Prince of Magic (31 page)

Sian's fight was much the same. The enemy came, and they fell, and more came. Ariana's soldiers were reluctant to fight the women among Ciro's soldiers, until a female monster brutally gutted one of the younger sentinels, a boy who had hesitated when faced with a female combatant. Someone shouted loudly, reminding them of Ariana's words on that first morning.
See with your hearts
. After that, the others did not hesitate again.

It seemed that the enemy was trying to lead Sian away from Ariana, and he had to fight to remain close enough to be of any assistance to her. He was unhorsed by two men who grabbed him from behind and yanked him to the ground, where he landed hard and continued to fight without pause.

Slowly, surely, the oddly armed soldiers created a rough circle around Ariana, but most of them kept their distance, as if they were protecting her… or separating her. She was still atop her gray horse, and they were primarily on foot. Perhaps that was why they did not move in.

A slice of alarm crept into Sian's conscience. The soldiers, Ariana's army, were being drawn farther away from her. The enemy soldiers who died so quickly and so well were leading them into the trees, down the road, up the road, even onto the cliffside, when they were unhorsed. The fighting continued without pause. It seemed the enemy was inexhaustible, and when one fell, two more appeared to take his… or her… place.

Suddenly Sian realized that he and Ariana were all but alone, surrounded by the bodies of the fallen enemy, surrounded by soldiers who continued to attack. The sentinels had been led away from their leader, fighting endlessly and well. He looked for Merin, for other experienced soldiers, wanting to shout for them to return to protect their leader, their sister, but they were all engaged in deadly battle.

Ariana was tiring. She was no longer able to lift a knife magically, but was now forced to rely on her adequate but less-than-spectacular skills as a swordsman. More of the enemy encircled her, some on foot and some on horses of their own. She was visibly slowing, and the newly arrived adversaries were fresh and hungry.

One tall man reached up and grabbed Ariana's white trousers with a gnarly hand. He wrenched hard, and she tumbled from her horse, landing on the path hard, and with a cry of pain. Already tired, she let loose of her sword when she hit the ground. It flew, landing too far away to be of any use to her. Seven soldiers gathered around her, smiling and wielding their blades—and one heavy, sharpened stick—with delight.

Sian fought off the two who threatened him, trying to work his way toward Ariana, while they were doing their best to lead him away. Things had been happening too quickly and furiously for him to concentrate properly, but he tried
to
freeze the men who surrounded Ariana. He had never been able to affect more than one person at a time with his magic, but he had to try. Two became very still, but the others continued to threaten Ariana. He slowly worked his way toward her, swinging madly at the men who tried to stop him.

Ariana was lying on the ground, surrounded by those who meant to destroy her. Her head turned so that her eyes met Sian's. She mouthed the words "I love you," as if this were her last moment, her last statement.

They could not defeat all the men who fought them.

There were too many, and in the chaos his magic was not strong enough. But he would not stop, not until he reached Ariana. He would go into the Land of the Dead with her, if need be. He would kill as many of these soldiers as he could before they took his life.

The enemy soldiers could've ended Ariana's life quickly, once she was on the ground and unarmed, but they didn't. Instead they laughed and poked at her with their weapons, and one soldier held her in place with a dirty boot pressed into her white-clad belly. Sian used all his concentration to magically toss the sword aside when one enemy soldier moved the sharp tip too near Ariana's throat.

Since Sian's attention was on Ariana, he did not see the soldier wielding a rock approach from the rear until it was too late. The enemy swung, the rock collided with his head, and he dropped as his legs gave out from under him.

A deep, calm voice said, "Don't kill him. Not yet."

Woozy and weaving on his knees, Sian turned his head to see Ciro, his half-brother, walking down the sharp incline of the rocky hill. Ciro was not alone. He half carried, half dragged Lilia. Was she a willing companion who could not handle the hill as easily as Ciro did, or was she a prisoner?

No, if they had taken the shortcut Lilia had suggested instead of this road Ariana knew, they would not have ridden into this trap.

Sian's hands were quickly bound, and the rock-wielding soldier remained at his side. Without his hands, he was useless as a magician. The men he had frozen were no longer affected by his spell. If he could rise and loose the bonds…

As if the soldier knew what he was thinking, he kicked Sian to the ground and placed the toe of a dirty boot on his throat. A black dread washed over Sian. He was going to have to watch Ariana die, helpless and half dead and worthless to her and her cause.

He had never told her that he loved her. Never. Not because he didn't, but because he was a coward who did not want to lose again. Burying one wife had been harder than he'd ever allowed anyone to know. Burying a child had been even harder. Hope was a dreadful thing, because in the end it was always yanked away when you least expected it.

"I do love you," he said softly, wondering whether or not Ariana would hear him.

Perhaps she did. Restrained by seven of Ciro's soldiers—Ciro's Own, if he was correct—she smiled at him.

Ciro dragged the village slut toward the warrior in white, and his soldiers pulled the blonde to her feet. Her white uniform was no longer so purely white. It was stained with blood—hers and that of his Own—and dirt from the road she now lay upon.

Her soul was pure white, as he had suspected it would be. Perhaps he couldn't take her soul, but when the time was right, he could drink every drop of her blood.

He cast a glance at the enchanter, who lay on the road wounded and desperate and held in place by the boot of one of Ciro's Own. His soul was not entirely white, but was nowhere near as dark as Fynnian's had been. With time, he could be turned to darkness. Almost everyone could be turned, and many would be before this war was done.

