Page 35 of Sword & Sacrifice

“He needs to get away from you,” Niall hissed, digging the blade into Penn’s skin.

Sharp pain twinged through his back. He winced, but remained crouched, hands up. “Please, Niall, I don’t have time to fight with you. He’s dying.”

Niall shifted to look over Penn’s shoulder, then swore under his breath. “You move one muscle, and I will slit your belly open and feed you to the fish, Alistair’s orders be damned.” He only removed the pressure of the dagger after Penn nodded.

Kneeling next to Valerian, Niall peeled one of his eyes open, then the other. “Damn mercenary is fighting back. They’re in too deep.”

“How do we pull him out?” Penn carefully avoided using Valerian’s name.

“How should I know?” Niall snapped. “This isn’t my area of magic.”

“Well, do you have a potion that can fix him?” At Niall’s hesitation, Penn couldn’t suppress his anger anymore. “You’re a mage, dammit, do something!”

Niall scowled at him and straightened. “I’ve had enough of your attitude.” He clasped the dagger in front of himself and ran straight for Penn.

The people around Penn usually saw the charmer, the flirt, the messenger. An affable young man whose tongue got him into as much trouble as it got him out of. They never stopped to look deeper, to understand what else he was capable of.

Penn grabbed Niall’s wrist to keep the dagger away from himself and rammed his shoulder into the mage’s belly, forcing the air out of him in a harsh gasp. Grabbing Niall behind his knees, Penn shifted his stance, tossing the mage over his shoulder.

Already out of breath, Niall landed in the dirt with a strangled gurgle. His eyes bulged out of his head as he struggled on the ground, rolling like a beetle trapped on its back.

“You—” Niall sputtered.

Penn kicked him in the head, sending the other man reeling once again. “You’ve had enough of my attitude? You’re a flaccid blob of flesh clinging like snot to men of power. If you can’t even fix him, then you’re worthless.”

The dagger, tipped in Penn’s own blood, had fallen to the ground. He picked it up, grabbed a handful of Niall’s hair, and yanked his head backwards. Penn thrust the dagger forward.

The blade connected with an invisible shield, shattering in Penn’s hand. His fingers reflexively opened, dropping the broken handle and exposing the places where metal shards dug into his skin.

Niall tumbled backwards and his head slammed against the ground. His eyelashes fluttered in a valiant attempt to cling to consciousness before he lost the battle. His head lolled to the side.

Cradling his injured hand, Penn stepped forward, intending to crush the mage’s neck beneath his boot. If it hadn’t been for Niall, Valerian could have kept Alistair at bay until they reached Adelaide’s cottage, where they could fight him together. Give Valerian a chance to win. Though Niall seemed incompetent, his schemes succeeded too often to allow him to live.

A groan sounded behind Penn and he whipped around.

Valerian stirred, reaching for his head, but his hand fell back to his side.

Penn abandoned Niall and ran toward Valerian, falling to his knees beside him. “Val? Val, c’mon, wake up.” He stroked Valerian’s cheek, smearing blood over his golden skin. “Please look at me.”

The mage’s lashes fluttered open, and he looked directly into Penn’s eyes.

“You left so quickly,” Alistair said. His usually smooth voice as jagged as broken glass, revealing his discomposure. “We never finished our discussion.”

“Fuck you,” Valerian spat. Hanging upside down in a spider’s web, the spittle landed with a satisfying splat against Alistair’s cheek.

His nose crinkled and he wiped it away with the corner of his sleeve. “You’re a disgusting, foul creature. I’m surprised your mind is as well-maintained as it is.” He walked toward one of the trees, hand hovering over the bark. “So many memories to sample from. You chose a particularly interesting one to visit. Did you hope I would take the place of the mage whose mind you destroyed?”

Valerian ignored him, focusing on the sticky web holding him captive. Didn’t I have a dream like this? A diviner would have seethed in jealousy at how accurately his subconscious mind predicted the future.

Ice crystals decorated the web, sparkling in the dim forest light. At the edges, where the web connected to branches in the canopy, multiple eyes gleamed at Valerian from the shadows. The spider clicked its pincers in anticipation of a fine feast.

“I admit, your mental shields gave even me pause when I first saw them. If you hadn’t opened yourself to me, I’m not sure I would have found a way around them.”

Valerian’s fingers twitched as slowly one curled in, then the next, until he formed a weak fist. Somehow, Alistair could conjure daggers, ice, and other magic without needing to find inspiration from one of the memories. If he could do it, Valerian could too. He squeezed his fist until heat built under his skin. Closing his eyes, he pictured the warm glow of embers, a spark, a flame licking at the spiderweb until the fire consumed the whole thing.

“Look at me when I speak to you!” Alistair ordered, his voice shaking the webs.

Val ignored him, breathing in deeply through his nose, catching a phantom whiff of smoke and burning wood. On his next exhale, he whispered one word: “Burn.”