The Spell Realm (19 page)

Gala nodded, hurrying inside the house as a light rain began. Blaise followed, already taking out his magic supplies. She watched as he spread out his cards on the table and began to write what looked like a series of complex spells.

“Can I help?” she asked. “Maybe I can do something too.”

Blaise hesitated for a second. “Do you understand all the spells I’m writing?”

“Of course,” Gala said, surprised that he would even ask. “In fact, I think I can do it even more efficiently—if I wrote those spells, that is. I’ll do it my way, though. I could use more practice.”

He gave her a rueful smile. “Sometimes I forget how advanced you’ve become in such a short time. In that case, why don’t you take the neighbors’ house and strengthen its defenses as much as you can? I will put a protective bubble around both houses.”

“Why don’t you put a protective bubble around the entire village?”

“Because that’s a much more complex task, and the bigger the bubble, the less stable it is. It’s easiest to shield something small, like a person.”

Gala nodded and hurried outside. Another flash of lightning nearly blinded her, and she could feel the wind picking up as the rain intensified, the cold water lashing at her face.

The storm was on its way.

Chapter 28: Barson

The seriousness of his situation was beginning to dawn on Barson as he continued fighting Larn and the two other soldiers. He was already tired from practice, and Larn was one of his best; they had trained together since childhood. To make matters worse, Zanil and Pugan, though not the best archers, were both excellent with the sword.

Larn made a triple feint, and Barson barely managed to block what would have been a lethal blow. As they circled around the room, their feet kicking up the sand from the bags Barson had decimated earlier, Barson’s mind was racing. Why was Larn doing this? Was this a power play? It was hard for Barson to believe that, though he knew military history was rife with instances of second-in-command trying for the top. Larn was practically family, about to marry Barson’s sister; surely it wouldn’t make sense for him to do this.

As the fight continued, Barson did his best to defend himself without killing his soon-to-be brother-in-law. Although it made the fight more challenging, he could not bring himself to do that. It helped that the three men seemed to be fighting without coordinating their movements. It was odd, but he was grateful for it. He was also confused. They all knew how to fight as a team, and the fact that they were not using such a powerful advantage was strange. Was this some sign of what was really going on? If so, Barson was still not sure what that was.

Zanil came at him next, leaving Pugan and Larn behind.

Barson made a split-second decision. Pretending to go for Zanil’s left shoulder, he switched tactics as the man blocked, and thrust his sword deep into his opponent’s thigh. Blood gushed from the wound, but to Barson’s dismay, Zanil didn’t stop. Instead, he continued to attack Barson, each step causing more and more blood to spill from the leg wound. It was as if Zanil had lost all reason, all sense of self-preservation.

An ugly suspicion stirred in Barson’s mind.
Sorcery.
His men were somehow being controlled.

Cursing, Barson took advantage of Zanil’s clumsy movements and punched him in the face, knocking him out. At that moment, Pugan and Larn reached him again. Though they still didn’t act in a coordinated fashion, they attacked together, forcing Barson to retreat as he parried their furious onslaught.

Everything seemed to happen in a blur of motion. Pugan sliced at Barson’s forearm, inflicting another wound. The pain was sharp and sobering. Spotting an opening in Pugan’s defense, Barson swung his sword at the soldier’s exposed throat, dodging Larn’s attack at the same time. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the young soldier falling to the ground, his blood seeping into the spilled sand.

There was no time for guilt or regret, as Barson felt himself weakening from his own loss of blood. If he didn’t bring this fight to a swift conclusion, he would die.

Whatever was done to Larn seemed to have actually made him a better fighter in some ways. Larn’s usual problem was letting his emotions get the best of him, but right now he appeared to be fighting with deadly precision—methodically, without passion. A thrust followed by a block, followed by a counter attack, over and over again.

As the fight continued, Barson began to feel his blood loss more acutely. A wave of dizziness washed over him, blurring his vision. Larn lunged at him in that moment, and their swords clashed together. Gathering his last strength, Barson punched Larn in the stomach, hard, desperately hoping that the pain would snap the man out of whatever spell he was under.

It did not. Instead, Barson felt a fire explode in his right shoulder as Larn’s sword penetrated his own defenses.

Despite the injury, Barson’s right hand instinctively moved to block what would’ve been a killing blow. At the same time, his left hand grabbed Larn’s sword arm with all his might. Everything depended on disarming his friend. Almost dislocating his own shoulder, Barson ripped at Larn’s sword, causing the object to fly across the room.

Disarmed, Larn still didn’t make a sound. Instead, he hit Barson’s wounded shoulder, causing an explosion of agony to spread. Cursing, Barson felt his sword slip from his numb fingers. As it hit the ground, he managed to kick it across the room.

They were both weaponless now, except for their fists—but that didn’t diminish the danger one bit. Larn fought like a man possessed, and Barson did his best to remain conscious while trying to knock him out with his still-functional left hand.

It was a futile effort, and Larn kept landing blow after blow to Barson’s injured flesh. His vision going gray, Barson pretended to stumble, as if he was passing out, and as Larn lunged at him, Barson swung his right hand in a vicious uppercut, ignoring the agony in his wounded shoulder. Dimly he thought he heard a crunching sound of bone breaking, but it wasn’t clear if it was his fist or Larn’s jaw . . . and then Barson’s world went dark as his consciousness finally fled.

Chapter 29: Blaise

As Blaise continued working on the protective spells, people began coming in, one family at a time. Before long, every room of Liva’s house was crammed full of villagers. Small children ran around, squealing in excitement, while most of the adults were somber and frightened, tense with anxiety.

