Rise of the Mages (Rise of the Mages 2) (26 page)

Xan bolted upright. The light from the corridor outlined a small figure in the doorway—Dylan.

While Brant stirred to life in the next bed, Xan tried to shake the remnants of a dream, but the mummer’s farce played again and again in his head—Brant kicked in the door. Ashley threw her arms around him. “My hero!” She turned to Xan. “Here’s a copper. Be a good man and take my bags to the carriage.”

“Get up!” Dylan yelled. “The guardsmen!”

Brant’s heavy feet hit the floor. “Where? Downstairs?”

Xan knew he should do something, that he should care. Instead, he buried his face in his pillow. What difference would it make? If Justav wanted to kill him, it’d at least be a release from worrying. And from thinking about Ashley.

A hand shook Xan’s shoulder. Groggy, he squinted against a lamp burning in the corner. He must have fallen back to sleep. Brant stood over him already fully dressed.

Xan sat up. “What’s going on?”

“We think the catcher camped a few hours from town,” Brant said. “It was a long night.”

“Was?” Xan said. “What time is it?”

“Near first light.”

Xan exploded to his feet. “And we’re still at the inn? What the blast are you doing?”

“Me? You the one who—” Brant muttered something under his breath. “Lady Ashley believes a word from her will stop a horde of guardsmen in their tracks.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Brant pointed at the door. “She’s downstairs. Tell her that.”

How was it possible that Ashley was so different than the girl he met in the meadow? There was no sweetness. Not even reasonableness. Beyond her physical beauty, there was nothing to recommend her.

Surely, the girl from those twenty nights still existed somewhere beneath everything. Right? Too bad she’d stopped dreaming when they’d rescued her. Maybe meeting her there again would have helped.

Xan rubbed a hand through his hair. “You’re right. Sorry I yelled at you.” He looked at a mess of clothes and supplies scattered on the floor by his saddlebags. “I’ll be down in a second.”

Instead of leaving, Brant sat on the opposite bed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” The listless comment hung pitifully between them, but what was Xan going to say? That the girl he thought he loved literally didn’t know he existed, hated his guts, and fell for Brant instead. What kind of complete loser would say that?

“I’m worried about you.” Brant paused. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for … anything I may have done to make things worse.”

No. They were not having that conversation! Xan shrugged. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Except deliberately moving in on a girl that … But that was just Brant being Brant. “It’s been a long couple of weeks.”

“We’re cool then?”

The guy had saved Xan so many times. What was a little treachery between friends? “We’re cool.”

“We’ll reach the garrison today. An escort of the duke’s soldiers will make things better.” Brant clapped him on the back, making Xan wince. “Don’t give up.”

If they weren’t arrested by those soldiers or captured by Justav first.

Xan tried grinning but feared the expression came out as a grimace. “I’ll be fine. Just give me a few minutes to get ready.”

After Brant left, Xan chewed another of his dwindling seeds. A bolt of energy hit him, and he rushed about stuffing his dirty clothes in a saddlebag.

Downstairs, the others were almost finished with breakfast. Porridge bubbled in a pot over a fire. Great. How was he going to gulp it down without burning himself?

Cheese and biscuits it was. Again. He almost gagged at the thought.

But did he have to settle for a cold meal? He had the ability to add and remove energy from a fire. Could he also increase and lower an object’s temperature?

Worth a shot. The amount of magic required would be akin to lighting a candle—not noticeable or traceable.

Power flowed to the food, cooling the porridge to match the room. Neat. With another thought, he added a smidge of energy. Not too hot or too cold. He downed the entire bowl without bothering to sit.

Lainey glared at him, and he expected a comment about his manners. Instead, she whispered something to Dylan, who rose to get bread for Marisol.

Xan grimaced. He was experiencing the lowest point in his life, and his sister didn’t care. And one of his only friends was so caught up with some farmer girl that he didn’t even notice anything was wrong.

And his other friend …

Ashley flicked her hair off her neck and laughed at something Brant said. Xan thought back to the night he’d spent alone and cold on the plain right after they’d escaped the cave. As bad as that experience had been, he’d felt less isolated at that point than in an inn’s common room surrounded by his friends.

He stalked to the stable. They needed to get a move on anyway. After loading Honey, he rode her outside into the chill of the predawn morning.

With arms clenched tight against the cold biting him through his cloak, he debated just leaving. It wasn’t like he’d be missed, and it seemed unlikely Ashley’s father would help him. But he was tired of running. One way or another, the duke would bring resolution.

On the road leading from town, something moved, and Xan squinted. What was it? There wasn’t enough light to see clearly.

He stared for several minutes. Should he go check it out?

As he’d about decided to do just that, rustling from inside the stable indicated the others loading their horses. Best to wait for them. Besides, with dawn fast approaching, he could almost make out the shape.

Over the next few minutes, the world lightened, and the shape of a man appeared—a man dressed in black.

Xan dismounted and rushed into the stable. “The road is guarded.”

The others stopped loading the horses. Brant ran to the stable door and peeked around the edge. “You’re right.”

Xan gritted his teeth. Of course he was right. “I can take him.”

“And the archers they’ve probably hid in the woods?” Brant said.

Xan narrowed his eyes and turned toward the door. “I’ll take them out, too.” He’d save the day. Maybe that would convince Ashley of … something.

Brant grabbed Xan’s arm. “Better if I sneak behind them and use Dylan’s blowgun.”

“That’ll take what, an hour? More? If Justav hasn’t broke camp yet, he surely will soon. We don’t have time.” Xan tore from Brant’s grasp.

“Then we’ll avoid the road altogether and skirt through the woods.”

