Page 26 of Magick and Lead (Dragons and Aces #2)

ROHREE

R ohree had never imagined that simply being unable to move would be such torture, but that was the worst part about being in the box.

Not the darkness. Not the silence. Not the hunger or the thirst or sitting in her own putrid excrement.

It was the agony that arose from being unable to straighten her legs, or extend her neck, or reach out an arm.

The restlessness became like a madness, like a swarm of bees inside her body.

Then the madness turned to pain—and the bees started to sting.

Now, her whole body sizzled with pain. Even her antlers ached from the pressure of the box’s walls they were pressed against. She wanted to scream.

It would have felt amazing to scream, actually, but she didn’t quite have enough room to take the full, deep breath screaming would have required.

So, she just sat there, crunched up into a ball, feeling slow tears seep from her eyes and dry on her cheeks.

She might have drifted away for a while.

That happened often. Not a real, satisfying sleep—she was too uncomfortable for that—but a lapse of consciousness.

But suddenly, something hit the box, and she was wide awake.

The whole world seemed to resound with the impact.

Her head throbbed. Her heart began beating faster.

What was this? What new hell had the witch cooked up for her? What?—?

The box was blasted, then blasted again, and she heard the creaking and cracking of wood. Then, the lid was torn off above her.

“Rohree?” a familiar voice whispered.

Rohree tried to lift her head, but the crick in her neck protested.

“Sweet mother! Is that you? Come on, can you stand?”

She tried to open her eyes, but light stung them—though it was only the dim, bluish glimmer of a glowstone.

“Come on. We don’t have much time.”

The box tipped on its side, and Rohree felt herself spill out of it. With a groan, half agony and half relief, she tried to straighten her legs. The muscles responded with terrible cramping that left her hissing in pain.

“Gods, what have they done to you?” her rescuer asked. “Can you stand? You have to stand.”

Rohree felt an arm link with hers, pulling her to her feet. With a groan and a wobble, she found her footing, then, blinking, she looked again at the face of her savior. This time, her eyes were able to focus.

“Clua?” she whispered.

The dwarf woman held a long-handled war mace, and a look of ferocious determination hung on her broad features.

Rohree didn’t know her well. They’d only met a few times as mutual friends of Princess Essaphine.

She never would have expected Clua to be the one to rescue her.

Certainly, Essa must be here too, and her fellow Skrathan—but when Rohree looked around, she saw only Clua in the tower’s dank basement. No one else was there.

Rohree was confused, but there was no time for questions.

Already, Clua was tugging her along as her cramped legs struggled to keep pace.

Through the tower’s dank basement, they ran.

Up a curving, uneven staircase. Into a small study.

Stars winked in through the windows. Judging from how far the fire had burned down in the fireplace, it had to be the wee hours of the morning.

And on the floor—Rohree saw the carnage and halted, her stomach turning. On the floor, two men were sprawled out, blood staining the floorboards around them.

“What happened?” Rohree asked. A foolish question, but she was still hazy from being in the box.

Clua brandished her mace. “I did. Now come on.”

Rohree took a few more steps, then halted. “Wait.”

The dwarf wheeled on her. “Do you want to be caught? Come on!” she hissed.

The witch would be sleeping now in the chamber at the top of the tower.

Rohree could almost feel her, a malevolent, lurking presence, like a spider slumbering in the corner of a web, waiting for the slightest jiggle of her web to awaken and leap on her prey.

Terror of that dreadful woman burned in Rohree like a sun.

And yet, she couldn’t pass up this chance to help Essa.

“Just one thing…” Rohree whispered, hurrying into the other room, to the kitchen, and over to the desk by the window. She snatched up the basket full of scrolls—correspondence from the prelate.

“What are you doing?” Clua hissed.

On a peg on the wall, there hung an empty canvas satchel. Quickly, Rohree dumped the scrolls into the satchel and slung its strap over her shoulder.

“Got it,” Rohree said. “Let’s?—”

There came a creak from the floorboards above.

Rohree froze, dread pinning her in place. But Clua hooked her by the arm again and pulled her forward, out the kitchen door, and into the night.

They ran. The air was fresh and cool. Dew stood upon the knee-deep grass, wetting Rohree’s pants as she passed, but its chill helped her thoughts come into focus.

“Those men back there…” she whispered as she ran. “The dead ones. They wore black cloaks and hauberks,” Rohree said. “And black armor.”

“Yeah…” Clua said, scanning the horizon as she hurried them toward the nearby woods.

“They’re Lacunae,” Rohree said.

“ Were Lacunae,” Clua corrected.

Rohree stared at her. “And you killed them?”

The dwarf snorted. “Well, they didn’t smash their own heads.”

Clua was only an inch or two taller than Rohree and no more than waist-high to a tall man.

The idea that a diminutive person like her had taken out a pair of the most respected and feared knights in all Maethalia was staggering.

More shocking was the idea that she’d risked her life for Rohree—a mere sprite. A servant. A nobody.

“Is Essa here?” Rohree asked. “Or the riders?”

“If we had a dragon to ride, do you think we’d be chuggin’ away on foot?” the dwarf asked without slowing. “Essa and the Skrathan are busy trying to save the kingdom, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me. Can you go invisible?”

All sprites could become invisible—or nearly invisible, for there was always a tiny telltale shimmer for those who looked closely—but it took a certain amount of energy to make the shift. Rohree tried, but the effort made her head throb and her knees nearly buckle.

“I can’t,” she said.

“No matter,” Clua replied. “Since I can’t turn invisible and you can’t run on your own, it wouldn’t have helped us much anyway. Besides, the Gray Brothers have ways of seeing that don’t require eyes...”

Rohree glanced down at the satchel of correspondence bobbing at her side and thought of the witch again.

What if she were gazing into her scrying bowl now? What if she were watching them? What if she were coming for them?

The thought could almost have paralyzed her with terror, but she pushed it out of her mind.

She couldn’t go back, and she wouldn’t let herself be taken again.

She’d cut her own throat first. And she certainly didn’t want to slow Clua down and endanger her after she’d risked so much to save Rohree.

There was only one thing to do: run. And so she did, sprinting toward the dawn, her legs wobbling with every step and Clua’s stout hand leading her onward.