In the meantime, the weather outside kept getting worse with every passing second. Rain lashed at the windows, and the wind picked up, its gusts buffeting the house with startling force. Every lightning strike seemed to be getting closer, every boom of thunder more deafening than before.

“Has everyone made it in?” Blaise yelled, trying to be heard over the chaotic din of voices, wind, and rain. “Once I put up the shield over the houses, no one will be able to come through.”

“I don’t know,” Liva yelled back, shoving aside a couple of boys to get closer to him. “Many of them are in the other house—the one Gala is working on.”

Blaise quietly cursed. Given the speed with which the storm was approaching, they needed to get everyone to safety before it was too late. He had no idea how bad the storm would get, but if it was anything like the stories said, he knew it could be deadly.

As if to lend credence to his thoughts, the wooden shutters on the boarded-up kitchen window began to shake, the wind rattling them with such force that a panel broke off, flying into the room. A child cried out, then began to scream, and Blaise saw a little girl with her arm bleeding. He hesitated for a second, wanting to heal her, but there was a more important task he needed to accomplish first. If he didn’t get the shield up and strengthen the house walls promptly, they would all be in trouble.

As Blaise was finishing the last lines of his spell, he heard a loud thump, then another and another. It sounded like rocks were falling on the house, each hit more frightening than the next. He could hear the wood above them creaking and breaking, and he knew he had to hurry before the roof caved in on them. A cold fist squeezed his chest as he realized that Gala could be out there—that she might be facing the storm on her own.

“It’s hail,” someone yelled. “The hail has started . . . Mom, look at the size of those ice pieces!”

Forcing himself to ignore the panicked shouts, Blaise wrote the last line of the spell and quickly checked his work before loading the cards into the Stone.

A minute later, the worst of the racket ceased, the shield dampening the sound of the battering hail. Jumping to his feet, Blaise ran to the door, eager to retrieve Gala from the other house.

“Blaise, where are you going?” Liva screamed. “It’s too dangerous out there!”

“I’ll be right back,” Blaise yelled back. “I just need to check on the neighbors’ house.” And opening the door, he stepped outside.

* * *

The sight that greeted Blaise was surreal. The sky was a deep, violent purple, the clouds heavy and stretching as far as the eye could see. Flashes of lightning intermittently bisected the sky, and the smell of ozone was sharp in the air. Beyond the barrier, the deadly hail continued, icy rocks falling from the sky like boulders in a mountain slide.

Looking down in disbelief, Blaise saw that some pieces of ice underneath his feet were bigger than his head. If he hadn’t gotten the shield up in time, the roof would’ve been destroyed. As is, his barrier would not last for long under that kind of assault, he realized, staring up at the flickering shimmer of the bubble surrounding the two houses.

His heartbeat picking up, he ran across the street, the walls of the bubble providing protection from both hail and wind. Nonetheless, he could feel the crackle of electricity in the air, and the fine hair on the back of his neck stood up in response.

Suddenly, a bright flash of light blinded him, and the ground vibrated under his feet. Sparks flew just outside the barrier, and Blaise realized that a tree nearby had been struck by lightning, the force of the blast splitting it apart.

Almost immediately, there was another flash, followed by another clap of thunder. Still running, Blaise realized that the lightning struck the village again, this time setting one of the houses on fire.

The storm was worsening.

Frantically knocking on the door of the neighbors’ house, Blaise stared in disbelief as the deadly force struck the village again and again, the ice melting wherever lightning touched the ground.

“Blaise!” The door opened so suddenly that he jumped, startled. Gala was standing there, a worried expression on her face.

Tremendously relieved to see that she was all right, he hugged her for a quick second. “Come,” he said, stepping back. “We need to get back to Liva’s house. I left my Stone there without thinking, and I need to create a new shield, as this one will not hold up for long. Did you finish everything?”

She nodded. “I just got done strengthening this house. A woman got hurt trying to get here, and I healed her—that’s what took me so long.”

“Good, let’s go,” Blaise said tersely, grabbing her hand. Lightning struck the barrier, sparks flying everywhere, and he saw the bubble flicker even more. “We have to get back there, now.”

They ran to Liva’s house as the barrier flickered again and again, the shimmer fading in spots as boulder-sized hail continued to pound against it, and bolts of lightning struck over and over again.

“Quickly, inside!” Blaise pushed Gala into the house just as the shield gave way under the assault.

He was less than a foot away from the door himself when he heard a sickening crack, followed by an agony so intense that his entire world went black.

Chapter 30: Augusta

Running through the hallways, Augusta ignored the startled looks she was getting from the apprentices and other sorcerers. All that mattered to her now was finding Barson. Where could he have gone?

As she’d expected, his quarters were empty. Her breathing fast and uneven, she stopped to think for a second. There was a spell she could do to aid her in the search, she realized after a moment. If Barson was anywhere in the vicinity, perhaps she would be able to hear him.

Pulling out her cards, she frantically began scribbling. Two minutes later she could hear the mice squeaking in the distant hallways and the chatter of conversation on the other side of the Tower.

She also heard a sound that nearly made her heart stop: the ding of metal clashing against metal. It was coming from the Guard’s training barracks.

Augusta ran there with all the speed she could muster.

Rounding the corner, she saw Barson locked in a deadly combat with his friend Larn. Two other men were lying on the floor, surrounded by sand and blood. As she opened her mouth to scream Barson’s name, she saw both men slump to the floor, a pool of blood spreading out from under their bodies.

“No!” Augusta had no idea how she had ended up across the room, but suddenly she was there, kneeling next to Barson. She could hear his ragged breathing, and tears of gratitude ran down her face. He wasn’t dead. Not yet, at least. Her hands shaking, she pulled out her cards and began working on a healing spell.