Ciro held the girl from the village with one hand, which was fisted in her hair. She had come after him fiercely, as he had always imagined she would. It was amusing that she actually thought she could hurt him.

His soldiers held the warrior in white fast, so that she and the other one were face to face. Seeing her this way, so close and real, Ciro remembered more of her. Her name was Ariana, and she was a witch. Why was she here? She did not have the strength to stop him.

"My lord," one anxious soldier called to him. "Look."

Ciro lifted his head and found, to his dismay, that those soldiers he had directed to separate Ariana from her sentinels were losing. Some of her men had fallen, but more survived and fought on. Soon they would notice that their leader was in trouble… not that they could save her. They could be an annoyance, however.

The enchanter moved quickly, twisting his long legs up to wrap about one leg of the man who restrained him. Chamblyn easily flipped the soldier onto his back, and then he leapt to his feet. If he managed to free his hands, what Ciro needed to accomplish would become more difficult.

Chamblyn rushed toward him, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Dammit, Merin!" The enchanter threw his body at one of the men who restrained Ariana.

Ciro was annoyed. This would have to be done more quickly than he'd like.

While the enchanter wrestled with one of the soldiers, who dragged the wizard away from the scene without killing him, as he had been ordered to do, Ciro yanked the girl from the village around so that she stood before him. He smiled at her, and she shuddered. She knew what he wanted; what he was about to take.

"You… you don't have my permission," she said, her voice shaking.

"I don't need your permission." He lowered his head and nipped at her slender throat.

"But you said my soul was pure and you could not take it without—"

"I lied." He bit into her throat and immediately drained her of her gray soul. It filled him, satisfied him, alleviated his emptiness. Had she really thought herself pure? She'd stolen, she'd lied, she'd been unfaithful to the man she'd promised to marry. How could she have been so foolish as to believe that her soul was white?

Still reveling in the taste of her soul, he drank some of the girl's blood. He did not drain her, however; he simply tasted. With his teeth still attached to her throat, with her blood still filling his mouth, he drew the dagger which hung from his belt, flipped it in his hand, and drove it into Ariana's chest. He found her heart.

The enchanter shouted and freed himself from the two who restrained him. Over his shoulder, Ciro saw soldiers approaching, as well as Chamblyn. Some ran, while others remained on horseback. There were too many of them to take the chance of facing off here and now.

He had only a moment left.

At his direction, his soldiers dropped Ariana. She fell to the ground, motionless. The woman in his arms twitched and wrapped her arms around him. After a moment, she tried to pull away.

"Leave me some blood, you greedy pig." She slapped at his arms.

Ciro took his mouth from her throat and smiled down at the woman. Her face was much the same as it had been when he'd confronted her in the village, but the fear and naivete had been replaced by cunning and delight. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Finally. Thank you, my prince."

He grabbed her arm and dragged her up the steep hillside. His men followed. Some would fall behind, he knew, and they would die. They could be easily replaced when the time was right.

For now, he had what he'd come here for. The warrior in white was dead, and Diella, the first of his Own, had the body and the life she'd craved.

A sharp pain surprised him, halting his progress. He looked down to see that a long, sharp dagger was embedded low in his back. Ciro turned, and saw that the enchanter had managed to free his hands. It was the wizard who had sent the dagger flying such a distance to bury itself in Ciro's flesh.

Ciro very calmly removed the knife, studied the bloody blade, and then dropped it to the ground. Thanks to the power of the Isen Demon, the wound was already healing, already closing. It didn't even hurt, beyond that initial sting. He cast a smile to the enchanter and continued on his way.

At the top of the hill he turned back to survey the scene of his well-planned ambush. The enchanter did not attempt to follow. He was draped over the dead woman's body, and was no longer a threat. Not that he had ever been a real threat, not to Ciro himself. Pity there had been no time to imprison Chamblyn, or at the very least take his soul. Perhaps on another day. Some soldiers fought against Ciro's Own and Fynnian's soldiers, and many of his legion fell. Ciro felt no pity for the fallen. After all, those who fell were slow and ineffective. If they were better soldiers, he would have had more time with the warrior in white and the enchanter.

Most of his Own retreated, now that the mission had been accomplished. There were still many of them, and though they left the battlefield headed in many directions, they would soon be one again.

One green-clad sentinel slipped past Ciro's Own and charged up the hill, his eyes on Ciro himself. "I don't care who you are," the older man growled breathlessly. "You will pay for what you have done to our sister."

Ciro stopped his progress and allowed the pot-bellied man, who should not have the physical ability to climb this hill so fast, to reach him. The sentinel swung out wildly with his bloody sword, but he could not move fast enough… not that his weapon would do Ciro any harm.

Ciro knocked the sword aside, and grabbed the man by the throat. He enjoyed the terror in the man's old eyes, and squeezed so that the sentinel's eyes almost bulged.

"If you survive the fall, tell the enchanter that there is always a place for him in my court." With that he tossed the old man down the hill.

Ciro watched the sentinel take a rough ride over rocks and fallen bodies as he plummeted. He surveyed the destruction on the road and in the field and forest beyond. All had not gone as planned, but it had been a good night nonetheless.

The enchanter Chamblyn lifted his head from the body of the dead warrior. He glanced up the hill, and his gaze fell on Ciro and Diella.

"He will try to kill you now," Diella said coldly.

"Let him try," Ciro said as he moved Diella into the darkness. "Let him try."