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  The other three soldiers had rushed to catch Rafe, but their companion’s wails turned their courage to smoke, and all three men hesitated. They looked at each other, and then one of the men put his fingers in his mouth and whistled a long, loud note that was louder even than the wounded man’s screams of agony. It was a call for reinforcements, and Rafe felt his back tingling. He felt exposed and so he turned, keeping his back to the rope ladder, which he was guarding, and glancing back and forth between the three warriors threatening on one side and the men he could see now crawling onto the ship from the other.

  “You’re outnumbered, and if you try to climb down that ladder, I’ll kill you,” said the soldier who had first approached him. “Drop your weapons and get on your knees.”

  “So you can kill me,” Rafe said. “You’re all cowards.”

  The men feinted, pretending as if they were going to attack but then pulling back. Rafe didn’t move. The reinforcements were on the ship now. The wounded man had passed out, and Rafe was slowly being surrounded.

  “You have no chance,” the soldier said. “There are seven of us here.”

  “It takes seven children from Sparlan Citadel to fight one man from Avondale,” Rafe said, taunting the soldiers, but none of them took the bait.

  He had hoped that he might engage one or two of the soldiers before they realized Grentz was leading more men up the rope, but a shout from the other ship ruined that plan.

  “Reinforcements!” someone bellowed from the second war ship. “Cut the rope ladder!”

  The soldiers tried to converge on Rafe then, as they realized what he was really doing. They had been cautious, but Rafe had merely been stalling, giving his own companions time to climb onboard the ship and even the odds.

  Rafe spun into action, as the men moved forward. He knew he had little chance of landing effective blows to wound or kill the men, so he didn’t try. Instead he swung his sword in hard blows against their shields or swords, making the king’s soldiers hesitate. Their attack halted as they tried to stay behind their shields and attack Rafe. He had no time to think, no time to be afraid. He swung his swords first one way, then the other, bellowing his war cry the entire time.

  One of the enemy was careless, holding his sword hand out past his shield as he chopped at Rafe, who swayed back away from the blade. But then Rafe jumped closer to the careless soldier and swung his sword hard, letting the razor-sharp tip slash through two of the man’s fingers. The soldier screamed, dropping his sword and staggering back.

  Rafe jumped back the other way, swinging his swords so quickly that the six men opposing him hesitated. Then Grentz appeared at the railing. The enemy soldiers knew they had to do something, and one dashed forward. Rafe reversed his attack, suddenly spinning around and stabbing his sword just past the man’s shield. The blade stabbed deep into the soldier’s side, and he collapsed with a whimper. When Rafe swung his sword back around, blood flew from the blade, flashing red and dangerous before pelting the other five soldiers like deadly rain.

  Another man engaged Rafe, thrusting his shield forward and shouting in anger. Rafe met the man’s attack by throwing his shoulder into the man’s shield, stopping the man suddenly. The soldier’s long sword was awkward in such close quarters, but Rafe’s slashed up under the shield, finding the man’s groin. The soldier’s scream was bloodcurdling, and the pressure on the opposite side of the shield suddenly vanished.

  Rafe almost stumbled over the wounded man’s thrashing feet, but then he regained his balance and renewed his attack. Grentz didn’t help but instead dashed toward the stern of the ship and jumped aboard the other vessel.

  The remaining five soldiers huddled back, forming a shaky shield wall and keeping their swords held ready to strike out as Rafe feinted toward them. He kept his distance, only coming close enough to swat at their swords. Another man from Avondale climbed over the ship’s rail.

  “Go help Grentz!” Rafe shouted without looking back. “He’s on the other ship.”

  Rafe heard the man’s boots thumping on the ship’s deck. Soon another man joined Rafe, then another. They took up positions on either side of Rafe, but he had stepped back, and the men beside him waited for his order to attack. Instead, Rafe spoke to the king’s soldiers.

  “Lay down your swords and shields,” he said calmly, “and we will spare your lives.”

