They stared at each other, bare chest and bashfulness cast aside by greater worries.
“Have you ever been in a fight before?” Velten asked as he unsheathed his broadsword. Its metal glided out of the scabbard with a sinister sound.
The witch eyed its iridescent, sharp edge. “Once. Against you.”
He clicked his tongue. “That means no. Stay close to me and cover my back, then. Use the standing stones to cover your own.” His calm orders steadied her nerves. “Keep them at bay with whatever means you can, but stay alert. And for the love of the Radiant Lord, donotflee in front of wolves. You would only look like prey. Understood?” Velten pushed her gently toward the closest menhir.
The rock grazed her bare back. Velten turned away, breathed deeply, and raised his sword in a defensive stance. “Besides that,do not get in my way, and do not distract me. Quite challenging for you, I know. Be a good witch and try your best?”
Focused on ideas on how to fend off the wolves, Semras barely registered his words. “I-I could weave some roots into barriers … or topple a few stones, or—no, they’d leap over it before I could finish … then maybe—?”
“No faith in me, hmm?” The inquisitor tightened his grip on the hilt. “It will be my pleasure to prove you wrong, witch. Stay behind me, and stay safe. I will handle this alone.”
Semras had no time to reply. The wolves emerged into the clearing, growling and snapping their jaws. Three faced them, and two more circled toward their back, searching for an opening.
Eyes frantically tracking the beasts, the witch stumbled back onto the menhir and cursed under her breath. The standing stones blocked part of her view, and the flanking wolves now hid somewhere behind them. She’d need something to cut the predators off from circling them.
Fire, she thought. Fire could make an impassable barrier. The wolves wouldn’t cross flames.
She just needed a vessel for them.
Studying the thick shrubs surrounding the glade, Semras bit on her lip again. It was risky. Weeks had passed since the beginning of autumn, and the floor of fallen leaves had dried into the perfect combustible. One single mistake, and she might engulf the Vedwoods in an uncontrollable inferno.
She heard a low growl, and her attention snapped back to Velten.
Three wolves were lunging at him. A wide arc of his sword broke their charge, and the beasts leaped away to regroup before their next attack.
Death by fire, or death by fangs. What a choice, she thought grimly.
Semras fumbled to find the shrubs’ wefts. She couldn’t take the risk of peering at the Unseen Arras to study its unfamiliar weaves, not when each second could make the difference between life and death. So, praying to the New Maiden that she wouldn’t accidentally sever any warp threads, she started weaving blindly.
At the back of her mind, a pounding pressure of stress and fear began building up, but she held on. Leaves coiled, then fell; branches curled and snapped. The sap drained out of them agonizingly slowly. Once the shrubs dried up entirely, flames could take to their branches and shield them from flanking attacks.
If they were still alive by then.
In front of her, Velten kept the wolves at bay. A tangy, metallic scent gripped her nose. It smelled too close, too strong, to belong to the growing puddles of blood staining the soil around the cromlech.
Semras eyed the inquisitor.
Dark crimson stained his sleeves. Velten was wounded, but with his back turned to her, she couldn’t see where and how severely.
They were running out of time.
Straining her fingers to their limits, Semras wove as fast as she could. Almost … almost … The word reverberated in her mind like a prayer.
Reddish fur flashed at the corner of her eye before disappearing into her blind spot. The wolves surrounded them now. Almost …
And then the shrubs dried up.
In her hands, the last of their sap wefts unravelled from their warps. The witch dropped them at her feet into a sticky puddle before weaving a spark into existence. One bush caught on fire.Tongues of flame licked through its thin branches, devouring brittle wood and shrivelled leaves as it spread.
A wolf yelped somewhere behind the burning shrub before darting away from it. Semras’ breath shuddered out of her. It had been close, too close.
Velten glanced at her. “Was that cry yours, witch? Are you wound—?”
“Would it kill you to use my name?” Her hand swiped the sweat off her brow. “It’s ‘Semras,’ in case you forgot!”
Grabbing the flame’s threads, the witch spread her arms wide. Fire unfurled on each side of the undergrowth. Its inferno yearned to escape her control; it hissed, heat lapping at her skin.
