Warrior Witch: Malediction Trilogy Book Three (20 page)

“
W
hat is
with you trolls and mountains?” Chris muttered, rubbing his hands together to warm them.

“We like impressive things,” I said, resting my elbows on the rocky outcropping. Dawn was upon us, and, just then, the sun crested the horizon, illuminating the faces of two towering statues of a king and queen seated on thrones. Though time had worn the stone, the crown resting on the king’s brow was deeply familiar to me from the countless times I’d seen it on my father’s head.

Chris whistled through his teeth. “Relatives of yours?”

I nodded. “They were the first. He was the brother of the Summer King, and both were immortal until the iron bound them to this world. Even then, they lived and ruled for many hundreds of years before succumbing.”

“And the pass leading to the tombs runs between them?”

“Yes,” I said. “Give the sun a few more moments, and we’ll see it.”

The line of golden light slowly edged its way down the statues, revealing the queen’s elaborate jewelry, the king’s embroidered coat, a scepter resting across his knees, and a blade across hers. And then it revealed something else.

“What is that?” Chris asked, leaning forward.

It was a bundle of fabric suspended across the mouth of the ravine between the two statues, the loose ends of the material flapping in the breeze. Whatever was contained within it was large, and my skin crawled. “Something,” I murmured, “that we were meant to find. Stay close.”

I shielded us from sight and from any form of attack as we moved across the open stretch, the ground still dark until the sun rose a little higher. There was only one set of footprints, but Chris insisted on poking the ground in front of us with his walking stick. “Ain’t falling for my own trick,” he muttered.

I didn’t argue. Despite the frigid temperature, sweat was trickling down his brow, and there was no missing the staccato beat of his heart. If doing something eased his nerves, so much the better.

The bundle swayed on a strong gust of wind, droplets raining down from the soaked fabric. My eyes followed the drips as the sun crested the mountain behind us, bathing our path with light. Beneath the bundle was a circle of crimson, and as the breeze reversed, the metallic tang of blood filled my nostrils.

“God in heaven,” Chris whispered, and I debated sending him back to camp and out of harm’s way. Except with Angoulême, Lessa, and Roland still alive, was anywhere safe? Chris knew the risks, but he’d agreed to come anyway. He wouldn’t thank me for sending him away.

“Whoever it is can’t have been dead long,” Chris said, stopping just shy of the circle of blood. “Doesn’t take long for a body to freeze in this weather.”

I knew who it was, and, catching a slight tremble of motion from the bundle, I knew he wasn’t dead. “This is either a warning, a trap, or both,” I said. “Be ready.”

Slicing through the magic suspending the drenched bundle, I lowered it to the snow, the fabric falling open as I relinquished my hold, limbs spilling out with it.

Chris staggered away and retched into the snow. I wanted to do the same, but instead I swallowed the burning bile and approached the dying troll. “Martin?”

The librarian didn’t answer, his open eyes twitching, but unseeing. Unconscious. Which was a small mercy, because what had been done to him was a testament to what even a lesser troll could endure. But there was no coming back. Not from this.

Kneeling next to him, I pulled out a knife. A blow to the heart would end his suffering. I owed him that. I lifted the blade, then his eyes snapped into focus. “No!”

I lowered my arm. “Martin, you don’t want to survive this.”

His gaze was full of the knowledge of what had been done to him, but still he said, “Not yet. Not until Angoulême is dead.” He shifted awkwardly in the snow, back arching and head twisting from side to side in a futile struggle to move. “He has to pay for what he did to her.”

“He will,” I said. “I promise he’ll pay for it.” The air pulsed slightly with the power of my oath, and he settled back, eyes on me. “Let me help you,” I said.

“No,” Martin whispered. “Not until he’s dead. I need to see him dead.”

I exhaled softly, knowing I couldn’t deny such a request, then turned to Chris, who was still on his hands and knees. “I need you to take him to Cécile’s grandmother. He shouldn’t be that heavy without–” I broke off as Chris blanched. But then he nodded.

“Cauterize them,” Martin whispered. “I don’t want to bleed out while I wait.”

