Chapter 8

Fleta clenched her teeth and drew Alexei. The blade almost tugged her hand into a twirl of excitement. They call me a runner, Fleta thought. We’ll see how fast they run when I have the drop on them for once. Fleta bounded through the shadows. Even at half speed, carefully selecting each footstep to avoid branches and drifts of crunchy leaves, Fleta was faster than the quickest sprinter. From under a thicket, she spied the two shadows. A moment later she stood behind a tree, the Weeping Falchion at the ready, waiting for Carrig’s partner to pass. The swish of their steps through the brush was slow, interminable. 

The footsteps stopped. Fleta held her breath and squeezed Alexei’s hilt. Did they hear me? she wondered. Her plan to spring out from behind the tree for a surprise attack seemed childish all of a sudden. Fleta had only ever been a part of one ambush. Even then, she hadn’t planned it. Fleta bit back the temptation to curse herself.

Carrig’s low, hissing whisper brought Fleta back to the moment. “Mistress doubts Fleta ran away into the woods. She said to check the Gate.” Wait, was their mistress here? Fleta hadn’t heard or seen her. Could she turn invisible?

“No!” the other man whispered. “She’s close.” Fleta heard the second man take a long sniff just on the other side of the tree.

The Weeping Falchion flashed in the moonlight, Fleta dashing and plunging it into the second sorcerer before he finished his breath. Fleta moved directly into a plow guard without pulling the Falchion out of the body. The ribcage of the man parted before the supernaturally sharp sword like silk.

As the second sorcerer slid off her blade, a ball of pebbles and rockets collected in the air and burst towards her. The pebbles shot out into a cone twelve feet across. It would have been a devastating attack against another target, but not against a disciple of Thorgarick as fast as an arrow. Fleta was already thirty feet away.

Fleta turned to dash towards the broad shadow of Carrig as two more globes of rock gathered in the air, exploding outward one after the other. All of Fleta’s attention turned to dodging the shrapnel. A hurried duck put her under two stones that crashed together where her head had been. Alexei pulled her hands into a guard that deflected a third stone. Fleta stepped and turned as two more rocks blasted by on either side in opposite directions. The sixth stone was inches away from Fleta’s heart when she saw it. The champion spun, and the rock bounced into her ribs at an oblique angle and ricocheted off. The impact knocked the wind out of her. Fleta rolled into the underbrush as Alexei fell somewhere in a patch of ivy.

The Thorgarick champion scuttled behind a tree, coughing as her vision cleared. As soon as she could quiet her cough, she sprinted to another clump of trees, then another. The sharp pain in her side forced her to slow her running and her breath. Footsteps, some thirty paces off, approached. Fleta doubted she could close on the main without taking another rock blast. She could flee, even as injured as she was, sprinting behind cover and taking breaks. Ulfrith, however, was still at the Gate, and Fleta did not want to leave her for the sorcerers. She had a lot of questions to ask her. No doubt that the sorcerers would, too. Fleta started to whisper to Alexei before she realized he had fallen into the ivy. Instead, she drew a hunting knife and waited for the miller to close the distance.

All the light from the sky above vanished, leaving Fleta in darkness. Her pulse pounded and her gasp sharpened the pain in her side. In all the stories of sorcerers, they had one power just like the gifted had one augmented ability. Even the sorcerer outside the Hero’s Measure, who seemed to control both wind and fog, might have had one singular ability related to weather. The sorcerers who attacked her outside of Seagate would surely have used more powers if they had them. Yet, could this Carrig both shoot stones and swallow the light?

The footsteps of the sorcerer grew heavier, more erratic. And there was a second set. Farther, slower, quieter.

“Is… is there another Oathbound?” Carrig called out. “I have orders from the mistress! You are interfering. Stop now. There will be repercussions!”

Carrig staggered closer to Fleta, perhaps a dozen feet away, maybe a yard. Fleta couldn’t tell. Then, the miller gave a gurgling cry and fell to the ground.

“What a clever sword,” Ulfrith said. “Convenient to find one that can aim itself. But it seems to prefer your company.”

Fleta saw again. She jumped to her feet, then leaned heavily against the tree and gasped as her side flared with pain. Ulfrith held out Alexei, who squirmed in the woman’s hand, forcing her to lean on the staff in her other hand for balance. Fleta grabbed the hilt, quickly carrying Alexei and herself away from the strange woman.

“Would you guide me to the body?” Ulfrith asked. Her cloak, arms, and face were scratched—probably from the thicket around the Gate. If this gave her any discomfort, however, the strange woman did not show it. “This man is much harder to find now that you’ve killed him. Harder to question, too, I imagine, but that’s just as well. He was talking to someone with mind speech.”

“You’re a… a…” Fleta stuttered.

Ulfrith continued her slow progression until her staff hit Carrig’s body. She poked it a couple of times. “Not a very helpful lass, are you?”

“You’re a sorcerer,” Fleta finished, but of course, Ulfrith didn’t hear her.

“I know you’re here,” Ulfrith said. She leaned on her staff and oriented herself towards Fleta. Her pale blue eyes didn’t quite find Fleta’s, however. “You know the worst part about being deaf? I miss out on all the witty conversation. For some reason, people are not as scintillating when they have to communicate by tapping your hand. 

“Speaking of which…” Ulfrith held out a hand towards Fleta, palm up. “Tap my hand if you want my help. Don’t make me wait, though, or I’ll assume you’ve run off.”

Fleta wasn’t in shape to run off, but she was pretty sure she could elude Ulfrith by walking. That would be the safer, simpler option. The woman was a sorceress.

Or was she? Fleta had first-hand experience that creatures—or people—from other realms could have astonishing powers. Alexei was proof of that. And like Alexei, Ulfrith had used her ability to help Fleta. Twice. The first time, with a warning. The second time, by striking Carrig blind, though Fleta was affected as well.

Fleta sheathed Alexei and stepped forward. Her hand hovered over Ulfrith’s. Then Fleta yelped as Ulfrith’s hand slapped her wrist.

“Help granted!” Ulfrith smiled as Fleta recoiled. “No need to waste the whole night. Now, press my hand if you can get rid of the bodies.”