Page 82 of Homeward for a Spell

The mercenary nearest to them drives an elbow into the healer’s stomach, sending them reeling backward behind the line of fighters. Nura is shoved to the side in kind, shouting in protest, as the mercenaries begin to close in again—that is, until one of Sage’s arrows thwacks into a tree trunk inches from one of the mercenary’s ears.

“That was a warning,” Sage calls. “Let us pass into Briarwall and beyond, and no one will get hurt.”

Remy scoffs, melting back into the trees behind the mercenaries. “With these numbers, you’re the one who’s going to lose here, Sage, and I truly hate to see it. Think like the survivor we both know you are. What good does it do to take on so many?”

Araphi glances at Sage. The ranger already has another arrow nocked on her bowstring, a muscle in her jaw twitching as she draws it tight.

She counts the passing seconds of their standoff in Sage’s tightly controlled breaths, and in the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears.

Then, as if on some unseen signal, two of the fighters draw their own bows and let loose arrows.

Araphi darts to the side as one flies past her. Sage ducks low to avoid another and then fires her own arrow into the crowd. It pierces a man’s shoulder, and by the time he’s fallen, she’s managed two more shots.

A spear goes sailing toward them, and Sage pulls Araphi to the side behind an oak’s gnarled trunk. A few of the fighters—the ones without ranged weapons—surge forward, but Sage’s arrows slow down their advance, while the two archers have found cover and are still shooting.

Araphi lifts her slingshot—thank the gods she had all those lessons with one of Wren’s mothers during their time in Arkney—and loads a stone she found along the road, which she’s developed a habit of picking up. She’s still not a skilled fighter, but she can hold her own at this distance. For a little while at least.

Okay, not that long, really…

“Nura! Bramble! Help us!” Araphi’s desperate. She flings one rock and then another into the crowd of fighters. What were she and Sage thinking, taking on all these fighters with just themselves?

Nura shakes her head, still holding Bramble back.

“They won’t help,” Sage shouts. “They’re too concerned with their denaris.”

“You know that’s not entirely true,” Bramble says, regret lacing their voice. “We’d help if we could, but we won’t get paid if—”

Their voice cuts off as Nura elbows them in the side.

Araphi wrenches her eyes away from them as more fighters move forward. She sends three rocks in quick succession toward them, hitting one on the forehead and another on the chest. Sage fires as well, and three of her arrows find their marks. “All right, Bard?” she calls over her shoulder.

“I’m fine, Ranger,” Araphi yells a bit breathlessly, working hard to make her voice loud enough to be heard over the yell of the fighters—who still move forward, risking Sage’s arrows and Araphi’s stones.

“Trying to keep you that way,” Sage shouts back.

But there’s just too many of them all at once. Even as they fight on, the mercenaries surge closer. Sage’s arrows are running low and Araphi’s out of stones. Before long, Araphi and Sage are side by side, the fighters now just ten feet away on the path in front of them.

“I love you.” Araphi pushes her shoulder lightly against Sage’s in what will have to do for a hug. “It’s been a tremendous adventure, Ranger.”

“We’re not done yet, Bard.”

The words are barely out of Sage’s mouth when there’s a blur of movement in the corner of Araphi’s vision, and a loud thwack. Beside her, Sage falls to the ground, her feet swept out from under her.

“What the devils?” Sage calls out.

Nura stands above Sage, clutching her staff. She must’ve snuck around behind them through the forest as they fought, small and quick as she is.

“I don’t want to hurt you two!” Nura cries out. “But you’re going to get yourselves killed if you keep going! Stop shooting these bloody arrows and just give us the tooth. Then we can all go home!”

Her voice is so earnest that Araphi’s anger at the diminutive fighter evaporates. She’s trying to help them, not hurt them. If only she knew the truth of it.

Before Araphi can reply, two fighters lunge forward and grab her by the arms.

“Let me go!” she shouts, twisting in their grip.

“Come along now, without a fuss,” one of the mercenaries says as he pulls her in close.

The other leans in, her breath hot on Araphi’s neck. “You’re going with us now, or we’ll kill the other one.” She nods toward Sage, who’s still on the ground, another pair of mercenaries looming above her with a heavy hand on each shoulder to keep her seated, and the rest moving in to surround her.