Evan swallowed, acutely aware of the heat of the soldier’s touch. “Who’s the general?”
“I’ll ask, you answer,” the soldier said, now releasing icy tendrils of magic through Evan’s skin. “How did you find us?” He spoke Common with a familiar accent that Evan couldn’t place right away. His skin was paler than that of most of the tribes along the Desert Coast, though burnished from time in the sun.
“I don’t know . . . what you’re talking about,” Evan gasped. “I wasn’t trying to find you. If I’d known you were here, I’d have stayed away.”
“Is that why you were creeping through the barn with a dagger in your hand?” Again, the ice poured in. It seemed to run through Evan like rain through a gutter, leaving nothing behind.
Fire and ice, Evan thought. This boy is fire and ice, welded together with pain. He’s wounded, though the evidence is hidden under his skin.
The soldier was losing patience. “Say something!” he growled, giving Evan a bone-rattling shake, then slamming his head against the wall.
“Why the goats?” Evan blurted.
The boy blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?” he said, startled into revealing his blueblood roots. So he was a highborn soldier mage.
“Why the goats?” Evan repeated. “Why would you bring goats to an ambush?”
The soldier shook his head, as if to dislodge the words that didn’t belong. “I didn’t plan on being ambushed,” he said.
“You ambushed me,” Evan said.
“If you trespass on someone’s property, it’s hardly an ambush.”
“You’re the one that’s trespassing,” Evan said. “I’ve been living here for a year.”
“Really.” The soldier mage raised an eyebrow and took a slow, deliberate look around. “It didn’t look lived-in when we arrived.”
“I’ve been away,” Evan said, defensive in spite of himself. “I don’t spend much time here.”
“Obviously.”
“You didn’t see the books?”
“To hell with your bloody books,” the soldier said. “We own this property. We have a deed. Which means that if you’ve been living here, you owe us rent.” Clearly the mage intended to collect in blood.
“Did you buy it from Kadar?” Evan said. “You should know that he’s a thief and a liar, with a sideline in forgery.”
“Who is Kadar?”
“Who are you?”
“Never mind,” the soldier said, slamming shut like a book.
He’s got secrets, just like me, Evan thought, remembering what he’d said before. How did you find us? The revelation hit him like a runaway cart: He’s being hunted, too.
He didn’t sound like he’d come from the Northern Islands, either. In fact, he sounded like . . . “You’re a wetlander. Aren’t you?”
As soon as he said it, he knew it was a mistake—the last bit of evidence needed to convict. When he looked into the soldier’s eyes, he saw the promise of death, and this soldier looked to be good at killing. As if to confirm it, Evan heard the metallic hiss as the soldier drew his dagger.
5
THE RISK OF MERCY
Evan managed to force a few words past the pressure on his throat. “You’re going to kill me for sneaking into your barn?”
“Oh, now it’s my barn?”
“Whoever’s barn it is, it’s not worth dying for. If it’s that important to you, keep it. You’re the one with the goats, after all.”
“Mercy is a risk I can’t take,” the boy said. “It’s nothing personal.”
“Killing is always personal,” Evan said, looking the handsome soldier in the eye. “It’s the second-most-intimate thing that can happen between two people.”
The mage blinked as he thought that over, which was the distraction Evan needed. He brought his knee up, hard, into the soldier’s groin, folding him over, then followed with a fist to the face.
That combination should have dropped him where he stood, but it didn’t. Though he roared with pain, the soldier kept hold of his knife, flung Evan to the barn floor, and leapt to pin him, but Evan rolled to his feet and sprinted for the door. He was nearly there when the mage blocked his path.
Evan turned and charged to the far end of the barn, the soldier at his heels, though he knew there was no way out that way. He vaulted over the fence into the goats’ pen and crouched between two shaggy backs, trying to get at the knife in his boot. The goats scattered as the soldier landed in the midst of them. Evan stood, his puny knife in his hand, to find himself facing the business end of the soldier’s sword.
“‘Let’s finish this,” the soldier said, his voice clipped, icy. As he came forward, Evan retreated, evading the first thrust of the blade, though it sliced through his shirt. There was limited room to maneuver, though, and he knew his luck couldn’t hold forever.
Evan didn’t consciously reach for power, but it came unbidden. Small whirlwinds erupted all around his feet, sucked up a mixture of sawdust and straw, and flung it in the soldier’s face. He blinked and swiped at his face with his sleeve, while shaking debris from his hair. Evan tried to dodge past him, but he stuck out a foot and tripped him, landing him facedown in the mingled goat dung and bedding. The soldier came down on top of him, pinning him to the floor. Evan could hear his quick breathing, feel him shift his weight. Any second, Evan expected to feel cold steel sliding between his ribs.
A storm surge of magic welled up in him, and electricity crackled across his skin, as if the power that seethed beneath it was leaking out. In desperation, Evan reached for it and called down whatever weather might be at his disposal, figuring he was a dead man anyway.
Momentarily, he couldn’t breathe, as if the air in the barn had been confiscated. Then the barn exploded, detonating with a sound like Solstice fireworks. Wood shards, hay, and clay tiles rained down on top of them. Horses were screaming, pigs were squealing, cows were bawling—it was a cacophony of animal sounds.
The soldier swore and rolled off him, dropping his sword and protecting his head with his arms. Evan scrambled to his feet, waist deep in goats. They were at the center of a maelstrom that sucked up loose objects and flung them in all directions. Evan danced sideways to avoid being sliced in half by the soldier’s flying sword and covered his eyes with his sleeve.
The wind picked the soldier up like a bit of fluff and flung him into the wall. He went down hard, his leg bent at an impossible angle. With that, the twister died.
It was eerily silent, except for the screaming of the horses and the bleating of terrified goats. Evan retrieved the soldier’s dagger and crossed to where he lay crumpled against the wall. His eyes were open, staring up at Evan. Sweat pebbled his forehead and faint freckles stood out against his ashen skin. Given the look of his leg, he must have been in a great deal of pain, but either he was in shock or he’d been taught that screaming was an unacceptable show of weakness.
The soldier licked his lips and said, “But . . . you don’t . . . you can’t . . .” He gripped his pendant as if to reassure himself it was still there. “Magic doesn’t work on you, and you can cast charms without an amulet,” he said, as if confirming that Evan had indeed cheated on the rules of magery. He released a long breath and smiled faintly. “Like I said—let’s finish this, even if it’s not the way I . . . planned.” He looked straight into Evan’s eyes and waited for death.
He offers no mercy and expects none, Evan thought. That’s fair, I guess.
The soldier’s pendant—amulet?—seemed to be the source of much mischief. Evan pressed the tip of the borrowed dagger into the soldier’s throat as a warning and lifted the pendant over his head. Stepping back, he stowed the pendant in his carry bag and slid the dagger into the sheath at his waist.