Brightly Woven(46)

“Stop!” I begged, stumbling down the road to them, tears streaking my cheeks. “Please, I’ll do anything, anything—just leave him alone!”

Dorwan’s dagger pulled clean from North’s chest with a sickening gurgle of blood. North raised his arms, warding off another blow.

“Please…,” I sobbed.

I fell to my knees beside North, ignoring the rocks that had begun tumbling around us. His tunic was heavy and warm with blood. This can’t be happening, I thought. No, Astraea, please!

“Don’t—don’t—Syd.” There was urgency in his voice. “Calm—calm…”

A roar sounded above us, and everything quivered with the force of my fear and desperation. Watching North like this, feeling his blood soaking between my fingers, I felt as if I would burst.

“Great Mother,” Dorwan whispered. Not even the scars could hide the shock on his face. “It is true….”

The earth shook, as if a great shock had run straight through its core. A cloud of dust exploded into the air. Then the ground was shaking so hard my teeth chattered, and a river of mud, rocks, and dead trees surged down the mountainside.

“Dorwan,” North said over the bellowing landslide. There was no trace of pain or any other emotion in his voice. He waited until the wizard was looking directly at him. “My move.”

A burst of fire erupted from North’s palm, and he slammed it into Dorwan’s face. The other wizard staggered back, screaming.

I felt North’s arm come up behind me, pulling me in closer so he could wrap the black cloak around us. I squeezed my eyes shut against the wave of mud that fell over us just as we vanished.

When I reopened them, there was grass beneath my hands instead of rocks and dust.

North pushed me off him none too gently and brought the cloak back up around him. By the time my hands reached for him, there was nothing but empty space to grasp.

“North!” I screamed, stumbling to my feet. “North!”

I didn’t know where I was. I whirled around, looking for a way back to the mountain, or a village that could help me. There was nothing but tall grass and hills, not even the thatched roofs of a little village. But I recognized the area around me; North and I had passed it on our way down the path. Instead of taking me away from the mountain, he had twisted me back up, toward Arcadia.

I began to run back down the mountain—but it wasn’t only my footsteps that thundered against the ground.

“Sydelle!” Pascal shouted, drawing his horse up short. His smooth, hairless head glinted with sweat, though the weather was brisk. On his horse, he looked taller than he was in person, more muscular and powerful, and younger as well. There were several young men behind him, all on their own horses.

“North—he—the mountain—the duel!” I gasped for air.

“It’s what I was afraid of,” Pascal said. “We saw it from Arcadia. Gorman, take her back to Lady Aphra and make sure we have bandages and ointment!”

“I want to go with you!” I said, reaching for his saddle. Pascal looked at me and sighed.

“Where are your things?” he asked.

“I left them in the wagon with James and Peter!” I said. “It doesn’t matter! Let me go with you!”

Pascal’s mouth was set in a firm line. Turning to two of the young men, he barked, “Spread out and keep your eyes open!”

Pascal hauled me up behind him and wasted no time nudging his horse into a gallop. The tall grass that grew alongside the path whipped our legs, and the wind kicked a cloud of dust into the air. The snow-covered fields disappeared into piles of mud and loose dirt. The deadly combination of the wizards’ duel and the avalanche that followed had all but destroyed the mountainside.

“Is this where the duel took place?” Pascal asked.

“He couldn’t have twisted far,” I said. “There are limitations—”

The boy on our right let out a sharp cry, jerking his reins back so hard the horse nearly threw him. “Here!” he called. “He’s here!”

Pascal slid down from his saddle, and I was right behind him.

“North!”

He was facedown, his arms thrown out at a strange angle, as though he had tried to brace himself. I rolled him onto his back, calling his name over and over until my voice was hoarse. Pascal knelt beside me, but I couldn’t hear anything over the buzzing in my ears. I pressed both hands against his wound, feeling the sticky warmth of his blood, not caring as it seeped into my dress.

One of the young men pulled my hands away from North, tending to the wound. It was Pascal who forced me to my feet and took me in his arms, pressing my face against his chest so I wouldn’t have to see the deathly pallor that had spread over North’s face.

“I’ll do what I can here,” the boy called, pulling open North’s shirt. “We have to get him back to Lady Aphra—he’ll be needing some of her elixirs.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. My bags, I thought. Why did I leave my bags in the wagon?

“Why isn’t he moving?” one of them asked. “Is he…?”

“No!” Pascal cut in harshly.

“I’m nearly finished.” The young man didn’t look up from where he was stitching North. “He’s lost a lot of blood. I’m not surprised he passed out from the pain.”