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The Gauntlet
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Chapter Three
This was typical,
Kit thought sourly, slamming them back against the wall as a mob of
mages rushed in. Find the perfect candidate and, naturally,
everything went to hell before he could get away with her.
Unfortunately, his lady was not one to understand unforeseen
difficulties. He really did not want to think of the reception he
was likely to get if he returned empty-handed.
Of course, at the moment, he would rather settle for returning at all.
“Search every inch,” the dark-haired leader snapped, and Kit silently cursed.
He’d been hoping for a group of slow-witted
guards who might have assumed that the witch had somehow slipped past
them in the confusion. But judging from their windblown hair and
murderous expressions, these were the men she’d attacked outside.
And he couldn’t take a half dozen war mages on his own.
At least, he didn’t think he could, having
never before tried. And he discovered that he wasn’t all that
keen on finding out. He decided some subtlety was in order and
started shuffling his little party toward the ruined door.
He thought their chances of making it out
undetected were reasonably good. He’d used one of the talents
he’d manifested since becoming a master and gone dim as soon as he
heard the men approaching. Dim wasn’t invisible--he could still
be seen if someone was looking right at him. But even then he’d
be only a faint, indistinct outline, like a haze of black smoke.
And with all the real smoke choking the air, who was going to notice?
A war mage, apparently. He’d almost
reached the door, where only a single mage stood guard, when one of the
nearby searchers suddenly changed direction and grabbed a fold of his
cloak. “Sir! They’re—”
So much for subtlety. Kit seized the man’s arm and slung
him into the mage guarding the door, hard enough to send them both
staggering backwards off the ramparts. Then he snatched the child
into his arms, grabbed the witch by the waist and bolted.
It wasn’t the most elegant escape he’d ever
made, but a lifetime of close scrapes had taught him not to be
picky. He dodged a spell that came blistering through the air
after him, sidestepped a small battle, and headed for the stairs.
And then pulled up abruptly and spun them back against the wall.
“What is it?” the witch demanded.
“Why are we—” She stopped, catching sight of the same thing he
had.
The stairs were
choked with guards and the courtyard of the castle had turned into a
particularly colorful hell. The flimsy wooden shacks that housed
the kitchen, stables and blacksmith had caught alight and were burning
merrily, with spell-fire tinting the billowing smoke in glowing
colors. Horses were neighing, people were screaming, and spells
were exploding on all sides.
In other words, it was the usual battlefield chaos, which was
what gave him pause. On any given battlefield on any given day,
there were about a hundred ways to die--and that multiplied tenfold if
it was a magical battle. He going to have to—
A spell he hadn’t seen coming hit them broadside
before he could finish the thought, sizzling against the shield the
witch had managed to raise before flaming out in a burst of acid green
sparks. And while no one might have been able to see them, that
spectacle had been all too visible. Even worse, the effects
didn’t dissipate; instead, a glowing nimbus pulsed in the air around
them, like the corona of the sun on a foggy day.
“Marker,” the witch gasped, before he could
ask. “They used it to hunt us in the forests, to make it
impossible for us to hide. You can’t conceal us now and I cannot
protect all three of us!”
She
started struggling, probably deciding to use her remaining strength to
save herself and the girl. But it wouldn’t be enough and Kit knew
it. They had to stay together, and they had to get out that gate,
but the stairs were impossible. He could probably survive the
assault of the guards; but not the witches.
That left only one option.
“Hold on,” he said grimly, renewing his grip on them.
The witch was quick; he’d give her
that. “Are you mad?” she stared from him to the chaos below and
back again. “We can’t go down there!”
“And we cannot stay here! We’re sitting ducks. The smoke should hide us.”
“Hide our bodies, mayhap,” she snarled, struggling to get away.
Kit held on and dragged her to the edge of
the rampart, trying to spot the least lethal landing place. But
mages were converging on them from all sides, and there was no more
time. He jumped, right before a bolt of pure power tore through
the air he’d just vacated.
It hit the side of the stairs behind them, blowing a hole in the
stone and sending sharp shards raining down onto the crowd below.
The screaming and cursing and spell throwing from the surrounding
witches increased four-fold, but Kit barely noticed because something
hit him full in the face.
It
wasn’t a spell, unless the mages had invented one that smelled like
burnt feathers and tried to peck your eyes out. He cursed, but
couldn’t do much more with his arms full of witches. But
whatever-it-was went into a frenzy anyway, squawking and flapping its
wings wildly, as if he was attempting to murder it.
