Brightly Woven
Page 12

“A wizard?” The smile crept back up the side of Genet’s greasy face. “No wizard I’ve seen. Dressed as you are, I doubt you have a patron, but if you do, I would like to know his name as well, so I can write and tell him of your inferiority. I’ll have to know your rank before we duel, as well.”
“Duel?” I asked, looking back and forth between them. I knew about wizard duels; everything I had read pointed to bloodshed and destruction.
I looked around the tavern to faces that were both startled and intrigued. The man in the pale overcoat with a pipe had moved to stand near the door, as if anticipating the need to run—or perhaps just to get a better view of the fight. But the wizards couldn’t fight here, not when there was a chance others could be hurt. North appeared to have a similar thought.
“You want to duel? Right now?” North asked. “Right here?”
Genet nodded, a smile stretching across his face. “Don’t be frightened, friend; you get the first attack. It’s only proper for the challenged wizard to go first. If you’d be so kind as to tell me your rank…?”
“North!” I hissed. “Let’s just go! Don’t forget—”
North silenced me with a wave of his hand, smiling as though he were about to eat the other wizard whole. He stood like a statue, the perfect image of self-confidence. Genet looked just as sure, maybe even more so now that his braided whip was in his hands, the split tip dragging lazily on the ground.
“Hey!” the barman called. “I don’t want none of this in—!”
I will never forget the sound North’s fist made as it connected with the other wizard’s skull. Genet’s nose crunched sickeningly, and a large spray of blood flew up before he slumped to the ground, motionless. George rushed forward, dropping to his knees next to his employer.
North leaned over the other wizard’s unconscious body. “I win.”
“Did you kill him?” I asked as the tavern roared with laughter.
“Oh, hardly.” North snorted. “I barely hit him, and he went down like a daisy.”
I looked down at the unconscious wizard and shook my head in disgust. Genet may have been the scum of the world, but it didn’t change the fact that North was little more than a drunken brute.
The crowd in the tavern showered him with applause and cheers, and North took it in like a conquering hero. He stepped over Genet’s prone body and was welcomed back to the bar with a tankard of ale.
“Fine!” I said to no one in particular, and turned to go back up the stairs.
As I pushed through the crowd, a hand caught mine, and I felt the touch of warm, wet air against my neck. I tried to shake free. It wasn’t North.
“That’s not magic,” a quiet voice said in my ear. “Watch closely…”
The man in the pale overcoat gave me a smile as he pulled away and lifted his hand to his lips. With a single breath, he blew a cloud of blue powder from his palm, which expanded and grew around me like a thundercloud. I saw the man’s face flash before me, and for the first time I saw the horrible scars that he had kept hidden beneath his hat. The right side of his face looked as though some wild animal had mauled it—his eyelid had melted down his cheek, and the deep, red lines continued across his face to where his ear should have been.
His free hand took mine again, and I couldn’t pull away.
“What—?” I choked out. I squeezed my eyes shut against the smoke. The air smelled of ash, of fire. I forced my eyes open again, but I was no longer in the tavern. I was in Cliffton, in the village marketplace. I recognized most of the faces as they ran past me, past the soldiers who were dragging families from their homes. Mr. Porter screamed for them to stop, to spare his house, but the soldiers threw the torch on the building’s roof anyway. And I screamed, too; I screamed until I couldn’t get enough air into my chest. The nighttime sky, usually so clear over Cliffton, was nothing more than a haze of orange. The world was dizzy and awful. I clutched my necklace in my hand, a wave of nausea passing through me.
With my free hand, I felt in my dress pockets for something sharp. A new blast of fire flew past my head and sent the strange man sprawling to the floor. That magic could only have come from a wizard.
“North!” I called, waving the smoke away from my face.
I felt a pair of arms wrap around me, but I wasn’t about to be taken by a soldier that easily. I kicked and clawed at the fabric of his uniform, screaming, “Let me go!” I screamed again. “North!”
“I’m here!” he said, and I felt the arms around me tighten. “Stop, stop, it’s not real!”
It had to be real—I saw my father and mother and Henry; I saw the swords and horses. The ground was shaking with the force of soldiers stampeding through the village. I couldn’t force the smoke from my lungs or stop the pounding in my heart. I squeezed my eyes shut again, praying this was nothing more than a nightmare.
It must have been; I opened my eyes again, only this time it was to North’s face and the sight of a clear sky behind him. Dellark, somehow I was back in Dellark—but the ground was still trembling and the roar that I had attributed to the horses was actually the sound of the stone buildings and bridges grinding against one another.
North used the fire, I realized.
“Wait here!” North shouted, dragging himself to his feet. I pushed myself off the ground, narrowly avoiding the patrons fleeing the tavern and surrounding buildings. The wizard pushed through them, heading straight for the quaking buildings. He ducked inside and emerged a moment later with our belongings. He threw them in my direction.