That put a grin on his dopey features and he scratched the back of his head.
‘Well, er, ain’t much to say. Grew up on a farm, good at what I do,’ took a slug from the applejack, ‘wasn’t good at farming, not like my brothers. My thumbs are red, not green.’
He frowned a bit and looked down at his hands, then looked up to see Syline staring expectantly. As if just realising then he was meant to keep talking, he straightened and cleared his throat.
‘I’m good at hurting people. But I don’t like people bein’ hurt.’ He chuckled lightly and rubbed one of his horns. ‘I fight, so good people don’t have to. I feel like…’ He had a sip from his applejack. ‘Things ain’t confusing when I’m fightin’. Sorry, I’m rambling.’
Syline nodded softly, his talk of making it so others didn’t have to fight, even if he didn’t think he said it well, had really resonated with her.
‘I think that’s really admirable, Thelonious. That’s a very heroic way to take things. I think a lot of people, put in your lot in life, would have gone a far darker route.’
As she spoke, somewhere on the island, a bird took flight, as a branch loudly snapped deeper inland. Thelonious looked up. He gave her a smile, but seemed very distracted, eyes darting to the side. He shuffled her way, pulling out his knife to cut off a piece of meat, chewing it open mouthed, or at least pretending to.
‘We’re being watched,’ he whispered. ‘Get ready for a fight.’
A thrill of fear ran through Syline. She did her very best to stay calm, or at least act it. Beside her, Thelonious let out a yawn, removing the harness that held his bastard sword and making a show of placing it on the ground next to him.
‘Get ready,’ Thelonious hissed to her. She heard footfalls behind them, and suddenly Thelonious reached out and pushed her over just in time for an arrow to hit the still roasting deer, whistling right through where she’d been sitting.
A roar of a battle cry came from the woods as a man sprinted from the dark, a two-handed axe held down by his side as he rushed Thelonious. He wore the half-plate armour of a mercenary knight but didn’t look as if he cared for it well. Rust and filth clogged its recesses and his stench reached them before the man did. Thelonious met the man’s charge, bringing up his sheathed bastard sword in a two-handed swing, holding it by the blade. The charging warrior had no time to dodge the blow and only managed to get his arm in the way. He let out an agonised cry as the pointed guard slammed into his wrist. Behind him came three more: a man putting a bow over his shoulder to draw forth two serrated daggers, a woman dressed in thick, traveller’s leathers and wielding a ruby-tipped staff, and lastly, a man in plate armour defending her, an arming sword held in his right hand and a shield in the other.
Thelonious flipped his grip on the sword and drew it, facing his opponent along with the man with the daggers who ran to support him. The charging warrior winced as he took his axe in both hands. Thelonious could already tell he’d succeeded in breaking the man’s arm, but it wasn’t enough to put him out of the fight just yet. He put his back to the flames to stop himself getting flanked. It was do or die. Looking around, he couldn’t catch sight of her. He could only hope Syline could handle herself.
As Thelonious had risen to face the two warriors, Syline scrambled out of the way of a blast of lightning launched by the staff-wielding woman. Syline brought her wand up as she turned to face them.
The woman had a cocky grin on her face.
‘Oh, you think you can face a court mage, little girl?’ the mage cooed to her.
Syline felt fury brim up in her breast. It hurt her to know even court mages were in the pocket of the Petrovs. The very organisation she’d dreamed of joining, now turned against her.
‘So, what if I do?’ she said, stalling. She didn’t have time to read through a proper combative spell from the book. She had to rely on what she had memorised. Think. Think.
‘Well, come on then, little witch, I’ll counter any spell you throw at me,’ the woman said, holding an arm out.
The mage had much more experience than her; just a lightning bolt, like the one she’d just avoided, was a spell well out of her limits. At least, what she could cast without leaving herself severely drained. It hadn’t even seemed to faze the mage though. Meaning she likely had more dangerous spells in her repertoire. Treat this like any other duel. Watch her. Read her. She’s cocky. Overconfident. She’s giving you a free shot, go for the one she won’t expect.
Syline grinned back, putting on her best impression of Kat when she went to a duel: confident and strong-willed. Nothing could get in her way. Syline had to put on that air, to not let this woman know how terrified she was. She raised her wand up to her breast in a swordsman’s salute, as if it were the blade sheathed at her hip. The woman didn’t understand the gesture, but Syline heard a little chuckle from her guardian. He knew its meaning.
‘I don’t have all day, dear. Hurry –’
Syline had already started her incantation as the woman taunted her. She shut up immediately and seemed focused on working out what kind of offensive spell Syline was casting. But, Syline wasn’t casting offensive magic. She couldn’t play into what the woman expected. Syline cast the spell of vanishing she’d prepared that morning. It would only give her around twenty seconds. She needed to make them count.
