The newest #fantasy release, published on the 5th.
Spells of Air
Excerpt ~
The wyre had brought a friend. “Oh, good. One for each of
us.”
At her false brightness, the crease deepened between Grim’s
dark brows. Maybe it had never left. “You do remember that your magic is
useless against them?”
“I was never a good student.”
“Orielle—.”
Her hand patted his back. “I do know. I won’t forget Saithe.
Magic rolls off the wyre. Cut them down with swords or depend upon the Fae. Or
use the elements, that’s what you told me.”
“Use your strongest elements.”
That limited her to Air. Water was good, better with the
river close. The others were pretty much useless.
“We need fighting room. Have you fought any battles with
elements before?”
“No, I’m a city lass.”
Her flippancy this time quirked his mouth. “I’m not a novice. I’ve taken
contracts outside the Enclave. I’ve fought a sorcerer and defeated him. We
did,” she admitted.
“This will be first time by yourself, then.” He jumped down then reached up to catch her.
He swung her easily to the ground. “This way.”
He headed toward the wide shore between river and trees. In
spring flood, the waters would cover the sandy grit. With the dry of autumn
before the winter rains and snows began, the upper shore had lost its softness.
The moss had browned and crumbled underfoot.
Grim had pegged her green. Her mother had objected when
Orielle volunteered to go to Iscleft Haven in her sister’s stead. She had
personally felt only pride when the ArchClan accepted her petition. Her
mother’s protest embarrassed her. Not by
herself, Maman had remonstrated. Send
another wizard with her. At the least, send a guard.
Fool that she was, Orielle had claimed help wasn’t needed.
Frost Clime was days upon days north of the road she must travel to the Haven.
Enemy sorcerers and wyre fought the wizards and Fae allies at the Iscleft
citadel. The battle wouldn’t shift south.
But not all sorcerers and wyre fought at the towers that
guarded the Iscleft passage. And Grim had hinted the Haven would be dangerous
for wizards.
He stopped and fronted the river. She came to his left side.
He hadn’t drawn his sword. He didn’t take a fighting stance. But his fingers
flexed then curled into a fist.
“What do you know of fighting wyre?”
“Not much. If nothing else, I can push them with Wind.”
His scowl vanished. He tossed her a grin, and she tumbled
past appreciation of a good-looking man straight into attraction. His “clever
lass” only deepened toward temptation.
“Clever city lass,” she reminded, fighting that strange
lure.
He stared at the darkness within the laurel tangle. “The
wyre don’t attack together. They split up. While I fight one, the other will
come for you.”
“So, they’re clever, too.”
“Don’t be too—.”
“Don’t be too what?”
But he refused to finish it. Had he meant flippant? Or stupid?
She didn’t want him to think she was totally useless.
“Should I stay at your back?”
“Aye.”
“And may I know your name? I think, with two wyre before us,
that I should know your name. In my mind I’ve been calling you Grim.”
He didn’t just look at her;
he turned. “Grim?”
“I do apologize. You’re not really such a grim person. But
you started off by snapping at me—.”
He interrupted with “Grim will do.” Then he turned back to face the river.
“But it’s not your name.”
“Stay behind me, Orielle. Be ready.”
Be ready. She
supposed that meant keep looking around, especially behind her, and prepare to
use Air rather than spells.
She wished she could easily recall the greater spells. The
convoluted ones that her tutors claimed reached into the deepness of magic
slipped her memory. Her tutors hadn’t understood her fumbling, but then they
hadn’t understood the reason she had to read something over and over to retain
it but could recall what was said to her in passing with perfect ease. If Grim
ever expected her to draw a magic circle and begin chanting, he would be
disappointed. Her two contracts, neither lasting longer than a fortnight, had
seemed disappointed that the only formal magic she wielded was ward spells.
Those she had no difficulty remembering.
