To Catch A Sorcerer

Gray was lost in a memory so completely that he could feel the shivering of his cramped muscles as he stayed curled in a ball under the stairs. There was sweat-soaked silk clothing against his skin.

His old dog, Jax, picked his way over the smoldering debris of the Griffin home. Jax edged closer, as though on tiptoes, the same way he stalked pixies. He was puffed up, his silhouette huge against the flashes of lightning outside. Thunder rattled the bones of the home. He stilled, his eyes luminous, one paw raised as though hunting.

When Jax nuzzled Gray, his nose was dry.

Jax needed water.

He nuzzled again. His nose prodded Gray's forehead. His breath whickered in his ears. He licked Gray's boots.

'No, Jax.'

Jax paused, his head cocked. He pawed Gray's arms, until Gray unfurled his cramped muscles, and slid out of the gap from under the stairs. He nudged until Gray stood. One of his hands was frozen around his flute. His father had been giving Gray a lesson when …

The Dark Sorcerer's sign was up, red and bold, fresh inside one of the still standing walls of the house. The giant X.

Gray dropped his flute and clutched his fingers into Jax's fur. He was covered in frost. They picked their way over to the crumbled doorway, to enter the street still rumbling with thunder and icy winds from the duel. They had to find Jax water, or stepmother, or both.

Problem was, someone blocked their way out.

Gray's mind was stranged. He was already forgetting his father's face, his stance, his smell, but he remembered enough to know this beautifully dressed soldier was not him, nor one of his uncles. He was too fair, too slight, and then he spoke, his accent was different.

He tossed aside debris. He shouted out names that belonged to Gray's father, uncles, aunts, grandparents, panting like a wounded horse.

Crash. He flipped aside a broken table.

Jax must've growled, because the man snapped upright, wand ready, pointed directly at Gray.

They stared at each other.

He let out a shuddering breath. Reached out a hand. Cautious. Tense. His fingers trembled. He touched the dark hair hanging in Gray's face.

'Where's Wynn and Cori?' He wrapped Gray in a trembling hug, his fingers digging in, and then pushed Gray out again. 'Where?'

His voice and sliver of face Gray could make out was familiar. Not necessarily friendly, with his tight lips and silver peircings glinting from his eyebrows and ears. His febrile eyes were as stormy as Jax's swirling, sooty fur. But, Gray knew him. He was uncle and aunt's friend. Their favourite, and very clever. He'd been the one to tell the family that it was mother's curse mark on Gray's wrist, layered over Wilde's X, changing the shape and adding protection.

Mother was so powerful, so skilled. She'd hated Wilde's X on Gray's wrist.

'He ignored me,' said Gray.

'What?' he said.

'The sorcerer ignored me.'

'What? He ignored you? Why?'

Gray clutched onto Jax tighter. 'He-'

Gray stopped. His voice had flown away.

But speaking wasn't important.

All that was important was the larger hand around his, urging him forward through the wide, dark streets. Fast. Faster.

He lifted Gray over the icy patches on the flagstones and over the glass from the shattered streetlamps. He softly told Gray not to mind the stares from the scared folks peering out through their curtains in their unlit homes.

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'Quick, now,' he said. 'Head down. King's men'll be here soon. If they catch us, they'll take …'

They'll take Gray. Gray'd heard his father and uncles talking. He knew who mother was.

He knew he was supposed to stay hidden. And father agreed to it. Everyone did. Because, you didn't anger mother. Ever, ever. Even when she didn't live with them anymore, and even when she'd gone to the beyond-world of the gods, because you never knew if she might come back. She had, after all, once been friends with Wilde, and she'd taken on the same enchantments as him, before she'd begun to hate him. And because the king's men might take Gray away, if father fell out of favour. Mother had been discovered as a sorcerer after Conor was born, when Gray was small, safe, and unknown in her belly. No one but father and uncles knew, and that was how they wanted to keep it. It was bad enough that Conor was always in danger.

The strange fluttering in Gray's ears faded out. Now he could hear the gentle lapping of the water in the canals, their snow-muted footsteps, and beyond that, the sweep and crash of the ocean.

The man led the way over a series of bridges, tugging Gray along. But when they reached the town square, he paused and pulled Gray close.

The duel had gone from the house and out into the streets. The worst of it had been here. The place was a mess of shattered flagstones, gaping chasms that lead to dark pits below, revealing ancient tombs and slapping water underneath. Crumbled sandstone from the clock tower was strewn, and fire burned, strange and white, melting the snow around it.

