Witch Queen (8 page)

We rode past sunset and well into the night
on the ninth day. The road had handled the bulk of trading traffic
between Anglia and Romila, and the dirt was so tamped down that
there was barely any dust. The air was cooler, and I welcomed the
sweet smell of pine trees, damp earth, purple coneflowers, daisies,
and black-eyed susans.

I had kept to the rear after our little
dispute near Erast. I didn’t feel like leading a group of men who
clearly doubted me and the value of our quest. For a time I only
listened to the sound of their horses tearing up the dirt road in
front of me, but then my ears picked up the unmistakable sound of
hooves
behind
us.

In a heartbeat, I whipped Torak around with
my sword in my hand. My heart slammed against my chest as I waited,
straining to hear that sound again, but only the rustling of leaves
in the breeze answered. Even Torak didn’t seem to pick up anything,
and I trusted his hearing better than mine. It was probably
nothing. I was being paranoid.

The others had stopped, too, and were
peering behind me for my imaginary threat. But I dismissed it with
a wave of my hand, and we were moving again.

We made camp. Dark and impenetrable forests
and mountains rose to the east, the borders of Romila. At the pace
we were going, we would reach them by morning.

For a while, the men mumbled in low
conversations without looking in my direction too long. So far, Leo
had been the only one brave, or stupid, enough to speak to me. The
tension in the group was getting to me.
They
were getting to
me. How could we go on like this? We had to trust each other. Even
though I wasn’t the most social person, I knew we didn’t have a
chance in hell without trust.

I had enough to deal with. I didn’t need
this shit.

I jumped to my feet and yelled to no one in
particular, “If you’re going to keep being pricks, and if you keep
avoiding me like I’ve got the plague, then go back to the Pit!
You’re no use to me. Get out of here. Leave!”

I swore loudly enough for all of Anglia to
hear, unable to stop the angry words that spilled out of my mouth.
Such arrogant and ignorant fools! Why where they even here? I
clenched my shaking hands into fists until they hurt, until my
fingernails cut into the soft flesh, and I felt the wetness of
blood around my fingers. I didn’t care that I’d lost my temper. I’d
had enough of this.

I let out a shaky breath as I made my way
back to where I had tied Torak, my only true friend.

The trouble was, someone else was already
there.

CHAPTER 6

I
T HAPPENED SO FAST I barely had time
to blink. The silver tip of a sword winked at me through the
semi-darkness.

I jerked to the side, but not fast enough.
Pain seared in my side as the sword punctured my left hip. I spun
as I drew my sword, and I managed to deflect what would have been a
fatal blow to my head. The force of the blow sent me crashing to my
knees. I shifted and sent a powerful kick that caught my assailant
in the knee with a horrible crunch. He staggered back and I had
time to jump to my feet.

My tears burned as I tried to focus on my
attacker. He was tall and built like a tree trunk, with thick arms
and strong hands. The tip of his giant sword was stained with
blood, my blood. He moved with the surety and grace of a seasoned
warrior. A thick leather baldric stuffed with a collection of
daggers, short swords and hunting knives was strapped around his
shoulder and wrapped around his body. He was geared for war. He
looked at me hard with small, cruel eyes as I lowered myself into a
fighting stance. In spite of the darkness, I could see the royal
orange and yellow colors of Romila on his tunic and cloak. We
hadn’t even crossed their borders, and yet the Romilians were out
for blood.

But why? The Great Race was over. Why was
this Romilian trying to kill me?

As far as I knew, Romila hadn’t been at war
with Anglia for over four hundred years, before the age of the
priests. Unless this was something else entirely…

My thoughts were interrupted by the sounds
of male voices. The clang of metal rang in the cool air as my
comrades arrived and drew their weapons. I could feel the tingling
heat of my healing power work through my body as it pulled and
stitched my skin back together.

However, the big Romilian kept his eyes on
me, never wavering to look at the others. It was obvious that
I
was his target. He was a single Romilian against a witch
and six rebels. He must have had a death wish to continue as he
was. But then twenty more giant Romilians spilled from the shadows
of the forest. We were surrounded and seriously outnumbered.

“You!” spat my attacker. His lips were
parched, and his breathing was shallow. The hatred in his eyes was
enough to make me stiffen, but there was no black fever in
them.

“My Madolina and Imilia are dead because of
you!” His thick accent made his words sound forced and sluggish, as
if he were drunk.

“Calm down,
friend
,” I said raising
my left hand in what I hoped was a peaceful gesture. “You’re
mistaken. I’ve never touched a hair on anyone called Madolina, or
Imilia for that matter—”

“You lying, witch whore!”

I raised my eyebrows at this. So, he knew
what I was. Interesting.

He paused and appeared to be looking for
something inside of me. He was looking for my magic, as though I
wore it like my woolen cloak.

Leo met my gaze, and I gave him a small
shake of my head hoping he could read my thoughts as well as Jon
used to.

“You’re the cause of the sickness, the death
of the land and our families,” said my attacker. He stared at me
with eyes of iron. The hair on my arms rose.

Instinctively, I opened my mouth, ready to
tell him that he was wrong, that
I
wasn’t the cause of the
sickness—but he was right. I
had
started it. Even if it was
the necromancer priests’ black magic that was killing the land,
I
had recovered the Heart of Arcania, and it had enabled and
amplified their power.

I angled my sword at his midsection.

“You’re mistaken,” I ventured. I could see
that Garrick was frightened in the whites of his eyes, and my
throat tightened. It took some effort to clear it.

