Rumpelstiltskin (Timeless Fairy Tales #4)

Rumpelstiltskin (Timeless Fairy Tales #4) Page 68

As the rider struggled to bring up its loaded crossbow, Gemma said to her starfire, “Shine even brighter.”

She shoved the blazing prism into the rider’s chest wound as the rider scrabbled with the crossbow trigger. Its tarry blood burned her hand, but she gritted her teeth and let go of the starfire before she ripped her hand from the creature’s chest cavity—which now shown like a comet.

The rider dropped its crossbow and tried to tear the prism out of its chest, but it was in vain. Light coursed from its head to its toes, and it raised its hands in a silent scream before turning to ash and blowing away in the wind, leaving behind the starfire—which still shone brilliantly.

“Dim,” Gemma called. To her relief, the painful brightness of the starfires decreased. Gemma pushed herself to her feet and staggered to Stil, who had pushed himself up on his elbows.

“What was THAT?” Stil said, struggling to lift his head.

“We were concentrating too much on fighting. All we needed was to make it bright, and they wouldn’t be able to stand it.”

“And you realized that how?”

“You said they couldn’t travel in daylight.” Gemma said, swallowing to make her voice strong as she looked at Stil’s wound. “What are we going to do?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said when he managed to raise his head. “Leave it in for now—to staunch the blood flow. It’s not in very deep. If we get back to the tent, I’ll be fine,” he grimaced. “I have a kit and some potions there. By stars and fire dust, does this hurt.”

“Can you stand? I could get Pricker Patch, but I don’t want to leave you,” Gemma said.

“No, I can walk. If you would just help me stand—,” Stil broke off when a dog whined behind them.

“…What happened to the hellhound?” Stil asked.

Gemma scrambled for her starfires and turned around, scooping up the prisms and snow, but she needn’t bother.

The snarling, emaciated hellhound was gone. In its place was a good-sized canine/wolf-ish looking creature. It had thick white fur, but the tip of its tail was black, as were its paws and legs, almost as if it wore boots. The tips of its ears were flecked with black too, and it had a number of odd but beautiful black marks around its eyes, like they had been inked by an artist.

It sniffed its wet, inquisitive nose at Stil and Gemma and wagged its tail.

“I have never seen a creature like that,” Stil said, clamping his jaws together in pain as Gemma helped him stand.

“If we ignore it, will it go away?” Gemma asked, hefting Stil’s arm over his shoulder so she could bear some of his weight.

“I don’t know, but I find I just don’t care enough to deal with it right now. Let’s go,” Stil said, nodding in the direction of their camp.

The walk back was long and excruciating. Gemma’s heart beat painfully in her throat, and she could only imagine the pain Stil felt.

The craftmage bore it all without a noise, although he did gasp occasionally.

When they pushed through the last layer of trees and could see the brown spot on a field of white snow that was Pricker Patch—even this far away he looked displeased—both Gemma and Stil sighed in relief.

“Just a little ways,” Stil said, teetering dangerously for a moment.

“Yes. Just a little,” Gemma said, supporting the mage. She blinked when snow started to fall and settled on her eyelashes. “Just put one foot in front of the other,” she coached before they started walking again.

They were halfway across the field when the first beam of light broke over the hill. Just as the light broke, soldiers in the Verglas uniform poured over the crest.

“Oh no,” Gemma breathed.

“Leave me,” Stil said. “Run to the tent. Once you get in, it will lock itself if anyone tries to follow you.”

“No,” Gemma said.

“Gemma, don’t be a fool!”

“It’s me they’re looking for,” Gemma said, a clear-headed calmness falling over her.

The options were obvious. If she ran, they would take Stil. Who knew if he would survive the arrow, much less King Torgen. If they tried to run together, they would never reach the tent, and they both would be captured.

The least dangerous option was to turn herself in. Gemma had made up her mind to even before she made her evaluations.

Stil had to be saved. Not because he would be more useful to the countries in the fight against darkness, or even because Gemma owed him a great debt. In fact, her decision had nothing to do with practicality, and everything to do with her heart.

I will have to ponder this later, Gemma thought.

Stil gripped her shoulder with the hand thrown over her. “Gemma, I won’t let you sacrifice yourself for me! You deserve the happy ending.”

“Gemma Kielland?” a soldier shouted.

“And I won’t get it if King Torgen has you thrown into a prison.”