Page 60 of Sword & Sacrifice

Archer could have sent a squad of soldiers to investigate, but he needed to see for himself what troubles the small town hosted. Who had sent the letters? How many disgraced soldiers threatened his borders? The situation could change in the blink of an eye, so he couldn’t wait for scouts to gather information and report their findings.

While most of the army would return to Arnsveld under Kern’s command, three soldiers would join Archer. He’d spent a long time selecting who should accompany him. Too large of a group would attract attention, but he needed enough people to defend against whatever force they met in Sparrow Hill.

Carolin, Mahler, and Norwin all had years of mercenary experience, so they were used to working together in small groups and navigating the unknowns of their quarry.

With their fellow soldiers acting as a shield, Archer and the others stripped out of their uniforms, replacing their Arnsveldian colors with Bellacostan styles. A farming town like Sparrow Hill wouldn’t have the same fussy fashion sense as Litus, but they still preferred lighter fabrics in more layers.

Once they finished changing, Archer’s group guided their horses off to the side of the road, putting some distance between themselves and the soldiers. Because of the similarities in their appearances—browner skin tones, darker hair, military postures—they still appeared part of the group, even out of uniform. But once Archer and the others separated themselves from the army, the average Bellacostan citizen shouldn’t immediately recognize them as Arnsveldians.

From the front, the fake King of Arnsveld called for everyone to head out. Archer closed his eyes and pinched his nose in exasperation. Hopefully, any outsiders watching wouldn’t know about his quiet reputation or Kern’s cheerful orders would give the game away before the end of the day.

The army marched on, continuing down Cesta Road, leaving Archer’s group behind.

Archer waited until the departing soldiers turned into a hazy sea of green, then coaxed Scout into allowing him to mount. The horse shifted beneath him, unused to his new rider’s weight, but he didn’t buck or try to throw Archer off. A small victory to start their arduous journey together.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Once Valistair found the grimoires, he seemed to forget Penn’s existence. There were five in total, each a different size with varying colors of leather and signs of age. Valistair started with the newest looking book, flipping through the pages too rapidly to be reading them.

Penn eyed the book closest to him, a battered journal with curling brown pages and a dark stain across the cover. Since the mage wasn’t paying attention to him anyway, he pulled it closer to see what was inside.

A hand shot out and grabbed his wrist in a bruising grip.

“Just curious about what was so interesting,” Penn said, allowing his arm to go limp.

Valistair didn’t even glance up from the grimoire, though he did release Penn’s arm. “Nothing you would understand.” He tilted his volume so Penn could see inside it. Though the handwriting was legible, the words meant nothing to him. Another language, a code, or some magic spell obscured the text within.

Will those protections be enough to keep Val’s secrets safe?

“Should I tell Niall you found something?” Penn asked, hoping to use the opportunity to investigate the small town. He didn’t know how long Valerian had lived here, but it should have been long enough to make a few friends, or at least acquaintances. People who knew him, who could potentially provide Penn with information that would help Val reassert himself.

“He’ll come along once he’s rested,” the mage replied, picking up the next book and flipping through it just as rapidly.

“It really wouldn’t be any trouble. The inn’s just down the road, and I’ve got this”—Penn hooked his thumb through the golden collar and lifted it to the light—“to guarantee I stay close to you.”

The mage didn’t even acknowledge his argument.

Penn heaved an exaggerated sigh and slumped against the counter, resting his head on his crossed arms. “A good dog owner exercises his puppy. A bored dog is more likely to misbehave.”

“Is that so?” Valistair asked, his lips twitching as he finally looked at Penn. The mage grabbed Penn’s chin, tilting it up and stroking his thumb over Penn’s lips. “You’ve been so eager for my attention today. Almost as if you’re trying to distract me.”

Penn’s lips quirked in a sultry smile. “Isn’t that what you want? My full, undivided attention and devotion?”

“Perhaps, but what I don’t want is a yapping dog.”

Penn tensed, waiting for ice to fill his mouth, for the mage to silence him the same way he’d silenced Niall. Instead, the mage leaned forward and pressed soft lips to Penn’s. A tongue peeked out for a brief taste before withdrawing again as he pulled away.

“Give me a few more minutes, then we’ll fetch Niall together and be on our way.”

“On our way?” Penn asked, trying to keep his voice casual. “Where to this time? Litus?”

Valistair ignored the question and returned to his research. After the promised few minutes, he closed the book and gathered all five volumes into his arms.

Penn thought of all the times he’d watched Alistair perform magic, how often he used his hands to direct the spells. Were those necessary gestures, or a flourish for his own benefit? Could a mage with his hands full still defend himself? It would only take a few seconds to drop the books, but sometimes those seconds decided the victor.

If I knock him out, would Valerian be the one to wake up?

But if Penn failed, how would the mage retaliate? The image of Niall’s frozen mouth flashed through Penn’s mind. How much of him could the mage freeze before he died?