Read Online Witch Queen by Kim Richardson - Free Book Online Page B

outnumbered. Leo and Will
had chosen their team well.
    All except for Garrick.
    I could see streaks of blood flowing from a
large gash above his brow, and his face was pale and pasty like he
had fever. He stumbled back, his sword hanging at an awkward angle
like the weight was too heavy. He looked like an inexperienced
swordsman who had never held a real weapon before—out of place,
like a frightened puppy. He shouldn’t be here. Our eyes met, and I
could see his silent cry for help, for my help.
    A burly Romilian circled him, smelling easy
prey. And with an evil smile, he raised his sword and swung it with
great force towards the young lad. My breath caught in my throat as
by some miracle or just dumb luck, Garrick deflected the blow with
his own sword. But he stumbled and fell into a bush in a jumble of
limbs. His cloak had wrapped around him awkwardly and was
restraining his movement. He was trapped. I could hear him sobbing
as the Romilian laughed and closed in for the kill.
    With panic written all over his face,
Garrick struggled with his cloak, but the man was on him before he
could get up. His great silver sword glimmered in the soft light of
the fire, and for a moment it looked as if it actually were on
fire. I watched in horror as he prepared to bring it crashing down
on the helpless Garrick.
    “No!” I bellowed. My mouth was metallic with
despair. Not Garrick. Not him.
    Garrick’s assailant paused, and for a second
I had his attention. I cringed under his stare, but it was all the
distraction I needed.
    I sprinted forward, but white-hot pain shot
up my back, and I pitched headfirst into the ground. Instinctively,
I rolled as I hit and a sword dug into the earth where my head had
been. My back was aflame with pain. I knew I’d been cut deep enough
to tear through my clothes and into my flesh. I turned and looked
up into the small black eyes of my attacker.
    “You made me kill my wife and child!”
cried the man.
    A string of spit flew from his mouth as snot
ran down his nose. His wet eyes gleamed with the primal fury of a
husband and father who wanted nothing more than to avenge the loss
of his family. I had seen this fury before. I had felt it myself. I
understood it.
    My fingers trembled as I gripped my sword
and tried to protect myself. This was a man who would die trying to
kill me, a man who had nothing left to live for, and I was
terrified.
    “I’m sorry,” I began. I was surprised that I
actually meant it. I backed away an inch at a time. Garrick’s
frightened face flashed in my mind’s eye. Why had he volunteered? I
couldn’t see him anymore, and I prayed to the Goddess that I might
still have a chance to save him.
    I turned my attention back to the mad,
grief-stricken man who was attacking me.
    “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” I
said.
    I slipped a little further away from him and
gripped a handful of earth with my left hand. He seemed even larger
as I looked up from the ground.
    “I swear,” I blurted. “The priests did this.
They’re the ones to blame. Listen to me. They’re not even priests,
they’re necromancers. They’re using evil magic—”
    “Liar!” he roared.
    He leaned over me, and I could smell the
malty stench of cheap ale on his breath.
    “They told me you would say that. You lying
bitch. I—I killed them. You made me kill my family, and now you
must die to make amends for what you made me do.”
    His eyes gleamed with savage fury, with a
heightened madness from a man who’d lost everything he loved. The
clang of metal against metal was still echoing through the night
sky, and I prayed silently that the others had fared better than
me.
    “For Romila,” he chanted, out of breath.
“For the Creator. For Madolina and Imilia. I’m going to slit your
witch throat.”
    My mighty enemy hefted his great sword out
of the ground and whirled it at me as though it weighed no more
than a mere feather.
    But I was already moving.
    I hurled my handful of earth into