On the opposite riverbank, Briar was still painting her own saddle. The sheriff waved his sword and pointed it at her as if he were a wartime king. His riders whooped and charged down the hill in a thunderous torrent, heading straight for Briar.
Archer’s boots slid in the mud. He was almost to Esteban. Just before Archer reached him, the voice mage opened his mouth and unleashed the highest note Archer had ever heard.
Wheels of fire spun out of Esteban’s mouth and flew across the river, twirling fast, gathering strength with each spin. Flynn’s riders scattered like pigeons, and the fiery wheels exploded on the slope.
The sheriff bellowed at his men, red-faced and raging. The riders reformed around him, still only halfway down the embankment. Flames licked the grass, sending smoke into the morning air.
Esteban’s shoulders tensed. He sang another high note, harsher this time. More flaming spirals formed and spun across the river. The riders dodged them, keeping their heads a little better the second time. They were almost to the bottom of the hill.
Briar still bent over her saddle, fingers flying as she scribed her curse. The riders drew closer. Archer reached for an arrow, tangling with the blanket he’d tossed over his head.
Then Esteban shrieked, and a dozen arrows shot from his mouth. The conjured steel streaked across the water, flying faster and farther than anything Archer could shoot from his longbow.
The arrows hit an invisible wall. They hung suspended for an eyeblink then fell to the ground and vanished.
Barden’s men had a mage too. Had Radner recovered from his beating already? It was hard to pick him out without his cloak. Archer scanned the riders for his sleek brown hair and sneering face.
Then a volley of fiery arrows sped back across the river toward him and Esteban. Archer ducked, but Esteban sang a series of low, deep notes, and the whole river rose up to quench the burning darts, the water curling like a silver snake in a single rippling mass.
Archer stared. That was not ordinary magic. The king had lost an immense talent when he’d offended Esteban badly enough to drive him away. Archer would have to take care not to do the same.
The river crashed down, once more filling the riverbed. As the water settled, Archer saw Briar and her horse still on the ground on the opposite bank. She had stopped painting, her hand poised over her pommel, a brush tipped with green in her grasp.
What is she waiting for? The sheriff and his men were almost upon her.
Briar’s brush hovered above the curse as she waited for the right moment to paint the final stroke. The riders were drawing nearer. Any second a halberd could skewer her or a sword could separate her head from her shoulders, but she couldn’t launch herself over the river when the two voice mages were shouting deadly spells through the air. They needed to stop long enough for her to cross. Esteban had to give her an opening.
Across the river, the gaunt old man was sweating as he traded blows with the other mage—Briar was pretty sure it was Radner. She recognized some of the spells Esteban was using. Battle spells, the kind only the most powerful mages learned in the service of the king himself. Esteban was more than he seemed.
The battle spell he used to turn the river into a silver snake was especially rare. It snatched a volley of arrows from the air as if protecting the walls of High Lure itself. As the water crashed back into its banks, Briar managed to catch Esteban’s eye at last. He stared back at her, his face impassive.
He’s not going to help me. The realization made her go cold. He would do enough to show Archer he’d tried, but then he was going to let the sheriff catch her, or kill her.
Briar fumbled for more paints, but she had no time to defend herself. The riders were surrounding her. She smelled the sweat of their horses, glimpsed the whites of their eyes. Radner was there, his face bruised and swollen. He opened his mouth.
Then, when Briar was certain all hope was lost, Esteban changed his tune. A great wailing cry issued from his throat, and a fist of smoke formed in the spray from the agitated river. The fist hardened like marble and punched into the sheriff’s men, knocking them off balance. Radner yelped, struggling to stay astride his rearing horse.
Despite the incredible complexity of his song, Esteban managed to utter a note meant for Briar’s ears alone. “Now,” he sang.
Briar flicked the final bit of verdigris paint onto her saddle. Her horse rose into the air, shuddering at the pressure around its belly. Briar added an extra flourish to increase the speed of the curse, risky as it was, and she and the horse soared across the river. Behind her, Esteban’s misty fist pounded into the sheriff and his men again and again.
Briar’s horse landed hard on the opposite side of the Sweetwater, jarring her teeth. For a moment, she couldn’t move, paralyzed with relief. That had been way too close.
Archer and Esteban scrambled back up the bank to join her, the younger man assisting the older. A blanket slipped from Archer’s shoulders, tangling in his quiver. His blond hair stood on end.
“You made it!” Archer shouted gleefully. “They can’t catch us now!”
Briar thought they probably could, with Radner’s help. She wanted to curse the man to dust for what he’d done to her cottage, but she tucked her paintbrush into her belt, resisting the urge. They had nothing to fear from Radner with such a powerful voice mage of their own. Briar nodded at Esteban, silently thanking him for not abandoning her after all. He ignored her completely and scrambled back onto his horse.
Then they were off, flying into the rocky landscape, leaving the river and their pursuers behind.
Chapter
