A Sea of Broken Glass Read online

  “We won’t let him have her, but we’ve got to be smart about this.” Cre placed his hands on either side of the window and dug his fingers into the bricks as if they had turned to butter. With a crack, the window popped free in a cloud of dust.

  Bran peered through the hole toward the street. Luck was on their side. Not a paladin in sight. He followed Cre out of the hole and into the garbage-filled alley. He slipped and slid over the noxious piles, grimacing as the stench of human waste and rotten food assaulted him.

  The best chance of escape would be to take to the sky, but Bran would have to be far enough away from his pursuers that they wouldn’t be able to target him with a pistol or a rifle. His raven form was well-known, and as soon as they were discovered missing, the paladins would be hunting both a raven and a wolf.

  A shout from behind caused Bran to lose his footing. Cre ducked into a doorway, and Bran followed. Crates, barrels, and shelves filled the space. They’d found themselves in a supply building of some sort. They wove their way between the stacks and toward a door in the back. The musty scent of old wood and dust tickled Bran’s nose.

  Notes thrummed in the air, a mish-mash of earth, water, and air magic that clashed and clanged in disharmony. It would make it easy for them to use their magic undetected, but hard to determine if any of the paladins were nearby.

  “What now?” Bran whispered. “It’s not like we can just waltz through the front gate.”

  Cre pursed his lips. “If we can get to the palisade wall, I can get us out.”

  Bran grabbed an empty pile of sacks from in front of the door. “I don’t like the idea of leaving Merrick to do as he pleases.”

  “Do you have a better idea?” Cre picked up a barrel and winced when he knocked into a stack of crates.

  Bran leaned against the wall. “It sounds like Ris has been caught. Do you think we can destroy this place before they get her here?”

  Cre rubbed his chin. “What about the innocents?”

  Bran stared at the ceiling. “With a demon in charge, how many of these people do you think are untainted?”

  “Fair point.” Cre crossed his arms. “How do you want to do this?”

  Bran blew out a breath. “I’ll call a storm and you take care of the rest.”

  Cre grunted. “Then let’s go. We’ll need to be out in the open. The drilling yard would be best.”

  The hair on Bran’s arms stood on end as he walked out the door and into the street. It went against every instinct to allow himself to be exposed. Any second they would be found out. Any second an alarm would sound. Every muscle tensed in anticipation.

  Bran pulled the door open slightly, wincing as it squeaked, and then peered through the crack. A group of women hung their wash on lines strung between the buildings, chattering and laughing as they worked. He carefully closed the door and prayed they were too busy to notice the movement. “We can’t get out that way.”

  Cre snuck to the front of the building and glanced into the street. “It’s clear. If we’re quick, we can make it.”

  Into the alley between buildings. Wait. All clear. Across to the next row. Dip into the shadows. Their path took them to the palisade wall, but they needed to move back toward the middle of the outpost.

  The tramp of boots on packed dirt signaled trouble. Bran pressed a hand to his chest to still his pounding heart. He peered around the building. A group of six paladins, armed for battle and with sullen looks on their faces, marched past.

  Bran counted his breaths, waiting for discovery. One. Two. Three. He peeked around the corner to see if it was clear. A late-comer jogged past, his eyes widened when he caught sight of Bran.

  Bran pulled deeply on his magic and wrapped the paladin’s face in a flurry of oboe notes that sucked the air from his lungs. At the same time, Bran built blades of wind, piercing flute notes to slice flesh. The paladin’s face turned blue, and he sank to his knees clutching at his throat.

  “Looks like we’re going with a new plan,” Bran said from between clenched teeth.

  Cre nodded as his earth magic filled the air with the scent of fresh turned earth and spring grass.

  A new set of paladins came around the corner, their eyes growing wide at the sight of their comrade writhing on the ground. They drew their weapons and rushed forward.

  “I’m getting too old for this,” Bran muttered, then released his blades of wind. Two more down.

  “Hold them off for a few seconds,” Cre replied.

