Light Wielder (Fire & Metal, #2) — Chapter 10

Chapter 10

JO

Every time I think I’ve grown accustomed to the temperature, a smattering of rain dampens us and makes the wind bite harder. The chattering of my teeth is involuntary as I keep my back pressed to the rock face, protecting the flint, oil, and weedgrass we foraged to throw on the fires to create white smoke to flush out the warriors from their encampment. We see the Strou’s fires from the valley, so we know they keep them burning throughout the night.

We’re balanced on a strip of cliffside that’s little more than a few handspans wide. The sky is overcast. There’s no light from the moon or stars to see by. I’m forced to rely on my other senses as I listen to Fredrich’s steady breathing beside me, feeling the dirt and gravel under my palms and the uneven stone at my back, braced against the biting cold seeping through my leathers. The climb was too arduous to carry the added weight of a protective chest plate or other armor in addition to our weapons.

A violent tremble racks my body.

“Not long now,” Fredrich whispers.

They’re the first words either of us have spoken since we began scaling the rockiest and steepest section of the hillside before nightfall. They don’t work to settle my quivering, but I find solace in those three words, knowing we’ll at least be free of this ledge. Such an odd feeling considering my end could very well be just around the bend of the cliffside. Instead of fear, I feel only anticipation as I focus on the heavy beats of my heart, each pulse sounding like the ticking of a clock in my ears, counting down the seconds before chaos.

I feel the slow shift in Fredrich’s stance. I hear the scrape of metal as he unsheathes his sword at his side. Following suit, I ready my own weapon, rotating my wrists to loosen the joints after being stock-still for hours. My neck and shoulders all ache as I begin to stretch them out. We’ve used a lot of our strength climbing and remaining alert as we waited for the time of night when most of the Strou warriors would be the least cautious and it has been draining. Being low on energy is one of our biggest disadvantages— other than being severely outnumbered once we’re inside the caverns, of course.

His hand closes around my wrist and I freeze in place.

“Stay close,” Fredrich orders.

“I know—”

“If we get overpowered, we make a run for it.”

I nod. “Understood.”

A gust of wind howls from above us, sending rocks crashing down the hillside. I duck and cover my head with a forearm, but the debris scatters around us, missing us entirely. I’ve seen Fredrich’s shield work in battle, men and weapons rebounding off the invisible and unbreakable barrier that always surrounds him, but it’s different to experience from the inside. To feel the pressure shift as the rocks hit, magic vibrating around us.

Again, magic never ceases to amaze me.

He pulls a second sword from the sheath across his back. I call my dagger, the weapon materializing in my hand in the next moment, and hold it with my thumb over the head of the hilt, blade flat to my forearm.

“Ready?”

I nod again.

“Let’s begin,” Fredrich says.

The sooner we begin, the sooner it can be over.

We shuffle along the slick precipice and toward the cavern’s opening.

Once we’re clear of the bend, we’ll be visible to any warriors camped out on this ledge. Our hope is that the few who are awake to keep watch will be easy to sneak past or to take down before we’re able to smother their fires. I pray to the gods, the rest of the warriors should be sleeping.

When we emerge on the other side of the bend, the brutal wind stops altogether. The ledge expands in width, the rock face curving back into a natural shelter. The cavern is larger than I expected. The sudden drop in air

pressure creates a ringing sensation in my ears. An orange glow burns from a fire at the edge of the cliffside at the opposite end of the cave entrance just as we suspected there’d be. A handful of figures huddle around it.

It takes a moment for my senses to adjust, for anything to pierce through the muffled atmosphere. But soon, as my eyesight adjusts and shapes start to emerge from the dark, a new, collective sound becomes audible.

Snoring.

I swing my sword out to my side, signaling Fredrich to stop in place.

Rows and rows of men sleeping on the ground. I count them as far as I can see, then again to make sure I’m not mistaken. The Strou rarely sent more than a thousand men at a time when they ambushed our battalion, but we suspected they had five times that scattered throughout the cave systems

in these hills.

But we were wrong. Very wrong.

Judging from the cursory view, I guess there’s at least five hundred in this cavern alone. If even half the caves contain the same number of men, I’d surmise their headcount is nearly triple of what we originally thought.

