To Catch A Sorcerer

It was one lightning-fast movement from Baldwin.

Before Gray could stop him.

Lunn moved out of the way. Like he'd felt the coming strike from Baldwin, rather than seen it.

But, he dropped Gray.

Gray crumpled to the floor, his vision blackening, his magic unspooling through his body, to his fingers and his toes. The pressure from Gray's throat eased in throbs. Air filled his lungs.

A buried instinct surfaced as Gray breathed.

Take off the amulet.

Gray wrenched it off.

The absence of the amulet felt as though the world was crushing Gray. As though his insides were caving in. His natural caution crept back in. A clearing of his mind.

There was a whispered word from Baldwin.

The boom that followed was concussive.

It hurled everyone in the room back. Gray was thrown, blinded, breathless, like a doll. He hit a wall. Shelves. Books rained down on top of him. For one moment, black pain was Gray's entire world.

Gray ignored the pain. It wasn't important. It didn't matter.

He pushed books off.

Breathed.

Staggered upright.

Shook his head to clear his vision.

Baldwin was stalking towards Lunn. The fey had been thrown, as the entire room had, but he was clawing his way upright, wrenching a knife from the belt of the closest fallen soldier.

He was moving fast. But not fast enough.

Baldwin's concussive boom had done something to Lunn. Lunn was bleeding from the ears, from the nose. His eyes bloodshot. He was shattered.

Gray stepped forward.

Because Baldwin was going to win. He could see the intent on Baldwin's face, it was exactly the ice-cold furious rage he'd had when Gray's been dragged into the mage guild's Summer Festival.

Baldwin's grip on his sword changed.

'Wait,' shouted Gray. 'Wait-'

Baldwin threw his sword.

Like Gray'd never seen anyone do in their life. He had no idea that Baldwin had the phsyical power to throw a sword like that, the strength, the speed, the skill, the blind dumb luck, because Gray'd worked with swords a few times in school, and they weren't good for throwing.

It happened so fast.

Gray'd been running, racing, flying towards Baldwin and Lunn. His magic had been rising instinctively. The amulet was gone, dropped, but Gray's soaring confidence and dissolved internal walls lingered somewhat, and he knew if he could get between Baldwin and Lunn in time, he could put up a shield, he knew the word he needed to say, and stop them from doing something in a stupid, blind rage.

But the sword was faster.

It sliced Lunn's throat and Gray skidded to a halt, too late to stop it, feeling the hot spray. Gray's words choked off as he reeled, splattered in Lunn's mess.

Lunn tumbled down.

He was sprawled, face down. Unmoving.

Words were still caught in Gray's throat.

Maybe - maybe they could work the iron off Lunn's wrist with Alill powder and free him, work a negotiation with the fey, get him to explain what the damn he was doing with Conor Griffin-

Perhaps Gray said some of this aloud, because Baldwin hauled Gray up from where he'd skidded, stumbled, fallen, surrounded by the mess of Lunn, and snarled in his face, 'Silence.'

Baldwin threw Gray into a fahrenning circle.

Gray must've been glaring bloody-murder at Baldwin, because Baldwin spat, 'He would've taken you, Griffin. Turned you into Wilde's weapon, as he was. We do not have time to waste.'

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'Urkskin!' shouted Baldwin. 'Jessica! Get the team to Krydon.'

Gray was crowded with mage soldiers, with burly warriors, officers, all singed, covered in ash and worse.

Gray was moving, breathing, like he was in a dream.

Getting jostled.

Fury beat within him like a drum. Like a howling wind beating at a rattling door.

Now he'd not get answers. He wouldn't know what had happened with Lunn. What he was doing with Wilde. Conor.

He could hear, feel, Conor moving closer out in the corridors of the palace. He was making his way to the office. Gray was certain of this. Gray was starting to piece together Conor's plan - perhaps it was Wilde's plan, but it didn't matter who'd made the damn plan - and it was a neat, complex spider's web.

Get into Lismere, and weaken it.

Take down supply chains, cut off allies, destroy any reinforcements, take down barracks, mage soldiers, the military leaders.

Cripple. Distract.

Threaten Lismere's most long-guarded border.

Until, you can take the centre of power. The palace. If you had a sorcerer strong enough to contend with the palace wards and the protection there. A sorcerer like Conor.

They'd gathered so many of the remaining fighters to one place, Lismere's centre of power, and now all these fighters were going to be smashed by a lethal and skillfully-trained bomb of a sorcerer.

Gray'd bet his right hand there would be some kind of trap at the northern border, too. Or, maybe, sending any of their force into the vampiric sorcerer's territory was the trap.

Gray's gaze landed on Lunn, pulling his focus.

Anger came back, beating in his pulse, under his skin, behind his eyes.