  The soldiers hesitated, but then another man appeared over the railing, and they realized they were defeated. The man who had attacked Rafe before the others was the first to lay his weapons down. The others quickly followed suit.

  “Take their weapons,” Rafe ordered. “Then get them off the ship. Grentz wants them alive.”

  Some of the men with Rafe looked at him for a long moment, and he saw the recognition in their eyes, but military discipline kept them from asking about him. Instead, two men gathered the king’s soldiers’ weapons, and the other two forced them to climb down the rope ladder.

  “Both ships are ours,” Grentz said, slowly climbing back over the railing as Rafe wiped the blood off his swords onto a dead man’s trousers.

  “Any casualties?” Rafe asked.

  “None of our men. There were only two left alive when Torry arrived to help me. We spared their captain.”

  “Five men surrendered here,” Rafe said.

  “You did a hell of a job holding them back,” Grentz said.

  “They were timid,” Rafe said.

  One of the captured soldiers looked up, almost insulted, but then looked away in shame, knowing that Rafe was right. If they had been willing to die, they could have attacked Rafe from all sides. One or two might have been killed, but they wouldn’t have been taken prisoner.

  “What about this one?” Grentz said, bending over the soldier who had lost his fingers to Rafe’s sword. “Can you climb down the ladder, or should we just toss you over the side?”

  The man’s eyes opened so wide in terror that Rafe could see the white all around his irises. Grentz laughed then hauled the man to his feet and shoved him toward the others.

  “Now what?” Grentz asked, looking at his son.

  “Now we go get Lady Olyva and her family.”

  Chapter 15

  Tiberius

  Robere’s body had been cruelly abused. There were dozen of broken bones, his teeth were shattered, bruises covered his body, and there were several deep lacerations that had been crudely sewn shut. The open wounds were festering and infected. Despite being cold, Robere had a high fever, and the only merciful thing about his condition was the fact that he was too delirious to know how bad off he really was.

  Tiberius wasn’t sure where to begin but decided to heal as many bones as he could. The magical empathy was excruciating but wasn’t as bad as burning away his father’s unnatural growths. Tiberius endured the pain and mended the bones, all except for the poor man’s teeth, which wouldn’t regenerate. Tiberius then healed the cuts and focused on the fever.

  It was difficult, slow work, but there was always a sense of accomplishment whenever Tiberius healed someone. He liked knowing he was using his magic for good and that no one could argue that healing another person wasn’t right. They might fear or even hate magic, but they had to accept that this was good.

  He was almost finished driving Robere’s fever away when he suddenly felt as if he needed to stop. He couldn’t understand why. His mind was completely focused on the task of healing his old servant, but something was trying desperately to get his attention. Still, he didn’t want to stop before he had done everything he could for Robere. And, he rationalized, Lexi was with him. She would let him know if something was wrong.

  The fever spell was much like scrubbing an oily dish and required Tiberius to give all his attention to the spell. He beat back the fever and gave Robere one final inspection. Tiberius didn’t want Robere to suffer because he had missed something.

  When Tiberius finally sat back and opened his eyes, a wave of fatigue crashed over him. He sat watching Rober
e, who was resting quietly. Tiberius got to his feet slowly and looked for Lexi, but she wasn’t in sight. The dungeon was quiet, and he began to worry a little.

  “Lexi?” he said, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “Where are you?”

  He stepped to the metal door of the narrow cell, and then he saw Lexi. She was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. His heart nearly stopped beating, and for an instant he was frozen in fear. Just past her in the corridor lined with dungeon cells lay another man. Lexi’s dagger was still lodged in his neck, and it was clear the man was dead.

  Tiberius rushed to Lexi’s side, kneeling beside her. She was still breathing, but her mouth was covered with red, foamy bubbles. He searched her lithe body and found the handle of the healer’s knife protruding from her ribs. He felt a sob catch in his throat and he braced himself. He jerked the knife free, releasing a torrent of blood.

  “Acies Penetralis Deprimo Sano Crudus Viscus,” he said loudly.