We have two options: turn around and scale down the escarpment and call the night a wash or proceed with the original plan and pray to the gods for success. Both are as unappealing as each other. I look at Fredrich over my shoulder, and seeing the question in his eyes, it’s obvious he’s leaving the decision in my hands. Proceed with our plan or flee back to camp?

I’ve observed him fight often enough to know he’s skilled, but his true strength lies in his gift. Never have I seen his shield falter. Not even after hours of battle. If I choose to fight, it’s not his life I’m gambling with—it’s mine.

And like hell am I returning to camp just to repeat the cycle all over again tomorrow. Where we wait for the Strou to ambush just for us to lose men in the counterattack. No. I’m not returning to camp and confessing to my men that I failed.

Instead, I give Fredrich a nod, letting him know I’m okay to proceed.

The warrior closest to us grumbles in his sleep and we both still. We don’t want to start the fight with our backs to the ledge. We wait long breaths for the man to settle again before we move. Crouching low, we take assured but quick steps. It’s impossible to move without commotion, but as

long as it doesn’t sound suspicious, no one will be roused by regular footsteps passing by.

Even though we don’t have an idea of direction, the cave system houses a series of interconnected tunnels and inlets. As we move alongside the cave’s wall, we come upon a few of these passages. It’s too dark to see into, but any could be a passage to a connected cave. But first, we need to create smoke, and that’s going to begin at the fire burning ahead. We just need to take the warriors down as quickly as possible.

The five men at the fire have their backs to us; unbeknownst to them, death is creeping up behind them. The closer we get, the hotter the air becomes. And the faster my heart beats, the calmer I feel.

It’s a strange high I’ve become accustomed to when walking into battle.

My mind is empty except for a visceral need to kill and not be killed. A place and time where my thoughts cease and I’m nothing more than a girl using her body for what it’s been trained for. Whatever the end may be—the eternal reprieve of death or the sweet pleasure of victory—I’m ready for the outcome.

Shifting my sword in my hand, I dare a look at Fredrich. He’s positioning himself to take the right flank as I move left. Our eyes lock and … … and he smiles. An impish grin I’ve never seen on him before.

Something more fitting for the likes of Messer.

“Intruder!” The man to the far right of the small congregation points in my direction, drawing the attention of the others.

His protest dies on his lips as Fredrich swings his sword in a short arc, slicing through the side of the man’s neck. He hasn’t even hit the ground before Fredrich jabs his other blade through the throat of the man next to him—in one side and out the other—before yanking it free.

The men are wholly unprepared for the ambush and scramble for their discarded weapons. Using their surprise to my advantage, I slice across the larger one’s back. Nonfatal, but painful as fuck, and it makes him arch in discomfort. It takes a flick of my wrist to sever the artery in his neck. Blood spews across the ground. His scream turns into gurgles as he drowns.

The shouts from hundreds of Strou warriors jolting from their sleep echoes in the cavern, but I keep my focus on the last man standing. He swings his sword toward my middle, and I leap back, waiting for his next

move before advancing. Being smaller than most of my opponents, I’m often on the defensive until there’s an opening, and I’ve learned that even patience has a place in a fight to the death.

His next move is predictable. A backswing aimed at my neck. I lift my blade to block it, but before the steel of his blade meets mine, it hits an invisible resistance. The warrior’s rage morphs into undiluted fear at the realization. I can’t stop the grin pulling at my lips and the memory of Fredrich’s smile resonates within me. I get it now.

The warrior is shaken from the revelation that he’s on the losing end of my sword; he begins to fall back, feet shuffling as he retreats.

The shield protects me from harm, but it doesn’t prevent my opponent from defending himself. I continue my assault. Front swing, back jab.

Again, again, and again. I fake a jab to my left—his right—turning my body at the last second and am successful in disarming him. His sword skids across the cavern floor.

In a last-ditch effort, he lunges for my throat with clawed hands, only for his fingers to snap from the force of meeting Fredrich’s shield. He screams when I plunge my dagger into his gut. I hold his stare as I twist the blade, and his shrieks turn into choked protests as he fumbles for my wrist with gnarled fingers. I acquiesce, pulling the weapon out, blood gushing from the wound. It’s too late for him to save himself though. His eyes roll back, body tilting in the same direction before he finally loses consciousness, falling onto the fire with a loud crack.

