“Fine.” Nat’s wide shoulders slumped. “You better not have any interesting fights without me.”
“We’ll do our best.”
They soon reached a place where a short cliff jutted out from the mountain. Juniper trees gathered at its base and clung to the slopes above, framing it with their twisted branches.
“This is the spot.” Jemma set down her unlit lantern and laid a hand on the east-facing stone. The pale-gray rockface was as flat and inviting as an empty canvas. “If we go straight in from this point, we’ll end up in a banquet hall that’s no longer used. It’s the closest we’ll get to where I think they’re keeping Mae.”
“Okay then.” Briar removed her satchel from her shoulder and spread her paint jars in front of the rock wall. This was it, the reason she’d been recruited for the team, even though she hadn’t known her true enemy then. She felt a tingle in her fingertips, a hot rush of creation and destruction. “Brace yourselves. This could get messy.”
Chapter 21
Archer watched the caravan from the branch of a wych elm at the top of the canyon. The fine carriage and its two dozen burgundy-clad guards were only a hundred paces from the stone door. Archer had always known they would be vastly outnumbered, and he’d hoped to avoid an all-out assault, but now that it came down to it, he felt a grim satisfaction that he would be facing his father directly.
Well, not quite directly. He fully intended to stay hidden in the tree for as long as possible, but it was a fight nonetheless.
Some of his rage cooled as he waited in the wych elm. Jasper Larke was a despicable excuse for a man, but Archer had broken free of him. He’d refused to live on Larke’s terms any longer, and today, he would make sure Mae and her child and all the lands it would inherit didn’t have to either.
He pulled on a pair of supple leather gloves and nocked an arrow, thumbing the fletching he had cut himself. He had spent long hours practicing with this bow despite—or perhaps because of—his father’s insistence that he focus on the sword, like his older brother. Larke claimed the bow was for common soldiers, but the weapon felt right in Archer’s hands.
Esteban perched in another tree farther along the ridge like a grumpy vulture. He gulped water from a skin and hummed softly, limbering up his voice. Lew had circled around to the other side of the canyon behind the caravan, his hands gloved and his pockets full of Briar’s exploding curses. Archer and Lew had both stuffed knots of fabric into their ears to dampen the effects of Esteban’s magical sound. They couldn’t turn back.
Clinging to the tree branch with his legs, Archer let go of his bow with one hand and took a curse stone out of his pocket—this one bright red. He rolled it between his leather-clad fingers, wishing Briar fair luck on her mission. If he fell today, he trusted her to finish the job.
Time to give her that diversion.
He lobbed the stone out of the tree, and it ignited with a flash and a muted bang about twenty feet away. In answer, several small explosions flashed on the opposite ridge. Lew was ready too.
The men on the road below turned, looking for the source of the bangs, reaching for their short swords. Archer raised his bow. More explosions popped along the ridge, the flashes of light giving the impression that many men gathered in the trees. The soldiers searched for their hidden enemies, preparing to charge. Before they could do that, Esteban began to sing.
The song was beautiful and terrible even through the fabric plugging Archer’s ears. He’d heard Esteban’s voice countless times since they’d met back in Chalk Port, but he was still surprised by its power, strong enough to knock a man down through the sheer force of sublime sound. Esteban’s healing songs were strong but also gentle. This one had the commanding beauty of an ocean or a tornado or a look from a woman with fierce eyes and magic in her hands.
Archer barely held onto his bow and arrow and his tree branch as the song rippled outward from Esteban. It wasn’t even directed at Archer, but its reverberations traveled through the ground, the tree, the pit of his stomach. The men down on the road wouldn’t know what hit them.
The voice magic rolled over Larke’s retainers like a tidal wave. They ducked instinctively, though only sound had actually touched them. The song would disorient them, leaving their minds unbalanced and their senses reeling.
Esteban deepened his tone, and the effects changed from confusion to fear. Terror rippled through the caravan as the men covered their ears and frantic whinnies burst from the horses, only to be swallowed up by that petrifying sound. The song blasted them, wrecking their nerves, ruining their resolve. It was as destructive as any curse, even though it left their bodies untouched. Every note, every beat, every turn and cadence conveyed to these men that death was coming for them.
The horses were the first to bolt, a dozen animals trying to flee at once. Some riders managed to keep their mounts under control, but others were even more scared than their horses, and they gave the animals their heads, allowing them to run where they wished.
As some men succumbed to Esteban’s music-induced terror, others ran toward the trees where Archer and Esteban were hiding. They’d realized the threat was coming from that direction, and they were making a desperate charge, trying to take down the hidden sorcerer before he hurt more of their comrades. Archer swallowed as the men drew nearer. He had to defend Esteban, even if that meant striking down those brave soldiers. He’d brought the voice mage into it. He’d brought
