted.”

“That’s a dwarvish blade,” Mugla said, “and the enchantment won’t harm you. I crafted that sword myself over two hundred years ago. It will feel hot to the touch, but nothing more.”

Tallin knelt down to retrieve the blade, groaning as his broken ribs objected. He felt a flash of heat and light that instantly made him feel better. The blade shimmered a brilliant blue, then turned to white fire. What a magnificent weapon, he thought.

“That is the
Sword of Sedaria
. It
’s a warrior’s blade. Bolrakei may have bartered it for a trifle, but I’m stealing it back. It belongs to us now.”

Skera-Kina watched furiously as Tallin sheathed the sword in his belt. “That sword is mine—you have no right to it!” she shrieked in desperate rage, throwing her body against the circle in a wild frenzy to free herself. Tallin heard a sizzle and the putrid smell of burnt flesh.

The green fire surrounding Skera-Kina began to waver, and Mugla swayed on her feet. He could not wait much longer—his aunt was growing weaker with each passing second. Tallin steadied Mugla with his good arm and helped her back inside the mountain. The guards rushed to seal the doors as they rushed inside.

Just in time, the gates swung shut with a clang. Moments later, an ear-splitting rumble filled the air, followed by a tremendous crash against the walls as Skera-Kina resumed her attack.

“Man the gates!” Tallin shouted. He could hear the iron hinges rasping under the strain. The walls shook and quivered, and rock showered down around them. “Support those hinges!” he ordered, as men scrambled everywhere.

Mugla lay dazed near the doorway, too weak to move. Tallin tried to ignore the shooting pains in his arm and chest. His arm was swollen to twice its normal size and his ribs ached. He felt stunned; every breath he took was like drawing fire into his lungs. Though exhausted and injured, he could not rest. He could not risk a healing spell—it might weaken him so much that he would faint, and he knew he would have to hold the gates alone.

The clan leader, Utan, was busy adding wood braces to the gates and surrounding walls. His beard was drenched in sweat, and he rushed about like a man in a fever, doing his best to perform the duties of three men. Guards stationed themselves at the doors, armed with a motley collection of weapons—knives, pickaxes, rusty swords, and improvised tools.

Utan tried his best to calm the terrified dwarves, urging them to shield themselves as best they could from falling debris. Women and children fled to hide in the deepest caverns of the mountain; others huddled in groups near the doors, paralyzed by fear.

Tallin looked around in dismay. The Vardmiters were brave, but they would be no match for Skera-Kina.

The doors trembled as Skera-Kina struck again and again. He bit his lip and whispered a desperate spell to strengthen the iron hinges. He added a second spell to strengthen the surrounding walls, not knowing if it was already too late, or if either spell would work at all.

Urgent moments passed. Torches bobbed on the walls every time the ground shook. Every thunderous blow was like driving a chisel into dry plaster—all around them, the walls and ceiling crumbled. Rubble fell from the walls and ceilings, creating clouds of choking dust. From inside the mountain, Tallin could hear Skera-Kina shouting out horrible words of destruction.

Eventually the blasts lessened, and then ceased altogether. With piercing relief he saw that Mugla had awakened. She uttered a faint cry and sat up, blinking, her eyes glazed with confusion. “How long have I been unconscious?”

“Only a short while. The attack has stopped.” His legs trembled and he felt a dull ache over his entire body. His chest was on fire.

Mugla nodded and got up, walking toward the door. She opened the little panel and peered outside. “Skera-Kina is gone. What a nasty creature she is.”

She scratched her arms absently. Now that Tallin had the time to notice, he saw that Mugla’s face and arms were covered with tiny blisters, a side effect of her spell.

Tallin ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m the one she’s after. I must leave this place. As long as I stay here, you’re all in danger.”