Stealing Sorcery (52 page)

And Taelien fell among the graves.

Velas knelt next to Jonathan Sterling in a hollow in a hillside that barely deserved the word “cave”. The bodies of three other paladin candidates lay still behind her, nearer to a basin filled with water. The symbol of Lissari, the goddess of life, was etched into the stone above the basin.

Landen waited outside, keeping vigil from a semi-concealed position behind a nearby tree, his bow at the ready. She judged that he was out of earshot for simple conversation, but easily within the range to hear shouting or the ringing of steel.

She slipped her backpack off her shoulders, opening the top flap and removing the medical kit. “Keep those eyes open, Sterling. I’m going to need you to keep talking so I can brew the appropriate antidote.”

The blond man nodded wearily, his gaze distant.

Opening the kit, she retrieved an empty vial, removing the cap and setting it aside. “How long ago did you drink from the basin?”

He shrugged. “Hard to judge. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes. I think I might have blacked out briefly.”

That’s not good news if it’s true – he should have mentioned it before. It significantly changes the plausibility of pursuing his attackers.

“Okay. How much did you drink?”

He gave a pained expression. “Just a couple hands full.”

She nodded patiently. “Good, good. That might be treatable – especially since you already threw up.”

Velas reached into her bag, shuffling through components without retrieving anything sufficient. “Last question for now – what did it taste like?”

“It was sweet,” he began, closing his eyes. “Something like almonds, I think.”

She nodded again, finding what she was looking for in the bag.

“That gives me the context I needed, thank you. Give me a moment.”

“Can you help me?”

“That I’m still not certain about.” Velas retrieved a pair of herbs and a smaller vial of liquid. She carefully mixed them into the vial, and then retrieved her wineskin from her pack and filled the remainder of the vial with it. She handed him the vial. “Drink.”

His eyes fluttered open, and he accepted the vial and drank it down, setting the empty vial at his side. “Will...this save me?”

Velas shook her head. “There’s good news and bad news.” She took a breath. “The good news is pretty simple – you weren’t poisoned before.” Velas pulled the surgical knife from her bag, pressing it against his throat. “The bad news is that you are now.”

Sterling’s eyes didn’t widen in surprise – they just scanned down to the knife, and then shifted to meet her own gaze. And he gave her a charming smirk. “What gave me away?”

“I had some suspicions about the setup immediately. The key was that they had left you alive – you didn’t say anything about chasing the assassins away or injuring them. They had no reason to be sloppy. The last question really confirmed it – what are the chances your entire group would drink water that didn’t taste like water without someone warning the others first?”

He rolled his eyes. “I suspect I should have been better prepared for loaded questions. Fair enough, I’ll give you credit for being more observant than the other two, even if you missed a few key things.”

She quirked an eyebrow, tensing her knife hand, itching to cut. “Oh? Such as?”

“Well, for one thing, the water isn’t poisoned – but the air is.”

Oh, shit.

She narrowed her eyes. “You could be bluffing.”

“Give it a few minutes. You’ll feel it. Your friends that are exerting themselves are probably already suffering from it – well, the one who came close, at least. The Delaren is probably fine.”

“Okay, then. We’re at a fairly simple impasse, then – but Thornguards always carry an antidote to their poisons, don’t they? I can treat what I just gave you.”

He grinned wider, flashing stark white teeth. “Thornguards do, or so I’ve heard.”

“You’re not with the guild – they wouldn’t take a contract like this. But you recognized my hand sign, and you left me a warning note – so, Thornguard.”

Sterling lifted his left hand to his forehead, giving an expression of exasperation. Velas pressed the knife closer, intended as a warning for his movement – but it failed to cut his skin. She frowned.

“Another miscalculation on your part. I didn’t leave you any letters, and I’m not with the Thornguard. I did, however, bring an antidote.”

She heard the sound of steel scrapping against stone behind her and spun around, stepping away from Sterling in alarm.

Eridus was standing from the stone floor, a dejected look on his face. He had a bloodstained arrow in his hand.

“Really, Velas,” he began, “Even a cursory glance would have shown you that the wound on my neck,” he gestured with the arrow, “wasn’t just a bit of someone else’s blood. But you didn’t even check on me. I’m wounded.”

“You’re going to be a lot more wounded in a second, you traitorous Thornguard fuck.”

Eridus gave a deep laugh, tossing the arrow to the side with a casual gesture. “You know, you sounded like you were pretty on track at the start of this conversation, but you keep forgetting there are other people who might know a few basic hand signs.” He raised two fingers to his forehead. “Shall I sing you a song of the story of Symphony’s lover?”

She reversed her grip on the knife, preparing for a throw. The short blade wasn’t balanced for throwing, but at such close range she suspected she might land it. “You’re a Blackstone.”

Sterling remained on the floor, stretching his arms. “And revelation dawns upon the wayward rogue.” He tilted his head toward her. “But there needn’t be any hostilities between us, if you are, as the signs say, a friend.”

“Those,” she gestured toward the fallen paladins, thinking of her late night talks with Celia Laurent and the drinking contest with Alden, “Were my friends.”

“A shame.” Sterling brushed his hands on his knees, beginning to push himself to his feet. “I had hoped we could reach an understanding – you showed the beginnings of some cunning, in a pedestrian sort of way.”

Eridus leaned against a nearby wall. “The note was a professional courtesy. I’ll say I’m impressed by how well you covered your tracks – I did some digging and couldn’t find anything about your guild name.”

“Silk.”

The Rethri whistled appreciatively. “No wonder you’re blustering so hard. Under normal circumstances, even I wouldn’t want to tangle with Symphony’s apprentice.” He glanced at Sterling, “But, since I’m on loan to Vae’kes Sterling, I think we can safely call this an exception.”

