31

Brume

WYNN SPRINTED DOWN THE STREET, the Caster of the Malignant Shadow in hot pursuit.

She ducked behind the remains of a stone cottage, in an overgrown bundle of vines and brick.

The swirl-ear panted as she stopped to catch her breath.

Where am I? She peered out from through the vines, her mind whirling as she tried to retrace her steps.

I must be northward of the statue. Didn’t Lance say he was searching around here?

She heard the flap of wings and went back to crouching behind the tangle of plants.

“You can’t hide.” With a thump, Brume landed in the street. “This game is won before it starts. As long as you hide within the shadows, you hide within my domain.”

The shadows surrounding Wynn began to peel away from her and the building, encircling her like a pool. At its edge were sharp tips, as if pointing at her.

It was silent.

“Found you.”

Wynn turned and ducked, narrowly missing shadow-formed claws.

She raced away, a flurry of magic racing past her ears again as she darted down the street. She could hear the wings of her pursuer.

“Lance!” she called, hoping her words would reach him, wherever he was. “Lance, Brume is here!”

Brume continued to give chase, hurling magic at her. She sensed it coming, so she zigged and zagged, watching it splinter an old barrel near her. She squinted as the wooden splinters flew against her snout.

“No one can save you, swirl-ear!” Brume bellowed from above. “You should’ve stayed in that pathetic muddle-pile you call a village.”

A shadow shifted in front of Wynn. She skidded to a halt as spikes flew up from it.

She turned to see Brume bearing down upon her.

“Wynn!” Lance yelled.

Wynn’s ear twitched. She looked around but didn’t see him.

“Duck!”

Wynn dived to the ground.

A bolt of amber magic rocketed past Wynn’s ears and hit Brume, knocking him back across the air. Wynn looked up to see him land a little way away, holding his bleeding jaw. He glowered ahead.

Wynn followed his gaze to see Lance leap down from the thatched roof of an old stall. He gave Wynn a hand and helped her to her paws.

“Close call?” Lance said.

“Too close,” Wynn muttered.

Brume growled at them. “The folly of the weak,” he said, rubbing his jaw, “they never know when to quit.”

Wynn looked at Lance. “What do we do?”

“The plan,” he said.

“But Beryl isn’t here,” Wynn said, “and he’s like half the plan.”

“More of a third,” Lance said. He gripped his staff, which emitted an amber light. “But we may not have a choice.”

And with that they split up. Wynn took off towards the right, while Lance veered left towards Brume.

Brume scoffed as the caster approached. “When will you learn, amateur cartographer?” He raised his left hand, and a shadow rose. “Not even experienced casters can stand against me.”

Lance leapt back, narrowly avoiding them.

As they fought, Wynn crept along the remains of the fallen building. She carefully wove her way past tattered planks of wood and crumbling stone. A troubled memory of last evening’s plan wormed its way into her head.

“I’ll have to keep him distracted until Beryl can drop this,” Lance had said. He’d showed them three long dried hook-like roots. “These are grimwattle roots. When they come into contact with a spell, they can be quite destructive to a caster. If we can just trick Brume into striking these, the spark will prevent him from casting a spell. Beryl will have to drop these, since if I get to close, I can’t cast spells either. That’s when you come in.”

He had turned to Wynn.

“By now Brume will have been too distracted by us to see you coming. You need to get closer to the right of him and swipe the sack tied to his hip before he can react.”

Wynn had given him a skeptical look. “How do you know it’ll work?”

Lance huffed. “He a know-it-all and super smug, which gives him a weakness. His ego.”

Wynn was shaken from her memories by a loud crash. She paused her maneuvering to see a balcony collapse in a swath of shadow. It sent up plumes of dust, concealing the two casters.

Wynn hopped up on a stone balustrade and peered at the duel, waiting for a glimpse of the gray, wilt-like grimwattle roots.

As the dust cleared, a wisp of violet shadow barreled towards Lance. He swiftly stepped to the side, and onto a moving shadow.

Wynn’s heart sank into her chest. Before she could utter any warning, the shadows rose into a large claw and grabbed him from behind.

As he struggled, Brume crackled, clearing the cloud of dust with his wings.

The shadows yanked the grimwattle roots and staff from Lance, scattering them aside.

“Word of advice,” Brume said, “subtlety is key to the slight of the hand. Or in your case, hide things better!”

Wynn bristled in alarm, her head whipping around for any sign of Beryl, or anyone.

But they were alone. She was alone.

Lance yelled as the claws closed tightly around him.

“You’re …a coward,” Lance spat, his eyes gleaming with rage, “a coward and a second-rate caster who hides in the shadows and disguises himself, because the world cares naught for him.”

Brume glowered. “You don’t deserve any of the magic you have. You being a magic-born was a mistake! Fools like you don’t deserve magic.”

He clasped his right hand into a fist. The shadow rippled and began ripping amber threads of magic from Lance, who screeched.

