The Mages of Royas Bay (Mages of Wrystan 1)

Chapter 5: Azarien

IT TOOK A long time for the debris to stop falling and the smoke to clear. As Hawk lay face-down in the bracken, arms over his head, he hoped Cyrus was all right. He could feel his mage-beast at the edge of their bond, but at that distance it was hard to tell if he was in pain or not. All he could do was lie there and wait, feeling battered and bruised from where branches had fallen on him. Thankfully nothing worse. He'd heard more than one tree fall under the force of Sidony's magic, but luckily none had hit him.

When the coughing began he decided it was safe to move. Especially when the coughs were accompanied by groans. That's when he got up and gaped at the devastation.

Sidony's magic hadn't just been released: it had erupted. Trees for about forty paces around the clearing had been flattened, smashed, snapped and broken. The three nearest the explosion had shattered.

In the middle of it all was a small crater, where most of the smoke and all of the groans were coming from. Hawk picked his way through the mess and slid into the hole, gathering the sooty little redhead into his arms and making sure both his hands found her skin.

"You, Lady Sid," he murmured as the first wave of gold made her sigh, "are most definitely a battle mage."

She gave a tired giggle and Hawk's magic knocked her out.

* * *

HE WAS ON his back, staring up at the sky. He blinked a few times, surprised by how much pain so small a movement made. There was smoke. He could smell it as a few wisps drifted across his vision.

His ribs gave a great heave and he started to cough, or at least tried to. He was trapped on his back, arms tied behind him while something pushed down on his chest, pressing against his throat and making it hard to breathe.

Copper. It burned his skin. It had been there for so long he'd become used to the dull, constant ache of it draining his magic away. Now it lay on him, choking the very breath from his body.

As he coughed and gagged, he wanted to panic, but the copper held him too tightly. All he could do was rock in place and wait for the world to end.

"Roll him this way," an unfamiliar voice ordered. "And, sweet rivers, don't touch his skin."

The chains tightened for a terrible moment, then he was on his side. The pressure on his chest vanished and though the tightness around his throat remained it eased enough for him to gasp. He breathed in, again and again. The air still tasted of smoke, but it was real and it filled his lungs like the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.

"See if you can find a key." That strange voice issued another order. "We have to get these chains off before it starts again."

Strangers rustled around him – startled exclamations, talk of bodies – but he didn't pay attention. He was too busy breathing. A cold nose snuffled against his cheek and he opened his eyes, sighing with relief.

"Rowan," he croaked, voice damaged by smoke, choking and the screams of yesterday. "Rowan."

The pine marten rubbed along his cheek, marking, claiming, comforting. He was back, he was safe. That was all that mattered.

The chains around his neck loosened and fell away, swiftly followed by the ones around the rest of his body and he rolled free with a blissful sigh. The pain ebbed as the magic of the world washed in to soothe him, and the hunger at the heart of him turned its back and slept.

* * *

"WELL." STANDING OVER the unconscious boy with the pine marten snuggled in his arms, Irissa tapped her foot and frowned.