Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(70)

“What is that?” Chris asked, leaning forward.

It was a bundle of fabric suspended across the mouth of the ravine between the two statues, the loose ends of the material flapping in the breeze. Whatever was contained within it was large, and my skin crawled. “Something,” I murmured, “that we were meant to find. Stay close.”

I shielded us from sight and from any form of attack as we moved across the open stretch, the ground still dark until the sun rose a little higher. There was only one set of footprints, but Chris insisted on poking the ground in front of us with his walking stick. “Ain’t falling for my own trick,” he muttered.

I didn’t argue. Despite the frigid temperature, sweat was trickling down his brow, and there was no missing the staccato beat of his heart. If doing something eased his nerves, so much the better.

The bundle swayed on a strong gust of wind, droplets raining down from the soaked fabric. My eyes followed the drips as the sun crested the mountain behind us, bathing our path with light. Beneath the bundle was a circle of crimson, and as the breeze reversed, the metallic tang of blood filled my nostrils.

“God in heaven,” Chris whispered, and I debated sending him back to camp and out of harm’s way. Except with Angoulême, Lessa, and Roland still alive, was anywhere safe? Chris knew the risks, but he’d agreed to come anyway. He wouldn’t thank me for sending him away.

“Whoever it is can’t have been dead long,” Chris said, stopping just shy of the circle of blood. “Doesn’t take long for a body to freeze in this weather.”

I knew who it was, and, catching a slight tremble of motion from the bundle, I knew he wasn’t dead. “This is either a warning, a trap, or both,” I said. “Be ready.”

Slicing through the magic suspending the drenched bundle, I lowered it to the snow, the fabric falling open as I relinquished my hold, limbs spilling out with it.

Chris staggered away and retched into the snow. I wanted to do the same, but instead I swallowed the burning bile and approached the dying troll. “Martin?”

The librarian didn’t answer, his open eyes twitching, but unseeing. Unconscious. Which was a small mercy, because what had been done to him was a testament to what even a lesser troll could endure. But there was no coming back. Not from this.

Kneeling next to him, I pulled out a knife. A blow to the heart would end his suffering. I owed him that. I lifted the blade, then his eyes snapped into focus. “No!”

I lowered my arm. “Martin, you don’t want to survive this.”

His gaze was full of the knowledge of what had been done to him, but still he said, “Not yet. Not until Angoulême is dead.” He shifted awkwardly in the snow, back arching and head twisting from side to side in a futile struggle to move. “He has to pay for what he did to her.”

“He will,” I said. “I promise he’ll pay for it.” The air pulsed slightly with the power of my oath, and he settled back, eyes on me. “Let me help you,” I said.

“No,” Martin whispered. “Not until he’s dead. I need to see him dead.”

I exhaled softly, knowing I couldn’t deny such a request, then turned to Chris, who was still on his hands and knees. “I need you to take him to Cécile’s grandmother. He shouldn’t be that heavy without–” I broke off as Chris blanched. But then he nodded.

“Cauterize them,” Martin whispered. “I don’t want to bleed out while I wait.”

For the first time in my life, my magic faltered. Trying again to raise heat, I swallowed hard as it failed again.

“Cécile’s braver than you,” Martin said around clenched teeth. “She wouldn’t flinch.”

“I know.” Then fire burned in the palm of my hand, and the stench of scorched blood filled the air. Martin screamed once, then fainted, and when I was finished, I vomited in the snow.

“Go,” I said to Chris, and without looking to see if he complied, I followed the trail of Martin’s blood into the ravine.



* * *



The walls rose up to either side of me, cut sheer by a stream that had run this way since before trolls walked this world. At first, the rock was unadorned, but as I rounded the first bend, the carvings began. Princes and princesses, dukes and duchesses, their expressions austere and eerily similar to my own. Many of them I recognized, but as I drew closer, the elements had washed away all but the suggestions of faces. It didn’t matter: they were my family. All of them. And Angoulême had no right to be in this place.

The ravine snaked its way between the two mountains, abruptly opening into a wide circular space, with a third peak at its far side. At the center lay a small lake frozen solid, and all around rose statues of the kings and queens from before the Fall. Their eyes were set with glass that had once been filled with troll-fire, and it seemed they were all watching me, fixing me with silent scrutiny. The entire space hummed with magic, the ground coated with it and the air so thick with it that it seemed scarcely breathable.

But there was no sign of life.

Maybe he’s gone, a little voice whispered my head. Maybe you’re too late.

But I didn’t think I was. The tombs were the most defensible place on the Isle, and Angoulême could hide within them long enough for Roland and Lessa to arrive. Little did he know, we planned to be long gone by the time they got here. When I went up against my brother, it would be in a place of my choosing.