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The Gauntlet
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Chapter Five
Kit reached the hell pit only to have to
jump aside to avoid a group of stampeding horses, which some
enterprising witches were using to try to storm the gate. And
then a rogue spell blistered past, caught the edge of his wool cape and
set it on fire. He flung off the now deadly garment and started
to stamp out the flames, when he caught sight of a nearby guard.
The man had taken a break from combat in
order to besport himself with a pretty blond. He had the
struggling girl on her back, her dress over her head and his knee
between her thighs—until Kit tossed the length of burning wool over his
head. It was rather more pleasurable, he decided, stamping out
the flames this way, although the guard didn’t seem to agree.
The girl did, though. She scrambled
to her feet and kicked the man viciously before sprinting off.
But after only a few yards, she turned around, came back and kicked him
again. Then she looked at Kit, dropped a small curtsy and fled.
He stared after her, shaking his
head. Witches. He was starting to think they were all a bit
addled.
And then he was
sure of it, as he caught sight of his own particular lunatic attempting
to ride a levitating barrel over the walls.
For a moment, he just stared, sure his eyes were playing
tricks on him. Until he spied no fewer than five mages heading
for the cask and its glowing cargo. Devil take the woman!
He sprinted across the battle, cursing, as his witch floated gently to
the top of the East Tower.
About halfway across the courtyard, he realized what she was
doing. That tower was used as the armory, and it was a safe bet
she was trying for the weapons. But he didn’t give much for her
chances. The Circle surely had a ward on them, if not on the—
It was on the window. He watched her
reach the only one on this side, an elongated type barely wider than
the average arrow slit, and cry out. Then a burst of power flared
and the barrel shot away from the tower like a ball out of a
cannon.
It went sailing
off through the air with the witch’s slumped form miraculously still
attached. Not that that was in any way positive. She’d have
been better served had she fallen off; she might have only broken bone
or two that way. As it was, she was headed straight for the heart
of the battle.
Kit’s eyes
flicked around, even as his brain told him that it was over, that there
was nothing to be done, that this was not going to happen—
And then he was running and leaping and
grabbing for her as she shot past. Because he’d obviously gone
mad at some point and hadn’t noticed. But at least it couldn’t
get any worse, he thought, as he hit the side of the cask and held on
for dear life.
And it rolled over and he ended up dangling upside down.
The only reason they weren’t spotted
immediately was the thick smoke cover, but there were alarming gaps in
it and a hovering cask with two glowing riders was a bit hard to miss.
But, on the positive side, his impact had caused their mad conveyance
to change course slightly, allowing them to miss the thick of the
fight. On the negative, they were now careening for the west wall
of the castle at an alarming rate.
He tried to grab the witch and jump off, but she wouldn’t
budge. It took him a vital few seconds to realize that she’d
lashed herself in place with rope, and by then, it was too late.
A huge gray expanse filled his vision and, even with vampire reflexes,
they were out of time. He threw his body to the side, causing the
barrel to spin—right into the wall.
The impact didn’t break the wood, because it never hit
the cold, unforgiving stone. Kit did, at a rate of speed not
recommended for vampire-kind. For a moment, it felt like his body
had actually merged with the rock, and he wasn’t sure it hadn’t.
Because when the barrel suddenly jerked and pulled away from the wall,
he was sure some of his hide stayed behind.
There was no time to check, because they weren’t
slowing down. The impact should have absorbed most of the forward
momentum, but they hadn’t simply wobbled off a few yards and
stopped. Instead, the barrel seemed to have a mind of its own,
and it was quite obviously demented.
Kit held on, fingers clenched white against the wood, as
they swooped around the edge of the ramparts, causing several of the
guards who had remained at their posts to have to hit the ground
face-first. But others retained their dignity—and their ability
to fire. The barrel rolled and plunged, weaving in and out of the
cover of smoke, as a rain of arrows shot by. One of them grazed
Kit’s arm, leaving a stinging track across his skin, while another
buried itself in the wood between his spread legs.
He stared at it wildly—there were certain
things he was not willing to sacrifice for queen and country—only to
have the witch start kicking at him. It looked like she wasn’t
dead, after all, he thought, as a dirty heel smashed into his
nose. He grabbed it, trying to see past the blood flying in his
face, and caught sight of wild red hair and glaring gray eyes.
“Let go!”
“Do you promise not to kick me again?” he demanded thickly.
“Yes!”
He released her and she jerked her foot
back, only to bury it in his throat a moment later. Kit would
have cursed, but he thought there was an outside chance he might never
talk again. And then a mage jumped him.
Their demented ride immediately took them into the
open air once more, the mage holding onto one of Kit’s boots as the
vampire tried to kick him off. He finally succeeded, losing a
fine piece of footwear in the process, only to have another mage jump
at them from the ramparts. Kit tensed, ready for a fight, but the
barrel suddenly stopped dead and the man sailed on by, more than four
feet off course.
Kit turned his head to grin at the mage and received another kick upside the jaw.
“I’m trying to help you!” he told the witch indistinctly.
“It’s a weak charm! You’re going to wear it out!”
Kit personally thought that would be a vast
improvement, particularly when the crazed cask suddenly went into
convulsions. He held on, feeling rather like he was trying to break a
particularly cantankerous horse, as it bucked and shuddered and
shook. And then it suddenly flipped and dove straight for the
ground--with him underneath.
He cursed as he was dragged across the battle, through the sides
of burning sheds and over piles of debris. The fire worried him
most—he’d lost his cloak and his doublet was quickly being shredded,
leaving little barrier between the deadly embers and his skin.
Thankfully, the barrel didn’t seem to be the patient sort, and a moment
later they were back in the air.