  Kettle drums thrummed through the soles of Bran’s feet. He ignored it and focused on the three remaining paladins. He didn’t give them a chance to ready their weapons before he unleashed more magic. The notes shrieked and whined as they wrapped around the paladins to cut, slice, and rend flesh. One threw up a barrier of water and shadow. Bran’s wind skidded along the edges of it with a shrill squeal.

  Cre’s drums built into a frenzied crescendo, a counterpoint to the piercing notes of Bran’s magic. The crack of a pistol shattered the song.

  Another group of paladins approached from the opposite direction. Bran built a barrier of air to protect them from both bullets and magic. It was past time to call the storm.

  Air flowed into him and around him. A symphony of woodwinds built into a frenzy. Wind whipped and tugged at the paladins as clouds boiled in the sky. Lightning flashed and thunder cracked. The hair on Bran’s arms stood on end as the pressure changed and rain fell in a deluge.

  “How’s it coming?” he yelled.

  “Almost there.” Cre’s drums joined Bran’s woodwinds, and the ground shook, jostling everyone but Bran and Cre.

  The ground around then rolled outward in waves like ripples on a pond. Cracks in the earth ran down the street, widening as they went. Plaster on the outside walls of the buildings crumbled and slid to the ground. The men tried to stand and scramble out of the way, but were held fast by the sticky clay. The buildings slowly sank, their foundations no longer sitting on solid ground, but on mud.

  Cre’s face hardened into a grim mask. “This isn’t how our magic is meant to be used.”

  Bran agreed, but they didn’t have a choice. “Let’s finish this.”

  The storm condensed into a funnel cloud that lazily stretched from the sky. Rocks, wood, and everything else the funnel touched flew into the air, sucked into the growing maelstrom. Several of the logs from the palisade ripped from the ground, leaving a space for them to escape.

  Bran jumped through the hole. A few minutes was all they had before the storm dissipated. They needed to catch up to the men that had Ris.

  He put his energy into running, Cre right beside him. Shouts and screams followed them as the storm tore through the outpost. A single rifle shot cracked the air, and Cre stumbled to his knees.

  Bran grabbed Cre’s elbow and helped him to his feet.

  “Are you all right?” Bran asked. Sticky, warm blood covered his hand.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Cre rasped.

  “Let’s try to stop the bleeding at least.” Bran ripped his sleeve from his shirt. It was filthy, but it was better than nothing. “At this rate, you’ll pass out before we get anywhere close to Ris.”

  “It’s just a graze. I’ll be fine.” Cre pressed the makeshift bandage to his shoulder.

  Bran doubted it, but they didn’t have the luxury of taking care of the wound. Not yet. Not until they had stopped Merrick.

  Help us get to Ris first.

  Bran prayed to the Lady. He hadn’t prayed in years, but he was desperate. If the Lady wanted him to find Ris, then maybe she’d grant his prayer. It didn’t seem likely. Not after everything that had happened, but hope was better than despair.

  16

  The Darkness knows my plan. I can hide nothing from him. He will take her. Use her as he did me. Devour her soul and fill it with his Darkness. He adds his whispers to mine, offering her power and freedom, and when she resists, he sends words of despair. I order my servants
to her side, send them to Shield her. To Cloak her and be her Sword. They will go although they will not realize they have heard my call.

  ~Excerpt from “The Lady and the Darkness” as translated by Sir Gwilam Cavanaugh

  Dawn hovered on the edge of the sky, a rosy tint that hadn’t yet brushed away the shadows as we rode. The fresh scent of dew mixed with the heavy metallic odor of the Copper Hills left a lingering taste in the back of my throat. Fatigue pulled at my eyelids, and I found myself nodding off. We encountered no signs of demons or any more paladins, but that didn’t mean we were safe.

  The tight channel we rode through opened into a small valley with a cottage nestled against the far hill. The windows were boarded up, and the door swung freely in the wind, a constant squeal and bang in the silence of the valley. Nothing moved in the yard, no animals, no signs of life. No hints of demons or taint.

