Page 110 of Sword & Shadow
The other men sniggered, taking out their own weapons. The bard set his mandolin aside and drew a long-bladed dagger, ready for a battle.
Deckard smiled dryly. “I have a better idea,” he said, then raised his hands. No thought went into his action. He could never explain how any of it happened. He only felt a violent power flow through him as purple-black masses erupted from the floor.
Two sharp crystalline shadows pierced through Arn and Fourd, the men screaming as Maurd recoiled. Trover didn’t lose a second, leaping across the table, knife raised.
Deckard swept a hand through the air. One of the shadows slammed into the thug, knocking him across the room.
Ethenn’s reaction was instantaneous. He pulled out his throwing knives, sending them flying through the room with precision. Maurd dropped, the small hilt protruding from his eye. The bard was next. Amidst the commotion, the back door slammed open, the two guards bursting in as footsteps raced down the stairs, drawn by the sound.
Deckard gestured to the guards, the purple-black shadows leaping to his command. They pierced into the guards’ chests in a swirl of glittering shards. The crystalline shadows ripped through them before they flew back to rest in Deckard’s hands.
Two more men appeared at the bottom of the stairs, swords drawn and eyes wide. Deckard could only imagine what they saw. Dead bodies lay strewn across the tavern floor, three of them at his feet, while shadows hovered around him.
Ethenn’s hatchet embedded in one man’s chest while Deckard’s magic sliced through the other.
The barkeep and another man appeared from the back, weapons drawn as they charged Ethenn. They weren’t fast enough, and Deckard cut them down readily.
“Colonel!” Ethenn warned, pointing behind him.
Deckard spun just in time as Trover pounced. He ducked as Trover’s long daggerwhooshedover his head, its blade glinting in the lamplight. The massive man growled and swiped again.
Deckard caught his wrist, then kicked, striking his ankle.
Trover cried out as the bone cracked, falling to one knee. “Take her,” he cried, letting his dagger clatter to the floor. “No bitch is worth this.”
Deckard grabbed hold of the thug’s collar, holding him close. The magic whispered in his head, goading him with its fervor, with its eagerness for violence. “She’s worth more than you’ll ever know,” he said, voice steady and calm. Then he swiped a hand through the air.
A crystalline shard sliced Trover’s throat, blood splattering.
Deckard dropped the body and stepped away, the magical shadows following his every move. He met Ethenn at the bar and reached over for a towel to wipe the blood from his cheek. The young man’s head dipped, but he motioned to a spot that Deckard had missed.
“Thanks,” he said, then tossed the towel on the counter.
Ethenn watched him warily, drawing back as Deckard stepped nearer. A fleeting remorse crossed Deckard’s mind. He’d just killed that man in cold blood. Trover had surrendered, dropping his weapon. Perhaps Ethenn had a reason to fear him.
Yet, the magic coiled with ardent excitement, and he shoved the guilt aside, moving for the staircase. This wasn’t the time to have a conscience. These men had abducted Evylin and Auden for money and further debated the merit of raping her. They were no loss to humanity. If anything, they deserved their deaths.
At the top of the stairs, two more guards waited. Deckard took them down with a flick of his wrists. Beyond their crumpled forms lay a shadowed hallway with four doors. He didn’t bother waiting for Ethenn. He moved to the nearest one and kicked it in, the door swinging wide to reveal the empty bedroom.
Deckard moved across the hall as Ethenn arrived. With another kick, he discovered a second vacant room.
Hatchet back in hand, Ethenn reached his side, approaching the third door. Deckard reared back and kicked. It sailed open on rickety hinges to slam against the wall. Inside were five men with swords drawn. Behind them to the left lay Auden’s proneform. And straight ahead, the leader of the gang stood with Evylin before him, holding a knife to her throat.
“Stay right there,” the leader ordered.
Frozen in the doorway, Deckard’s darkened vision drifted from his study of the room to settle on Evylin. Her hands were bound in front of her, and a bloody welt marred her forehead. Otherwise, she appeared unharmed.
The magic jolted within him, and Deckard smiled at the sight of his wife. “Hello, dear.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
A dull ache woke Evylin as she opened her eyes to darkness. The emergence from unconsciousness clouded her thoughts. She couldn’t remember why her head hurt or why the room was so dark. Thin beams of light streamed in through the shutters, and she squinted to make out the shadowed space.
Then her mind cleared. She and Auden had been taken.
Evylin’s pulse raced into her ears, her breathing growing staggered. She tried to gasp but only wound up choking on the rag used to gag her. Instinctively, she jerked her hands up to remove the cloth, but they stopped short, ropes digging into her wrists.
With an annoyed groan, Evylin struggled with the ropes. Tears formed at the edges of her eyes as the bonds ripped at her skin. This was her fault. She should have seen those posters the moment they entered the village center. They could have returned to camp, avoiding this whole disaster.
