Cold Fire (Spiritwalker #2)

Cold Fire (Spiritwalker #2) Page 185

Pushing up to his knees, Vai pulled at the chains around his neck to drag out an ice lens.

“Stand down! Go about yee business!” cried a warden.

The wagoner called, “They have shot the gal! Look! She arm is bleeding! I say we roust them, lads! Enough!”

Drake spoke. “You bitch. Catch this.”

Heat screamed along my skin like the rake of fiery coals. I sucked for a breath as my lungs burned and my tongue withered. My grip on Drake’s shirt gave way as the backwash of his fire magic poured into my body as flames. Pain seared me.

Blessed Tanit. Let this agony pass quickly.

“Cat!” Vai shouted.

Cold magic hit like a hammer. First I was standing, about to burst into flame, and then I crumpled to hands and knees, washed cold but alive. My tears fell as ice, shattering on the cobblestones. My belly cramped; I coughed out a drop of blood. But I would be cursed if I would let Drake strike while I was down. I crawled toward my sword, its blade shining as cold magic fed its heart. Drake kicked the sword away. But he was not looking at me but at Vai.

“I guess I’m stronger than you thought, Magister. Because I’m still standing and you’re on your knees. You’ve made a fatal mistake. You’ve revealed that she’s your weakness. This is so easy. You doused me once. But next time you won’t be fast enough to save her. Beg for her life, bastard.”

A brick flew out of the air and struck him on the shoulder. A piece of charred wood clattered at his feet. Another brick shattered an arm’s length from my head, and a fragment spat up to gouge my chin.

“Wardens! Arrest these rioters!”

A well-aimed brick hit Drake a glancing blow on the side of the head, and he reeled back as shouts of triumph rose from the wagons. Our friends advanced brandishing bricks, shovels, knives, and axes. Wardens and riflemen pounded up, the captain calling for them to line up. Gouts of shimmering heat surged off Drake as he struggled to control himself. I saw it now through eyes clogged with drifting matter as I blinked, trying to clear them. He was trapped by the power of his fire magic; no wonder he hated Vai, who was fed by his magic, not harmed by it.

“Catherine, speak to me.” Vai was groping at the other chain as he got to his feet.

“Don’t do it, Vai,” I said, my lips stinging and my voice as husky as if I were parched. “He knows if he kills me in public, he’ll become a criminal. If you kill him, you’ll be arrested.”

“I’m taking no chances with you.”

I staggered up and found him, pressing my face into his beautiful dash jacket, which was smeared with the slimy churn of the streets. “I’m thinking with my feet. I have more powerful kinfolk than anyone knows. Let him think he’s won for now.”

“He will not think he has won by the time I’m done with him,” he said in that way men have when they have decided their position on Triumph Spire is at stake.

Bricks thudded down, the crowd growing in boldness as Drake did nothing and the militia did not fire. The rippling heat of Drake fumed at my back, like a man wanting more gloat and less stymie. Yet a surly undercurrent dragged on the wind. The city’s anger had woken like a beast prodded until it lashed out to bite. I was having a hard time staying on my feet.

“Storm the walls now, brothers! ’Tis time for the Council to dissolve.”

A rifle clicked, not firing. A rumble like thunder rose out of the old city.

“Make way! Make way!”

A procession emerged from the gate. Three carriages jolted to a halt as their drivers surveyed the massing crowd and the street blocked by men ready to fight.

Drake took a step toward us. Vai shifted me to one side and again drew his sword.

Drake’s fear sparked beneath his anger. “I can kill her faster than you can kill me.”

“But you’ll still be dead,” said Vai.

The door of the front carriage banged open and a man climbed out and strode over to us, expression as thunderous as a looming storm cloud.

“What in the pox-ridden hells is this?” demanded the general in a ringing voice that carried like the boom of artillery.

He marked Drake; he marked me; last of all, he marked Vai and the glittering cold steel that could cut the life out of a man merely by drawing blood. So naturally he planted himself in the path of Vai’s blade, between the two mages.

“I’m waiting. What is meant by this disturbance?”

“Besides the insult to my mother, he called my wife a bitch and a whore.”

“Yet who could say they were false words?” said Drake with a smirk.