Vae’kes Sterling.

Velas changed her mind about the knife, backing out of the entrance to the cave. Rather than hurling it immediately, she slipped the blade upward, making a tiny incision in her own palm.

The former Queensguard couldn’t afford to close her eyes, which made envisioning the poison in her body more challenging, but she was still able to locate the foreign essence with some effort – and begin to channel it toward the bleeding wound on her palm. She knew that she couldn’t afford to deal with any complications for the confrontation that was brewing.

Sterling sprang to his feet, scratching his head. “Retreating, Velas? I see you finally grasp the situation you’re in.” He cracked his neck, turning his head to spit on the cave’s floor. “I’ll give you credit – poisoning me was a nice touch. I’m not even angry. It’s not every day I get to play with one of Symphony’s things.” He flashed another grin. “But I do so love breaking my sister’s toys.”

Velas snapped her fingers on her left hand – the somatic gesture for casting a simple spell. A familiar signal - the sound of a wind chime - one that she had used with Landen a dozen times before.

The signal to open fire.

Landen’s arrow flew straight toward Eridus’ throat, and Velas had just a moment to process her companion’s sense of ironic humor before the Rethri snatched the arrow out of the air.

She threw the knife at Sterling’s head – it struck him in the center of the forehead, bounced off harmlessly, and landed on the cavern floor. There was no hint of the telltale flicker of a barrier – just the same resistance that Velas had felt when she had failed to cut his skin before.

Sterling sighed. “Didn’t Symphony teach you anything about our kind? Your weapons and spells aren’t going to have any effect on me.”

Velas raised her left hand, her palm pointed at Eridus.
Push.

A violent burst of motion hammered the armored Blackstone, slamming him into the cavern wall.

“He’s less invincible,” Velas noted. “We’ll work on you next.”

Sterling sighed, glancing at his fallen companion and shaking his head, and then looking back up toward Velas.

“That was rather rude.”

He drew the practice sword from his side, running his fingers along the edges. Rather than sharpening or bursting into flame, the blade began to shiver and quake, as if straining to escape its hilt.

Velas cast a glance at where her quarterstaff stood near the pennant – far too far away to reach – and drew her own sword.

Sterling waved his left hand in the air and took a mock bow, then raised his blade into a traditional Velryan dueling stance. Velas mirrored the stance, having no intention of retaining it. This could be no ordinary duel.

An arrow flew at Sterling, but he easily deflected it, shooting an angry glance at Landen. “I’ll be with you soon enough, Theas.”

Theas? Why’d he call him that? Erik Tarren knowing his real name made sense – their families are close – but Sterling…

The victim was Edrick Theas’ son.

The words of that playful rogue, “Scribe”, echoed in her mind. As did her own reply.

You’d be better off looking at your own people, I suspect.

She tossed a brief glance back to Landen. “Lan, you’re the real target here. Fall back to regroup with Asphodel and Taelien. I’ll hold them here.”

“Yeah, no, that’s not going happen.” He knocked another arrow. “So you’re going to have to plan to win.”

Sterling drew within lunging distance, but Velas cautiously shifted backward, circling him. She couldn’t take her eyes off her opponent at this point, so she simply shouted, “Make sure Eridus stays down.”

Sterling moved. His shivering blade sent a numbing vibration down her arm as she parried, but she retained her grip and moved her off-hand.

Push.

The same force slammed into Sterling that she had used on Eridus – but the Vae’kes merely pursed his lips as the essence washed over him, his hair blown askew.

“Disconcerting, but ultimately not dangerous to me,” the Vae’kes reported. “You’ll have to do better.”

Velas felt the burden of fatigue from her spells beginning to weigh on her shoulders and legs, but she was well-enough rested that she judged she could manage a few more.
For what little good they’ll do me.

She ducked and took a swipe at Sterling’s knees. He danced backward, shaking his head. “What, precisely, was the point of that? You wouldn’t have scratched me even if I wasn’t invincible.”

Velas backed away, continuing to circle.
I just need a moment to think.

Sterling didn’t give her that moment. He lunged for her neck, and as she batted that aside, he spun on his heels and slammed his left fist into the lower half of her breastplate. She felt the steel plates crumble like paper, jamming metal into her chest.

Gasping for breath, she stumbled backward as Landen brought a pair of blades down on the back of Sterling’s head.

He never was good at following orders.

The blades connected solidly, making Sterling flinch at the impact, but the Vae’kes spun around in a vicious lash that sent Landen skittering backward. At a glance, Sterling seemed to have suffered no lasting damage from the attack – but that wasn’t what was on Velas’ mind.

Can’t breathe.

The pain made her vision blacken for an instant. Dropping her sword, she fumbled for the straps on the side of her breastplate while Landen deftly hopped over a low slash from Sterling’s blade.

Velas couldn’t concentrate sufficiently to unfasten the leather straps – the pain in her chest was too intense. The Queensguard had broken ribs before, but never with a distorted metal plate applying continuous pressure against them.

Tear.

The Dominion of Motion was ill-suited for the kind of precise damage she needed to inflict, but the leather strap wasn’t particularly resilient. The spell separated the strap near her side from the breastplate, allowing her to wiggle the plate forward and draw in a ragged breath.

Landen’s blades where whirling, striking high and low in a furious pattern. Sterling parried some of the blows and ignored others, seemingly at random, but even those attacks that slipped through rebounded harmlessly regardless of where they landed. Even his face seemed as resilient as steel.

Velas repeated the process with the other straps on the same side of her breastplate, slipping her head and arm out as soon as one side was loose and tossing the entire cuirass aside. She coughed deeply, doubling over, but it was a dry cough – not yet one tinged with her blood. She judged that her gambeson had absorbed enough of the blow to prevent her ribs from piercing into her lungs.