Baldwin couldn't just lose his temper like this, he couldn't just kill someone like this, Lunn could've been an ally, and what with everything happening, with the deal Sorena had made with the fey queen, Lunn could've been invaluable, the damn skill and knowledge Lunn had held-

Before he was aware of deciding, Gray was pushing his way out of the fahrenning circle. Shouldering through.

'Baldwin,' said Gray. Calm. So calmly. He couldn't betray how close he was to reaching for his dagger, for his wand, and holding it to Baldwin's damn throat. 'We can't go north.'

Baldwin turned, in the midst of issuing orders to a compacted group of soldiers.

'I think it could be a trap,' said Gray.

'Of course it could be a damn trap,' said Baldwin, striding to shove Gray back into the fahrenning circle. 'You think I don't know this? I have no option. I will not abandon my northern border. I won't leave my citizens there unprotected. If it's a trap we meet it with as much force as we can. We smash through it - don't you look at me like that.'

'You need to bring him back,' said Gray, pointing to the horrible mess of Lunn on the carpet. Fury raged through him. Gray struggled to keep it down. 'You bring him back, or you'll-'

'I'll what?' said Baldwin softly. Dangerously. 'By the gods, you continue to look at me like that, you continue to speak to me so, little boy, waste my time, the time of everyone here, and I'll put you over my-'

'EXCUSE ME?!'

Gray saw red. Bright, boiling, furious, blood red.

As though from a floating distance, Gray was aware that he and Baldwin were screaming at each other. They were nose-to-nose, close to curses, near combusting.

Baldwin's tirade was pounding against Gray, against the crumbling walls of the palace office.

But Gray didn't care. His world was red. It was pure black venom. Baldwin needed to understand. He needed to bring Lunn back. He needed to find a work around for sending his forces to the Othoan border.

'You will answer for your disrespect, Griffin.'

This word - this damn word - unleashed a fresh surge of bitter, stinging rage in Gray.

Disrespect.

'Don't use that word.' Gray was trembling head to foot. Words were screaming through him. Tearing his throat. 'As if you know what it means.' He was pointing at Lunn. 'You need him. You bring him back. I know you can do it. You bring him back. Beg his forgiveness. Get him onside with you-'

'HE - IS - WILDE'S.'

'SO, FREE HIM. ASK HIM TO BE YOURS.'

'You understand NOTHING. You will do as you're told, you will do your duty in Krydon. I will not tolerate such insubordination. I expected so much better of you …'

Baldwin's hand fisted Gray's shirt. He was shoving him back into the fahrenning circle. Through the crowd hurriedly - urgently, shocked - making way.

Gray's wand was in his hand. And he was using everything within him not to raise it, not to press it against the throbbing vein in Baldwin's temple.

'You will go to Krydon,' snarled Baldwin. 'Do your job. Tell me now if you plan to betray me.'

'I'm not betraying anyone.' Gray's hand fisted around his wand. His grip shook. His voice. 'I'm getting the vampiric sorcerer. I'm protecting the jar. I'd rather die than see it in the hands of Wilde.'

Baldwin released his handful of Gray's shirt as though it was a disgusting rag. 'Go. I'll deal with you later.'

Gray glared blindly as Baldwin turned on his heel and strode back to the cluster of warriors he'd been ordering. His chest heaved.

The whole screaming match was over in about six seconds.

But it had shattered something in the room.

Or, maybe, seeing Baldwin throw the sword like that, kill a fey like that, had shattered the room.

The mages, the soldiers, the leaders were rattled. It was in the air.

A mage soldier was in front of Gray, pulling his focus. Taking his hands. Instructing him to slow his breath.

Jessica was pressed against Gray's side. Urkskin was pressed against the other. She was muttering the fahrenning enchantment, stumbling over her words. She must've been close when Baldwin slashed Lunn, because she was nearly as spattered as Gray. Her breath was ragged as she tried to fahren. And they were thrown back into the office.

Blocked.

Blood dripped from Urkskin's nose.

A large dark rip was appearing in the air above their heads.

Conor has the power to stop fahrenning.

'We need to run,' said Urkskin breathlessly to Jessica. 'We need to get clear of Conor Griffin. Get out of the palace. Then I can fahren.'

Only problem was, Conor Griffin stood in the doorway.

He stood, tall, lean, with strained shoulders and a slow drag to his breath. Dust clung to his dark hair. The torn edges of his fur-detailed shirt and boots were stained with fresh red, and his thick eyebrows were lowered as his grey gaze swept the room, cold and assessing. Exhausted.

He had an unconscious Sorena Auguste over his shoulder. He had a battered Killian in some kind of magic hold, dragging his limp form behind him, trailing tracks in the carpet.