  Immediately he felt the magic rushing forward, and he poured it into Lexi’s frail body. His mind sank down into Lexi’s chest where he could sense that her lung had been punctured by the knife. It was nearly full of her blood, which was why she was struggling to breathe and why her mouth and nose were covered with red foam.

  He let the magic do its work, and the blood in her lung began to recede. He hardly noticed the searing pain of the Corporeus Adfectus. His heart was thundering with worry, and his mind was channeling a raging stream of healing magic into the person he loved most in the world.

  Once her lung was drained of blood, the magic began to heal the delicate organ itself. The flesh knit itself back together, but unlike the other lung, which was large and full of air as she breathed, the other lung was small and flat.

  “Sano Sarcio Acies Deprimo Abscido,” Tiberius said, changing from the spell to heal internal bleeding to the spell to heal lacerations.

  He kept his mind focused on Lexi’s body as his magic healed her. The muscles reconnected, and the skin slowly grew back until her side was perfect. There was no indication, other than the blood, that she had ever been wounded. Tiberius opened his eyes, expecting to see Lexi coming around, but instead she was wheezing, her face contorted in pain.

  “Lexi!” Tiberius said, shaking her shoulder slightly. “Lexi, wake up.”

  Her eyes opened, but her face was still pinched with pain.

  “Can’t … breathe,” she said.

  Tiberius wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t have a spell that would re-inflate her lung. She would have to do that herself, and it was obvious she was struggling.

  “It’s just your lung,” Tiberius said. “I healed it, but you’ve got to breathe deeply. You have to refill it with air.”

  “Hurts,” she said.

  Tiberius rolled her onto her side and held her hand.

  “You can do it,” he said. “Breathe with me.”

  He took a long, slow breath, filling his lungs with air. Lexi was still panting, but she tried to do what Tiberius told her. Then she coughed and sputtered.

  “You can’t give up,” he told her. “Keep trying.”

  They breathed together for a moment, then Lexi squeezed Tiberius’ hand and pointed up. He looked up, but there was nothing to see in the dark corridor.

  “What is it?”

  “Up,” she managed to say.

  “You want to stand up?”

  She nodded. Tiberius wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but she seemed to be recovering. He stood up and helped Lexi slowly to her feet. Once she was standing, she put one hand on the metal bars of the nearest cell and took deep breaths over and over again.

  “Are you okay?” Tiberius asked after a moment.

  Lexi nodded but focused on her breathing.

  “Master Tiberius,” said a strange-sounding voice. “You saved her.”

  Ti turned and found Robere leaning against the bars of his own cell. He looked frightened but somehow proud at the same time.

  “Are you okay?” Tiberius asked the older servant.

  Robere nodded.

  “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

  Robere had no trouble walking, although he was embarrassed by the fact that he had no clothes. Tiberius wrapped his cloak around the older man and then walked with Lexi back out into the room lit by the soft glow of a lantern. He stopped for a moment.

  “Stay here,” he said.

  Then he hurried back to the filthy man in the corridor. Tiberius bent over the corpse but he didn’t recognize the man. He pulled Lexi’s dagger free, then wiped it on the dead man’s cloak. When he got back to the anteroom at the bottom of the dungeon stairs, Robere was staring at him.

  “You killed Quintus,” he said, his voice rasping over his healed but toothless gums.

  “No, I think Lexi did that,” Tiberius said. “Let’s go.”

  They climbed the stairs slowly. Lexi was improving, but Tiberius didn’t want her to strain her recently collapsed lung. When they got to the door, it swung open easily, and they all felt a little better once the door was closed behind them.

  “How did you make it back to the city?” Robere asked in a soft voice. “I thought you were surely dead.”

  “It’s a long story,” Tiberius said. “But the blighted lands aren’t barren—they’re lush and full of life.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “I don’t know,” Tiberius said as they kept ascending the stone staircase, past the storage rooms and then the kitchens. “We came back to bring Olyva’s family.”

  “What about Leonosis? He had Quintus torture me, and they kept me locked in the dungeons.”

