Laurie Forest - Wandfasted

I look toward the men. The Keltic soldiers are passing a flask back and forth as they laugh and leer at us, but over their shoulders, I can see that the crowd around Jules has dispersed. He’s been dumped by the edge of the barn, lying on his side. His face is swollen beyond recognition, one arm cradling the other as if it’s broken.

Anger swells in me, and I turn, my focus honed on the ax-paladin.

“So, are you a Roach now?” The strafeling idly points at the wand that hangs from the ax-paladin’s belt.

The ax-paladin spits on the ground. “Some Roach filth south of here got hold of it and cut down several members of our guard. I’m to bring it to the Tenhold armory.”

“Why not destroy the cursed thing?” the strafeling asks, eyeing the wand with suspicion.

“We’ve tried,” the paladin says. “It is surprisingly hard to break. And it’s oddly powerful.”

My attention lights up. I’ve heard tales of wands like these—wands of great power.

“What will we do?” Rosebeth asks me again in that tremulous voice, clinging to my arm and breaking my focus.

“Quiet,” I order, more sternly than I’d intended, but I need to concentrate.

I’m only a Level Three Mage. Not a huge amount of power, to be sure, but I do have a unique talent. I can pull up threads of magic from the elements and knit them together, amplifying my power. I’ve done this on only a few occasions, experimenting with Grandfather’s wand while making medicines and using the ability once to defend myself. Each time, the spell-linking gave me a fever and scoured me out, as if I’d been grievously ill. It’s dangerous, what I’m doing. Magic can turn deadly when gathered like this, catching on the very life force of a Mage and choking it clear out. The last time I linked spells, I was attempting a complicated medicine to treat Wren’s chronic illness. Grandfather found me passed out in the kitchen amid vials and scattered potions, and he forbade me from ever, ever using his wand again. I was feverish and bedridden for days, but more devastated over the loss of the wand than anything else.

I’ve never tried to pull in and link together as much power as I’m holding right now, and I know I’m playing with fire.

Deadly, raging, elemental fire.

My chest is full of burning pain, but my resolve is strengthened by it. I coldly assess our situation.

We’re completely surrounded by a sea of soldiers—but the men are hardly the only threat. Several Urisk geosoldiers struggle to contain a dragon nearby, the beast’s whole body undulating with rage. The dragon turns its head to look at me and bares its long fangs, pinning me with its eerie white eyes.

Terror claws at me, but I force myself to stand my ground as Rosebeth cries out and hides behind me, her slender body quivering.

A tall, winged figure steps into the clearing, and I feel my bravado slip away.

I take a frightened step back as the Icaral demon casts its glowing orange eyes around. His black wings arch threateningly, and the terrifying evil of his grinning expression is heightened by the torchlight. He balances a bright ball of flame over his palm as he slinks over to the Kelt commander, the strafeling and the ax-paladin.

Eyeing the Icaral demon warily, the Kelt commander unfurls a scroll and glances down to read.

“What’s the word, Lucian?” the strafeling asks, his words elegantly accented and clipped.

“We wait. And march into Gardneria tomorrow morn,” Lucian sighs, rolling up the scroll and passing it back to a young Keltic soldier.

A new wagon pulls in, filled with Gardnerians, all of them well-to-do Upper River folk. They’re roughly herded out, blinking in confusion, the children crying.

They are met by a mob of laughter.

“All hail the powerful Gardnerian Mages!”

“Where’s your Great Mage now?”

A Keltic lieutenant bows toward them. “The Gardnerian Mages! Rulers of Erthia!” Two other Keltic soldiers laugh and roughly yank at the Gardnerians as they descend from the carriage, pulling one old man down so hard he tumbles to the ground and has trouble getting back up.

A young, slender Urisk geosoldier strides forward and salutes both the strafeling and the Kelt commander by bringing his fist to his chest. “This should be all of them, Commander Talin,” he says, his accent as pronounced as the strafeling’s.

All of them? Could Wren and Grandfather be locked in the barn, too?

Lucian Talin makes a casual gesture toward the barn. “Get them in there with the others. We’ll deal with them later.” He grimaces, as if this is an unpleasant but necessary task.

My heart clenches along with my fists. I inhale sharply, pulling the power in tight.

The young Urisk geosoldier’s brow tenses, and he glances briefly at the captive Gardnerians. “The children, too, Commander Talin?” I can sense his discomfort, see him swallow and blink with stunned reluctance.

The Keltic commander fixes him with a hard glare. “There’s no other way, Cor’vyyn. You know that. If they raise up another Great Mage, they’ll kill us all.”

The young man eyes the terrified children and the elderly man as they’re herded toward the barn, crying and pleading. He looks to the strafeling, as if silently imploring him for mercy. The strafeling glances briefly at the Gardnerians, then shoots the young Urisk soldier a hard, cautioning glare as he murmurs something to him in terse Uriskal.

“Don’t go all sentimental on us, Cor’vyyn,” Lucian says to the young geosoldier, his tone unforgiving. “Clearly you don’t fully understand the threat we’re under here. Any one of these Roaches, big or small, could be their next Great Mage. You’ve heard the diviner’s prophecies from both your people’s seers and ours—he’s here, that Great Mage, hidden among their people somewhere.”

“Do you have a problem with this, soldier?” the ax-paladin growls, his eyes glittering malevolently, the wand moon-bright at his waist.

The Urisk soldier’s sapphire eyes are a storm of conflict as he glances toward the Gardnerian families. The strafeling snaps at him in Uriskal, and the young geosoldier bows and strides off, casting one last, troubled look behind him.

The Icaral demon is eyeing the new group of Gardnerians, still holding the ball of fire in his palm. He hisses and hurls the flames at the Mages, and they cry out, stamping the fire out of their clothing, the children shrieking in terror.

The Keltic commander scowls at the strafeling. “Tell your Icaral demon to leave off.”

“What are they going to do?” Rosebeth sobs hysterically, tugging at my sleeve. “Are they going to set fire to the barn? My family is in there! Tessie! Why won’t you answer me?” She starts murmuring pleading prayers, tracing the star sign of the Ancient One’s protection over and over in the air.

The Kelts unlock the barn door. In the shadows are the dark shapes of my people, pressed together tight. Right in the front stands a skinny boy, and recognition sweeps through me as torchlight illuminates his face.

My eyes fly open wide. “Wren!” I choke out.

He sees me and lets out an unearthly scream. “Tessie!”

I hurl myself at the fence and struggle to climb over it in my long skirts, a nail tearing at my ankle.

Wren bursts out of the barn and lunges toward me. He’s quickly caught by one of the Keltic soldiers, jerked back by his arm.

“Wren!” I scream, finally hoisting myself to the top of the fence. A searing pain erupts all over my scalp as I’m yanked back by my hair, a strong arm clenching my arm and thrusting me down to the mud, a rumbling laugh emanating from my attacker’s throat.

I briefly turn to find the ax-paladin looming over me, but I don’t care. My magic boils bloodred as I spring up and hurl myself at the fence once more, straining toward Wren as he’s desperately reaching for me. The huge Kelt laughs behind me as he grabs my upper arms, and I kick and struggle against him.