D. Jackson - Thieftaker

“We can wait,” she said. “You can’t keep that fire burning forever.”

“Can’t I?” he shouted back. But Sephira was right. His circle wasn’t wide enough to encompass that much grass, and what he had wouldn’t last more than an hour or two. And the more he pulled up, the closer he would have to venture to the ring of flame the next time he needed some.

He stooped again, picked up a stone that fit comfortably in his fist, and dropped it into his pocket, just in case. He also pulled up more stalks of grass, and watched for any slackening of the flames around him. Sephira and her men lurked just beyond the ring of fire, their faces glowing with the blaze, the heat making their features swim, so that they looked like Hell’s demons.

“You should have listened to me, Ethan,” Sephira called to him, sounding bored. She still wore the sapphire around her neck, and it glittered in the firelight. “You should have taken your money and found another Ezra Corbett to occupy your time.”

“I would have,” Ethan said. “But Berson asked me to continue my inquiry. He won’t be happy to hear that you’re trying to stop me.”

“You said you were done working for him!”

“Did I?” Ethan asked innocently. “I must have lied.”

He couldn’t see her well, but there could be no mistaking the hard set of her jaw, or the widening of her eyes. She said something to the man closest to her and immediately he began walking around the fire ring, speaking in low tones to the others.

Ethan realized that the flames were burning down in some places. He scattered more grass and spoke the spell again. Even as did this, though, two men suddenly burst through the ring from opposite sides, both of them shielding their faces with their coats.

One of them came through unscathed; the tail of the other’s coat caught fire. Making his decision in an instant, Ethan charged the first man, pulling the stone from his pocket as he closed the distance between them.

This first man had drawn a blade, and as Ethan stepped closer, he swiped the knife at Ethan’s neck, forcing him to duck. The man lashed out with his foot, aiming his kick at Ethan’s lowered head. Ethan threw up both arms to block the man’s foot, but was staggered by the force of the blow. He righted himself, noticing out of the corner of his eye that the second man had stripped off his burning coat and was now stalking him as well.

Ethan was in the middle of the lane now, too far from either edge to get at the grass. He tried to sidle to the right. But the man in front of Ethan cut him off and closed on him.

Glancing behind him, Ethan saw that the other man was coming closer, too. Again he had to choose. This time he went for the tough whose coat had burned. He took a step toward the man, spun swiftly on his good leg, and kicked out with the bad one, which couldn’t take the weight of such a move, but worked fine as a club. His kick caught Sephira’s man in the chest, knocking him backward.

Ethan spun again, trying the same kick against the first man. Sephira’s tough was ready, though. He dropped to the ground and kicked at Ethan’s pivot leg, sweeping it out from under him. Ethan fell hard, landing on his back and cracking his head against cobblestone. Shaking his head to clear his mind, Ethan saw that Uncle Reg stood nearby, watching it all, a disapproving scowl on his glowing face.

“It’s not as easy as it looks!” Ethan growled at the ghost.

In the next instant, the first man dove at him, his knife raised.

Ethan managed to roll away from the blade, though the man still landed on him. He raised his knife a second time, but before he could stab down with it, Ethan hit him hard in the mouth with the stone he still held. The man dropped his knife, one hand clutching his face, the other grabbing for the stone. Ethan hit him again, and this time he heard the bone in the man’s nose break. Blood poured from the man’s face as he rolled away.

But before Ethan could get to his feet, or even catch his breath, the other tough kicked him in the side, in the same spot where Nigel and his friends had broken his rib a few days before. Ethan retched. A second kick to the head addled him. He saw the man lift his blade, and knew that he wouldn’t have the strength to block the blow.

“ Discuti, ” he said quickly. “ Ex cruore evocatum. ” Shatter, conjured from blood.

The ground pulsated. There was a terrible crackling sound, as if someone had stepped on dried leaves or brittle wood, and the man looming over Ethan collapsed, screaming in agony.

Ethan rolled onto his knees. Blood still flowed from the other man’s nose, though Ethan’s spell had wiped away much of it. He eyed Ethan, clearly terrified, and backed away from him toward the fire, which was dying down again.

“ Ignis! ” Ethan said. “ Ex cruore evocatus! ” Fire, conjured from blood!

Again the blood vanished from the man’s face. At the same time, the flames leaped higher than they had when fed by the grass.

The man dabbed at his face with his fingers and then stared at them.

“Wha’d ya do?” he asked in a trembling voice.

“Just used a bit of your blood. Hope you don’t mind.”

The tough gaped at him.

“Take him,” Ethan said, gesturing at the other man, who writhed on the cobbled lane. “And go.”

“But… but th’ fire!”

“You’ll have to move quickly then, won’t you? Now go!”

The man walked slowly to his friend, watching Ethan the entire way. For his part, Ethan kept his eyes fixed on the tough, more than willing to draw upon the man’s blood again if he had to.

In fact… He waited while the man lifted his friend and began to drag him toward the wall of flames. And at the moment the tough reached the fire, as he gathered himself for a rush through the blaze, Ethan began to speak another spell.

“ Dormite omnes, evocatum- ” Slumber, all of them, conjured-

The phrasing slowed him down, made him stumble over the Latin. Not a lot, but just enough. It was the difference between putting one man to sleep and putting all of them to sleep. And somehow Sephira knew this. Even as he spoke, he heard her cry out something unintelligible. Whirling, Ethan saw Nigel raise his pistol. He dove to the side, just as he heard a loud report that echoed across the Common. He hit the cobblestones hard, scraping his hands and bruising his knees and elbows. He also felt a burning pain in his upper arm. Looking down, he saw blood spreading over his coat sleeve and glistening in the glow of the fire.

He had been lucky. An inch to the right and the bullet would have shattered his shoulder. A few inches more and it might have hit his neck, likely killing him. As it was, the bullet had merely grazed his arm.

Ethan started to push himself up, but as he did, he saw something glinting on the road before him. The knife dropped by the man he had hit with his stone. First things first, though. He spoke another fire spell, using the blood on his shoulder to build up the flames once more. Then he cast a second fire spell, and directed it at Nigel’s pistol. He knew it would have taken Yellow-hair some time to reload, but he didn’t want to risk being shot at again.

Finally, he picked up the knife and climbed slowly to his feet. Blood had started to flow once more from the bullet wound. “ Remedium ex cruore evocatum, ” he said. Healing, conjured from blood.

“We’re back where we began, Ethan!” Sephira said, walking slowly around his fire.

“Aye. Why don’t you send a couple of more men over? I’m sure I can make good use of their blood, too. Or maybe I’ll just kill them and be done with it. I can take all of you, two at a time.”

“Or we can all fight our way through the flames at once. What will you do then?”