Fire Witch (2 page)

"I said let her go," she demanded, spidering her way forward in the hopes of stealing her sister from him.

She reached out, waggling her fingers at Kasia. "Come," she said. Kasia squirmed in her captor's grip and he wrenched her backwards, nearly spilling her to the ground until a second swordsman pulled her neatly away and wrapped his arm about her waist. He was young, this one; Aislin had the sense he was older than her, surely, but younger than the brute he'd stolen her from.

Even so, the older man didn't seem upset that he had to relinquish the girl. It only took a single heartbeat for her to realize the men were dressed similarly. Comrades. No doubt planning to share the spoils of the raid.

"Dead weight, Kassie," Aislin said in a rush and the girl went immediately limp and the young warrior struggled to maintain his grip as several villagers rushed him, pelting him with stones.

She inched forward, waiting for the moment the young man's hand released his grip on Kasia's arm. She locked eyes with her young sister, seeing in the twelve-seasons-old eyes terror and hope. She knew in the moment that Kassie understood just how critical it was for them to synchronize what was to come. It seemed both of them held their breath, two small islands in an ocean of chaos, like the eye of a hurricane whose movement was so swift that the calm couldn't last but a few heartbeats.

And then the winds stole away the calm as the young warrior finally relinquished his hold. Aislin had but three paces left and she launched herself through them, reaching for Kasia who was already stumbling to her feet.

She knew in the moment she put her hands around her sister's waist, that something had shifted behind her. No matter. They had only to run. It would just be a matter of time before Indiris could take up the rescue. It was up to the two of them to resist as long as they could.

"Run," Aislin hissed, pushing the frail form ahead of her, almost making her stumble and fall. The girl caught herself just in time, was able to gain enough traction to put speed into her step and race for the great house. The girl darted through the throng until she was scooped up by one of the elders of the village and pulled along to what Aislin hoped was safety.

She scanned the yard for her own escape route, but too late realized that whatever had transpired behind her in those few heartbeats, had already shifted enough to change the gambit. She felt herself being lifted from her feet and thrown over a sweating, stinking shoulder. She kicked and grunted and punched at whatever chunk of flesh she could find, all with as much effect as swatting at a horde of flying insects.

She was whirled about with such speed, that she thought she would black out.

No such fortune.

Instead, she was able to take in the full and complete scene in a moving panorama. The young warrior had been set upon by half a dozen citizens trying to save their leader's daughter. That shift had given the brutish one ample opportunity to scoop her up. From the awkward position of craning her neck upward, Aislin could make out the multitude of flames that roared from bodies and buildings alike. Chickens and dogs scavenged the smoking flesh of those who lay deceased on the ground. Invaders ahead of her already funneled toward the gates in retreat or climbed the walls in such haste they were dropping their swords and battle-axes. Indiris was setting to flame as many of the retreating invaders as she could as they scrambled over the walls.

But she was too far away to even notice her daughter and Aislin knew it.

She was screaming at first as the man loped with her across his shoulder toward one of the guard platforms. No fool, this one. He wouldn't draw attention to himself by trying to scramble over a dozen warriors to the top of the wall. No. He would simply ascend stairs, perhaps throw her over, and then climb down himself safely to the other side. That's when Aislin realized screaming wouldn't help. She would either find herself on the other side with a series of broken bones and facing a horrific future of slavery and rape, or she would be dead. Indiris might be winning the battle from her end, but how long would it take her to marshal enough man to send out a rescue party.

Her captor was already on the second tread, and Aislin couldn't waste more time. She had to focus. Pull all of her energy inside. Imagine herself as one tiny pinprick of heat within a tiny bundle of tinder.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the way she was bouncing over the man's shoulder, the sounds of the screaming and the shouts of the invaders. She certainly couldn't make this man combust like her mother could, but she could do her best to make the boards beneath his feet scorch to life, the wall he would throw her over, leap into flame.

It was tough. The toughest thing she'd ever had to do. Because she hadn't yet been marked by Indiris with the sacred symbols, any power she harbored within was erratic at best, and untrained at its least. So far she'd only been able to set straw alight and that had created such a roaring destruction of their livestock's feed that her mother had explicitly commanded her to never use the power again.

But this was obviously an exception. Behind her eyelids she imagined her home as she remembered it, and then overlaid it with the scene of its present existence. She allowed in every bit of terrifying chaos and then she added to it. She focused her mind on that tiny spark of life as her mother always called it, finding within her heartbeat that lightning that fired the muscle, however miniscule, and captured it. She imagined it held between her hands like a firefly and she threw it at the boards beneath her captor's feet.

Nothing.

She felt herself shudder as a sob escaped her, and then she felt herself being heaved upwards. Thee sharpened ends of the wall posts dug into her rib cage as he pushed her up and over. She grabbed for the ends, screaming in terror as her legs dangled over the edge. She knew it was at least a cubit high. Any fall would end badly.

Next to her, the man looped a rope over the post and began repelling down the other side of the wall.

"Good girl," he said with a thick, but acceptable accent when he noticed she was clinging to the post rather than falling to her death beneath. So these men had been in the territory long enough at least to communicate or they were from within the boundaries. She wondered how many villages they had pillaged already, how many towns they had burned to the ground before they reached this one.

He reached out for her, trying with one arm to tow her toward him. He was so broad, so thick and so strong, she knew he'd be able to manage the both of them. She had no intention of being the good little lamb.

She took one deep breath and held it, and then she let go, hoping that at least her neck would break and her end would be quick.

