Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4)(9)

My magic spread away from me again and back into the forest around us as I counted the camps one by one. My heart beat heavily as I realized how much trouble we were in. They hadn’t thought there was anyone on that side of the abbey. It was the way they had hoped we would be able to get away, but there wasn’t any chance of that happening now.

Twenty-one camps, at least ninety Trpaslík. There is more of that odd magic over there. I am not sure what it is, I replied internally, and Ilyan’s hand moved to add the number to the map.

“Twenty-one? What in Buddha’s pants are you playing at, brother?” Thom interjected. He was practically yelling now, his confusion increasing.

“Are you sure, mi lasko?” Ilyan asked, his head still bowed as he ignored Thom’s outburst.

“Yes,” I whispered, not willing to elaborate to the two men who were now staring openly at me. Sain looked like he was getting ready to sacrifice a calf in my name.

“Where else are they, Jos?” Ilyan whispered. He raised his head to look at me, his eyes digging into mine. I just stared at him, not quite sure how to tell him all that I felt, not entirely certain how he would react.

“I need to know where they are, mi lasko. As accurately as you can.” His regality was broken for a moment when everything about him softened as he looked into me.

I nodded my head once before I scanned over the map, looking at the dozens of red marks that they had carefully drawn to mark each of the Trpaslík camps which they had found. Most of them were very precise, but so many of them were wrong, too far in the wrong direction, not enough members accounted for. I looked from circle to circle until my eyes stopped, focusing on a blank space, the old paper bare and yellowed, but I knew that was wrong.

I reached my hand forward, unsurprised to see my fingers shake as I crawled them along the smooth paper until I reached the spot I had seen clearly in my mind. I could see them, the stocky men gathered around the fire, the weapons piled to the side, the want of blood that pulsed through their magic.

Eight are here, I sent to Ilyan, his hand flying forward as he drew a large number eight right where I had indicated.

The ink dried as I looked over the paper, my magic stretching away from me as it recalled what I had felt only minutes before. I moved from one bare place to another, my fingers crawling over the paper as I pointed out camp after camp. Ilyan followed with me, his pen working fast as I gave him the information they had been so desperately in need of.

The numbers grew as I worked, the circles increasing until it became clear that Edmund had effectively trapped us inside the ancient, stone walls of the abbey. I didn’t know what battle they had planned, but looking at these numbers now, I didn’t see how we could get away or even survive a fight. I cringed at the thought, pushing the imagery away as Ilyan’s magic flowed through me, soothing my joints that had knit themselves together in anxious fear.

Twelve, I said as I gave him the last number.

“We are trapped,” I whispered as Ilyan’s arm snaked around my waist, pulling me against him. I could feel the heavy pulse of his heart, the maniacal need to fight conflicting with his need to protect me as well as to keep everyone alive.

“Not necessarily,” Ilyan announced as he pointed toward a large camp right in front of where Ovailia was currently stationed. “If you and I begin our battle here, we might be able to clear enough Trpaslíks out of this area to give everyone else a chance to escape.”

“Will that work?” Thom asked, his voice sounding hopeful for the first time.

“It should.” Ilyan’s small smile played through his eyes. “If Joclyn and I can create enough destruction, then the others won’t be able to stay away.”

I could see the brilliance of the plan, the simple logic probably just enough that it would be overlooked. The only variable was me.

“When?” Thom asked eagerly.

“If we coordinate it right with Edmund’s arrival, we should catch them off guard,” Ilyan said. The tone of his words made this all sound strangely final, as if tomorrow morning we would wake up and stroll into the forest, expecting to come out again in one piece. Ilyan maybe, but the sight had shown me something other than that for myself.

“Joclyn,” Ilyan whispered, his voice only for me, even though I was sure everyone else could hear him. “I will need your help to track their movements and pinpoint my father’s arrival. Can you do that?”

I nodded at his question, knowing that even if I wasn’t yet ready to fight, that at least was something I could do.

“Then I will need you two to continue watching over the abbey from the tower. Thom, I also need you to watch over Wyn and Dramin. I would like to know the second we can move them.” Ilyan’s voice rumbled through me as he spoke.

“Why don’t I knit you a new Christmas sweater while I am at it?” Thom grumbled under his breath.

“Thomas.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Thom relented, nodding once in acceptance, even though I could tell he was upset over having to do so much.

I had expected to see the same acceptance of the plan on Sain’s face, but instead, he stared right at me, his green eyes as wide as saucers.

I cringed as the knife of his eyes cut into me, moving closer to Ilyan on habit.

Why is he looking at me like that? I asked into Ilyan’s mind, my confusion growing.