“You will die without a wisp of magic,” Brume growled, “not a sprig, a hair, an iota!”

Before Wynn realized it, her paws were moving. As if by themselves.

She hurried towards Brume, moving faster than she ever had before.

She yowled.

Brume twisted his head around, puzzled.

His eyes widened as Wynn sailed through the air towards him. The swirl-ear sank her teeth into his arm.

Brume hollered and shook his arm, but Wynn held tight. He twisted and turned, releasing Lance as he fought to be free of Wynn.

With a toss, Wynn flew off his arm and landed on her paws. In the corner of her eye, she spotted Lance on his knees. The lark held his chest as he struggled to catch his breath.

Wynn looked back at Brume, who gripped his injured arm.

“You’re the fool!” Wynn shouted. Her tail swished furiously against the ground. “And a big ole jest. A bigger one than Aspen-ears could ever have dreamt!”

Brume glowered. Shadows began to shift around her.

“Give me the talking-glass,” he snapped.

Wynn looked him in the eyes.

“Never,” she said. “I’m never allowing you to take anything from my family again. And you will never, ever harm anyone I care about, as long as I’m around!”

Lance wearily looked up, still holding his chest. Wynn met Brume’s gaze.

He regarded her coolly as thin red droplets of blood slid down his arm.

“I only take things from larks who don’t deserve them,” he said. “It would be against my code not to do so.”

Wynn looked at him, confused. Code, what code?

As Brume began to walk towards her, Wynn backed away. A shadow swerved behind her and grew spikes, blocking her path. Shadows peeled away from the buildings and began to surround them all, the pool twisting and turning. Brume’s eyes started to glow.

Brume stood up tall, raising his wings. “Since you will not relinquish the glass, I will drown you both in shadow and take it myself.”

Wynn noticed something bobbing along the waves of shadow—the long hook-like root of grimwattle glowed silver.

Brume whipped around as a silver spark shot from the root and nicked him in the arm. He grunted as he held his shoulder. Silver swirls spread across and curled down his arm. The pools of shadow began to disperse.

Wynn noticed movement in the corner of her eye and turned to see a young lark with long petals atop her head standing near the fallen stone balustrade. There was a faint silver glow in the flower-elf’s hand. Guards streamed in from around the rubble and fallen buildings. Then another lark, whom Wynn presumed to be the real Captain Conifer, walked out. He stood next to the elf and raised an arm. The guards pointed their arrows towards them.

The flower-elf met Brume’s gaze. “It’s over Rowan!” she yelled.

“Surrender now,” Captain Conifer ordered. “You are surrounded.”

Brume wore a dark expression of hate. Buildings began to shake and tremble as his unstable shadows darted in and out from the structures. Brume grimaced and muttered something Wynn couldn’t pick up. The air filled with the scent of flowers and ash.

“Take cover!” Captain Conifer called.

As the guards scrambled to get away from the falling rubble, Brume took flight, but he grimaced and gasped as he struggled to keep steady.

Captain Conifer pointed at him. “Don’t let him get away!”

As Brume fled, the guards hollered and pursued him on foot.

Wynn scrambled over to Lance, weaving and hopping past the frenzied shadows.

“Are you okay?” she asked. She grabbed his arm and tried to help him to his feet, but he stumbled.

Lance’s voice trailed off as he spoke. “I think I need …need a moment.” His eyes began to drift and he slumped forward

Wynn grabbed him in alarm. “Lance!”

Her ears pricked. She heard cracking, and looked up to see a large stone pillar falling towards them.

She closed her eyes and braced for impact.

A small pebble bounced off her snout—but nothing more.

She opened her eyes to see Beryl grinning back as he held up the piece of rubble. His wings buzzed, kicking up dust.

“I got it,” he said.

“Beryl!” Wynn beamed. “How did you find us?”

“None of you showed up at the statue,” he huffed, “so I decided to look around. Didn’t take long with all this commotion.”

Lance held his head, dazed, and looked around. “What’s going on?”

“Beryl found us!” Wynn said.

“About time,” Lance muttered.

Beryl puffed as he shifted the pillar’s weight. “This is pretty heavy,” he admitted. “Can you—”

“Oh right.” Wynn helped Lance up. Once they were in the clear, Beryl released the pillar with a thud. Lance walked over to the now clear ground and picked up his staff, wobbling as he did so.

Wynn saw the guards still pursuing Brume, arrows flying at the receding figure, most likely shredding his cloak again.

Oh, he’s going to hate that.

Lance wheezed as he spoke. “We better get out of here before the guards remember we exist.”

They approached the spindly clearing of trees that bordered the village and climbed into the brush. Wynn paused, feeling eyes on her. She stopped and turned.

From a distance the flower-elf watched from the village, but made no effort to pursue them. Her face was unreadable.

Wynn felt a stir of curiosity.

“Wynn?” Beryl called from ahead.

Wynn turned away.

“Coming,” she said.

And with that, the swirl-ear vanished into the brush of the Dark Agrestal.