Page 26 of Sanctuary

The blizzard inside Finn tore free. Ice shards stabbed out of the ground, crowding each other, charging toward the mercenaries like frozen waves. Cold gripped the yard, bitter, polar cold, as Winter herself exhaled. The Christmas tree snapped and splintered, its sap crystallized in an instant. Two birds plummeted from the sky, frozen in mid-flight.

The waves of ice slammed into the nithing poles and crunched, speeding up their shafts, turning the poles into six frozen popsicles. The runes winked out, extinguished. The ward tore, and seven people cried out in a chorus from the backlash. The mercenary mages stumbled back.

The biggest wave headed straight for Fulton.

A jet of flames erupted from the mage’s hands, punching into the wall of ice rushing at him.

The ice kept coming.

Fulton screamed, his flames turning white. Steam burst from the impact of fire and ice.

The staff danced in Finn’s hands. He grunted and pushed, struggling to put all he had into it, but he had nothing left.

The ice slid another two feet and stopped. Another half a foot, and Fulton would have lost his hands.

Finn slumped, hanging on to the staff to stay upright.

Fulton’s flames died. He bent over in half, breathing heavily like he’d just sprinted 400 meters.

Wow. The kid packed a lot of power. Not much control but a lot of raw force. Roman smiled. Morena? would have her hands full with this one. Served her right.

The ice waves cracked and collapsed.

Fulton straightened. “Arrowhead on me!”

The six mages stepped forward like zombies rising from the dead.

“That was good, kid,” Fulton called out. “I took you too lightly. But now you’re done and I’m not. Not that you will get a chance to use it, but let me give you some advice. When it comes to magic, it’s all about staying power.”

Finn stared at him, rage burning in his eyes.

Fulton raised three fingers, then two. The golden chains shot to him again.

Finn stumbled. His body went one way, Klyuv went the other, and Roman stepped out onto the porch, catching both.

Finn gaped at him.

At the property line, Wayne swore.

Roman spat an incantation. Bone chains erupted from the ground, seizing Fulton and the six mages behind him into bone collars. Roman thrust his hand out, closed his fingers, and yanked. The chains dragged the struggling mercenaries into a clump, winding around them with Fulton in the center. Roman jerked them up, slammed them on the ground, jerked them up again, and hurled the whole mass of people and bones into the trees.

“How?” Finn sputtered. “You were dying.”

“Funny thing about a god’s tears—they pack a lot of divinity. Those assholes wish I was dying. Instead, I am pissed off and filled with the horrible love of my god. You did well, Finn. Come inside. It’s time we talk about it.”

* * *

Roman leaned Klyuv against the wall and patted the staff. Good boy. Klyuv was picky about letting itself be touched. The kid still had all his fingers and both eyes, which was some kind of miracle.

“Go sit by the fire, Finn.”

The kid stumbled off and landed on the floor in front of the fireplace like a sack of flour. He looked like death.

Roman tossed another chunk of wood into the fireplace, poked the logs with a stick to get them situated, and went to the kitchen. This called for heat and sugar. He pulled the bottle of sbiten out of the fridge. He’d made some three days ago, because he’d been craving it, but ended up just drinking his eggnog instead.

Eggnog would’ve so hit the spot right about now.

He poured sbiten into a kettle, returned to the living room, slid the kettle onto an iron hook attached to the fireplace, and swiveled the hook into the fire.

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