For the first time in my life, my magic faltered. Trying again to raise heat, I swallowed hard as it failed again.

“Cécile’s braver than you,” Martin said around clenched teeth. “She wouldn’t flinch.”

“I know.” Then fire burned in the palm of my hand, and the stench of scorched blood filled the air. Martin screamed once, then fainted, and when I was finished, I vomited in the snow.

“Go,” I said to Chris, and without looking to see if he complied, I followed the trail of Martin’s blood into the ravine.

T
he walls rose
up to either side of me, cut sheer by a stream that had run this way since before trolls walked this world. At first, the rock was unadorned, but as I rounded the first bend, the carvings began. Princes and princesses, dukes and duchesses, their expressions austere and eerily similar to my own. Many of them I recognized, but as I drew closer, the elements had washed away all but the suggestions of faces. It didn’t matter: they were my family. All of them. And Angoulême had no right to be in this place.

The ravine snaked its way between the two mountains, abruptly opening into a wide circular space, with a third peak at its far side. At the center lay a small lake frozen solid, and all around rose statues of the kings and queens from before the Fall. Their eyes were set with glass that had once been filled with troll-fire, and it seemed they were all watching me, fixing me with silent scrutiny. The entire space hummed with magic, the ground coated with it and the air so thick with it that it seemed scarcely breathable.

But there was no sign of life.

Maybe he’s gone,
a little voice whispered my head.
Maybe you’re too late.

But I didn’t think I was. The tombs were the most defensible place on the Isle, and Angoulême could hide within them long enough for Roland and Lessa to arrive. Little did he know, we planned to be long gone by the time they got here. When I went up against my brother, it would be in a place of my choosing.

On my terms.

I walked up to the edge of the lake and stared across. Twin falls poured down the mountain’s face, and between them stood a door twice my height and carved of solid stone. It was closed.

I eyed the track of footprints and blood leading around the right half of the lake, then at the untouched snow around the left. With little tendrils of magic, I searched the statues for anyone who might be hidden behind their bulky stone shapes, and opened my senses to any troll of power who might be near, but it was impossible to tell when the air was teeming with so much latent magic.

Which was very likely their intent.

The shield encircling me was as strong as any I’d ever used, but it gave me little comfort. Angoulême was clever, and underestimating him might see me dead. I knew something would happen, but not what. And not when. And not where.

Exhaling softly, I stepped onto the frozen surface of the lake and began my way toward the door. I was about halfway across when I felt the surge of magic as it resolved toward its purpose. I started to run, but it was too late.

The lake exploded around me in liquid fire, and the world fell out from beneath me.

The weight of the magic shielding my body dragged me down into the depths of the lake, bubbles from the boiling water obscuring my vision as I descended further from the surface.

Clever bastard.

Lessening my shield enough for buoyancy to pull me back up put me at risk of cooking alive, and it left me vulnerable to whatever attacks Angoulême had planned for when I resurfaced.

I lashed out with ropes of magic, blindly aiming for one of the statues, but they slammed against a shield at the surface of the lake, the impact driving me further into the depths. I struck out again, harder, but I had no leverage, and the motion sent my sphere tumbling, disorienting me until it slammed against the lake bed. Bracing against the ground, I flung the full force of my power at the shield, destroying it with explosion that made the earth tremble.

My ropes of power swung through the air, searching for an anchor, but Angoulême knocked at them with his own power, preventing them from finding purchase. I fought blindly, earning a concussive blast each time the magics collided.

Louder.

While my ropes continued to flail above, I turned my attention to the rock beneath my feet, channeling heat into the earth until it glowed brilliant red, the water boiling and turning to steam in a violent blast. I launched out of the lake under the cover of the white cloud of mist, landing in a crouch on the edge of the now dry lake.

A whistling razor of power sank into my shield, then another and another, all coming from different directions. Pulling out my sword, I coated the steel with magic and listened, swinging hard, not just deflecting, but destroying the invisible weapons with explosions of silver sparks.

Then I turned on the door.

