To Catch A Sorcerer

Killian got some soldiers to walk Dillon to the north edge of town and gave him a horse.

Johnson grabbed the two Ralph kids and shunted them out of the shop, behind Dillon.

If the Ralphs were close, they would learn what Killian had done, fast. If they fought, as Dillion implied they would, they would get themselves killed.

‘You look worried, Gray.’ Killian turned to the last remaining soldier. ‘I want eyes on the road. The moment the mages set foot into Krydon, I want to know about it.’

‘Right, you are, Major.’

Killian watched him leave before turning his attention back to Gray. ‘Let’s go. You’ve served your purpose.’

Gray allowed himself to be manoeuvred out of the weapons shop. His freshly cut hair curled in his face. He tugged against Killian’s hold before they reached the town square, pausing and taking a deep, fortifying breath. Dillon and the accompanying soldiers and horses were already almost out of sight. The younger Ralphs were almost through the Hall doors. The girl glanced back, her long auburn braids askew, and for a second she and Gray locked eyes.

Gray focused his gaze on the cobbled ground and limped slowly alongside Killian.

He heard hissing remarks as they passed by the soldiers, and realised they were blatantly about him.

Word was getting around that he was the son of D’Oncray.

Some said chosen one.

Others said sorcerer.

A scuffle broke out between two soldiers, which was quickly broken up by the other men.

Killian tightened his hold.

The townspeople watched as the soldiers catcalled. Gray kept his gaze steadily down, hot, sick shame roiling in his stomach, as he stumbled beside Killian.

Some of the hot, whipping whispers said foul things.

D’Oncray … she’d been loathed on a level unparalleled. More than Krupin or Wilde.

Gray had never been harassed like this – never heard or seen such degrading gestures and words aimed towards anyone – in his life.

There was something wrong with these men. They fed off each other.

It was a relief to get inside the Hall.

‘Come on,’ said Killian softly.

They made their way up to his room and through the doors. Killian locked up and checked on Frostvine while Gray untied his boots in silence.

‘The mages will come,’ Killian muttered, leading Gray to the table and helping him to sit. ‘His reaction proved that easily enough.’

Gray bowed his head, his lungs constricted.

Killian slowed, glancing at him. ‘You’re not hurt. Chin up.’

‘You shouldn’t have provoked them,’ said Gray, focusing hard on steadying his voice. ‘They can be threatening.’

He gave a long sigh. ‘Kind of what I was going for, kid. They won’t be too threatening - why do you think I used you, and not one of their own kids? They’ll be pissed off just enough to come here and comply with my commands.’

‘You shouldn’t have taken their kids. They’ll …’

‘They’ll what?’ said Killian. ‘Come here to get them?’

Gray could still hear and see the words and gestures coming from Killian’s men in the square. And the hacking off of his hair had felt like a violation. Worse than whenever Barin had done it.

‘They’ll be plenty threatening,’ said Gray. ‘You don’t know them -’

‘You do know them?’ Killian interrupted.

Gray winced. He was such a damn idiot.

One of Killian’s scarred hands twitched. His jaw clenched.

‘This is the north,’ said Gray, dodging the question. ‘I don’t know what the mages are like in Dierne, but up here, the only mages left have survived in a society that doesn’t like them. They’re tough, they’re smart, and they’re powerful enough to scare the superstitious away. You forget where you are.’

‘I haven’t forgotten where I am.’ Killian narrowed his dark gaze. ‘Who were they?’

‘The people here don’t need an excuse to be angry at the men wearing your uniform.’

‘Who were they, kid?’

‘Where’d you put the kids?’ said Gray. ‘Not the prison?’

‘Gray.’

‘You wouldn’t dare leave them in the prison,’ said Gray.

‘I won’t ask you again, Gray.’

‘The Ralphs,’ snapped Gray. Stupid, so stupid, but he wanted Killian to know how dangerous of a game he was playing. He wanted to see Killian worried, scared. Wanted to know if it was even possible. ‘They forge weapons.’

Killian was very still. ‘That was the apprentice Dillon Ralph?’

‘Yes.’

