Last Stand (The Black Mage #4)(71)

I barely had time to cast before something hit my shield, sending a ripple of purple down my globe. I raced down the alley, this time not bothering to hide my presence, as shouts and more projections rained down on me like missiles from above.

In five minutes, I was severing the lead, sending my horse into a gallop as we tore up the rocky hillside, and fleeing north.

I didn’t stop once. For the first hour, I heard distant shouts—sounds of the two or three regiment mages scouring the ground as fumbling soldiers tried to lead them through the dark. But in the end, it didn’t matter.

I grew up in these woods; the mages hadn’t. The soldiers might have taken up posts after their year in the Cavalry, but they hadn’t spent summers climbing the trees and darting along the trails like the village children. They might have a vague idea of where I was, but in the time it would take to reach me, I would be long gone.

It was an uncomfortable trek without a full moon to guide my way; at parts I was forced to dismount and hike. The trail grew so steep and narrow that there was no other choice. But eventually, the sun rose and, with it, my relief.

My parents were safe. No bounty hunter would be searching for them when there was a rebel on the run with potential titles for her head.

Now I just had to get to my brother, because if the Crown had sent soldiers to Demsh’aa, the keep would be next.



*

I raced down the street as fast as my feet could fly.

There were shouts as three men came around the corner; I had about two minutes before they would pass and spot me in the baker’s quarter.

Sweat stung my eyes. I swiped it away as I studied the streets.

“Stop that thief!”

Apparently they were faster than I thought.

I darted left and ducked into an alcove of stalls, desperately scanning the market for a place to hide. My horse was a mile outside of town, tethered to a tree near the mountain stream where I had camped, but I couldn’t lead a parade of city guards through the forest now. I needed to lose the guards before they attracted a mob.

A shopkeeper that had yet to ascertain my role in the crowds was standing in front of me, oblivious.

“Excuse me, sir.” I tried to push my way past, but he placed a large hand on my shoulder, halting me.

“You look familiar,” he said, squinting.

“Must have one of those faces.” I ducked my head even lower. The last thing I needed was for someone to recognize me now. It was midday, so the stalls were crowded, but it wouldn’t take a lot to recall the wanted posters hanging off every post and shop. Eleven days of travel had washed out all trace of brown dye.

I broke free of the shopkeeper’s grip before he could place my face and ducked left.

All for two mincemeat pies and a string of sausage left on an unsuspecting sill. I had run out of food three days ago. The whole situation could have been avoided if I had properly tied my saddlebags before running into a patrol mage and a bounty hunter in the forest. The mage’s casting had spooked my horse, and I’d lost two days of scraps and a water skin on the run. It was the only reason I had risked my neck coming into town today.

I was too far away from the keep to last five days without supplies.

I squeezed past a large woman and three children and took to a side street less occupied than the rest. Maybe I could hide here until the men passed.

“Halt! Who goes there?”

I cursed under my breath as I spotted a pair of city guards closing in from the opposite end.

I had all of three seconds to make my decision before the closest guard’s face lit up in recognition.

Thank the gods neither was a mage.

My feet took off before the soldier had even opened her mouth. I was scurrying up a tower of rusting crates, catching splinters in my palms as I scrabbled to the top. My balance was precarious.

I heard their pounding footfall as I lunged.

My hands caught hold of the nearest wooden beam, and I heaved myself up and over the building for all that I was worth.

There was a terrible jolt in the sockets of my arms and everything burned.

I staggered across the slatted roof, trying not to think about what would happen if I slipped, or, gods help me, stepped onto a piece of rotted wood. The beams shook and voices raised beneath—people wondering about the pounding feet over their heads.

Moments later a dagger whistled across the air. The soldiers had made it up faster than I expected. I didn’t have time to cast a defense as all of my effort was in running across an unstable roof. The blade caught the back of my thigh.

I had all of one second to make a decision. I couldn’t run with a blade embedded in my leg—it would damage the muscles with every leap—so I jerked the blade free as I cast out a globe. Then I ripped my sleeve and tied a makeshift wrap to my leg. My handwork was sloppy and rushed, but I didn’t have a choice.

Just because I had a magic shield didn’t mean they couldn’t approach.

Everything throbbed, and blood pulsed heavily against my leg.

I stalled at the ledge of the building. There was another roof, but I didn’t trust myself to make the leap with my injured leg. The drop was seven yards and there were no crates to climb, but it was in an empty alley, and no one would see. The fall would be agony on my leg, but it was doable. I just had to make the distance less than it was.

I ducked—the casting was still up as another throwing knife bounced harmlessly off its surface—and then I crouched, using my hands to clutch the beam as I hung off the side of the roof.