And then the ground tilted under his feet and he landed on his arse.
It took him a few seconds to realize that
he hadn’t hit the ground at all, but the edge of a cart full of woven
cages of chickens. Half of them had been broken open in the
battle and the contents were floundering around in the mud or getting
roasted mid-flight by the spells crisscrossing the air. Except
for the one which had somehow gotten its claws trapped in the wool of
his doublet.
The witch had
righted herself and her daughter and was hunkered down beside the cart,
watching in disbelief as he did battle with the guards’ dinner.
Kit had the distinct impression that his credibility might have just
taken a knock, especially since he seemed to be losing. And then
wounded dignity was the least of his problems when a dark-haired mage
jumped off the stairs and landed on the cart’s other end.
Kit went flying into him, bird and all, and
the three of them tumbled off the back of the cart. The mage was
cursing and trying to raise a shield, while Kit attempted to drain him
before he could manage it. They were both half successful.
The mage snapped his shields shut, but they didn’t completely stop the
flow of blood Kit was leeching out of him through the air.
In a panic, the man sent out a cluster of
magical weapons. Half of them collided with crazed birds while
the rest attempted to bury themselves into Kit’s flesh. He
swatted at them, but like a storm of angry bees, they kept buzzing
around, rushing in to stab at him whenever they got the chance.
“You’re losing as much blood as you steal,
vampire!” the mage crowed, attempting to gut him with a sword.
“But I can replace mine,” Kit said sweetly,
sending the sword spinning across the fight with a well-aimed
kick. “How about you?”
“Well said,” the man replied, and kicked him in the square in the groin.
Kit stumbled back, fervently wishing that
padded cod pieces hadn’t gone out of style, and landed in the cages of
squawking fowl. His impact burst most of the ones left intact and
sent up a whirlwind of flapping wings and clawing feet. He fought
his way free, finally tearing his own damned passenger loose and
tossing it aside. But by the time he got back to his feet, the
mage was gone.
And so was the witch.
“God’s Bones!” he hissed, staring around
wildly. But she and the girl were nowhere in sight. That
could mean that a mage had her, but he doubted it. The spells the
Circle’s men had been casting weren’t the kind they used when they
wanted to take prisoners, and he didn’t see her body.
No, it was a safe bet that she’d run off
somewhere while he was distracted. The question was, where?
He glanced at the secondary gate, or what
he could see of it through drifting clouds of smoke. It was
temptingly close, and the mages hadn’t yet managed to lower the
portcullis. It looked like they’d tried, but the witches had hit
it with something that caused the metal to run like honey. And
enough had dripped into the crevices of the track to cause the gate to
stick partway down.
There
looked to be room to squeeze out underneath, but that required getting
to it first. And that didn’t look likely. The Circle had
placed a double line of guards across the opening to act as a human
buffer, leaving their own men free to slowly decimate the witches who
were gathering in force nearby. In between the two groups was a
hell pit of smoke, spells and running, screaming people.
If she’d headed that way, she wouldn’t last long.
It had seemed such an easy task, Kit
thought grimly, as he ducked and dodged his way through the melee.
Interrogate Lady Isabel Tapley, a coven witch lately apprehended by the
mages who was suspected of being in league with the Black Circle.
There were rumors that another plot was brewing against the queen, whom
the dark blamed for sheltering their enemies, and Kit had been sent to
find out if there was any truth to them.
But nothing had gone right from the beginning. Lady Isabel
had poisoned herself before he arrived, leaving him to question a
corpse, and not the animated kind. The fact that she’d resorted
to such extreme measures made him that much more convinced that the
plot was genuine, but she’d left no papers behind and her servants knew
frustratingly little about their mistress’ plans. The only thing
he had been able to glean was that she had a meeting in three days’
time with several men newly arrived from Spain.
And that one of them shared the name of a noted Black Circle member.
Kit needed to be at that meeting. And
for that, he needed a credible Lady Isabel. But young,
red-headed, coven witches were a little thin on the ground these days,
thanks to the Circle. And his request to be allowed to borrow one
had been flatly refused. He had therefore gone to the source and
bribed the guards, only to land in this mess.
The more sensible side of his brain offered the
observation that, really, there had to be other witches who fit Lady
Isabel’s description. And some of them might be found in somewhat
less trying circumstances. The other part of his brain, however,
the one that was always getting him in trouble, was dead set on this
woman. He’d bled for her; he would have her. And the Circle
would not.
Assuming he could find her before they did.
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