Darkness descends on the cavern, like a candle has been snuffed out.

The commotion is extinguished at the same time as the light.

After a beat of silence, the Strou warriors voices begin to amplify.

“… fucking kill you … Maile scum … another tally…”

A vibration hums in the air, and it takes me a moment before realizing it’s the force of the shield holding the warriors back. Something touches the side of my neck and I jolt.

“It’s me,” Fredrich says, voice somehow clear above the reignited chaos.

I let out a breath of relief, latching onto the sleeve of his shirt, afraid to lose him.

His grip is firm but gentle as he pulls me closer. “Not scared of the dark, are you, light wielder?”

At the mention of my gift, I still. I’d all but forgotten the part of me that I’ve constantly been trying to dampen in the years since I left Kenta. That place inside me where my magic and Bond reside together as one.

I finger the mangi stones at my neck. I never take them off. In a situation where I need to switch them out for my gyve, I overlap them before removing the necklace.

The noise becomes nearly unbearable. Deafening. Violent.

Fredrich makes the decision for me. “Show them how you burned down the Dark Forest.”

Taking a deep breath, I unclasp the necklace, slowly sliding it from under my collar. I remind myself that Acker has never tried to breach the Bond through the tether. Not once since I left Kenta. And if he wasn’t also wearing mangi stones himself, I’d likely already be forced into his presence.

I let the string of stones slip through my fingers and fall to the ground.

The men rage beyond the invisible barrier and I focus on the beating of my heart, drowning them out. Pressing my palm against the spot under my sternum, I concentrate as I beckon my magic forward.

Nothing happens.

It takes so long that I question whether I’ve smothered my magic to

death.

Then I feel it.

As if unfurling from a winter slumber, my gift stretches. Slowly at first, but I feel it, nonetheless. Like taking a shot of good whiskey, it burns, growing warm as it spreads through my veins.

I gasp as a dusting of light shines from the exposed skin of my hands.

I’d forgotten what this feels like. Painful, but delicious. Intoxicating.

Powerful.

Then, in the blink of an eye, everything ceases to exist. The air stills.

Silence descends so loud that my ears ring. And I’m staring at a textbook, laid open on a wooden desk, lit by a single candlestick. I struggle to make sense of what is happening, when I see them. Male hands I’ve stared at for hours on end. Hands capable of amazing and terrifying things, with a silver scar that mars the skin between the thumb and pointer finger.

The right hand slides underneath the tissue-thin paper and lazily flips the page.

In a panic, I attempt to squeeze my eyes shut, and just like in my nightmares the scene persists whether I want it to or not.

He reaches for something out of sight. His hand returns with a grape pinched between two fingers. The scar glints in the flickering light as he rolls the fruit between his fingers while he reads. More like skims, as I can barely make out the words on the page before he’s moving on to the next.

Oh my gods.

The grape comes closer before disappearing. Sweat sugar coats my tongue, the crunch of the skin echoing in my ears as he chews.

This is not like the times after I accepted the Bond, when my mind could be in two places at once.

No. The Bond doesn’t want to let me go. Beau’s words ring in my head.

Magic doesn’t like being denied.

I need the stones.

Fredrich’s voice sounds hollow when he yells.

“Jo!”

Acker’s gaze snaps up.

Pain lances across my face, and the last thing I see is the view of Acker’s bedroom and the figure of a woman asleep in his bed.

Then I’m staring at Fredrich’s heated gaze as he tries to shake me out of my skin. By the throbbing pain on the right side of my face, I surmise he hit me.

“Oh, thank the fucking gods,” he says once he realizes that I’m aware once again.

Turning my gaze to the warriors surrounding us, I notice the entire cavern is lit. By me, I realize. I’m the source of the light.

Dropping my pack at my feet, I flick my sword in my hand. Somehow, I’m less afraid here than the place I was just in. At least here, I am the master of my own fate. Bringing my sword pommel to rest against the place my magic resides, the glow of my skin flows into the iron filigree in the handle, winding down the hilt like a river of pure light, spilling onto the sword’s blade, a stark brightness in the night.

A torch to light the way out.

And my strongest weapon.