A Spell of Seven

Chapter 5

The magelings were excited to reach the town, however small it was. Freya was not. Towns had people with eyes and wagging tongues; buildings with shadows and places to hide. She chased the magelings away from the city limits and hounded them down a deserted highway, much to their annoyance. Jax kept up with a stream of personal questions which made her livid, just as he intended, long after they'd left the town behind. Falan not-so-subtly tried to shut his twin up many times, for which she supposed she was grateful. Freya herself answered no questions.

    Highway gave way to a bridge over a wide, deep lake. Its waters churned black in the dimming light of evening. Stars came out one by one, and the fire mage's eyes began to glow like green cat's eyes.

    "Another bridge?" Jax inquired sarcastically.

    "Yes." Freya paused. She had not survived this long by not listening to her instincts, and something was twisting deep inside, a thing she had not felt since... "Oh, crap." It was actually worthy of much worse curses than that, but if she let herself get started, she'd probably scare the magelings.

    "What?" both of them asked in unison.

    "RUN!" Freya roared. Even Jax looked terrified at their tone, and the magelings ran. Freya kept up easily. Faster, faster, she thought, just as a wall of magicked lightning sprang up in front of them.

    They skidded to a halt. Freya heard the approaching motors over the crackle of electricity as three black vans pulled up and stopped.

    "Jax," Freya said urgently. She hated accepting spellcasting, but there was no choice. "Put a shadow over my face." He hesitated. "Now!"

    He waved a hand, and Freya felt an odd sensation, like gauze or cobweb had been draped over her head. She glanced at Falan, who said, "You're unrecognizable."

    Good. Freya fitted an arrow to her bow. There would be twenty Brothers, then the real threat. Men started pouring out of the cars. She shot four of them before they were on her.

    Falan shot fire, bringing two men down. Cold shadow enveloped the necks of three more, and they began to scream. Freya hurled one Brother into the wall of lightning, then stuck another through with her knife. They were clearly some of Alexander's best. Already, they were recovering from the surprise of the initial assault, and she fended off two Brothers while the magelings fought to keep the rest at bay.

    "Freya!" The voice boomed across the battle, vicious and confident and horribly, horribly familiar. "So this is the warrior who's given me so much trouble. Afraid to show your face?"

    She did not speak, for she feared he would recognize her voice. Her only hope was that Alexander's arrogance would be his downfall. His pride would blind him to her identity and her skill.

    Flames and shadows whirled around her. The magelings could surely hold their own. If she did not engage Alexander, all would be lost. Forcing her fear and fury aside, she ran forward at half her top speed and swung her sword from its sheath to meet his.

    The clash of metal nearly knocked her backwards. She blocked the blow with just enough force to divert it, then slid her blade along his, avoiding direct defense. A risky and stupid maneuver, but she needed him to think that she couldn't block his hits head on.

    Their swords came together again and again. Often Freya lost ground, usually on purpose. Usually. Alexander gave a feral grin. "You're good at this. Doomed, of course, but a worthy opponent. Tell me, warrior, how were you made?"

    She did not respond. "Come on, warrior. Do you try to tell me that you became so good through sheer skill? Not possible." His sword swooped down hard, nicking her shoulder before she danced away. He reversed his sword; she tried an offensive jab, and he caught her in the leg. She felt her knee buckle before she regained control. Time to end this.