Page 29 of Sword & Sacrifice

Penn eyed the structure warily. One misplaced step and he’d fall into the river. He was a fair swimmer, but he didn’t know how Valistair’s magic affected the rest of the water. Would he freeze to death before he drowned?

“If you’re nervous”—Valistair lowered his hand and slipped it around Penn’s waist—“I can help you cross.”

Niall’s lip curled as he observed them. “Why are you coddling the boy? He isn’t even useful as a servant. Whatever information he has, surely there are better ways to take it from him.”

It would be so easy to shove him off the bridge. Penn smiled at Niall. “Are you afraid he only needs one of us?”

Niall narrowed his eyes. “I have been at Alistair’s side for years. I know him better than you know yourself. I am the reason he has a new body. You are nothing but a guide and a hostage, should we choose to use you as such. Don’t mistake your importance, boy.”

“Niall,” Valistair chided. “This isn’t a competition—I need you both.” There was a dark undertone to the words, a warning that Niall’s presence would only be tolerated as long as he proved useful.

“Yes, someone still needs to drive the carriage,” Penn replied, grinning at Niall.

Niall’s face suddenly relaxed. “You’re right.”

I am? Penn kept his expression neutral, hiding his surprise. He wasn’t sure why Niall had changed his tune.

“I will drive the carriage across first, then you and Alistair can follow.”

Penn watched him warily as he returned to the driver’s seat. Why is he willing to test the bridge? Is he trying to prove that he has faith in Alistair’s abilities? That he’s confident his own magic will save him if the bridge fails?

The horses weren’t as eager to cross as Niall was. He whipped them until they finally stepped onto the ice, and Penn flinched with every lash, his jaw clenching. He wanted to snatch the whip out of Niall’s hand and toss it into the water.

Once Niall was halfway across and the bridge held firm, Penn stepped onto the ice. Instead of being slick, the surface was so cold that it stuck to his boots. The air above the river was several degrees cooler than at the bank, and he shivered in response. He looked ahead, trying to judge the distance to the other side. It didn’t seem far until he took a second step and realized how much painstaking effort each one required.

Valistair stepped up behind him, close enough to grab Penn if he started to fall.

Taking a deep breath, Penn began his slow trek across the ice.

Chitin sizzled and smoked as Valerian twisted his blade through another spider’s thorax. After half a dozen, he’d started to see a pattern in their movements. Alistair’s minions avoided the happy or mild memories. Light flirtations, magical milestones, successful missions—none of these tempted the creepy-crawly spies. They sought the darkest corners of Valerian’s mind, squeezed themselves into the cracks and crevices of his psyche.

He could think of two reasons behind this pattern: Alistair was gathering information he planned to use to destroy Valerian’s hold on his own mind, or he was trying to lead Valerian into the depths of despair. Every time Valerian fought one of the spiders, he risked falling into his own memories. And in every memory, he risked being unable to pull himself back out. He could be trapped, reliving his worst moments again and again, never aware that life improved beyond that point.

It would drive anyone mad.

The one good thing about this pattern was that it made the spiders easier to hunt. While they searched and examined the available offerings like food at a feast, Valerian already knew how to find the choicest morsels. He no longer needed to stalk them through the trees—he waited for them to come to him.

Another spider crawled from the canopy down the trunk of a nearby tree. Since Valerian had killed its companion before it could watch the memory, Alistair still needed the information found within. Either the spider didn’t see Valerian, or it didn’t view him as a threat, because it didn’t react to his approach.

Valerian drove the dagger straight into its abdomen and dragged the blade up, grinning maniacally as viscera splattered over his face and chest. The spider’s many legs thrashed wildly, trying to escape or turn and face its attacker. Pinned to the tree, it could do neither.

“Enough,” someone snarled behind Valerian.

He froze, the deranged smile stretching his lips until they ached, and slowly looked over his shoulder. “I finally got your attention.”

Alistair’s white hair and pale skin glowed in the grimy, shadowed forest. Valerian wanted to smear his filthy hands all over the pristine mage until his appearance matched his foul mind.

“You’re stronger than I expected,” Alistair said, eyeing Valerian warily. “This is an … inopportune time for your interference. I shouldn’t have allowed this to continue for so long.”

Roots slithered toward Valerian. Alistair had used this trick before, capturing Valerian and trapping him in old memories when he first took control of Valerian’s body.

Valerian gritted his teeth and glared down at the roots. This is my mind, dammit. You’ll obey me, not some intruder!

The closest root stopped an inch from his boot, quivering as if in fear. Slowly, so fucking slowly Valerian thought he might grind through his teeth before he succeeded, the root drew back and reversed toward a new target.

Alistair’s eyes widened slightly in surprise before narrowing in cold fury. The root stopped again, and ice crystals formed over it, holding it in place.

More roots struggled between the two mages, sometimes inching toward Valerian, other times crawling toward Alistair, each one eventually frozen in place.