There was more there. Uncle Wynn and Aunt Cori. Dark shapes on the ground.

The man's breath hitched.

'Don't look.' He grabbed Gray up onto his hip. 'Look at me. Don't look away.'

'Jax.' Gray didn't dare look away from the man, but panic flared as he lost sight of Jax.

'He's following us. He's right here. Clever, isn't he?' The man froze. 'Who goes there?' A pause. 'Longwark? Gods, man, is that you?'

—

'Gray.' Someone was tapping Gray's face. Shaking him. Not gently.

The ground was hard underneath Gray's back. His hand was clasped around something.

Not his wand.

Another hand.

Conor.

'Sit up for me, hm?' Someone was shaking him again. 'Kid, fuck, blink if you hear me.'

The words were circling around Gray's head, not quite making sense. There was a clamour around him, as people shouted. Someone was shouting Baldwin. Another was shouting evacuate.

Another shouted, the palace has fallen.

The floor was rocking underneath Gray. The walls were rattling.

Gray hadn't managed to fahren them out. He'd failed to take Conor far away from everything.

'Let go of Conor for me, hm? There's a good lad.'

Gray's eyesight was ringed in light, it was blurred and soft.

'We'll take good care of Conor, OK? We'll keep your cousin safe. Let go of him.'

Cousin?

'It's all right, Gray. Just let go of him. That's it.'

Gray felt someone pull Conor away. His clasp on Conor's hand was gone.

'He's,' said Gray, his voice hoarse, 'going to be - in trouble with Wilde. I wanted, I was trying to …'

'Oh, thank sweet Clochaint. Gods, Gray.' The voice shuddered. 'You all right, kid?'

Gray was not going to shatter.

Someone pulled him up to sit. Clapped a rough hand to his cheek. 'Count to ten for me, hm?'

'Wilde - Wilde will - hurt him,' said Gray. 'He d-defied Wilde's orders.'

'No. Wilde's not going to harm one hair on Conor's head. Not in a million years. It's not how sorcerers operate with their apprentices. OK? You understand me? There's fortress set up for Conor in Foix, he's going to be very safe, OK? But, right now, we have to get the fuck out of here …'

A fortress, set up for Conor? In Foix?

Since when?

Gray tried to say OK. Yes. But it was as though his jaw was wired shut. There was a commotion above them.

'Gray. Come on. There's sorcerers outside. More than we can fight off. Baldwin is - I think he's - get everyone in that circle! Wing, help Brown with the king. Codder, revive a mage. They're going to fahren our whole group.'

Cold glass was pressed to Gray's lips. Smooth, tasteless liquid passed over his tongue. Down his throat.

It spread through his stomach. Down his legs and arms.

Someone was rubbing a hand over Gray's eyes, and the aching blindness eased.

Gray blinked. Coughed on the smooth remains of the potion.

Someone was thudding him on the back. Much too hard. 'Don't die from choking, kid, gods - Pickering, get Pruitt into the circle! Codder, REVIVE A DAMN MAGE, NOW!'

Gray was getting dragged. He could feel the pull against his clothes. He was getting pulled, pulled, several hands were on him, hauling him up through wreckage, through a ceiling, a floor, and into a fahrenning circle. A big one. One crammed with shattered survivors and prone fallen. He watched, as though in slow motion, as Killian peered at him. He was a bloodied, shattered mess.

Then Killian turned to one of the people crowded nearby. Her platinum hair was matted and smeared with muck.

'Sorena.' Killian's voice was clipped. 'Sorena, I need you to fahren us. Now. You can do it?'

Sorena was frowning at Killian. Her platnium lashes were crusted with ash and dust.

'You with me?' said Killian. 'The palace has fallen. We need you to fahren us.'

When Sorena hesitated, Killian turned to Codder, 'damn it Codder, I said revive a fucking mage-'

'She's a mage! She's the only one I could revive fast enough-'

'I can fahren us,' said Sorena. 'Where are we going?'

'Krydon.'

Gray barely heard Sorena muttering the enchantment. Barely felt the sting in the air as sorcerers - several of them - were closing in outside. Didn't hear the monumental CRACK as Sorena fahrenned the survivors in the king's ruined office, and they were crushed into darkness.

All he could hear was Conor's echoed words from their fight. My master is coming. Hide, little brother.