“Not fast enough. And, you know, the thing with arrows is, once they’re loosed, they’re gone.”
“It’s not looking good for the hand-to-hand fighting thing then.”
Selly nodded in wry sympathy. “This why I was hoping for a feat of prodigious magic.”
“I’m sure something will come to me,” he muttered, mostly to himself.
She held out a slim hand. “Suck me dry, widget-maker.”
If only. Then an idea struck him. “All right, my little woodstove—take up yon hatchet and start chopping up your arrows. Keep a few intact. A couple dozen or so. Chop the rest. Bitty pieces.”
That got her. Surprise temporarily pierced her scorn. “Seriously?”
“A familiar never questions their wizard,” he retorted, making it extra arrogant to repay her for the relentless needling. “You have a lot to learn, poppet.”
“I am not your familiar, nor am I your puppet.” She stalked away ungraciously before he could correct her misapprehension. She was following his instructions, however, muttering under her breath about Convocation wizards, their idiocy, their high-handed ways, and how—even if she did die—she didn’t care because it was worth it to save Nic and Gabriel, it was just too bad she had to die with an arrogant fool.
“I can hear everything you’re saying,” he commented as he gathered up daggers of various sizes and constructed the enchantment in his mind.
“I figured those enormous flesh flaps on the sides of your head weren’t just for decoration.”
If they weren’t slaughtered, he was going to kill her. Holding out a preemptory hand, he snapped his fingers. “To me, familiar. Bring the arrows.”
“Bits of arrows,” she corrected bitingly, but she complied—dumping the arrow pieces in a pile next to the daggers and laying her hand in his. “I feel I should point out that the bow will be useless soon. You just destroyed our only long-distance weapon.”
“Silence.” He didn’t smile at her scowl, but he really wanted to. Concentrating, more than a little leery of what he’d find, he drew on her magic. The first time he’d done this, she’d been a cesspool of magic so stagnant it had very nearly killed him, which would have been inconvenient. He still didn’t quite understand what had possessed him to risk himself to help with that near-disastrous effort. Clearly the Phel contagion at work, with all this self-sacrifice. Pulling Selly out of the vortex of fetid, untapped magic and her resultant insanity had put Gabriel Phel out of commission for more than a week. If Nic hadn’t leant Jadren her magic—and what a heady kick of the finest liquor that had been—he’d have been similarly dropped, or worse. It had helped immensely that Nic had the talent of a high-house daughter and the expertise of a Convocation education.
Conversely, Selly was worse than untrained: she knew just enough to make tapping her magic difficult. Nothing like working with an obstinate and untrained familiar under battlefield conditions, while attempting a meticulous spell he’d never before attempted. “Don’t be so tense,” he told her, shaking the hand he held hard enough to rattle her bones. “It’s like sucking on a dried lemon rind trying to wring magic juice out of you.”
“The hunters are getting closer,” she replied tersely. “Just do whatever you’re going to do.”
He knew it. That characteristically oily mental feel of the hunters permeated his wizard senses. Despite his complaints, magic was flowing from Selly into him as he focused on extracting it, and it came as a welcome change of flavors. Far from hard or sour, her moon magic was bright and luminous, the water magic deeply cooling. Now that she’d been drained of that deadly backlog, healed, and was now producing new magic, she felt refreshing—and terribly addictive. I am not your familiar. Her words rang harsh in his mind. Selly was absolutely correct, although she had no idea how very true that was. He’d never have a familiar, never enjoy that mythical intimacy of that sort of magical relationship. He didn’t dare, all thanks to his darling Maman.
Not that he had issues.
Having siphoned enough magic for the task, he forced himself to release Selly lest he succumb to the temptation to drink from her enticing flavor into oblivion. He let her go with a snap abrupt enough that she staggered back slightly. Without thinking, he reached to steady her. She was far too thin and frail still. Throttling back the impulse, he dropped his hand to his side. She’d be fine. He also had good cause to know she was more agile and resilient than she appeared.
“That’s it?” she asked. Was it his imagination that she looked bereft?
“That’s it.” He bent his focus to the task, coaxing the arrow pieces to be sharp on one end, then bending his will to the daggers. He’d arranged them in a circle, points out, with the hilts touching just enough to leave a hole in the center. Extracting a coil of wire from the array of tools attached to his vest, he laid it on top of the center circle. Now to teach it all to work together. He’d never have thought to attempt something like this before, but Gabriel Phel had a way of inspiring innovation. Or of dragging everyone along with him into crazyland. Could be both.
“They’re coming up the hill.”
“Almost ready. Fetch me a stick.”
“Woof.” But she moved away.
Without Selly’s distracting presence, he finished the enchantment and gazed at it critically. Ungainly and certainly unlovely, the dagger wheel would not be going into anyone’s product line. But it just might keep them alive. He grunted when Selly thrust a stick at him. Not ideal, but none of this was. “Stand in front of me,” he told her.
“So I can be your human shield? How gallant.”
“Life isn’t like in the novels, poppet.”
“I told you, I’m not—”
“Less talking, more obeying,” he interrupted, wrapping her fingers around the stick and threading the dagger wheel onto it. Then he scooped up a handful of the sharpened arrow pieces. Standing behind Selly, he laid a hand on her narrow shoulder, feeling as if he could break her in half if he squeezed too hard. It made him irrationally furious. Ignorant country folk to have let her deteriorate so far. He set it aside.
“They’ll come through at that narrow point,” he noted. At least they had the dubious advantage of a strategic position.
