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There was a weather witch up here somewhere.
I swore and drew my knives. The wickedly curved silver blades pulsed a deeper purple, which meant the sword wasn’t the sole evil here now, even if the only figures I could currently see were ghostly ones.
From somewhere ahead, almost lost to the swirling, bitter gray, came the sounds of clashing steel.
Which was decidedly odd. I mean, why steel? Why not use guns? There was no one up here to hear a gunshot, and it wasn’t as if the sound would carry to the—
The top of my bubble tore open, and thick fingers of air reached in to grab the sword. I hastily pulled it down, then thrust those fingers away and resealed the bubble. It wouldn’t hold for long. The witch seemed far more proficient than me at controlling the weather.
I took a step forward, and only then realized the rope connecting me to my brother was slack. Perhaps that was the reason I’d been suddenly yanked from the confluence—maybe some bastard had snatched the other end from my brother.
I sliced the rope from my harness to ensure it couldn’t be used against me, then followed its trail through the shifting gray and the deepening vale of ghostly forms, using the sound of fighting as a guide and hoping like hell it wasn’t being distorted by magic or even the storm. It’d be just my luck to be walking toward the cliff rather than away from it.
The gray briefly parted, giving me a glimpse of two figures—one tall, one short. Around them were the shadows of at least half a dozen people, though I had no idea if they were human or something else.
I shoved one blade back into its sheath, then gathered the wind around my fingers. But just as I was about to unleash her, the ghosts broke through my barrier and swamped me in a sea of insubstantial, cloying ectoplasm that blocked my vision even if it caused me no harm.
I swore and cast the streams of wind around my body rather than at the men ahead, spinning the ghosts away and clearing a path. More ghosts moved in, forcing me to keep the whirlpool close.
The bubble above my head fractured again. Again, I pushed the grasping fingers of air away, then grabbed the sword’s sheath at the pointy end and charged forward. I might not be able to use the blade itself, but the damn thing carried a fair bit of weight and would make an excellent club. Especially given the size and weight of the pommel.
Two figures emerged from the gray and came straight at me. I swung the sword, keeping it low, aiming for kneecaps. The first man leapt above it and slashed at my face with a knife. I raised mine to counter and, as the song of metal against metal echoed, spun away from him. Without stopping, I swung the sword again and smacked it against the stranger’s skull, sending him staggering into the gray. The air whistled a warning, and I dropped low. The fist that would have smacked into my chin soared over my head instead. Before the second man could regain his balance, I twisted around and slashed the knife across his calves. The blade cut easily through material, flesh, and muscle, stopping only when it met bone.
My attacker screamed and dropped. I flipped the knife and smacked the hilt into the side of his face, repositioning his nose. He made an odd sort of sound in the back of his throat and fell face-first into a drift of snow.
I’d learned the hard way it was better not to pull your punches when it came to bad guys, because the bastards always made you pay for that leniency. If he couldn’t get up, he couldn’t re-attack.
Still, I didn’t want him dead, so I shifted him onto his side to ensure he could breathe. Killing never worked out well for us pixies, thanks to a blood curse placed on us eons ago. It did have a self-defense clause attached, and that meant I should be safe from anything I did to our attackers, but it was always better not to risk it.
I scrambled to my feet and ran on. The wind continued to spin around me, but her threads were being torn away by the opposing force, weakening her even as it reached once again for the sword. If I didn’t find the fucking witch and deal with him, hewouldend up with it. I didn’t have the strength or the knowledge to stop him. Not when it came to the weather, anyway.
I slid to a halt and “reached” again for the Eye, this time attempting to find my foe. Just for an instant, the image of a cowled man with a thick ginger beard standing behind what looked to be a rock wall rose, then the image fractured as something cannoned into my back and sent me flying forward.
I hit the ground on hands and knees, somehow managing to keep a grip on both weapons even though shock reverberated up my arms. Then a hand grabbed the hood of my coat and yanked me up. I swore and instinctively lashed back with my knife. The cretin dodged, laughed, and then grabbed the sword out of my grip.
I did the only thing I could do. Wrapped one finger of air around the blade to maintain possession of it, then spun the remnants of my fragmenting whirlwind at the bastard. It picked him up and tossed him away. Far away. Over the cliff away.
After ordering the air to cushion his fall, I caught the opposing slivers of wind that were tugging at the sword and “felt” for a direction.
The witch lay to my left.
I ran toward him, scrambling over the wet ground, pushing through the ghosts once again crowding me. The sword continued to feed their desperation to stop me, but all it succeeded in doing was ensuring the dark purple glow of both the sword and the knife was encased in a thick shroud of ectoplasm and invisible to anyone more than a few feet away.Icould barely see them, and I held the damn things.
Dark shapes loomed out of the gloom. I wasn’t entirely sure whether it was the ruined walls of the old observatory or another cairn, but either way, the weather witch stood behind it.
I couldn’t see the bastard, just as he wouldn’t be able to see me, but that didn’t matter, because we could both feel the other in the cry of the wind.
Her force increased, raging at me, trying to stop me. I thrust an arm sideways, holding the knife high even though it was only capable of stopping true magic, and pushed my wind in that direction.
The witch took the bait, swinging his weather attack around to meet mine head-on.
As the two forces clashed, I gathered speed, then leapt high, clearing the wall with inches to spare and landing hard on the other side.
The witch spun around, but before he could cast or do anything else, I grabbed a thick handful of his beard and pushed him, with all force I could muster, against the wall.
There was an ungodly crack, then his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed in a heap onto the ground. I swore and checked his pulse. Thankfully, he was unconscious, not dead. Whether he’d be able to give us answers as to who had employed him when he came to was another matter entirely. Heavy cracks on the head did tend to rattle the brain and memories.
But at least the force of the wind had dropped, and though the curtain of gray remained, its thickness was already easing.
