A Spell of Seven

Chapter 4

 Falan felt like he'd only been out a few seconds when he woke. The sun was filtering in through the cleft's mouth. It took him a moment to realize what was wrong. Freya was gone.

He pulled himself out of the cleft. Had she discovered a threat? Was she simply hunting breakfast? It occurred to Falan that he might have moved away from Jax and bumped into her in his sleep, and she'd gone outside for some space. The thought was mortifying. "Freya?" he called.

"Get down!" the unseen Freya called urgently. There was the sound of breaking glass, and swearing. Falan ducked without knowing what he was cringing from. "Falan," continued Freya's disembodied voice. "Listen to me. Breathe shallowly and watch the trees ahead of you. If you see any hint of white gas, get Jax and get away. Do not breathe the gas. It is very poisonous, but you will see it coming. Unless the wind changes, it should not reach you."

"What's going on?"

"There's been an attack. I am caged in by a Brotherhood trap weapon some yards from you. All of the adversaries are dead or running, but you must not approach. You'll die. Now no more questions."

Falan was silent as ordered. Waiting was agony. He searched the trees, looking for the telltale airborne poison. There was no sign of it, but he heard the snapping of twigs, and a man in a gas mask emerged from the trees.

The masked attacker lunged. "Mageling!" he howled in a muffled voice as Falan dodged away, hands spitting sparks. "Alexander will not be denied! Do not resist, and you will not be–" his voice cut off as Falan blasted him with fire. He did not even have a chance to scream.

Freya chose that moment to stagger into view, breathing hard. She saw the dead man on the ground and exclaimed, "Did he touch you?"

Falan shook his head, silent. The deaths of Crassus and now this man washed through his vision like repetitive waves on a shore.

"Good," said Freya. "Don't approach me, either." She sat down hard on a protruding flat rock. Falan tried to ask her what had happened, but she shook her head. "Give me a second. I can't see straight."

"This guy..." Falan couldn't look at the flaming body in the dirt.

Freya looked up at him, and her gaze softened marginally. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I thought he'd fled." She studied Falan's face. "It is not easy to kill others. Remember that you kill now for your own life. These men would use you as a weapon, torture you, or destroy you, given the chance. But never let it become second nature for you to hurt another person."

"It seems easy enough for you," Falan said. He knew she'd probably be offended by that, but the observation did worry him.

"I have never killed anyone outside the Brotherhood." Freya answered him, which was rather surprising in itself. "Yet it has become easy, which I regret every day." She raised her voice. "Jason! Get out here and quench this fire, or you'll get more traveller's bread today." Looking down at her hands, she added, "Actually, I shouldn't touch anything for the next hour or so."

"How did you survive?" Falan inquired. Jax poked his head out of the rock cleft and stared wide-eyed at the body on the ground.

"I fought all but two of them off – there were ten – before they loosed the poison. It's called opal smoke, a visible but highly toxic potion. By that time they'd driven six stakes into the ground around me, and as one Brother went down he activated some kind of spell, probably developed by a captured storm mage. It locked me in a contained windstorm. Didn't hurt me, but I had a hell of a time getting out. If I had not, I would have died. As soon as I yanked the gas mask off the last Brother, he was a dead man."

Jax used his stifling shadows to kill the last fires on the dead Brother. "And you're not dead from poison because..."

Freya scowled. "I held my breath as much as I could. I'm sure the aerial violence of the wind trap helped."

"One breath killed the one guy, you said so yourself," Jax argued.

She sighed. "While I can hold my breath no longer than the next person, I have some immunity to poison. Something such as that makes me dizzy and faint, and sears my lungs, but I can survive it. Lesser toxins have no effect."

"Spit it out!" Jax exclaimed. "What are you?"

"None of your business." She stood and padded to the cleft, where she retrieved her sleeping bag. "One of you kill something, and I'll skin it on the road. I may still have poison clinging to me, so I won't get too close or give you any food I've touched. I suggest you stay away."

*          *          *

Alexander was enjoying a good meal when a messenger brought word of the failed assault. Neither of the magelings had been killed, or Alexander would have murdered someone, but neither had been captured, and the mysterious warrior was not dead.

"Your Majesty," the messenger continued, "the fighter's name is Freya. She is reported to have escaped a windstorm trap and to have survived liberal use of opal smoke."

Freya. An Order name. Who was this warrior with such incredible stamina? Ahra was dead. She could not oppose him or spill the secrets of his strength. The mage who'd given those secrets was also dead, killed by Alexander's bare hands. Had some other wizard made their own super-warrior? Possibly, but it seemed unlikely that such a soldier would go to work for the Order of the Gods. The Order was not only a thorn in the side of the Brotherhood but a magical police force of sorts, and mages did not often take kindly to restrictions. A mage's subjugate would avoid the Order, even if their mage master was dead.

Alexander moved a piece of steak to his mouth. The flavor exploded on his tongue, but tonight it brought him no pleasure. "Order Commander Caesar's execution and have Hammurabi take his place. Prepare my blade. I'm going after them myself."