Quinten awoke with a jerk. Sitting up in bed, he tried to process the last thing he could remember.
He’d made it back to the guest lodge, throwing up in the garden bed beside the door. Having already expelled anything solid, the second time came with the burn of stomach acid.
Starfire! I passed out before they got back.
It was only then that Quinten realized that he hadn’t woken up on his own. The heavy pounding of his heart and the excitement pumping through his veins were not his own. And it was paired with a bloodthirstiness that Quinten had never experienced before. He closed his eyes and tried to focus. Through his Gift, he could sense the unfamiliar presence of several different sets of emotions surrounding the visitor's lodge. It was from them that he could feel a growing mix of excitement and anticipation.
Augmenting his vision to better see in the low light, Quinten slid out of bed. He crouched low and worked his way towards where his sword hung off the back of a chair. He could feel Ronan and Cedric in the rooms beside his own. Their muffled emotions telling him that they were sound asleep. Freezing at the sensation, Quinten felt a spike of excitement from outside.
Shit!
Cupping his hands around his mouth, Quinten pushed energy into his vocal cords and yelled, “Wake up! We’re under attack!”
He rose from his crouch and drew his sword, leaving the sheath tied to the back of the chair. The blue veins shimmering in the moonlight streaming through his window. A loud thud came from the room next door as someone fell out of bed and hit the hard wooden floors.
Ronan? Quinten thought, trying to remember who was on which side. Whomever it was, continued scrambling across the floor. The sound ending in a solid thump against the wall separating them. The noise repeated a few more times before it finally clicked for Quinten that they were knocking on the wall like a door.
Definitely Ronan. Placing his hand on the wall, he shaped an opening in the wood that allowed a bedraggled head of copper hair to slither through.
His friend rolled over and looked up at Quinten with wide and fearful eyes. “By the stars, what is going on?”
Before Quinten could respond. A blast from next door rocked the room just as his own door exploded inward with a loud boom, shattering against the wooden wall Quinten raised from the floorboards to cover them. He could feel the door turned shrapnel deflecting off the wooden barrier. The pounding of heavy boots echoed through the immediate silence following the blast.
That was magic… Who in the starless night would be attacking us with magic?
His heart pounding, he rose from his crouch. Quinten channeled his gift through his blade, causing it to sing, and let loose a jet of flame that engulfed the wall and the figures streaming through the ruined doorway. A wall of water rose to give them some protection from the heat, creating a cloud of boiling steam. It successfully obscured their movements and saved them from the flames. Though pained cries still came from the throats of both men and women.
Quinten sucked the heat from the water and steam, coating the other side of the room in frost and a layer of ice, slowing the assassins as they fought through the obstruction. He immediately felt it as another mage wrestled to take control of the ice. Pushing his gift through his body, Quinten used it to steady his hands and dash forward. Driving his sword through the chest of the closest attacker before they could react. His blade shattering the thin layer of ice formed across their chest. This close, he was able to get his first real look at their assailants.
There were four of them. Dressed all in black with even their faces covered. Each was strapped with blades all along their body. He knew he’d heard a woman’s voice cry out earlier, but only then did he realize that based on the figure and the cut of their clothes, Quinten had just killed a woman. He watched as the excited glee dimmed from her eyes, replaced with the dawning horror that she was about to die.
Ronan’s whimpering and the roar that echoed through the building brought him back to the moment. Letting Quinten know Cedric had shifted and dealing with his own problems. Ripping his blade free, blood spurted from the wound, directly into his face. The iron taste shocked him as it ran into his mouth, breaking what remained of his control over the ice.
The woman’s body fell, bringing with it a wail of agony and a flurry of motion from the attackers. Shards of ice broke off the wall, shooting towards Quinten and Ronan.
He let out another jet of flame, this time through his ring. Controlling the burst, he created a protective barrier rotating around them and their wooden shield, melting the projectiles before they could reach them. The flames rushed out in a wave toward their assailants with a mental shove. The mage controlling the ice backed through the doorway for protection, with the other two leaping over the flood of fire.
Must have Physical Gifts, Quinten thought. He watched as they cleared his attack and landed with far more grace and speed than a normal person could manage. The moment their feet touched the ground, they were moving. Sprinting toward Quinten with swords raised.
That’s at least three mages. We need to end this quick before they overwhelm us.
