The Gauntlet Read Free Page B

murmured, as
she pulled a white-faced Elinor through the red bite of heat and
the smell of smoke to the now missing door.
    Outside, the castle’s walls hemmed them in on
all sides, gray stone against a pewter sky. A
battle was going on to the left, with the prisoners trying to get
down the stairs. They looked to be holding their own, with one
witch’s spell sending a guard flying off the battlements into the
open courtyard. But that was about to change.
    Reinforcements were already running toward
the battle from either side. And they were the Circle’s elite
corps--war mages, they called them--instead of the talentless scum
employed as jailers. The witches from most of the covens were well
trained in self-defense, but their weapons had been confiscated
when they were taken. Without them, they wouldn’t last long.
    Of course, that could prove true of them as
well. A group of the Circle’s dark robed mages broke off from the
main group and started their way. And in front of them was a lethal
cloud of weapons, iron dark against the pale sky.
    Gillian didn’t try to run; there was no time
and nowhere to go. Against the Circle’s harsh alchemy of steel and
iron, she called Wind, and it answered far more quickly than usual.
She was only dimly aware of a blizzard of debris behind her back
and the mages’ squawks of alarm as their weapons went tumbling back
at them.
    For a long moment, the roar of her element
filled her senses in a heady rush, billowing out her tattered gown,
matting her hair and blowing into her eyes. She didn’t bother to
brush it away. It felt good. It felt like power.
    But it didn’t last. Within seconds, the wind
was already dying. The staff was magnifying her strength, but she
had so little left. And when it gave out--
    “My offer of assistance remains open,” the
vampire said casually. He’d jumped down from the second floor and
was leaning against the shattered wall, watching the chaos with the
mildly interested glance of someone at a bear baiting with no money
on the outcome.
    “It’s well known that your kind helps no one
but themselves!”
    “Which is better than attacking and
imprisoning our own, would you not say?” She didn’t see him move,
but he was suddenly beside her, the wind whipping his curls wildly
around his face.
    “Why should you want to help me?” she
demanded harshly.
    “Because I need yours in return.”
    Despite everything, Gillian almost laughed.
He stood there in his fine clothes, smelling of spices and sporting
a jewel worth the price of a house. And she was supposed to believe
that he needed anything from the likes of her?
    “’Pon my honor,” he said, seeing her
expression.
    “You may as well swear on your life! Everyone
knows that vampires are selfish, base, cruel creatures who only
want one thing!”
    “And everyone knows that coven witches are
weak, treacherous and easily corrupted,” he shot back. “Everyone is
often wrong.”
    Gillian started to answer, but a harsh
clanging echoed across the keep, cutting her off. A small group of
witches had cleared the stairs and made a break for the gates. But
the heavy iron portcullis guarding the entrance had slammed down
before they could reach it, trapping them in the middle of a sea of
enemy mages. Her hands clenched at their desperate cries for help,
but there was nothing she could do but die with them.
    And she had Elinor to think about.
    She spun on her heel, brushing past the
vampire and racing back inside the small gatehouse. The trunk was
still there, with its bit of stale loaf. She brushed it aside and
threw up the heavy lid, hoping for weapons--charms, potions,
protection wards--anything designed to hold a reservoir of magic
for use in times like these. But there was nothing, aside from a
few scattered rat droppings.
    She slammed the trunk shut in frustration,
wishing she had the strength to throw it at the wall. The guard
must have taken the staff as a trophy. Because wherever the Circle
was storing