Page 120 of Sword & Sacrifice

Archer called her name, but she didn’t react to him.

More trees swayed around them, losing against the Witch’s power. They toppled into each other, their combined weight pressing against the other trees until even the strongest, oldest ones collapsed.

Gritting his teeth, Archer pushed up from the ground. The wind pulled at his clothes and dragged him forward, toward the witch at the center of the storm.

Magic pulsed around her in shimmering waves. The storm was spreading further out, and in the distance, the sound of more trees falling across on the road.

“Adelaide!” he called her name again, but the wind whipped his voice away immediately. He swore under his breath. Hoping his interference wouldn’t hurt her, he tackled her to the ground.

The wind stopped immediately. The trees still creaked and swayed around them. Was I too late? Will the entire forest come down around us? He held his breath, as if one wrong gust could topple everything. There was a single loud thump as a cluster of pines fell to the ground, then silence as the trees settled back into place.

Archer lifted himself up and looked down at Adelaide. Unconscious, she seemed so small and fragile, not at all like she contained a storm within her, ready to unleash on a moment’s notice.

She couldn’t fight Alistair in her condition; she’d only be putting herself in more danger. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Whatever the outcome, you’ve done enough.”

Archer pushed himself to his feet. “Guard her,” he ordered. “If she wakes, you can escort her up the mountain, but until then, make sure none of the Bellacostan defectors sneak up on you.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Norwin replied stoically.

Archer returned to Scout to find the horse pawing at the ground. Though he’d avoided the worst of the storm, small branches were still scattered around him. He glared at Archer balefully, as if to say: this never happens with Penn.

“We’re almost home,” Archer reassured him, massaging the tense muscles in the horse’s neck.

Slowly, Scout relaxed and allowed Archer to mount him again. Although their path had almost disappeared under the wreckage, Scout’s footing was secure, his gait steady and determined as he carried Archer home.

“I knew you didn’t believe it,” Niall hissed as he grabbed Penn’s arms, digging his fingers into his muscles. “Alistair was convinced his little ruse worked, that you truly believed he was the mercenary, but I wasn’t fooled for a moment. You asked too many questions. Made too many pointed comments.” Niall backed them into the cottage and Penn allowed it, keeping an eye on the other open door. “Now, what have you done to him?”

“I haven’t done anything,” Penn said, “and if it stays that way, he’ll die.”

Niall’s brow furrowed, but he shook his head sharply. “A likely story!” Before he could declare anything else, his foot slipped out from under him.

Penn wrenched out of Niall’s loosened grip.

Without anything to hold onto, the mage crashed to the floor on his hands and knees, his nose almost landing in the puddle of blood. His eyes widened and he shrieked, “You’ve murdered him!”

Not yet, but I’ll gladly murder you. After their last few fights, Penn knew that Niall’s barrier was too strong for him to break through on his own. Good thing I’m in a witch’s cottage. He ran back into her storeroom and snatched bottles off the shelf, mentally apologizing to Adelaide, hoping she would understand the waste. He had no idea what any of it was for or how to mix any of it into potions, so he used them the only way he could—chucking them right at Niall.

“What are you—” Niall snarled as one of the bottles collided with his barrier. The glass smashed against the invisible wall. Pieces scattered everywhere, though Niall was left untouched. The liquid contents inside the bottle slid down his barrier like rain on a window, temporarily blocking his view so that he couldn’t see the next bottle hurled at him. “Stop that!”

“I’ve never listened to you before,” Penn said, throwing another bottle. “I’m not going to start now!”

One of the bottles had dried flowers that stuck in the liquid, creating a blotted mess hanging in midair.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to mix ingredients haphazardly like this?”

“Nope!” Penn threw another one.

Niall snarled and tried to wipe the potion away, then bellowed in pain as the concoction sizzled against his fingertips.

So the bottles can’t break past his barrier, but if he touches it willingly, it can still hurt him? Penn filed that information away, wondering how he could trick the mage into defeating himself.

Niall stumbled to his feet, searching for something to clear his vision.

Penn tossed a few other bottles at his back for good measure. He slammed and locked the door to keep Niall out, then returned to the worktable, where he’d set aside the only ingredients he wasn’t willing to sacrifice.

While Niall stumbled around in the kitchen, Penn scrambled around Adelaide’s little workshop, gathering the necessary tools. She’d even given him instructions on which bowl to use for which stage.

Was the mullein or the myrhis supposed to go in first? Was it spring water or rainwater? Something needed to be crushed before adding … Dammit, I can’t remember!