Kit decided that enough was enough and snapped the rope holding
the witch, preparing to leap off with her, only to be smashed in the
face by something huge and heavy. It took him a moment to realize
that it was the side of the tower. They had circled back to where
this whole crazy ride had started.
And then the equally crazy witch lunged for the spelled window
ledge again. “Are you mad?” he asked, grabbing her.
“Let me go!” Her elbow caught him in the stomach, but he grimly held on.
“You’ll get yourself killed! The ward--”
“Is down,” she gasped, struggling. “It expended its energy last time—I can get through now!”
“You can get trapped now,” he shot
back. He didn’t understand enough about magic to fully follow
what was going on, but the guards running for the base of the tower
were all too familiar. As was the spell that hit him in the back
a moment later.
For an
instant, he thought the witch had thrown it, but she wasn’t even facing
his way. As soon as the stun loosened his hold, she grabbed the
window ledge and, with a wriggle and a twist, squeezed through.
Kit slumped over the barrel, staring blearily down at a red-headed
dwarf at the bottom of the tower, who was pointing the witch’s staff
and glaring menacingly up at him.
There was little he could do if she chose to hit him
again, but instead she glanced behind her at the approaching guards,
grabbed the little girl’s hand and towed her away. Kit
concentrated on not falling off the barrel, which he might survive,
into the forest of guards, which he probably wouldn’t. His head
was numb and his fingers clumsy, but he managed to grab the window
ledge on the third try and somehow slithered through the opening.
“You complete ass!” The woman looked at him as he collapsed to the floor. “Did you push it away?”
“Push what away?” he asked thickly, trying
to figure out which way was up. The stunner had been a strong
one, and while he could throw it off, it would be a few minutes.
And he wasn’t sure they had that long.
“The barrel!”
She leaned dangerously far out the window, and cursed. A moment later, he managed to
sit up, only to have the blunt end of a pike hit him upside the
temple. It was a glancing blow, but it slammed his head back into
the wall. He sat there, watching the room spin, as several
witches fished out the window with the sharp end of the pike.
They resolved themselves into one madwoman
a moment later, about the time he heard the approach of far too many
mages on the stairs. Of course, in his condition, one might be
enough to finish him. Kit staggered to his feet and started
toward the door, only to have the witch flap a hand at him. “I
warded the room!”
“It won’t hold them for long.”
“It won’t have to.” She’d hooked the
barrel—Kit could see it bobbing outside the window--and was in the
process of loading it with the contents of a large trunk. “Well,
don’t just stand there!” she said frantically. “Help me!”
“Help you do what?”
For an answer she shoved a double handful of wands, charms and bottles of odd,
sludgy
substances into his hands. He didn’t know what half the things
were, but although some of them buzzed, chimed and rang like a struck
tuning fork against his skin, nothing appeared to be attacking him. For
a change.
“Put them in,” she said impatiently.
“Put them in the barrel?” he asked slowly, wondering if he was following this at all.
“Yes! By the Goddess, are you always this slow?”
Kit thought that was a trifle unfair, all
things considered. But then the door shuddered and he decided to
worry about it later. He threw the weapons into the cask, turned
and almost bumped into the witch, who was right behind him with another
load.
He sidestepped and
dragged the heavy trunk over to the window, earning him a brief glance
of approval. “I don’t see what good this is going to do,” he
pointed out, as they finished cramming the barrel full of the trunk’s
contents. “The fight is halfway across the courtyard—”
“As this is about to be.” The witch
started to climb out the window, onto the overstuffed cask, when a
spell came sizzling through the air. Kit jerked her back and it
exploded against the stone, leaving a blackened scar on the tower’s
side.
“God’s Bones, woman!” he cursed, fighting an urge to shake her.
“It wasn’t meant to happen this way,” she
said, staring blankly at the window. “I planned to have the
weapons out before anyone noticed.”
“They appear to have noticed,” Kit said grimly, looking for
other options. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be any.
The room was small and wedge-shaped, with but one door and window, both
of which the Circle was now guarding.
She rounded on him. “You should have
stayed out of it! If you hadn’t jumped on board they might not
have spotted me!”
“If I had
stayed out of it, madam, you would be dead,” he snapped. “And I
was not the one sending us careening about like a drunken hummingbird.”
“Neither was I!” Gray eyes flashed like
lightning. “Winnie thought you were attacking me. She was
trying to shake you off.”
“Winnie would be the demented dwarf?”
“She isn’t either,” the witch said heatedly. “And say that sometime in her hearing!”
“I will, should I live so long,” he replied, as the door shuddered again.
The witch stared at it, and then back at
the barrel. And then she snatched a wand from the chest and aimed
it at the fully-loaded cask.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, grabbing for her arm.
But the stun had made him clumsy and before he could knock it aside,
their only way out of this death trap went flying off like a
bullet.
“Giving us a fighting chance.”
“That was our chance!”
The witch shook her head violently.
“None of us have a prayer if they don’t get that gate open!”
“And now what?”
"Now this.” She rotated her wrist and
the barrel followed the motion, spewing its contents across the
smoke-blackened scene.
“That wasn’t what I meant!” Kit said, giving into temptation and
shaking her. “How do you plan to get out of here?”
She licked her lips. “We fight.”
“With what? You’ve just sent our only weapons to the other side of the castle!”
“Not all of them,” she protested, glancing
at the pieces that lay scattered across a nearby table. “As long
as it’s only guards, we should be—”
The sound of a heavy fist, pounding on the door, cut her
off. “Open in the name of the queen!”
“She isn’t my queen!” the witch yelled.
There was a pause, and then another voice
spoke. “Then open in the name of the Circle.”
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