Roar (Stormheart #1)(93)

“Sly,” Locke said, “start pulling wind away from the storm. Try to dissolve the updraft powering that thing.”

“Jinx—”

The witch didn’t even wait for Locke to give her instructions, she spouted off her own plan. “I’ll reinforce the wall in case the town gets hit. And I’ll start cooling down the earth. That should weaken the base.”

“Good,” Locke replied. “Ransom?”

“I’ve got your back.” Together they took off down the road after Jinx and Sly, Bait hard on their heels.

“What can I do?” the boy asked. He was still enough of a novice that he couldn’t do much. His only affinity was rainstorm. Locke’s gut told him to send the boy back to the inn to stay with Duke, but one look at Bait’s face told Locke that was not an order with which Bait would comply. So he gave Bait the only job he could. “We might not be able to take that thing down before it hits the village. You start hitting doors near the north end and evacuating as many people as you can.”

“Got it.”

He took off, and Locke hoped he wouldn’t regret sending him right into danger. But there wasn’t time to second-guess it now.

As they neared, he got a clearer picture of the mammoth twister. Rain poured around it, swirling with the wind and debris and sand, the latter of which gave the twister an ominous bloodred color. About a hundred paces past the wall, a line of soldiers stood in the twister’s way. They were completely still, not running. None of them appeared to be working any Stormling powers.

“Mesmerized,” Jinx called from up ahead of him.

Locke cursed and called back, “Strengthen your mental shields. It has to be potent if it got all those soldiers. If any one of us gets mesmerized, grab whoever it is and retreat toward the inn. Better part of the town get destroyed than us.” As he spoke the words, the twister’s winds reached the first line of soldiers, and they were swept up like pebbles into the churning vortex.

Behind them, more soldiers were retreating; a few appeared to be trying their best to fight the storm, but whatever magic they had was not enough. Locke could feel the storm’s pull. Even this far away, it was trying to ensnare his mind. But he was prepared.

He could not say the same for the next group of soldiers who were picked up and swallowed into the maelstrom. There were fewer than ten soldiers remaining outside the walls, and realistically, he imagined most of those would be taken out too.

“Stop!” The others pulled up at his yell. “We make our stand here.”

They were fifty paces from the wall now. They didn’t have long before they would be in danger from flying debris. The ground trembled beneath their feet, rippling until sand drew up around the village wall, adding extra bracing.

“Good girl,” Ransom shouted to Jinx.

Locke felt a wave of cool air sweep up his calves. Jinx didn’t look at the others as she focused on pushing that air out toward the twister. But she called back to Ransom, “Talk to me like I’m a dog again, and I might just bite!”

Locke plucked the black Stormheart from his belt. A rush of wind blew past his face, Sly sucking air away from the storm. He used his magic to search out the edges of the twister. It was huge, and it roiled with magic so fierce that it bucked his hold.

With a twister affinity, he should have been able to take hold of the storm, surrounding it with his magic and forcing it into submission. He could suffocate it, force it back into the sky, or just break it apart. He didn’t have to break it apart from the inside like he did when they hunted. So it should have been easier.

But this was by far the fiercest twister he had ever faced. Each time he thought he got hold of it, a smaller funnel would push out from the larger one, challenging his grip.

He heard screams—the remaining soldiers, he guessed—but he could not spare even a flicker of concentration. The earth rumbled and a series of thunderous booms sounded. In his peripheral vision he saw roofs tearing from buildings and walls crumbling under the force of the outer winds.

Finally, he locked his magic around the lower half of the storm. The cool air coming off the earth had weakened the bottom of the storm, and it began to skip, lifting off the earth, only to touch down again a few moments later. He focused on pushing his magic up the column, surrounding it all. It had begun to narrow, no doubt due to a dwindling updraft thanks to Sly’s work.

It was weakening, and in one great lunge, his magic swallowed up the rest of the storm. He could sense Ransom’s magic layering over his, adding their strength together. Locke took a deep breath and pushed every bit of power he had at the storm, crushing it beneath his magic like a clod of dirt in his hands. Tension eased from his spine as he felt the storm give against his power. It thinned and wobbled, lifting off the ground and pulling back toward the sky—almost completely dissolved.

He eased off, but just before the twister disappeared completely, he felt one final lash of magic at his mind, crashing into his mental barriers. He fell to his knees, clutching his head, holding tight to his control. The assault lasted only for a moment, and then it was gone with the rest of the storm.





Calibah will not bend to tyranny, even if it comes from a storm rather than a king.

—The Tale of Lord Finneus Wolfram





20

Duke and Roar began righting the room in silence. They returned the mattress to the bed, and picked up overturned furniture. Roar knelt by her bags, folding her clothes and putting them back inside. She picked up her copy of The Tale of Lord Finneus Wolfram. The binding was loose and a few pages fluttered to the floor. She wanted to cry, but no tears came. Instead she just felt … tired.