Small Magics (65 page)

“Stay out of sight,” he whispered. “With luck, they won’t even notice you.”

“But you and George—”

“Will fight better knowing that you’re safe. Please,” he added when she hesitated. “Let us do this. All right?”

“Aye.”

“Have your knife out. If one tries to grab you, stab for his face or cut at his throat.”

She swallowed convulsively. “I will.” Tears started flowing down her face, and Thomas felt his own answering. “Oh, Thomas.”

“Shush!” He took her in his arms again, pulling her down behind the cover of the tree and kissed her desperately. She kissed back, her body arching hard against his. He held her as long as he dared, then let her go. She slid back into the bushes, still in sight to Thomas, but not to anyone else.

The flicker of yellow torchlight lit the night. The soldiers entered the little clearing beyond the circle. Half stayed on their horses, scanning the trees while the others tore the camp apart. Every bag and saddle bag was torn open. Every article of clothing was torn apart. The basket of food was scattered to the ground.

Thomas realized immediately what they were looking for. He turned to Eileen. She pointed behind them, to a clump of underbrush just below the edge of the center stone. All the books were wedged there, both his and the bishop’s.

“Search the area,” ordered one soldier. He was burly and dressed slightly better than the others. “Fifty yard sweep in a circle around me. Look for freshly turned earth. They must have hidden them somewhere.”

The mounted soldiers got off their horses to join in the line of men that was starting to stretch into the woods.

“What if they have the books with them?” asked one soldier.

“Then we flush them out and take them.”

“What if he does that trick first?” demanded another.

“Kill him when you see him,” was the answer, “and he won’t get a chance.”

The soldiers disappeared into the woods at the far side of the clearing. The light of their torches marking off the path of their slow circle. Thomas watched them for a moment then looked back at the books. Moving almost without sound, he picked one up and opened it. Eileen gestured at him to stay hidden. He shook his head, waving her back into the bush. She sank back, and he turned his attention to the books.

The first had the healing spell, but nothing else of use.

The second book he opened was the book of summoning. The glance he’d had at the book before told him which ritual the bishop was intending to enact that night, and the fury he didn’t have the time to feel before began to rise inside him He closed the book and set it aside, knowing that what he wanted wasn’t there.

The third book had the spell he wanted.

Eileen hissed. The sound of bodies moving through the wood had grown louder. Within the green glow of the trees he could see the red lights of the soldiers, moving slowly through the brush. His friends, he knew, couldn’t see anything but the occasional glimpse of torchlight in the pitch black of pre-dawn.

There was still time. He turned his attention back to the book, memorizing every word, putting the spell into his mind as solidly as possible. It was a simple spell, and Thomas had no doubt he would remember it.

Bushes shook nearby. The light of torches had grown stronger, almost illuminating the thick brush of the circle. The first soldier was nearly at the circle’s edge. He gently set the book down and took up his blades again. Beside him, Eileen crouched lower, trying to blend into the bush. His friends were still, weapons clenched tightly in their hands. Benjamin’s lips were moving in a silent prayer.

The soldiers advanced through the gaps between the stones, moving slowly and carefully. It was impossible for Thomas to believe that he and his friends had not been seen, even though the soldiers only had the light of their torches.

The soldiers were almost on top of them when Henry impaled one on the tip of his rapier.

“Kill them all!” Henry screamed. “ATTACK!”

Thomas, George, and Benjamin rose up screaming. The heavy thud of wood meeting flesh told Thomas that George had taken one. He had no time to think about it. He thrust his own blade into the closest soldier. The man cried out in surprise and pain. Thomas twisted the blade out and went after the next man. The soldier in front of Benjamin stumbled back but kept his feet. Three dead in the first moments of the fight.

The torch-light flickered madly as the soldiers returned the attack. They were well-trained, and now that the initial shock was gone, their greater numbers were turning into a great advantage. Fighting began to condense into little knots of action as the remaining soldiers attempted to surround the friends. The underbrush hampered their movements. Blades clashed and men shouted in rage and pain.

“Now,” screamed Henry. “Call the lightning now!”