“Come out, come out,” I crooned, slipping strands of magic through the cracks to magnify my voice to a deafening level. Lifting a hand, I scratched my finger through the air, mimicking the magic I used to claw at the door. The sound was horrible, and with a smile, I repeated the gesture. Then I punched out with my fist, and a giant crack formed in the granite. Again, and a large piece split off, smashing as it hit the ground.

But I couldn’t draw this out much longer. He knew I was toying with him.

“I’d rather not destroy the last piece of our history remaining outside of Trollus,” I said, walking forward until I stood a few paces from the entrance. “Perhaps you might do the honorable thing and come out rather than hiding in yet another hole.”

“I think not, Your Highness.” The Duke’s voice filtered out on threads of magic, and if he feared his imminent demise, his tone did not betray it. “I’m quite comfortable where I am. Did you find my gift, by the way? Why you bothered sending such a weakling was beyond me – especially one who knew so much.”

Who could say what the librarian had told him under torture? But two could play at that game. “I haven’t seen the man in months, and I most certainly didn’t send him to do my dirty work. He was here to settle a different score. You are not a popular troll, Angoulême.”

Silence.

“Curious how I found you? I’ll tell you,” I said, not waiting for an answer. “It was straight from Lessa’s lips.” I adjusted the sleeves of my coat. “My sister is a double-crossing liar, Your Grace, and yet you’ve left her in charge of your puppet prince. It’s unlike you to be so trusting, but perhaps trust is a privilege you reserve for those who warm your bed.”

All I could hear was the whistle of the wind, and a bead of sweat trickled down my spine. What if he suspected our plan? What if even now, he was setting a trap? But then he spoke. “You’ve always been over fond of your own voice,
Tristan
.”

“We all have our faults.” I let the smile fall from my face. “She had you fooled for a time, though, didn’t she? Made you believe she was Anaïs, which I’m sure was infuriating. But she convinced you of the merit of letting the ruse play out, revealed a long game beyond what you’d ever imagined.”

Staring at the cracked granite, I let down the walls between me and the hurt my friend’s name always conjured. “You know it was Lessa who killed Anaïs, not my father. Not even on his orders, though I’m sure she said otherwise. Still trust her?” I paused to let that sink in. “You’re a fool if you do. She’s clever, and willing to go further than either of us to get what she wants.”

“She lived in my home her entire life, you blathering fool,” Angoulême snarled. “Do you think I don’t understand how her little mind works? How to dangle the carrot? How to use her like a tool?”

The only time the Duke lost his temper was when he was not in control. “As you say, Your Grace, your family
owned
her for most of her life. Used her as a servant, and, I think, as your whore. How long do you think she’ll suffer you to live once she is queen?”

“She’s no fool. She knows she needs me to control Roland.”

I drew on my power, letting it seep through the cracks in the granite, knowing how it would prickle and burn on his skin. “And yet courtesy of my dearest sister, here I am.”

They had to be inside by now. I could feel Cécile moving, her nerves and anticipation. But was she ready? If I stalled any longer, Angoulême would know I was up to something, and that would put everything in jeopardy.

Sighing, I polished the last remaining button on my coat. “Enough of this, Your Grace. You know Roland won’t make it in time, so quit the stalling.”

A chuckle rolled through the mountains. “No, I don’t suppose he will be arriving
here
anytime soon. But I trust you’re clever enough to understand the consequences of killing me and letting the boy off his leash, and that you will act accordingly. I’ve taken my own precautions – if you try to force your way in, everyone inside – including me – will die.”

Including Cécile and my closest friends.

“Unless you’ve grown wings,” he continued, “by the time you made it back to the coast, all you’ll find is a city full of corpses.”

Unease snaked down my spine as I parsed his words. “Neither you nor Roland wish to see Trollus destroyed.”

“No,” Angoulême said, his voice full of mockery. “But then again, Roland isn’t in Trollus.” He laughed, and I heard the tap tap of his cane against the stone floor of the tomb as he retreated into his depths. “I suggest, Your Highness, that you start running now.”