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Protector
Magic hovered at the edge of Verve’s senses, urging her to crack her eyes open. The sky outside her window was still dark, but the brush of magic strengthened. If she concentrated, she could sense the turbulent hearts of unfamiliar mages, veering too close to Lotis for comfort. Verve bit back a groan and rolled out of her bed. Apparently, the local renegade mages didn’t believe in sleeping late after Ea’s Day.
She briefly lamented that she and Alem had spent the night in separate beds, but it’d been unavoidable when a giggling Berel had asked Alem to watch over the little ones while she and Klaret shared a night alone.
The memory of Alem’s goodnight kiss lingered as a tingle on her lips. Verve allowed herself another moment to dwell, then forced her mind back to pulling on her gear. Once dressed, she left Lotis before dawn, while the others still slept off their revelry.
Along with endless mosquitoes, magic hovered in the air: a sizzling trail of power that Verve followed toward an unexplored section of the pine forests surrounding Lotis. Stronger, though, was the swell of emotions made by the warring mages. Even in the depths of her slumber, Space-Between-Stars’s senses had caught the bitter tang of their anger. And now, while Verve prayed Alem was right and she could reason with the renegades, she kept a dagger close at hand and her crossbow loaded at her back.
In this part of Greenhill Province, fallen pine needles kept each step silent. Palmettos—huge, fan-shaped fronds—all but covered the ground in some places in a blanket of vivid green spikes that still hid Verve’s dark clothing. When the sun broke through the horizon and shone through the pines, Verve closed in on the mages.
The anger she’d sensed earlier congealed in the air here, thicker than the heat of a summer afternoon. Anger, and no small amount of fear, which Verve felt as hot needles pricking up and down her back. A roar echoed through the pines, startling a family of whippoorwills from their roost. As the birds flew away, Verve slowed her pace and crouched, peering through the palmettos for the source of the noise — and the overwhelming waves of fury.
There. Ahead in a clearing, four mages squared off. There was the ummaroc, the sickle-clawed drake that Verve had faced on her first night in Lotis. The creature bore a scar on her neck from Verve’s wire bracelet, which she’d brought along again — just in case.
Another creature, another mage, moved with the ummaroc: a saber-toothed lion, with a magnificent mane and two long, deadly tusks protruding past its fangs. The saber-tooth roared in challenge, fury spiking with the echoing sound, and the hairs on Verve’s arms stood at attention. Her heart quickened, but she held her place and fought to shake away the emotions bleeding from the mages.
The other two must have been particle mages, for they looked innocuous enough. A woman with dark skin and hair, not too dissimilar from Verve’s, glared between the shape-changers. “Keep your distance, if you know what’s good for you,” she called. “This is our territory; our home. You’re nothing but filthy dregs from the tundra.”
“Go back to where you came from,” the other particle mage added. This one was tall and broad, the kind of person who could fill a doorway — or bash through the wall to make a new one.
Magic poured off of each particle mage, strong enough to sting Verve’s eyes, but what their talents were, she could not tell.
Her hands itched to grab her crossbow. They were all so intent on one another, she could take out two before they realized what was going on. Depending on which two, she’d have a very interesting few minutes after that. The fight wouldn’t be easy, but they rarely were, and besides, she could win.
But she’d made a promise.
“Try talking to them, Verve,” she muttered in a nasally mockery of Alem’s voice. Well, she was curious if this new tactic would work. Too bad curiosity wasn’t one of her more survival-minded attributes. Verve eased forward, still trying to get a sense of her opponents before losing her favored element of surprise.
The ummaroc flowed into the shape of a woman with short, messy black hair and fierce green eyes. The scar at her neck stood out against her brown skin, more so than against her scales. “They can’t go back, fool,” she growled at the particle mages, who’d started at her sudden transformation. “Legion’s taken over.”
“And whose fault is that?” the huge mage replied, and lifted their hands.
A blast of air flew toward the ummaroc-mage, who ducked and rolled out of the way just in time to avoid being knocked over. Trees and palmettos blew backward with the blast, and an answering wave of power grew even headier in the air, pulling Verve forward like a marionette.
The other particle mage laughed, then raised her hands, where the air rippled with heat. No fire bloomed from her fingertips, but the heat swelled all around her, making sweat bead at Verve’s upper lip. Heat flared from her belt-buckle and the daggers tucked among her gear, forcing her to spend a few precious moments adjusting her clothing to avoid being burned.
The ummaroc—still in her human form—cried out and darted away, shifting back into her animal form. The other, the saber-tooth, roared again and lunged at Door-Smasher, who shot another blast of air toward the huge lion. The heat mage—Verve dubbed her Fever—and the ummaroc now faced off, and the air between them sizzled.
It was time.
You can do this. The thought sounded like Alem. Verve summoned her courage and stepped out of the palmettos, hands raised, body poised to duck back into cover in case she needed a quick exit. But with each step, she fought for calm. Perhaps this confrontation could go smoothly.
Aye, and perhaps she’d turn into a bird and fly across the sea.
“Good morning,” she called to the mages. She’d braced for at least one of them to attack her without so much as a blink, but they all froze and turned to stare at the stranger emerging from the forest. Surprise shot through them, along with renewed fear, for few but the most powerful mages—or warriors—would dare break up a magical fight.
“Who the fuck are you?” Fever hissed. The heat thickened, pricking Verve’s eyes, while every bit of metal on her stung like a hornet’s bite.
“I’m from a nearby village,” Verve said. She tried to make her voice gentle. “I’ve come to respectfully ask you to take your business elsewhere.”
There. Neatly said. She and Alem had gone over the words a few times last night. It’d been his idea to wish them a good morning, though the notion was laughable now, given that half of her targets were beasts.
The particle mages exchanged incredulous looks, until Fever threw back her head and laughed. Thankfully, the heated air began to cool.
Door-Smasher flashed a toothy grin. “And why should we?”
“This area’s unclaimed,” Fever added.