All the soldiers stumbled back, looking wildly for lightning. Henry and Thomas used the moment to attack. Two more soldiers fell. George and the man he had been fighting both jumped back and ended up staring at each other.

Benjamin made a queer grunting noise and fell to his knees, clutching at his stomach. George, still free of his opponent, charged over, bellowing like a bull and swinging his stick for all it was worth. Another man dropped. Benjamin, behind him, struggled to get to his feet, one hand holding his stomach. The man that had been fighting George charged in again.

Blades flashed back and forth, steel flashing yellow in the torch-light and clashing hard against other steel. They were still outnumbered. Thomas and Henry pressed their attacks, but couldn’t do more than hold their own. George, driven back by two attackers, lost his balance and went down in a tangle of brush. One of the soldiers stepped in to finish him off.

Eileen screamed and charged, ducking low and burying her knife in the man’s leg. He yelled in pain and shoved hard against her, sending her sprawling. His companion stepped forward and drove his boot into her face. She hit the ground like a broken doll. The second man kicked her again and the first raised his sword above his head.

Benjamin tackled the man, knocking them both to the ground. The other soldier stabbed down at the big student as George rose to his feet. The big smith out a terrible cry and swung hard, knocking the man flying. George raised his own boot and stomped down hard. The man Benjamin had tackled didn’t get up.

Neither did Benjamin.

Thomas dodged and parried furiously against his two attackers until one soldier left an opening. Thomas thrust forward, burying his blade in the man’s body. It stuck. The man collapsed, pulling Thomas off balance. His companion took advantage of the moment to slash hard. Thomas attempted to parry with the dagger, but didn’t quite succeed. The force of the blow and the cut made his dagger hand go numb. The weapon dropped from nerveless fingers. Thomas pulled hard on his rapier, freeing it just in time to parry the man’s second cut and hack into the man’s neck. The soldier fell.

Thomas, with no other opponent in reach, ran to help Henry. The young noble was fighting hard against the two remaining soldiers. Thomas stepped forward, cut the legs out from one soldier and buried his point into the man. The last soldier died on Henry’s sword.

Thomas turned looking for others. The soldiers’ commander was retreating across the clearing with George stalking him like a bear on a doe. The commander swung his sword back and forth, trying to keep George at bay. George kept advancing. The soldier’s courage broke and he fled for his horse. He had almost mounted when George caught him. The sound of the blow that killed the man reverberated through the clearing.

The silence, after the noise of battle, was overwhelming. Torches, dropped by the soldiers, guttered on the ground, their flickering light made the shadows dance over the bodies. The wounded moaned on the ground. Thomas could see the inner lights of those still living. Some were stained deep red, others fading slowly into darkness.

Henry came towards him, bleeding from half a dozen places. “Are you all right?” the young noble asked.

“I think so. You?”

“Aye.”

Thomas looked around the circle again. “Where’s Eileen?”

“I don’t know,” Henry peered around them. “Where’s Benjamin?”

“I don’t know.”

George stumbled over. “Where’s Eileen?”

“I don’t know,” said Thomas. “I’m looking.”

Thomas stumbled back, casting around the ground for the place she’d fallen. He caught sight of her shirt, shiny with blood. “Here!”

George ran over, pushing Thomas aside and gently picking up his sister. He cradled her in his arms. She moaned at the movement.

“How is she?” asked Thomas.

“Her nose is wrecked,” said George, crying. “Her face is cut.”

“I can see that,” snapped Thomas. “How’s her skull?”

George ran his hands over it. “All right, I think.”

From behind them, Henry started to swear slowly, despairingly. Thomas went over.

Benjamin’s body was still entangled with the man he had tackled to save Eileen. There was a gaping wound between his ribs where the other soldier’s thrust had ended his life. Henry cursed again, then knelt down and closed his friend’s eyes. Thomas felt part of his own life flowing out of him as he looked at his friend’s body. A dozen moments flashed into his head; arguments over theology and nights in the tavern and quiet moments of study and reflection. Tears started to well up into his eyes even as he realized he didn’t have time for them.

Thomas stumbled away from Benjamin’s body towards the books. He picked them up and found the one he needed. It had blood on the cover. He nearly threw up, but forced back the gorge. He went over to George and Eileen.

