The Sentinel Mage

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN





INNIS STEPPED OUT from the stables and the smell of hay and manure. She pushed Justen’s short hair back from her brow. Above her, the castle rose in tiers—roofs, battlements, walls of gray stone—to its pinnacle, a squat tower from which the blue and gold flag of Lundegaard flew. She began the climb back to the upper levels, up a flight of stone steps that hugged the first buttress, then across a courtyard. She glanced up. High above, a face peered down at her from a parapet. From this distance, it almost looked like Prince Harkeld.

The next staircase ducked under a stone archway and climbed inside the outer wall of the castle, twisting and turning, rising steeply. The stairwell was dim; the torches in their iron brackets were unlit. The only light came from arrow slits.

Innis paused to catch her breath halfway up. An arrow slit gave her a narrow view towards Masse. She stared out. Cliffs and desert awaited them in the north, but all she could see was farmland, a neat patchwork of fields.

“There you are.”

She turned her head, blinking. After the bright sunlight, the stairwell was as dark as night. “Sire?”

“I’ve been looking for you.” Prince Harkeld’s voice was grim.

“Do you want—?”

Something slammed into her face. She fell, clutching for the wall, smacking her head against stone, landing jarringly on the steps.

Innis shook her head, tasting blood. Was the prince being attacked? She pushed dizzily to her feet, groping for the wall, reaching for Justen’s sword. “Sire—”

Someone kicked her in the chest. She went backwards, tumbling down the steps, rolling, bouncing, sliding at last to a halt, dazed and winded. Breath came after a suffocating eternity, and with it, pain, blossoming inside her.

Footsteps rang on the stairs, coming towards her. Innis pushed up on an elbow. A shadowy figure loomed over her.

Someone hauled her to her feet, hands fisted in her shirt. She groped for her sword, struggling to see. Where were the guards? Where was Gerit?

“You son of a witch!” The voice was the prince’s, fierce. “Thought you could get away with it, did you? Did you?” He slammed her against the wall.

“Wha—?”

She never finished the word. Prince Harkeld’s hands were at her throat, gripping so tightly she couldn’t breathe. “I’m going to make sure you can never rut a woman again.” His voice was thick with rage.

Innis barely had time to register the words before his knee took her hard in the groin. The agony was acute. If she’d had breath, she would have screamed. The prince released his grip on her throat. Her legs buckled and she collapsed.

Through the haze of pain she heard Prince Harkeld draw his sword.

Innis tried to breathe, to speak. “Sire...”

“Get up.”

She couldn’t move, could only lie gasping at his feet. Behind him, the staircase stretched upward, empty.

“Get up!” His hand clenched in her hair, hauling her upright. He thrust her against the wall and uttered a harsh laugh. “Not so brave now, are you, armsman?”

She couldn’t see the prince’s face, but she saw the gleam of his sword. Shift! she screamed to herself. Become a lion. But her magic was buried beneath pain, beneath dizziness.

“Nothing to say, armsman?”

Innis lurched backwards, aware of space yawning behind her. The stairwell. This time she didn’t try to catch herself, she simply fell.

Time fractured, became disjointed—the steps tossed her, walls slammed into her. Finally she came to a thudding halt, sprawled face-down on a landing.

Innis blinked, trying to focus her eyes. Everything spun on its axis, tilting, lurching drunkenly. She saw shadows, the angles of steps rising into darkness. She squeezed her eyes shut. Somewhere, a dog barked.

She gasped to breathe, but instead of air, came blood. Footsteps rang behind her in the stairwell. He’s going to kill me. But she hadn’t the strength to open her eyes again, let alone push to her feet. Pain swelled inside her, expanding until she couldn’t think.

The stairwell echoed with barking, with shouts, with the clatter of boots. Even with her eyes closed the world spun around her.

Vaguely, she heard the deep barking of a dog, felt the touch of a wet nose against her cheek. Gerit? But she had no strength to open her eyes.

The dog stopped barking. Gerit’s voice rose in a bellow, filling the stairwell.

Innis shut everything out and tried to reach for her magic. Too many bones broken, too much bleeding. She was choking on blood, drowning in it.