‘The Ralph master mages will be coming here?’

If anything, Killian looked mad. There wasn’t an iota of fear on his scarred face.

‘They can be dangerous,’ said Gray.

Killian pressed the hard line of his lips together, as though holding back a scoff. ‘What does that make me?’

Gray muttered, ‘an asshole’ under his breath before he could stop himself, before he could think.

The side of his face was smashed flat against the hard timber of the table before he had a chance to tense. Killian leant over him, his hand hard on where his neck met his skull. ‘What does that make me, Gray?’

Gray grabbed his wrist but didn’t actively try to push him away. Gray couldn’t afford to hurt more than he already did.

But, Clochaint, he’d never hated someone so much in his life.

Every time Gray looked at him, he saw the man who’d ripped his life away from him, and who’d killed the people covered in the white shrouds in the town square. Gray had to let this man inspect his ankle and healing progress like a farmer checking a prized herding dog for ticks. He had to be polite to him while his terrible men spread Gray’s biggest shame - D’Oncray.

This man had killed her.

He’d killed her whole family line, under the command of the king, under the belief that sorcery ran through bloodlines.

They studied it in history in school.

‘I don’t like being used,’ Gray said, keeping his temper. ‘You use me like that again and I’ll-‘

Killian's grip was immovable. ‘You’ll what?’

Gray gritted his teeth.

His hot breath brushed Gray’s jumping pulse in his neck. ‘Sorry kid, but I’ve got all the power here. Your only use is how I display you. Next time I ask you who’s that and you know, you answer honestly. Immediately. The fact I had Dillon Ralph in my custody would’ve been useful to know fifteen damn minutes ago.’

Gray closed his eyes, pushing down the urge to retaliate.

‘Now apologise,’ said Killian. ‘You can’t call me that.’

‘Then kill me already,’ Gray muttered.

‘What did you say?’

Gray swallowed, and then he couldn’t help struggling.

It took Killian by surprise and Gray managed to push him off. There was a compass on the table next to him and he hurled it at Killian. Killian dodged it, but only barely, his dark eyes wide. It smashed against the wall.

‘Kill me, execute me,’ Gray said. ‘Don’t keep dragging me around and using me. You cut and sell my hair again and I’ll-‘

Killian shoved him back, so hard and fast Gray didn’t see it coming, didn’t have time to tense. He stumbled and fell. Gray bit down a yell as his ankle banged against the carpeted floor.

‘This is about your hair?’ Killian said. ‘I would have thought you’d be used to that by now. By the sounds of it, that Haxley sold your damn hair to a trader every week-‘

‘Don’t you dare talk about Barin,’ Gray said, heat rising inside him. ‘You – you don’t know – you’re doing NOTHING about Alistair – you –‘

‘I’m not here to solve a small-town murder.’ Killian’s face was a mask. Unrepentant. ‘I’m here on the king’s orders. I’m here to retrieve the item you helped Longwark-’

Rage exploded inside Gray.

This bullshit.

‘I have nothing to do with that.' Gray's pulse pounded in his chest. His skin throbbed.

It rose within him, like billowing steam, scalding him from the inside out.

But - it wasn't steam. It wasn't just rage.

It was words.

Words fired through him.

He couldn’t stem the flow. He flung them out. Words that raised the hair on the back of his neck. He hissed in the old tongue, the mage tongue, a language Gray didn’t know he remembered, that he hadn’t thought of in over nine years.

Killian hung back, his expression darkening. Anger poured off Gray, the air getting thick with static.

It hung over them, building like pressure from a storm cloud.

It filled every corner.

It was suffocating.

Gray didn’t care.

He grabbed the nearby chair and hurled it at Killian. Killian dodged and it smashed against the far wall, landing with a bang that shuddered the room, and one of its legs rolling loose.

Gray hunkered over himself, trying not to gasp like a winded animal.

The room was still. It was as though the air listened to Gray heave breaths in and out.

Waiting.

Gray shuddered.

The words hadn't done anything. Not really. Nothing tangible aside from releasing the pressure inside Gray and making the atmosphere within the room very thick.