“We’re just hunters,” I lied. “We’re looking
for game that hasn’t been spoiled, to bring back to our families.
That’s it. We’ll be happy to share if you’ll just lower your
weapons—”

“You’ve cursed us all to hell!” growled the
same man. Then he bared his teeth in a grin that would have had me
shaking in the knees if I hadn’t had an audience.

“But I’m going to make it right by my
Madolina and Imilia, so help the Creator. I’m going to end your
life, and when I’m done with you, you’re going to wish you’d died
in that goddamn race, witch.”

Before I had time to blink, he lunged at me
with the speed and agility of a red monk.

I felt the air move an inch from my throat,
and the searing pain of a small cut. I leapt back as my assailant
went for my throat again. I felt wetness trickle against my
collarbone as I spun and raised my sword above my head. The clang
of metal blasted into the air like thunder as I met my attacker’s
broadsword head-on.

I spun away from
him
on the
balls of
my
feet, swung my
sword
in a tight arc and deflected his blade. Blood
pumped through my veins, and my breath came quick and short. I
readied myself, and he rushed at
me
again
.
He
seemed unnaturally fast, and
his
sword
nicked the edge of my cloak
as
I sidestepped.

But he was on me again. He
charged forward with a war cry and swung his weapon. I parried and
blocked, watching his movements and waiting for an opening so I
could finish him off. But he fought too well to be considered just
a grunt. No, he was trained fighter, a warrior.

I blocked high and then
cut low, but he swung his great weapon around and blocked me. He
spun around, but I ducked and rolled away as his weapon nearly cut
off my ear.

“I’m going to gut you like
a pig.” He looked at me with cold, evil eyes. Sweat trickled down
his face, and his breathing came in large, rapid gusts.

I shifted on my feet. “I’d like to see you
try.”

I wasn’t about to let him kill me. Too many
people depended on me. Jon depended on me. The thought of Jon sent
a wildfire through my veins.

The brute charged forward,
swinging his sword in great big arcs. Fire burned inside me. This
fool was ready to kill me without giving me a chance to make things
right.
Damn him.

I let that anger fuel me
and
parried
his swings, one after another. I smiled at the surprise on
his face. Any ordinary human would have been dead by now,
especially a weak and fragile female. But I wasn’t a mere human. I
was a steel maiden.

My feet were as supple as a cat’s, and I
slipped away easily, but not fast enough.

Before I could recover from his previous
blow, he was on me again, swinging for my head, again and again,
never tiring. I dropped to the ground. His sword grazed the top of
my head and sliced a hole in my cowl.

Bastard
. I liked that cloak. Rose had
given it to me and I didn’t own a spare.

With my mouth dry and blood pounding in my
veins, I parried and used my opponent’s own weight to drive him
forward. I rolled and sent him sprawling to the ground with a
powerful kick.

Without a second to lose, I came up looking
for the others. The air
was suddenly full
of
screams and
grunts,
of metal against metal,
and
of steel
cleaving
through
flesh
and
bone
.
Everything seemed
to happen at once.

Leo barreled forward and slammed his weapon
into a Romilian with a satisfying thud. Will and Max were fighting
back to back, slicing their enemies with great arcs of their swords
and never missing a beat. With two curved blades in his hands,
Lucas moved between foes in a lethal dance, stabbing them with
deadly precision before they even knew what had happened. His
targets wavered, weakened, and fell.

Nugar’s piercings and tattoos shone with
sweat as he swung a great battle-axe around him in a circle,
hacking off the hands and arms of the fools who dared to enter his
killing ring. With a great swing, he s
evered one
head completely and hacked at another. His savagery and violence
were enough to raise bile into my throat, and I made a mental note
never to piss him off.

We were holding our own against this
surprise attack, considering that we were outnumbered. Leo and Will
had chosen their team well.

All except for Garrick.

I could see streaks of blood flowing from a
large gash above his brow, and his face was pale and pasty like he
had fever. He stumbled back, his sword hanging at an awkward angle
like the weight was too heavy. He looked like an inexperienced
swordsman who had never held a real weapon before—out of place,
like a frightened puppy. He shouldn’t be here. Our eyes met, and I
could see his silent cry for help, for
my
help.

A burly Romilian circled him, smelling easy
prey. And with an evil smile, he raised his sword and swung it with
great force towards the young lad. My breath caught in my throat as
by some miracle or just dumb luck, Garrick deflected the blow with
his own sword. But he stumbled and fell into a bush in a jumble of
limbs. His cloak had wrapped around him awkwardly and was
restraining his movement. He was trapped. I could hear him sobbing
as the Romilian laughed and closed in for the kill.

With panic written all over his face,
Garrick struggled with his cloak, but the man was on him before he
could get up. His great silver sword glimmered in the soft light of
the fire, and for a moment it looked as if it actually were on
fire. I watched in horror as he prepared to bring it crashing down
on the helpless Garrick.

“No!” I bellowed. My mouth was metallic with
despair. Not Garrick. Not him.

Garrick’s assailant paused, and for a second
I had his attention. I cringed under his stare, but it was all the
distraction I needed.

I sprinted forward, but white-hot pain shot
up my back, and I pitched headfirst into the ground. Instinctively,
I rolled as I hit and a sword dug into the earth where my head had
been. My back was aflame with pain. I knew I’d been cut deep enough
to tear through my clothes and into my flesh. I turned and looked
up into the small black eyes of my attacker.