Since receiving Astraea, Quinten had made it a priority to slip away from their caravan each evening to train with her. He was thankful for his practice now, as the consistent practice had slowly increased the speed with which he could channel his Gift into the blade while remaining in control of the flow of energy.
He shoved power into the blade in a rush, charging it for one of its special effects.
Astraea sent out a crescent blade of energy in a wide arc with a slash. The attacker to Quinten's right jumped up and shoved off the ceiling in a blur of movement, launching themselves at Quinten. While the leftmost assassin tried to spin around the attack. They misjudged its reach, the ethereal blade cutting deeply into their side.
The smell of shit and the acidic taste of stomach bile instantly filled the room.
Crouching, Quinten sent a gust of wind at the airborne mage, pushing them off course. They landed in a roll, popping back to their feet, and continuing their charge. Quinten raised his weapon and sprinted forward to meet them head-on. The naked steel glittered in the dim light of the moon coming through the window.
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The shriek of metal on metal rang out as he parried the first strike, twisting his body to avoid the follow-up strike. Pressing forward, he swung low, forcing them to leap back. His attacker struck from on high in an attempt to keep Quinten back. He drew air in through the open window, driving it into the ball of flame he conjured in his hand, making the volatile combination burst into bright light as he squeezed his eyes shut. Bright spots blocked his vision, even from behind his eyelids. He forced the lids open and squinted into the now pitch-black room.
The woman, at least that’s what Quinten believed her to be, stood with one hand pressed to her eyes and the other swinging her blade around in a futile gesture. Taking advantage, Quinten lunged forward, pulling on Astraea’s crossguard with his telekineses to give him the speed and necessary reach to cross the distance. The tip of his weapon punched into the base of the woman’s throat, stopping against the bone of her spine on the other side.
Quinten kicked her off his blade and spun toward the one he’d hit with his first attack. He found them leaning against the wall, holding their guts in tight as blood continued to pool beneath them.
Quinten took two steps forward and—Smack!
The impact wrenched him partially around. The wet, meaty sound quickly forgotten in the burning pain radiating from his shoulder.
“Aaaargh!” He screamed, staring at the foot long icicle piercing his left shoulder. Turning toward the door, he saw the ice mage standing there, their whole body quivering as they looked between Quinten and the rest of their team.
“All of them…?” A male voice whispered in a small voice as he stared at the carnage filling the room.
“Fuck!” He said in a guttural scream. His eyes locking on Quinten, he seethed. “I’m going to freeze your screams in your throat!”
He grunted, the cold pulsed through his shoulder and made it hard to focus. Squinting at the assassin, he watched as the man raised both hands, ready to make good on his threat.
Quinten raised Astraea and reached for his Gift. Before he could do anything to protect himself, something shot past him, reflecting in the moonlight as it spun.
Crack!
Staring in bewilderment, it took Quinten a moment to identify the metal sphere that’d blown out the back of the mage’s skull, blood and bone painting the wall behind him.
The retching sound from behind him had Quinten turning too quickly, gasping in pain at his carelessness, just in time to see Ronan vomit across the top of his bed.
Remembering the sole surviving assassin, Quinten spun, slower this time. Blade held at the ready, he sighed in relief upon seeing the last mage was already dead. Their fight to hold in their intestines lost. He could see them spilling across the woman’s lap where she’d collapsed against the far wall.
Over his shoulder, he called to the still vomiting Ronan. “Stay here! I’m going to help Cedric.”
Gritting his teeth against the pain in his shoulder, Quinten ran through the destroyed doorway, now covered in scorched marks as well as missing its door. He stuck his head into the hall but couldn’t see anyone. Knowing time was of the essence, he made his way down the hallway as quickly and quietly as he could. Even with his augmented hearing, he couldn’t hear any fighting coming from the room, and it scared him.
He knew Cedric wouldn’t go down easily. Reaching another destroyed doorway, Quinten exposed just his right eye and looked into the room.
It was a disaster. The space appeared as if every piece of furniture in the room had been smashed into splinters. There was blood coating the walls, and it dripped from the ceiling. There was also no movement from within. Realizing that every minute he waited could be Cedric’s last, Quinten rushed inside.
The first body he found was one of the black clad assassins. Quinten couldn’t tell exactly what’d killed them, but they were lying facedown in enough blood to make it clear they were likely dead. Stalking deeper into the room, he found a missing arm, discovering its owner a few steps further. They stared at the ceiling, their mask and half their face missing.
