Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(29)

“Saints and martyrs,” Howard said. “This is the only patch of green I’ve seen in this whole godforsaken country. Why anyone would come here willingly is beyond me.”

“This an’t the worst of it,” Sublette said. “There’s dragons and watergators.”

“There couldn’t be watergators,” Howard countered, “’cause there’s no water.”

“There’s a river,” Sublette pointed out.

While they were talking, Evan managed to slide Destin’s amulet out of his breeches and loop the chain around his neck. The amulet, warm and primed with flash, rested against his chest. Maybe he didn’t know any killing charms, but he’d find a way just the same.

“Let’s get this thing done,” Sublette muttered. “I’m not getting left here, that’s for sure.”

Actually, you are, Evan thought.

By now he guessed they were far enough away from the cabin that they wouldn’t be seen or heard.

Sublette drew his sword. “Kneel, boy,” he said. “If you hold still, I’ll cut off your head and you won’t feel a thing.”

“How do you know?” Evan said. “Have you ever been beheaded?”

“Stop wasting time and kneel!” Howard put his hand on Evan’s shoulder to push him down to his knees. Evan turned, pressed his finger into the soldier’s chest, and sent lightning rocketing in. Howard dropped like a rock.

“Howard?” Sublette stared at the dead man for a scant few seconds, which was all Evan needed. Reaching from behind, he pressed his fingers into Sublette’s throat and did for him, too.

Sometimes simple is best, he thought.

He wrestled Sublette out of his uniform jacket and pulled it on over his shirt. Working feverishly, he strapped on the soldier’s belt and shoved his sword back into the scabbard. The disguise wouldn’t fool anyone for long, but it might buy him a few seconds, and that might make the difference. There was nothing he could do about his hair, but it was nighttime, after all.

He sprinted back to the cottage, the unfamiliar sword banging against his hip, organizing his story as he ran.

He banged through the door, shouting, “General Karn! The handyman! He pushed Howard in the river and ran off!”

But the interior of the cottage was empty as a tomb. It appeared that Sublette and Howard were right to worry. The rest of the party had already gone.

They’d be on their way to the harbor. No doubt the wetland gunship he and Destin had seen belonged to them. Evan raced back down the path they’d traversed earlier, nearly flying head over heels twice before he discarded the sword that kept tangling in his legs. It wasn’t as if a sword would make that much difference—not in his hands, anyway. By now it was full dark, with the moon not yet risen above the Dragonbacks.

He skidded to a stop at the quayside. The jolly boats were gone from their mooring at the public dock, so he looked out over the harbor.

He was too late.

Against the western horizon, still bright from the setting sun, he saw the three-masted schooner passing between the twin pillars of the Guardians on its way to the open sea.

Desperately, he reached out with his hands and attempted to take hold of the air and pull it toward him, to create a change in the wind that might bring Destin back. But he hadn’t enough practice to gauge the scale and distance, and the ship was already within the protection of the straits. A massive wave of wind and water swept ashore, knocking him flat and drenching him. He could hear trees snapping off behind him.

Somehow, he had to let Destin know that he’d survived, that his gambit had been successful. Evan didn’t know whether that would be enough to give his friend the will to live, but it was all he had to offer.

Broadening his stance on the sand, Evan gripped Destin’s amulet with both hands and breathed in all the magic he could hold. Letting go of the amulet, he raised both hands and sent bolts of lightning arcing over the sea, colliding high over the Ardenine ship, turning midnight to noon and gilding the waves with silver and gold.

That’s a promise, Destin, Evan thought. Stay alive and we’ll see each other again.

He stood watching as Destin’s ship grew smaller and smaller until it winked out over the horizon like a dying star.





12


BLOOD MAGIC


Evan had no desire to return to the cottage and wallow in his many losses, but he knew he might find clues there that would tell him where the general might have taken Destin. They’d had one conversation about Destin’s life in the wetlands, and that had mostly focused on General Karn. Evan had sailed the waters along the wetland coast, but he’d never gone ashore, and he knew no one who lived there. He spoke Common, and Ardenine, now, passably. He had a ship, but no crew.

Still, a general shouldn’t be hard to find, once he made that crossing.

Captain Strangward always said that luck visits a man when he’s prepared a place for it. If Evan was going looking for Destin, he’d need maps and charts and books. He needed to practice magic so he’d have a chance going up against the Ardenines if it came to that.

The cottage stood rooted in its spot next to the river, but it already seemed to be fading into memory, like a place in a child’s storybook, or a dream he’d had once.

Inside, he circled around the spot where Frances had fallen, where her blood had dried on the tiles. He searched the place—it didn’t take long. His pendant lay on the floor in the corner. He slipped it into his pocket, meaning to repair the chain later. In the chest beside Frances’s bed, he found a locket with a picture of Destin on one side and that of a small family grouping on the other—her parents, brothers, and sisters, maybe. The general wasn’t there. In the strongbox under the floor, she’d stowed a small pouch of money—proceeds from sales at the market, no doubt—and a heavy gold ring with a signet in the shape of a bear.