George raised his eyes from his sister as Thomas came close. “Can you help her?”

“Not now,” Thomas said. “I can’t reach the magic, now, and we have to get Bishop Malloy.”

“Not tonight,” Henry’s voice was cold and distant. “We aren’t in any shape to face anyone. We need to get better.” He still stared down at Benjamin’s body. “Then we can kill him. Slowly.”

Thomas felt his own grief beginning to well up and he forced it ruthlessly down. “It can’t wait.”

“Why not?” Henry demanded, still looking at Benjamin’s body. “The bishop has no men left. What can he do?”

“He’s sacrificing children.”

The silence that greeted that statement was as large as the star-filled void above them.

Henry took his eyes off of Benjamin and put them on Thomas. Thomas handed him the book, opening it to the spell. The young noble took it in one hand, skimmed the first page in the light of the fallen soldier’s torches, then dropped it to the blood-soaked ground. “Bastard.”

“What does he want with children?” asked George, cradling his sister closer.

“He’s using them to build his power,” said Thomas. “The spell is supposed to bring the caster great magic. The power of life that flows in his victims’ blood is supposed to be drawn into the caster as the blood empties from their bodies.”

“Why?” demanded Henry. “Why didn’t he just come here?”

“Because this,” Thomas waved a hand at the stones, “gives temporary power. The blood spell is supposed to be permanent.”

“Bastard.”

“Aye.” Thomas shook his head. “And the worst thing is, it doesn’t even work.”

“It doesn’t?” echoed George. “Then why is he doing it?”

“Because he can’t tell which spells work and which don’t,” said Thomas. “I can.”

“How are we going to stop him?” George asked, wiping at his face with a free hand. “Eileen’s still unconscious. Benjamin…” He glanced at the man’s body, then away. “Henry and I are practically in pieces and so are you.”

“Me?” Thomas remembered that his left arm had felt numb and looked down at it. The pain that had been hiding behind shock started to race down to the tips of his fingers. Blood was oozing from a deep cut across his arm, just below his shoulder. Thomas tried to flex his hand, and the movement brought a rush of pain. He had half a dozen other, smaller cuts as well. Thomas realized he had no idea where they came from. “I guess I am.”

“How long before he kills the children?” Henry asked.

“Just before sunrise.” Thomas looked up at the sky and guessed, “Maybe an hour, if that.”

Henry got up. “Then let’s hope he’s still at his house.”

Thomas shook his head. “He won’t be. The book said that the ritual must take place in a place of great death and carrion. I doubt his house will do.”

“It might after tonight,” said George.

“Not enough,” said Thomas. “Great death and carrion means a battlefield.”

“Benjamin said there was a battlefield around here,” Henry looked again at his fallen friend. “Maybe the bishop built his house on it.”

“Or the chapel,” said Thomas. “He had the books in the chapel. Maybe it’s built on the battlefield.”

“As good a place to start as any,” Henry knelt beside Benjamin and put his hand on his friend’s brow. “We’ll be back for you.”

Thomas felt the grief rise up again, and for a moment it nearly overwhelmed him. He pushed it aside and started making his way out of the circle. “What do we do about Eileen?” asked George, not budging. He was still cradling her in his arms. “We can’t leave her here.”

“Then take me with you.” Eileen’s voice was small and strained. All three young men turned to look at her. Thomas fell to his knees beside her, taking her hand. She blinked at him. “Did we win?”

Thomas, seeing the blood smeared on Eileen’s face, and the way her nose was crooked, felt tears coming again. He forced them away, forced himself not to think about his injuries or George and Henry’s wounds or Benjamin’s body. “Aye. We won.”

“Fat lot of help I was,” Eileen said bitterly, trying to hold the front and back of her head at once.

“You kept one from killing me,” said George, petting her arm. “That’s help enough.”

“I suppose.”

“Come on,” Thomas pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the weariness and light-headedness that the motion brought. “We have to get going.”

“I heard,” Eileen muttered. She reached up an arm and got hold of George’s shirt. “Help me to sit up. And get me a sword, this time.”

George did, moving her slowly and gently. She was bleeding from the back of her head as well, Thomas realized. “How’s your skull?”