Killian cleared his throat. ‘You done?’

His voice came as though from across a chasm.

Gray ignored him, fury still swirling way too close to the surface. It would only take one moment, one slip, and it would burst out in a storm of words again.

‘Sorcerer,’ said Killian, ‘this behaviour is unacceptable.’

Killian approached. The floorboards underneath the carpet squeaked as they took his weight. His polished boots stopped in Gray’s periphery. They blurred in and out of focus.

‘You,’ whispered Gray, ‘you back the fuck up.’

They edged back.

Sweat dribbled down Gray’s temple. He shook.

‘I’m a king’s soldier,’ said Killian. ‘You don’t throw your magic around like that at me. Understood?’

Gray'd expected a boot to the head. Not boots at a dutiful distance and restrained words.

Gray remained still. Maybe, if he stayed silent, Killian would leave him be. Maybe he’d need to go out and attend to work.

Gray swallowed. Pushed down his shaking.

Killian exhaled slowly. Four counts, Gray realised dimly.

‘Why don’t we,’ Killian said, as though he was forcing each careful word out, ‘sit down at the table.’

Surely, Killian didn't really mean for Gray to sit down at the table. Killian would throw him back into the prison. If Gray had pulled this shit with Barin, Gray'd be out on his ear before he could say sorcerer. That, or he'd be locked in the whiskey chest.

The swirling fury was dying down, like froth on the head of a beer. It was rapidly being replaced with … regret.

Not smart.

Not smart at all.

Gray closed his eyes, considering his options. He had no energy left. No fight left. Even if he did, Killian would damn well win.

Gray knew he shouldn’t have thrown curses around like that. It was the second time in his life he’d done it, and Killian had been the subject of it both times.

He couldn’t keep losing control like this. It did him no good. He couldn’t afford to put Killian on edge.

Gray had to keep his plan in mind.

Draw the soldiers away.

Nothing else mattered.

‘Fine,’ Gray said, in a reasonably calm voice. ‘I’ll sit.’

Killian moved closer but halted as Gray gestured for him to stop. ‘You,’ said Gray, ‘don’t touch me.’

‘If you insist.’ Killian tracked him, his dark hair hanging in his eyes, as Gray slowly stood and hobbled over to the dining table.

Killian stretched his shoulders. His expression was unreadable. ‘How does your ankle feel? Have you ruined it?’

Gray's heart sank. Here it comes, he thought. Here comes the discipline, the punishment -

'Gray?'

‘No.’

'Arm?' said Killian briskly.

'It's fine.'

'Will you let me check them?'

Gray met Killian's dark gaze, restraining his surprise and a flickering spasm of wariness. Gray didn't know what would happen if he said no, and he didn't have the energy to find out now.

'Yes,' Gray said.

Killian did the routine check of arm, ankle, and application of bruise salve. Gray watched every movement, braced for the moment when Killian would bunch his muscles or he'd draw back to strike. But, if there was anger near the surface, it was carefully chained down.

‘I’ll get you food,’ said Killian. ‘You must be hungry after that little display. Expending magic like that when it’s got nowhere to go … you're a damn fool.’

There was a warning in Killian’s words, but Gray could see him physically straining to keep his voice and bearing casual. He reminded Gray of how Barin and Alistair would act after a huge row, but were forced to work together on the tavern floor.

'I,' Gray said. 'I don't need ...' he trailed off as Killian moved away.

Killian shouted for service from the door. After a few minutes and a brief exchange with a servant, he pushed a bowl of oats into Gray’s hands.

Gray held onto the food, his fingers curling around the edge of the porcelain bowl. He thought of the smell of the weapon’s shop and the sight of Dillon, and the shroud-covered bodies in the town square outside. His stomach knotted. He put the food down on the table.

‘Eat,’ said Killian. ‘I'm not having you keel over in front of the court in Dierne.’

Gods.

Killian shoved the bowl of oats closer to Gray. 'The court does not want to see the brutality of the military. They only want to see the results. You will eat and you will heal, got it?'

Before Gray could answer, a soldier knocked on the door and swaggered in.

Codder.