Xan shook his head. “Still too slow. Trust me. I can do this fast and without killing anyone.” He met Brant’s eyes, pleading.

“Okay. Go.”

Xan would be the hero—or the goat. How was he going to get through the ambush? Why had he said he could? Distance and dense foliage thwarted his efforts to find hidden figures in the woods. He couldn’t stop what he couldn’t see. Crap, even if he could see them, what could he do?

Think. Everyone was counting on him. They had to get through fast.

Burn everything. The woods. The sentry. Kill everyone in his path. Xan climbed atop Honey.

The guardsman in the middle of the road rubbed his ears and cheeks. Such a human gesture to fend off the cold. Someone’s son. Xan sighed. There had to be something he could do that didn’t involve killing. He patted his arms against the chill. The heat from the horse’s body penetrated his pants. At least his legs were warm.

Wait. Considering his success with the porridge, could he scan for heat like he could with fires? He quested with magic. Four areas were warmer than the surroundings—two in the trees on the right, one in the brush to the left, and around the man in the road.

Xan had them, but the problem remained as to what to do with them. His mind spun. If he could drop the archers’ body temperature low enough, he could incapacitate them without killing them. But he couldn’t directly pull heat from them.

He could, however, from objects around them.

Xan willed the temperature of the ground around one of the archers to drop. The trick was to figure out how much. Too little and he’d end up a pincushion. Too much and he’d kill the man.

Heat rushed from the surroundings into the ground, and Xan kept pulling until the entire area was well below ambient temperature before moving on to each of the two other archers in turn. Once the last of Xan’s friends rode from the stable, he urged Honey into a gallop. “Follow me!”

The guardsman in the center of the road drew his sword. “Stop in the name of the king!”

Hoof beats sounded behind Xan. He leaned forward and tightened his legs on the horse’s side. Honey surged.

Xan concentrated on the hilt of the man’s sword. Heat flowed into it like water circling a drain and disappeared into a lake of magic. All temperature drained from the man’s hands. Ice crystals formed on his fingers and on the blade.

Not thirty yards from Xan, the guardsman’s face flashed surprise before contorting in pain. His fingers flexed, trying to unclench the sword, but the hilt stuck tight. He shook the weapon, and the blade tumbled loose. A chunk of the man’s hand fell with it.

Metal clanked to the ground and shattered. Shards of shiny steel and frozen, mutilated flesh showered the dirt. The guardsman stared at his misshapen hand through a face masked with horror.

Xan bore directly at him.

The guardsman tore his gaze from his deformity at the sound of the five thundering horses. With only feet to spare, he dove to the side.

Xan snarled at him. “We have a queen, you rads-infested trash!” He pulled hard on Honey’s reins and waved for the others to pass.

Lainey glared hatred at him.

The sentry collapsed and thrashed about with his mangled hand held tight to his chest. Shimmering red clusters littered the area.

Bile rose in Xan’s throat. Maybe she had the right of it. He followed after the others as soon as the last one cleared the fallen guard.

A few hundred yards later, Ashley waved him forward. At least he’d finally done something right. Maybe she’d actually compliment him. He eased Honey into a gap between her and Brant.

Ashley’s nostrils flared. “You imbecile. I could have been killed.”

Xan flinched. What?

She spoke through clenched teeth. “You’re lucky they didn’t have an ambush set up like Brant warned you. A stray arrow could have hit me, and you just charge ahead as if you know what you’re doing? If you ever again put me in danger with your irresponsible behavior, my father will decorate the castle wall with your head.”

He shrank from her. “Ashley—”

She huffed and glared at him through stony eyes.

Oh. Right. Title. “My Lady Ashley, I …” Xan slumped his shoulders. “I have no excuse. Please forgive me.” He’d never be able to please her. Why should he try?

“Tread lightly. This is the last of your incompetence I’ll stand.”

Xan clutched impotently at the reins. He couldn’t face her anymore and slunk off to the rear of the line. She hated him. Justav would probably catch them before they reached the garrison. What was the point of continuing?

Stop that! He wouldn’t give up. Just a little further to safety.

Every few minutes, he glanced at the road behind them. No riders. No dust plume. No sign of the guardsmen.

A couple of hours later, he relaxed a bit. Maybe they’d actually make it.

Less than a hundred yards further down the road, Spear started limping. Brant stopped and dismounted.

Xan rode from the end of the line. “What now?”

Brant examined Spear’s right foreleg. He tapped the bottom of the hoof starting from the front. The horse tried to pull away when Brant reached the back. “He’s hurt. There’s a stone bruise on his frog.”

A what bruise where? Xan almost asked before deciding he didn’t really care. “Can he continue?”

“He can’t carry a rider, so I’ll have to double with someone. And we’ll be slowed to a walk for Spear to keep up.”

“We don’t have time!” Xan glanced back. “They could top that rise at any moment.”

“What else can we do?”

“Leave the stupid horse. Tie him in the woods or something.”

Brant let out a long, slow breath. “Guess they wouldn’t bother a hurt horse, and we can come back for him.” He gently pulled Spear’s reins. “C’mon buddy.”

Xan offered to let Brant ride with him, but besides the fact that Honey couldn’t support their combined weight, his friend had better options. Ashley giggled as Brant wrapped his hands around her waist and whispered in her ear.

Fighting a sudden compulsion to light the forest on fire, Xan turned his head from the couple. He fell to the back once again and rode there alone.

With the doubled-up riders, Ashley’s horse rode even slower than Honey, and the road’s winding prevented Xan from seeing more than a couple of furlongs behind him.

They topped a rise, and the way ahead lay straight for several miles. Xan faced backward more often than forward as they rode down the hill. With each step, he hoped fervently that Justav wouldn’t appear.