Quinten found Cedric in the middle of the room. Rushing to his side, he dropped to his knees. His own pain forgotten, Astraea fell from his good hand onto the black clad body beside him as he checked over his friend. Cedric was fully shifted into his battle form. The elongated teeth and the fur along his jaw were coated in blood and had what looked to be skin caught on one of his canines. The fur on one side of his head and an ear were burned off. That, along with the multiple stab wounds Quinten could see on his chest and arms, let him know just how much damage Cedric had endured. Between the low light and the carnage, Quinten couldn’t even tell if he was breathing.
Ignoring the blood, Quinten pressed his ear against Cedric’s furry chest and listened for a heartbeat, his own lodged firmly in his throat as he waited.
Lud-dub…lud-ub……lud—ub
It was there, but Quinten could already tell it was fading. Raising his head, he screamed, “Ronan!—Ronan!”
With a stab of fear, it dawned on Quinten that the attack might not be over. He tried to focus on his Empathic gift. He didn’t know if he was too amped up or if it was the pain in his shoulder, either way, he couldn’t sense anything other than his own fear and desperation. Shifting his focus solely to his hearing, he pushed as much of his Gift into it as he could. Ronan’s bare feet pounded against the floorboards as he ran down the hall, but all else was quiet.
The healer burst into the room and his already pale face lost what remained of its color. He only hesitated for a moment, looking at the arm laying in the middle of the floor before his eyes locked on Quinten and he ran forward. Kneeling next to Cedric, he placed both of his hands on their friend's chest, and Quinten watched as the familiar golden light of healing magic began to glow. The manadrite ring on Ronan’s hand was emitting a cold blue light as Ronan channeled his gift through it.
Quinten held his breath as he watched the stab wounds close and the burns along Cedric's face start to heal. The process felt like it took an hour, but it could have only been five minutes before the glow surrounding Ronan’s hands faded to nothing. The healer’s panting breath, the only thing breaking the ensuing silence.
“He’ll live.” Ronan said, exhaustion, but not fear, weighing down his voice.
A few moments later, Cedric’s eyes fluttered open. He stared at nothing for a long second before reality set in, and he tried to sit up with a distorted grunt from his elongated snout. Quinten locked him in place telekinetically, not wanting him to move in case it injured him more.
“Try not to move. Ronan only just healed you. Is it safe for him to shift back?” Quinten asked Ronan from where he slumped on the floor.
He waved his hand and said, “He should be fine. Shifters don’t heal any faster when in their battle forms. He’d likely be better off as his normal self, so he isn’t using his energy to fuel his transformation.”
Quinten released his grip on Cedric, and the other man began to shift back. He was clearly going slower than normal, likely feeling out each change to make sure it was safe. It took him a few minutes, but eventually he was back in his human form. A single look told him that Cedric was going to need at least one more round of healing from Ronan. The hair on the side of his head was still burnt off, and the skin was raw and angry. His ear had partially regenerated, but it wasn’t complete and a portion was still missing, like a dog with a clipped ear.
The icicle in Quinten's shoulder had started to melt and blood was slowly leaking from the wound. He shifted so that it was facing away from his friends. No way was he going to ask Ronan to heal it before Cedric was back on his feet.
It was only due to his close examination that he saw his friend’s face turn white. Quinten tried to roll away, but a stab of pain from his shoulder had him collapsing, unable to avoid the projectile vomit Cedric released a moment later. It covered both Ronan and himself, his own joining it as he emptied whatever remained in his stomach from his earlier purge.
“We are a fucking mess.” Quinten groaned from where he lay holding his bleeding shoulder. He carefully rolled to face Cedric when he froze, staring at the pool of vomit.
“Is that an ear?”
His friend grunted, eyes remaining shut. “Fucker burned off mine, so I ate his. Didn’t mean to swallow it.” Cedric croaked.
Quinten couldn’t help the snort, nor the small laugh, that the macabre confession forced from him, and Cedric failed fighting back one of his own. Before long, all three boys were laughing until Ronan’s laughter turned into a sob.
Pushing himself into a seated position, Quinten pulled his friend to him telekinetically, wrapping his good arm around his slender form. “It’s OK, I’ve got you brother. I’ve got you.”