  “Leonosis isn’t here,” Tiberius said. “He’s gone to Sparlan Citadel, married the princess, murdered the king, and taken his throne.”

  Robere looked troubled. He obviously couldn’t believe what he’d just heard, but Tiberius knew it was the truth. He moved quietly, helping Lexi and taking them up to the earl’s private quarters.

  “Abdidi Incantatio,” he said, casting the cloaking spell on them before stepping out into the broad hallway that led to Tiberius’ old room.

  When they slipped inside, Tiberius realized the bed hadn’t been made since he had slept there earlier that day. He was so used to Robere taking care of his every need that seeing his bed unmade was surprising to him, even though he had just rescued the old servant from the dungeon.

  “Sorry about the bed,” Tiberius said. “But you can rest here.”

  “Where are you going?” Robere asked.

  “Lexi and I have business in the city. You rest. If anyone asks about me, you don’t know anything. We’ll back later tonight.”

  “And then what?” Robere asked.

  “And then, hopefully, we’ll know what to do next.”

  Chapter 16

  Olyva

  The sky ship from Hamill Keep had moved away from Mount Avondale. It didn’t move far, just back away from the huge mountain so that a sudden change of weather wouldn’t smash the vessel against the rocky terrain. Olyva didn’t like being so far away from Rafe. She felt oddly alienated on the sky ship, despite the fact that her mother and sisters were with her. Tiberius had used magic to calm everyone’s attitudes about her and about the fact that he was a wizard, but he was no longer on the ship, and Olyva could feel the stares of the ship’s crew whenever she was out of her cabin.

  Ignoring her sisters was difficult, as well. She wanted to be in the bright, amber-colored sunlight, but she couldn’t help hearing her sisters whispering about her. They huddled together, plotting ways to get rid of Olyva and somehow return to Hamill Keep. She also knew they would prefer being in a different city, a wealthier city, but they needed to be married to have any wealth of their own. Olyva tried not to laugh at the irony that Rafe and Tiberius were working to get them into Avondale. She knew they had no idea how wondrous Avondale truly was, and yet ironically all they could talk about was seeing Olyva and her friends fail. They plotted to throw her overboard and le
ave her stranded in the blighted lands, but in truth she wanted nothing more than to be off the sky ship and back on the rich plains with Rafe and their friends.

  “Don’t brood,” her mother chastised her as Olyva leaned against the ship’s rail watching for any sign of Rafe or the others. “It’s unbecoming.”

  “I’m not brooding,” Olyva said. “I’m watching for my friends.”

  “Yes, your friends,” her mother went on in a patronizing tone. “I can’t say I approve.”

  “You would rather I had married Brutas? He’s a pig.”

  “Perhaps, but then he’ll be Earl of Avondale, won’t he, dear? Not just a homeless swordsman.”

  “Rafe isn’t homeless. You should be more appreciative—he saved our lives.”

  “He wouldn’t have had to save it if he hadn’t endangered it in the first place.”

  Olyva shrugged her shoulders, deciding not to remind her mother that the creature inhabiting their father’s body had beaten the countess so badly just before they fled Hamill Keep that her mother could barely walk. The fact that her mother had already forgotten her torment just confirmed what Olyva felt about her family, and it made her feel ashamed that she had ever been like that, but she knew she had been just as shallow and self-centered when she went to Avondale to become Brutas’ wife.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” Olyva said, turning her attention back to the mountain.

  “I’m sorry that you’ve been infected with…” Her mother didn’t finish her insult but just looked at Olyva’s feet as if she were hideously ugly.

  Olyva just laughed, which only made her mother even more angry.

  “I’m going to order the ship to sail for Sparlan Citadel at first light,” the countess snapped. “I’m sure the new king would be interested in hearing all about your attack on your father.”

  “How can you be so blind?” Olyva insisted. She whirled around to face her mother, who had backed away from the ship’s railing and had been joined by Cassandra and Frezya. “Do you really think you’ll be safe in the very place where Father was murdered?”