Her mind raced. She couldn’t have burned out that quickly. Could she?
Seemingly out of nowhere, her cat leaped through the air and latched onto the war horse’s face. The beast reared, screaming in pain as the over-sized feline sank its claws and teeth into the soft flesh of the horse’s face.
The beast returned to its most basic instincts, bucking and rearing in an attempt to remove the furry assailant. But the cat was formidably latched on, and the only thing the horse succeeded in was unseating his rider.
The knight tucked and rolled as he hit the ground, righting himself with unnatural ease. He strode toward Hazel with the swagger of a man who knew he had the upper hand and was about to kill his enemy. However, he hadn’t expected the cat would turn on him as well.
Just as he raised his sword to parry Slaide’s blow, the feisty orange beast wrapped itself around his helmet, grappling for purchase against the hammered iron. The knight fought to peel the cat from his head but found that a nearly impossible task while wearing bulky iron gauntlets.
Hazel tried to call out, to do anything to save that damned cat. But she couldn’t make a sound.
Slaide, on the other hand, was able to take advantage of the chaos the cat was causing. He leveled his blade and prepared to strike.
But Hazel’s awe turned to horror as she watched him bring his sword down for a killing blow—only for the knight to deflect it by sheer dumb luck. In one seamless move, he spun, grabbing her cat by the scruff and throwing him to the ground, where he lay disoriented. He then angled his iron-plated sabaton and kicked the cat across the clearing.
He didn’t get up.
No!She wanted to scream. To lash out. To do anything but lie there.
Slaide bellowed, drawing her attention again even as a warm tear ran down her cheek. He brought his sword down once more, dragging white-hot lightning from the sky as his shadows entwined with the metal of the blade.
He cleaved the man’s chest from right shoulder to left hip, his lightning singeing the flesh as it cut, and the knight was dead before he hit the ground.
She couldn’t see what went on around them, but it didn’t feel like they were winning. Especially not after Slaide scooped her up in haste, whistled sharply, and tossed her onto Phillip’s back before the horse had even come to a full stop. Slaide ran alongside Phillip for a few beats before vaulting behind her into the saddle.
But they couldn’t leave yet. From her vantage point, she could see the cat, still lying on the blood-soaked earth, unmoving. Perhaps he was dead. But he’d been a faithful acquaintance to the very end if that was the case. Did he deserve to be forgotten on a bloody battlefield, picked apart by carrion birds?No.
Hazel managed a groan, but it went unnoticed. She tried again, and while it at least earned his attention, he still hadn’t seen the cat.
“I know,” he murmured between thunderous hoofbeats, “close your eyes. I can’t help you, but I know someone who can. Just… stay with me.”
“Noooo!” Hazel managed, feeling overcome by dizziness. “Caaaattt!”
She didn’t know how, but Slaide evidently understood if the flash of realization on his face was any indication. He looked over his shoulder, eyes darting about. He locked in on something, and then they were moving again.
Phillip’s gallop was jarring, and Hazel’s consciousness slipped away with each bounce in the saddle. Slaide was going to save the cat. He’d saved her… perhaps she could rest.
Just for a little bit.
A sense of urgency emanated from both Phillip and Slaide. Despite losing consciousness, despite barely hanging on and the edges of her vision blurring, she could hear Slaide’s voice urging Phillip to go faster. She was safe now. She closed her eyes and drifted away.
LIFE DEBT
Hazel attempted to peel her eyes open, but her skull shuddered with pain. She turned onto her side and vomited violently onto the ground. As she rolled to her back, her mind raced, head feeling like it had been split in two. She grasped her head in her hands as though she could will the pounding headache away, but it was no use.
A cough racked her entire body, the pain almost unbearable. It was the aftermath of the tournament all over again. A terrifying thought consumed her, and she shot up, ignoring the wildfire of pain coursing through her body.
Had she dreamed all of it? She took in her surroundings. No, she was in a large canvas tent, appearing to be some sort of medical bay. She wasn’t shackled or bound, and her external wounds had been tended to. Perhaps she was in good hands.
Memories flooded her, and she was overwhelmed with emotion. Her mind replayed the last scenes of her consciousness: the commander poised to end her life… her inability to pull her magic… Slaide coming to her rescue… the cat—hercat—launching into the fray.No. No, please let him be okay.That damn cat was a nuisance as much as he was a loyalcompanion. And if she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was protecting her.
Where was Slaide? Where was she? She rolled over and vomited again. When she was finished, she noticed her necklace on the pillow beside her head.
The tent flap rustled, and a striking woman with cloud-like blond hair the color of pale moonlight and a silky, dark brown complexion entered, carrying a tray of what looked to be food, drink, and what were likely vials of medicine. She was dressed plainly and in very comfortable-looking clothing, not unlike the pants and tunics Hazel was used to at home. She startled when she discovered Hazel was awake, nearly dropping the tray. Hazel sat up, not knowing if this stranger meant to help her or harm her.
But as she got a good look at the woman, she noticed something strange. There was an aura about her, and she radiated magic, as though her entire body was overflowing with it. Seeing her essence flow so freely… it could only mean one thing. She would ask about that later. Being in the presence of someone who clearly had strong magical ties was soothing, disarming. Surely, a witch wouldn’t harm one of her own, right? Assuming she was a witch. Hazel was more than aware there were many other magically inclined beings outside her own species. Perhaps she was a druid or a dryad, and not a witch at all. Would she still protect Hazel then?
When she spoke, Hazel thought this must be a goddess descended from Caelis, for surely no mortal could have such a spellbinding voice. The honeyed notes poured over her. It was music to Hazel’s ears, and all she’d done was speak.