Her first thought when she landed in a pile of it she straw instead of flat upon the ground was that she should have realized that this small band of invaders was different. They didn't even look the same as the others who had scrambled over the wall in different directions. Those invaders were filthy and cowardly, abandoning their booty when confronted by resistance; this group wore tanned leather boots and sported well-crafted metallic necklaces and armbands. Even their swords seemed broader and longer and made of sturdier metal.

These invaders had thought ahead and left themselves a soft place to land should things go sour. She noticed a spindly lad holding onto the reins of four horses while two grazed on the plain nearby. No doubt they had taken advantage of the earlier marauders and thought to use the plunder of the village as an opportune time to do so themselves within the chaos.

Her second thought was that if this band within a larger group of invaders was that smart, she was in deeper trouble than she thought.

She was already rolling over in the straw of the wagon to throw herself from its side when another body hurtled down from the top of the wall at her. It landed next to her with a grunt, and before she could fling herself over the edge and find footing, a face popped up from the straw to look at her. Its face was tanned from the sun, making the green eyes stand out like bits of crystal in a gray water lake.

"You," he said in a voice that reminded her of burnt honey, taking a few moments to search the hay for his sword, which had obviously dislodged itself from his grasp as he struck the hay. Then, suitably re-armed, he dug his fingers into her elbow, pulling her with him from the wagon. "You're the reason we're in this mess."

He had one leg over the edge and was tugging her with him when his foot caught on the edge and he lost his grip. She didn't have to think twice before realizing this was her chance. The first man was already clambering down the last few feet of the wall and would land in a stuttering heartbeat. A moment more and she'd lose her chance. She bolted for the woods, lifting her shift as high as she could to free her legs. Her bare feet since jolts of pain up her shins as she sped over grass and pebbles alike.

She knew there was a good chance that many of the invaders had already fled in the same direction, but she also knew of a small copse at least three cubits inside where a vixen had littered pups earlier in the year. She'd found it went she'd been foraging for the shaman's herbs and she knew it would be a tight fit if she could get into it at all.

Still, it was her best chance of escape.

She fled for the trees with her heart racing in her chest, her limbs burning as though they were on fire. She just needed the shelter of the trees, and then the horses would be slowed enough that she could get to the den. Just a few cubits more.

The thunder of hooves behind her nearly made her stumble, but she propelled herself on, hurtling toward the tree line with singular focus. Get moving, she told herself. Keep moving. The sounds behind her didn't matter.

She could see the thickets and bracken that perimetered the treeline. It was close. Each burning step she took made escape that much more possible. Just a few more staggering steps. It didn't matter if her lungs felt like they would collapse, it would be far better than the alternative. She dared cast a look over her shoulder, checking to see how far she came, to see if her pursuer had gained on her. With horror, she noted that the brutish man from earlier had picked up the chase on horseback and had dismounted, pushing his sword into its sheath at the back of his shoulders.

The sight renewed her panic and she began to pump her arms harder and faster, trying to add some additional thrust to her stride. She needed to make it. There simply was no other option.

She gained the bushes just ahead of the woods and was picking her way in when she felt the hot breath of the man behind her. He grabbed into the thicket of her hair and held fast. Even though a hank of hair must have broken free of her scalp, she could move no further. She felt herself being hauled backwards and lost her footing. The burning of her scalp intensified, forcing tears to pool in the corners of her eyes.

Her pursuer offered just enough slack that she could fall to her knees, spent of energy. She couldn't get enough air into her lungs no matter how hard her chest heaved, doing its level best to force the inhalations. When her stomach began its rebellion at the exertion, forcing nausea to rise into her throat, she felt her palms in the grass and vomited strings of bile. He gave her a shake by the hair and she wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand and peered up.

Her gaze traveled the length of a black haired arm covered in metallic bands from elbow to bicep. The muscles strained over the top of the metal in a way that made Aislin think they snaked beneath the surface and writhed like living things.

"All you did was whet my appetite, girlie."

The man who held her fast had a dark plait that hung below his shoulder and disappeared beneath the leather vest that left his arms bare. His throat, a thick trunk of tissue, spread into that mass of muscle at his shoulders that made her wonder where neck began and chest ended. Even so, she twisted in his grip.

"Let go of me," she said.

He yanked, pulling her against his thigh and digging his free hand down into her bodice. She gasped when sweaty fingers pinched her nipple and his mouth landed on her neck.

She stomped on his instep and ground her heel in.

He laughed at her, nipping her neck where the cords were the most tender. "You're barefoot, girlie. How much harm can you do?"

"Enough," she said. "Whatever I can."

His response was to hoist her onto his hip like a bag of grain as he strode to a small clearing of grass. In frustration, she tried to focus on her spark of life, through ball of fire into the grass his feet. Still nothing. She was just reaching for the sword on his back when he wrenched her to his front and threw her to the ground. She bit her tongue when she landed. She could taste blood as the pain streaked down her throat, making her mouth water. She flipped over onto her hands and knees, crawling with desperation to her feet. She managed to get three steps before he hooked her back with a meaty arm. His lips roamed the back of her neck, pushing aside her braid, his hands traveling to the front of her hips and pulling her shift up.

She screamed even though she knew it would do no good, and then she struggled in earnest.

"You'll pay for this," she finally managed to rasp out. "My mother will have your eyes boiling in their sockets before the night is out."

"I have no worry for my eyes," he said. "Right now, it's my balls that are burning."