Windwitch (The Witchlands 2)

Then the horses were there, breaking through the forest with Baedyeds on their backs. Color flashed on their saddles—streaming and bright against the gray haze that now drifted between the trees.

Aeduan swung Owl around and yanked her to the ground. An arrow punched into his back, he stumbled forward, crouching over Owl.

No arrows hit her, though, and that, Aeduan thought, was at least one good thing.

He pulled Owl closer to him, protecting her while he cataloged pain and damage. Broken rib. Pierced left lung. Pierced heart.

The impaled heart would be a problem—that would slow him. For without blood to pump easily through his veins, Aeduan couldn’t tap into his full power. He would be slow, he would be weak.

And now a second arrow hit. Directly into his neck. Blood spurted.

Always. There was always blood where Aeduan went.

The fire was closing in now. Smoke sawed into his throat, into his tear ducts. His eyes streamed, and the oaks, the riders, the soldiers now charging from beyond—they all seemed to snake and blur.

Run, my child, run.

The river. If Aeduan could just get Owl to the Amonra, then they might escape this growing firestorm.

He rose, snapping the arrow’s shaft from his neck as he did so. Voices and blood-scents crashed around him. Deer and squirrels and moles fled.

Without a word, Aeduan hefted Owl onto his shoulder and resumed his run. A stag ran too, and Aeduan forced himself to keep pace with it. To follow its route through the trees.

Not once did Aeduan check on Owl. He’d have to crane his neck to look at her, and there simply was no time. Not when every step had to be perfectly placed to keep them out of the fire. Not when every inch of his attention had to be given to holding her tight.

At last, he, Owl, and the stag outran the roar of distant flames. In its place, steel clashed. Blood-scents crawled up Aeduan’s nose. War had come to the Contested Lands once more.

Aeduan didn’t slow. If anything, he pumped his legs faster. Owl shook against him, but his grip—and hers—held fast.

Ahead, the trees ended. The river opened up, but it was covered in ships aflame and cannons firing.

The stag reached the end of the forest.

Arrows slammed into him. The creature reared, and blood bloomed.

Aeduan barely had enough time to stop himself. To wrench around before more arrows loosed, whizzing past. Two crunched into his left arm—but he twisted, releasing Owl to the ground.

Nothing hit her. She was safe, she was safe.

Aeduan was not, though. Too many wounds; too much blood rushing out of him; too much smoke in his lungs. Worse, he was at the river, and he saw no way through.

Run, my child, run.

Aeduan yanked Owl back into the trees. Too hard, though—he pulled her too hard. She stumbled, she fell.

Her eyes, panicked and streaming, lifted to meet Aeduan’s. So much terror there, so much confusion and trust.

The earth trembled, moving almost in time to Owl’s panting breaths. So sudden, so strange—the tremor turned Aeduan’s legs to dust. He fell, tumbling out of the trees and onto the shore.

Arrows pummeled him, one after the other.

He turned toward Owl, hoping to tell her to run! To hide! Just as his mother had told him so many years ago. But he was too slow. A Baedyed rider was snatching her up. Then the rider reeled his horse about and galloped back into the smoky trees.

Aeduan dragged himself after. The earth still shook, a thousand aftershocks that rattled each arrow deeper into his flesh. He couldn’t remove them or his body would begin healing with full force—and if he healed, he would pass out.

His breath hiccupped. Blood sprayed from his mouth. His vision quivered, black swarming at the edges.

He sniffed, almost frantic, for Owl’s blood. Or for the man who’d nabbed her, but Aeduan was simply too weak, and there was no magic to be spared.

He listed and swayed through the trees. Creatures still ran and birds streaked, all while flames licked in closer. Yet Aeduan scarcely felt the coming heat. Owl had been carried this way, so this way he would go.

Until a figure appeared before him.

At first, Aeduan thought it an apparition. That exhaustion and smoke inhalation played tricks on his eyes, creating dark shadows to stride through the burning trees.

Then the figure walked from the fire. His hands flung up like a maestro’s, and wherever his wrist twirled, new fires erupted. Trees, hedges, and even birds—they all ignited in a burst of fiery death.

Aeduan knew he should circle away, but there was nowhere to go. The forest burned; he was trapped.

The Firewitch turned to ignite a birch, and his eyes—glowing like embers—caught on Aeduan.

The man smiled, a flash of white in a world of flames, and Aeduan recognized him. It was the one from before. The Firewitch who’d tried to kill him.

As that awareness cinched into place, a fresh surge of energy roared through Aeduan’s muscles. Smoke laced and fire singed, it was enough power to send him racing forward. If he could kill this man, maybe the fire would end. In three magic-sped steps, Aeduan reached the Firewitch. He rasped his sword free.

The Firewitch opened his mouth, and fire spewed out.

Aeduan barely managed to lurch left before the onslaught funneled past. So loud, it ate all other sounds. So hot, it boiled away all senses.

Aeduan swung. His blade hit only fire—and pyres were now igniting beneath his feet. Sparks and smoke to blind. Run, my child, run.

He heaved left again. More fire. He tumbled right. Endless flames. He spun around to move backward, but now he found only stone. The pillars in the gorge. No escape.