Page 58 of Anathema

“There’s still the issue of getting back to our horses.” Kazhimyr strode toward the window and peered out. “Much harder with an extra body.”

“Should you choose to walk,” Dolion countered.

“You’ve a better plan?”

Dolion cocked a brow and turned to the stone wall beside him. A glowing streak of light trailed his hand as he circled it against the wall. “Accipezimu equivonis.” The crumbling stone shimmered, opening up on the dark hill where their horses stood tied to the trees.

The view offered a glimpse of shadowy figures quickly bounding toward the helpless animals. Carnificans.

“What say you, Brother?”

Zevander let out a low growl and nabbed the collar of Dolion’s cloak, yanking him to within punching distance. “Nothing tricky, or I’ll burn you alive.”

Nodding, the old man swiped up a leather bag from beside him, clanking whatever was inside, and they stepped through the shimmering circle.

Once on the other side, Kazhimyr loosed the horses, while Zevander yanked his sword for the oncoming Carnificans. No more than a few yards from having their hands severed, the berserkers froze, their eyes fixed on something behind Zevander. He turned in time to clock a mage stalking at his back, and when the stranger thrust his palm toward them, Zevander drew his cape, shielding him and Dolion from the flame that burst forth.

Intense heat beat against the cape, failing to break through the fireproof barrier, as Zevander protected his quarry from the blaze.

Dolion curled into a tight ball beside Zevander. “You should’ve pushed a blade through my heart back at the keep, you fool.”

Zevander hardly flinched at the weaker flame that did little more than warm his cloak—nowhere near as intense as the sablefyre that sizzled inside his own veins, desperate to lash out. “He’s the fool, for having picked an unfair fight.”

The heat shifted to a frigid cold, and Zevander kept the shield in place a moment longer, to keep Kazhimyr’s mist from touching Dolion. While the flame in his veins protected Zevander’s blood from freezing, it certainly wouldn’t have done much for the mage.

The cold lifted, and Zevander threw back the cape, sending forth three large scorpions. Two more mages had appeared, the first lying in chunks of split flesh, his veins having split open.

Zevander held his blade at the ready for the first who dared to charge. Unlike the Carnificans, completely devoid of magic, the mages moved swiftly and efficiently, avoiding the snapping strike of the scorpions’ stingers.

Kazhimyr sent another blast of ice which the mages blocked with an invisible shield, deflecting the mist away from them.

“Keep it steady!” Zevander shouted.

Their powers could only hold the shield for so long. As the two assassins had learned in their training, the best weapon was exhausting the enemy. Using up whatever energy reserves they had and parrying with a counter attack. The scorpions waited, snapping their claws as Kazhimyr held a steady blast, forcing the mages to expend their magic to hold the shield. Both sides were undoubtedly growing weary as their power slowly depleted.

Zevander, on the other hand, patiently waited, mentally counting off the seconds that ticked by.

Until those shields finally fell.

All three of his scorpions struck fast into the hearts of the two mages. One of them split in half, as the metallic stinger swung out. Within minutes, all three mages lay mutilated on the grassy knoll.

Kazhimyr bent forward, wheezing as he fought to catch his breath. “For gods’ sake … I’m getting too old for this shit.”

The scorpions skittered back to Zevander, and he glanced toward the Carnificans, who’d retreated back to Corvus Keep. As the remaining mage, who’d been stung in the heart, squirmed and writhed, Zevander drew his blade and stabbed him in the skull before he could call on a mimicrow to relay what had happened.

Dolion stood over the fallen mage and sighed. “This won’t be the last we’ll see of them.”

“I suspect not,” Zevander said, sheathing his sword.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

MAEVYTH

“Aleysia! Aleysia! No!” I raced across the yard toward the Vonkovyan soldiers, who dragged my sister by the arms, while she kicked and screamed. “Leave her alone!”

Her dress had been torn at the sleeve with their rough handling, her hair falling out of the braid she’d worn earlier that morning. “Maevyth!” she cried out over a sob. “Please don’t let them take me!”

As I came upon the first soldier, I swallowed back the fear climbing my throat and instinct took over. I swung out, my knuckles knocking into solid body, sending a shooting pain up through my joints. “Leave her alone! Leave her!” A hard shove to my chest sent me flying backward, and I tumbled onto my backside in a bruising hit.

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