  “Should we stop?” I asked.

  “It’s as good a place as any,” Aeron replied. “We won’t be able to go on much longer, and it looks fairly defensible.”

  I guided my horse over to a wooden trough and dismounted. Flakes of rust drifted from the handle of the water pump attached to the cracked basin, and the groan of metal as I raised and lowered the lever echoed in the silence of the little valley. I scanned the open space, afraid of what might lurk in the shadows.

  Doubts plagued me. How were the demons and paladins tracking me? How could they get so close before I noticed? Then there was the issue of my out of control magic. Could I use it without killing my friends?

  A gurgle and then a gush brought my attention back to the pump. Water spilled through cracks and holes in the trough, but it held enough to satisfy the horses who drank their fill and returned to munching on the sparse, dried grass.

  I washed my face and hands, letting the cool moisture soothe my shattered nerves. We’d ridden through the night and keeping my senses extended that long had left me feeling jittery. Michel led my horse to a small paddock. The fence was missing railings in places, but it was better than nothing.

  The roof of the cottage sagged, but if it held for this much time, I doubted it would collapse while we occupied it. It was shelter and would give us a chance to rest. I dragged the saddles and saddlebags inside the small house, disturbing the thick layer of dust and detritus that coated the floor.

  Michel followed me, his movements slow and careful.

  “Is everything all right?” I asked.

  “I’m not completely recovered from what happened.” He laid out the bedrolls in the corner nearest the fireplace.

  “Will you let me help you?” I pleaded.

  He hesitated, and then nodded.

  I placed my hand on his and attempted to weave a bit of healing magic. Water and fire clashed and clamored, but I gritted my teeth and separated the brassy trumpets from the screeching violins. I wrapped the spell around Michel, easing the last aftereffects of my uncontrolled outburst.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  Michel offered a wary smile. “I know. I’ll help you learn to manage the water magic.”

  The words were meant to be kind, a peace offering of sorts. I knew that, but they still stung. I was a fully trained healer. I shouldn’t need to relearn control. “Do you think I’m tainted?”

  He opened his mouth, then pressed his lips together. “What would you do if I said yes?”

  I swallowed, not sure how to answer.

  “I don’t sense any taint in you, Ris, but,” he took a deep breath and blew it out, “you’re walking a fine line.”

  I stared at my boots, tears forming in my eyes. I willed them away. He was right.

  “We’ll find a way to get your control back. Until then, try not to use your magic unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  I nodded and curled up in my bedroll, my back to him.

  A long squeal from the hinges announced Aeron’s arrival. “Horses are taken care of.”

  “I’ll take first watch,” Michel muttered. “Get some rest.”

  I closed my eyes, ready to sleep, but it refused to come. Despite my exhaustion, my thoughts continually intruded, spinning round and round like a top. Eventually, I gave up and relieved Michel, who stumbled to his bedroll without a word.

  Outside, I found a corner of the dilapidated porch to watch from. Silence settled over the small valley, broken only by the occasional buzz of insects. I wrapped my coat tighter against the cool spring morning, determined to untangle my thoughts and feelings.

  Dawn turned to mid-day when I woke Aeron and traded with him. Sleep came quickly and when Michel shook me awake, early evening had fallen. I wasn’t hungry, so I took up my post on the porch while the men finished their meal.

  The shadow stretched long fingers across the small valley, covering it in muted tones while the hills and sky bled bright orange. The chirping of the cicadas cut off. Something nagged at me. The awareness of taint quickly moving closer teased the back of my mind. I opened my mouth to tell the others, but a shift in the wind, a subtle lifting of hair on my arms and neck was the only warning I had before the world went white.

  Sound deadened to nothing. The air condensed like treacle before it expanded and rushed outward. My ears popped and my hearing returned in a deafening explosion. Black dots drifted in front of my eyes, and I blinked, trying to clear my vision.

  Still standing. Still alive. Warmth trickled from my nose, and the coppery taste of blood coated my lips. The cottage stood, untouched. The panicked screams of the horses echoed in the quiet.