She pressed her shoulder to Grim’s back and looked behind
them. Nothing but the rocky river and the tree-covered steep slopes and a slaty
sky that deepened toward purple. When had clouds moved in?
On the river’s other side, birds burst from the waxy green
laurel. They arrowed across the water and rushed past, the woosh of their wings
loud over the rush of the river. Then two men emerged from the tangle. They
stepped onto the boulder fall that pushed the river away from the mountain. The
shirtless one looked like the wyre who had set the trap at the rocky escarp. He
stood taller than the other, his golden mane bright in the cloud-covered light.
But his eyes had an eerie green glow rather than the brilliant blue eyes of
that first wyre.
The second wyre had dark hair swept back from a high forehead.
He also looked familiar although he shared only the long claws of his comrade
and the same toothy grin. His hair looked burnished in the subdued sunlight.
His eyes glistened like the sparkling water, a curious greeny lightness, tinged
with—something she couldn’t discern. Claws extended from his long fingers. His
shirt hung loose on his torso, the material cut for a bigger man. Both wyre
stood barefoot on the boulder, toes curling over the cleft edge.
They jumped. Even fearing them, Orielle admired their grace.
They splashed into the water, knees bending to land lightly. Then they began
wading across.
Grim thrust out both hands. Air burst out, a visible wave of
energy that surged across the water. The wind-backed wave hit the two wyre. The
shirted one staggered and fell into the water. The other braced into the wind.
It gusted past him, flowed up the boulder and into the laurel, grabbing at the
waxy leaves and stripping many away. It continued upslope, to the evergreens,
tearing through the heavy branches before dissipating.
The dunked wyre sputtered in the water before losing his
footing and slipping into the current.
Orielle remembered the deer. She hadn’t thought the water
that deep. But the doe had crossed far from the boulder fall. Perhaps it was
deeper where the water spilled over the granite.
The first wyre came on. The water crested at his hips. “That
your best?” he taunted.
Grim drew his sword. Even untrained, Orielle knew the blade
was shorter than other swords. The chasing, though, looked like Fae steel, like
the Kyrgy knight’s blade. “Come taste my best,” the Rho offered.
The wyre grinned. He ran forward. The water churned at his
knees, slicking his hide pants to his thin legs. His speed increased at the
waterline.
Grim surged forward. Steel clanged against claws.
Orielle backed away. The shorter sword kept the Rho close to
the wyre, parrying the swipe of sharp claws. The wyre tried to get past the
steel guard, but Grim defended faster. Claws screeched across the keen edge.
With a snick and a slip, the wyre leaped around, testing for
a weakness. He landed an arm’s length from Orielle. She cried out and staggered
back. He swiped at her. She flung up an arm in defense. His claws snagged her
cloak. He jerked. Cloth ripped. She fell away as Grim attacked the wyre with a
tossed elemental spell that pushed the shifter away. He followed with a flurry
of steel.
Orielle scrambled to her feet.
Movement caught her eye. She whirled to see the dark-haired
wyre charging toward her. Sandy grit flew in clods from his feet.
She jerked magic and flung the spell at him. He flung up a
hand as the energy flew toward him. It struck, gilded as it flashed, then
evaporated into glistening wisps of silver. He didn’t slow down.
Thrusting out her hands, she drew power that limned her
fingers—then remembered Saithe. They came
over the wall onto us. His power was
useless against wyre. The wyre slashed his throat open.
Her power would be useless.
Unless she kept to the element.
Air.
The wyre sprang.
She crouched and dug her fingers into the sand and grit and
pebbles. A wave of water-smoothed pebbles roared up and surged toward him,
pelting him.
He landed a foot from her. She added the gritty sand, aiming
it at his face.
He fell back, sputtering, wiping his eyes.
Behind him, a fallen branch lifted from the ground and
speared toward him.
He saw her eyes focused past him and whirled then ducked
with a speed she regretted when the branch flew past him. The sharp end buried
in the sand.
With a growl, he leaped toward her.
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