The Spell Realm (The Sorcery Code #2)(20)
Still, the animals seemed hesitant to leave. The one thing Blaise hadn’t been able to do with the spell was mask the people’s real scent. While the animals saw and heard others of their own kind, they undoubtedly still smelled humans in the vicinity and were loath to give up their prey.
Blaise and the hunters needed to do something more aggressive before the illusion spell began wearing off.
“Start screaming,” Blaise told the others. “Scream as loudly as you can—as if your life depends on it. Because it does.” And he let out a war-like yell, which he hoped would sound like a powerful roar to the animals’ ears. The hunters joined in, their voices mingling in a furious cacophony of sound.
The bearwolves took a step back . . . one, then another. Blaise could see their ears twitching and their tails swinging in displeasure from side to side. He continued screaming, even though his throat was sore and his ears were ringing.
And just when he was sure the plan would fail, the bearwolf leader let out a loud growl and turned around, disappearing into the bushes. The rest of the pack followed, and Blaise could hear them running through the forest to the east—back toward the Dark Woods.
The hunters and Blaise stopped screaming. Shaking in the aftermath, they looked at the now-empty meadow with stunned expressions on their faces.
The hunters could hardly believe they survived—and Blaise knew exactly how they felt.
*
After everyone had a chance to calm down a bit, Blaise walked over to Shram—the only one who had been wounded during this encounter. The scarred man was sitting on the ground, clutching his torn arm. Blaise could see blood seeping out of the wound despite a makeshift bandage of someone’s shirt pressed against it.
Crouching next to the man, Blaise pulled out his Interpreter Stone and a few spell cards, and began preparing a healing spell.
“What are you doing, sorcerer?” the man asked harshly, watching Blaise’s efforts.
“Planning to heal your wound, of course,” Blaise replied, continuing to write. “We need to get back to the camp, and your injuries will slow us down.”
Shram frowned, but didn’t voice any objections as Blaise finished writing and loaded the appropriate cards into his stone. As soon as the spell began working, Shram gasped, his eyes opening wide. Blaise knew what he was feeling—immediate relief from the pain. Pain that must’ve been quite bad, judging by the size of the wound. The bearwolf had literally torn out a chunk of Shram’s flesh—flesh that was now healing.
A few minutes later, the bleeding had stopped, and the injury was gone.
Slowly rising to his feet, Shram touched his arm, the expression on his face oscillating between wonder and resentment. Blaise got up too, and was about to walk away when Shram reached out and grabbed his arm.
“Thank you, sorcerer,” he said gruffly. “For this and for saving my life earlier.”
And before Blaise could react, the man walked away, apparently as uncomfortable with this scene as Blaise himself.
Chapter 12: Augusta
On the morning of the vote, Augusta woke up groggy and with a massive headache. She had scarcely slept, tossing and turning all night long, thinking of the impending vote. Every time she drifted off, she dreamed of Barson, images of his death dancing in front of her eyes.
Crawling out of bed, she forced herself to write a healing spell for her headache, so she could get a semblance of a clear mind. Sleep deprivation was one of the few things they hadn’t quite figured out how to combat with spells; nobody fully understood the physiological process behind sleep and how it helped the human body.
Once her temples were no longer throbbing, Augusta dressed and got ready. Walking through the Tower halls, she could see the apprentices looking at her with curiosity. The entire Tower was buzzing with rumors and speculation about the upcoming meeting. As she approached the Council Hall, she heard the gong that announced the start of the meeting.
Most of the Councilors were already gathered inside, and Augusta nodded at them in greeting as she walked over to sit down on her throne. Ganir was already there; as usual, he was the one who had used the gong. Dania was there too, looking uncomfortable and guilty. Augusta guessed that she was not happy about her task.
Once Kelvin and Furak arrived, the vote began.
It was a custom as old as the office of the Sorcerer Council itself. Each Councilor had a voting stone that would need to be teleported into one of the voting boxes—red box for Yes, blue one for No. The boxes stood on the Scales of Justice in the middle of the large marble table. When the vote was complete, the weight of the stones would force the Scales to tip in whichever direction the vote was leaning. Afterwards, each of the voting stones would get summoned back to its original owner.
The process was supposed to be both fair and anonymous, and Augusta wondered again how Blaise had learned how she’d voted at his brother’s trial.
Ganir sat there silently instead of addressing everyone like he usually did. Looking away from him, Augusta caught Jandison’s gaze. He gave her a barely perceptible nod and got up.
“Those in favor of taking action against the creature, vote Yes,” Jandison said, addressing the Council in a loud voice. “If we get a No vote, we will discuss what the next option will be.”
Perfect, Augusta thought. The choices were something unknown versus a clearly defined action. It was human nature to avoid uncertainty. Jandison really was completely on her side, and for the first time, Augusta wondered if he did have what it took to lead the Council in Ganir’s stead.