  I shook my head. Magic prickled over my skin, zinging and biting. A spell. But, not one I recognized. I touched the blood under my nose again. Whatever it was, it was dangerous.

  Self-preservation reasserted itself.

  “Someone’s coming!” I scrambled into the house, found a pistol, and scanned the valley through a broken window, looking for whoever had attacked.

  Michel and Aeron hadn’t needed my warning. They moved with the trained efficiency of long time soldiers, already gathering weapons and preparing for battle.

  “Can you see anything?” Michel asked as he dug in one of the packs.

  “Nothing, yet,” I replied.

  A noxious blanket of magic spread across the little valley. The horses nickered and shifted restlessly in the paddock. A sense of dread settled into my stomach.

  “Whoever cast that spell has to be close,” I whispered.

  Michel joined me at the window, pistols in hand. He set two tins of shot and powder charges next to my knee.

  “Not necessarily,” he said as he snapped open the side of a pistol. He loaded seven lead balls and powder charges before closing it. “That was long-range magic, meant to stun us. Unfortunately, you took the full force since you were outside.”

  Aeron placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “I’m going to scout around and see who’s there.”

  I clutched the wooden grip of my gun, sweat slicking my palms. The valley remained empty. No sign of anyone. The only sound was the click of lead shot being loaded into a pistol. The acrid scent of gunpowder tickled my nose, and I licked my too-dry lips.

  Light, I hated the waiting. Hated the endless stream of fights. I pressed my forehead against the windowsill.

  A warm arm wrapped around my shoulders, and I leaned into Michel’s chest.

  “It’ll be okay.” His quiet words eased my frazzled nerves.

  “How can you be sure?” I turned my face toward him.

  “There are no guarantees in life, but I choose to have faith.” His amber eyes met mine.

  “What exactly do you have faith in?” I wanted his answer. Needed it.

  “The sun will rise tomorrow, and you and I will be there to see it.”

  My responding laugh was tinged with hysteria. “You believe that?”

  “I do.” Michel held me a little tighter for a moment.

  The jangle of tack and the clop of hooves against stone jarred
me back to reality. A group of ten paladins rode into view, but it was the broad-shouldered man at the front that absorbed my attention.

  “Light help us,” I whispered. Fear slithered through my veins at the wrongness that surrounded him. It made me want to run. No matter how many times I saw someone who was possessed, it always horrified me.

  The man’s eyes glowed red, the demon inside pressing to get out. Dark lines of shadow crawled over his skin. He dismounted and walked toward us, stopping a few paces away.

  “Come out, and we let the thief live.” He raised his hand. One of the other paladins rode forward and pushed a large bundle to the ground. It landed with a thud and a groan. Red hair stood out in stark contrast to the grey-brown dirt.

  The taint in the men called to me, tempting me to take hold of my magic and end it all. It built around me, filled me, demanded that I use it. Fire and water danced in my blood, merging into a harmony that tasted like desire.

  I started to stand, but Michel pushed me down.

  “Wait,” he whispered. “We don’t want to give away our position.”

  I wrestled the song into submission. Sweat beaded my forehead. I wouldn’t lose control. I couldn’t afford to.

  “I told you, Merrick,” Aeron rasped, “you won’t get what you want.”

  Merrick pulled a pistol. “You’re nothing but a liar and thief. A street rat in paladin’s clothing. It’s time to put you down like the dog you are.” He fired a shot point blank at Aeron.

  Aeron’s head rocked back and his body twisted to the side before he fell, unmoving.

  I covered my mouth with my hands, holding in the scream that threatened to escape. I shook as a cold rage took hold. Red and deadly. Merrick had killed my friend.

  My Cloak.

  My confidant.

  The demon would pay.

  Michel squeezed my shoulder, a silent order to stay calm, but I was already calm. Calmer than I had ever been. How much would the Darkness take from me? I refused to let it take any more.

  “Spread out and find them,” Merrick ordered.