Chapter 3
Elizabeth had experiencedthe fire bolts during the last battle, but this slow, deliberate movement was nothing like those catapults that had assaulted them in a random fashion. This fiery sphere was glowing with thick menace, perched far above the trees. It had stopped moving, but any moment now, it would start heading towards the battlements.
Her throat was dry. She knew before even trying that she had no hope of stopping it alone. She could feel the power of the magic behind it, and she knew it rivalled her own and more.
She needed help. She did not know if Darcy was already inside, but Bingley and the other Warders were there. If she connected with him first, she would be able to connect with the other members of her team, and they would stand a fighting chance of destroying the sphere before it reached the Hall.
With no time to spare, she threw off her Cloaking spell. She did not need the distraction of maintaining it. Her presence would be revealed, of course, but she hoped the French mages were too intent on raising the sphere to turn their attention on her. In any case, this was what she had to do.
She closed her eyes and cleared her mind of all thoughts, breathing in shakily. It was almost impossible to calm her breath and be still when all her instincts told her to run, but somehow, she found the quiet she needed. She reached out to see if she could identify Mr. Bingley’s signature.
The Wards around the Hall shimmered, silver strands woven tightly together in a glistening net. The Wards were holding fast, so far at least, though that could change if the fifth mage was working to take them down. That was his function, she realized, and that was why the sphere was not moving yet. They were waiting for a breach in the Wards.
There was no breach, not yet. She was sure of that because she could not get through the Wards either. Every time she tried to push her way in, they bounced her back. The Wards were set up against her. It was the ultimate irony that, while she was desperately trying to save the Royal Mages, they were keeping her out.
She tried to stay calm, telling herself there was still time. The fireball had not yet reached the Hall. She had to hold her nerve and find a way through. Keeping at bay her feelings of despair and futility, she dug at the threads that held the net together, one at time, pulling at them to cut and unpick them. She told herself it was like undoing embroidery stitches. She only had to clear enough to find her way in.
Elizabeth worked until she had a hole big enough for her to reach through. Some of the older threads gave way easily, while others were unfamiliar and resisted her. When she tried to slip past them, they began to writhe like snakes. They nipped at her, and she pulled back in pain.
The Wards were new ones and very effective, not impossible to infiltrate, just difficult and time-consuming. No Wards were impermeable. If only that were the case, then Napoleon’s mages would never be able to attack.
Elizabeth braced herself and reached out again tentatively. The writhing snakes shifted as she touched them with her magic. Now that she knew what to expect, she could see that between the writhing snakes there were holes in the fabric, small holes, large enough for the snakes to slide in and out, but almost invisible otherwise. She began to pick at the threads to widen the holes. Not enough to damage the fabric, but big enough for her to slip inside.
Almost there.
But now the French mages’ power was building up again. Whatever had held the fireball static had let it go. It began to float upwards, like a hot air balloon, crackling with energy like lightening. It was spinning upwards in a streak of light and swooping in an arc that rose above the Hall. It paused there, growing larger and brighter, right above the Hall, ready to drop.
Where were the Elemental mages? Why were they not fighting back? Did they even know there was an attack? She could hear no warning bells, no sign of stirring magic. She had no idea what was happening inside. If the fireball dropped down without being checked, dozens of lives could be lost.
There was not a second to lose. She shoved through the Wards, ignoring the writhing snakes, seeking Darcy’s distinctive signature. She found nothing. He must still be outside.
Panic gripped her. Everything depended on her now. Somehow, she had to stop the fireball from making that downwards descent with just moments to spare.
Casting the threads of her magic like a net, she tossed them out, aiming wide for Mr. Bingley’s familiar signature. To her intense relief, the net caught it, but the snakes in the Wards were still writhing and twisting, making it difficult to hold on. The snakes clung to her, sliding through her hair, nipping at her, at her magic, stinging her, their poison seeping through her veins and slowing her down.
With seconds left to reach Bingley, she could not be distracted. There was no time to finesse the connection, no time for hesitation.
Quickly, she reached out to connect, chanting the spell they had agreed on for the purpose. There was a strong tug, then Bingley’s magic began to link with hers. Vaguely, she found herself connecting with two others as well – Edward Walton and another mage she did not know. Slowly, much too slowly, she entwined the magic threads together.
Turning her attention now to the giant fireball, she imagined a thick heavy burlap sack that would entrap it. She trapped the fireball inside and pulled the strings, squeezing out the air to snuff out the fire. The sack shook and shuddered as the fireball bounced around and tried to burn through it. She imagined the fireball suffocating, deprived of air. If only they could hold the bag closed long enough, it would lose power and fizzle out.
Elizabeth drew power from Bingley and the others, making the cloth thicker and thicker. The fireball smashed about, hitting the sides of the bag. Elizabeth bit her lip, straining to keep her grip while making the sack smaller so the sphere could not move. Bingley and the others were fighting with her, lending her their strength. A stabbing pain went through her head, but she held on as long as she could, feeling the fireball loose power. It was smaller now, still potent, but the fire would not last much longer.
There was a terrible sense of fabric ripping. Bingley and the other Warders tore away from her. She could no longer feel them at all. The sack slipped from her hand, and the fireball burst out, shattering into pieces. The burning remains rained down onto the Hall, starting up little fires.
As she dropped to the ground, the alarm bells began to ring.
Elizabeth knelt on the ground, shattered, sobbing with relief. Someone else would take over now. The other mages would be out in full force, and Darcy would have reached them by now. She could rely on them to hold off the French while she recovered some of her strength. She had done everything she could to contain the attack.