The woman cursed the moment Syline disappeared.
‘She’s going to run! Catch her!’ she told her guardian. Perfect, Syline thought. She needed him away.
The axe wielder was an idiot, and one easily dealt with. Thelonious had been able to disarm him after his first swing, catching his axe beneath the head and twisting it in the direction of the man’s ruined arm, grinding broken bone on bone, making the man scream. It was easy after that, to yank the axe from his grasp and hurl it one way, as the man staggered the other way past him. But now, the knife-wielder was on him. Thelonious leapt back to avoid him as he came in swinging. He focused still on the axe-wielder, turning to deliver a slash across his gut that doubled him over. The lethality was lessened greatly by his armour, but not the force. Thelonious saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and stepped to the side. A throwing dagger whizzed by his head. He needed to finish this. He punched the knife-wielder to stagger him, then whirled on his still-reeling comrade and brought his blade down on the man’s neck. Body and head hit the ground separately.
He turned just in time to receive the counterattack, daggers coming in from high and low. He couldn’t block both on his sword, but, if he failed to block either he’d be done for. He parried the one going low out to the side. He tried to parry the blow on high with his vambrace, but misjudged, the blade cutting a red welt on the back of his hand. Panicking, Thelonious leaned into it, grabbing the blade by the crossguard and yanking at it. His opponent, desperate to not lose his weapon, slashed at Thelonious’ open wrist. He tried to turn with it and was left with a thin line, just piercing the flesh beneath his leathers. He grunted in pain, but he didn’t let go. This fellow was smaller and quicker than him, but in this instant, he had him trapped. Thelonious held onto the knife as the man scowled at him. He dropped his bastard sword to punch the man in the gut, forcing him to let go of the knife. Thelonious took it in his unwounded hand and skipped back a step. Now, they were even in their arms.
‘You’re tough, mate,’ the man said, giving him a wicked grin as Thelonious shook free flowing blood off his hand. ‘But you ain’t pulling that trick twice.’
He was faster than Thelonious and much more adept with the knife. When he stepped in, it was all Thelonious could do to parry his quick coming strikes. Knocking them away one after the other with his own short blade. He never got a chance to make a counterattack and had taken a few cuts on his knuckles and wrist already. This was going to be difficult.
Syline used precious moments to summon forth a spectral hand in the woods a few feet away; it was weak, only able to lift a few pounds of weight. It’d be enough. She only had about ten seconds left. She used the force to crack a twig. The guardian’s head jerked that way and he sprinted off, trying to trample over the spot he thought she had run for. It was a good bluff, but one that would only last a few moments, just those few seconds of invisibility she had left. Those would have to be enough.
The spell ran out as she sprinted for the woman. Corax emerged from her scarf to fly for the woman’s face, distracting her a moment. The woman cursed and batted at Corax as the raven pecked and flapped about her head. Syline rushed in behind her raven and dropped her wand into her pocket so that she could take her axe in both hands.
As prepared as the mage might have been to take on an apprentice wizard, she’d never expected that. She screamed. Syline did too. But Syline had already killed twice in as many days; she didn’t feel ready to do so again just yet. So, with all the viciousness she could muster, she swung the flat of the axe from her shoulder in a long arc into the woman’s jaw. The haft shuddered in Syline’s hands with the impact of metal on skull, and her awkward swing left the edges of the blade cutting into the woman’s cheek, splitting it as Syline struggled to keep her grip on the handle. The mage hit the ground in a heap.
Behind her, from the edge of the treeline, Syline heard the mage’s guardian roar in fury, his footfalls rapidly approaching.
Gods dammit, Thelonious thought. He couldn’t lose. Syline was holding her own, right now. But for how long? It was his job to protect her; he had to do something. He had to find an opening. Do what he wouldn’t expect. Think, Thelonious thought. Use your head!
Use your head.
Thelonious leapt back a step and lowered his head, rushing as if to charge the man. He replied exactly how Thelonious expected: by leaping to the side and bringing the knife down. Thelonious turned his head very carefully and felt the knife cut deep into his horn. Cut into it and stick. The impact jarred his head terribly and hurt like hell, but it caused no real damage. He yanked back and ripped the knife from the man’s grip. It stayed quivering in his horn; he could feel every slight tremor in the base of the horn, right where it grew from his skull. Gods, it hurt. But, that stupid little quickfoot was disarmed now. Thelonious shoved his own knife through his belt and took a step forward. The man was scrambling back for his bow. Thelonious grabbed his sword from the dirt.
