Rune Mage [Fantasy/Adventure | Book 1 +2 | Complete]

Chapter 92: The Moment of Truth

"That saves me a job, ladies," said Domic Butterworth, grinning.

Halen Ashworth glared at him. Seeing him and hearing his voice made her shudder involuntarily, reminding her of that night when Rinoa Gruger's indigo runes made her relive all the nightmares she'd had. Her teammates dead. She and a solitary few who'd barely survived the fall of Acrise eighteen years ago, abandoned and forsaken by the failed rescue attempts for the few mages that remained there. The suffocating helplessness and despair as she watched, from a crumbling tower, the retreating troops from Benover. The stench of the rotting body of her brother, Craigen, who'd pushed her out of the way before part of the roof collapsed on him. A probationary mage like her shouldn't have survived that, but she did, against the odds, despite not deserving it.

She forced her mind away from reliving those images. Gruger knew that had been her weakness and happily exploited it, extracting valuable information from her tortured mind whilst making her smell the reeking bodies mingled with smoke and taste the blood and sweat once more. Halen forced herself to focus on Butterworth and his drooping, scarred right eyelid and the small blisters forming along his cheeks from the sparks of flash magic.

It seemed the Nithercott girl gave him a good beating. She scanned the scorched indent on the brick wall behind Butterworth. Flash magic. She hadn't realised the girl was capable of flash. She might be as dangerous as Kristen Harred yet.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she retorted. She wasn't going to rise to his bait. He'd tried the same jibes when they were at Acrise.

"Nithercott. She's going exactly where we want her." He grinned. "Now, let's not spoil the surprise."

Halen didn't wait for an invitation. She swung her arm out, three throwing knives flying at him in succession. The first two glowed red-orange and exploded along the shafts, spraying shrapnel at Butterworth. He flung his arm upwards; a torrent of water in the form of burst magic swept most of them away and he dodged the rest. The third glowed violet as it sliced through the water and disappeared.

"So that's where Nithercott picked up those little tricks," he said with a sniff.

Halen dashed forward without another word, knives glinting in her hands. Butterworth threw out blast after blast of steam before bringing the white smoke into a close field around him. The steam billowed outwards, turning the area foggy without scorching. Halen narrowed her eyes. If Butterworth could make the entire area burn, he easily would. That must mean he couldn't cover such a large area.

"Too bad, Ashworth," came Butterworth's voice from closer than she expected. She leapt backwards and threw a knife at where she thought he was, only to hear the clatter of metal against brick. "For someone like you to rely so much on what you see, you're out of luck."

Halen forced her breath to slow. He was right; she couldn't find him. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sound of his footstep. Shallow, rasping breaths she knew well came from behind -- Tesla's. And before her -- nothing.

No, there was something. Butterworth kept still, waiting for her next move. Halen knelt down and picked up a handful of pebbles and threw them to her side. On cue, the clatter alerted Butterworth and he shifted ever so slightly to aim his steam. Halen launched a series of knives into where she'd heard him, clapping her hands. They all glowed red in an arc and exploded, sending dust flying in every direction. She followed, darting over the piles of rubble with feet light as feathers, aiming for the shadow that must be Butterworth, who had bent down to protect himself from the falling rocks. Up close, his steam would be formidable -- but it wouldn't matter if she were faster. She swung a kick at him, a blue rune gripped in her fist.

The steam parted and she met his bespectacled, triumphant eyes. A grin curled across his scarred lips. From behind Buttterworth, Jarsdel -- she hadn't realised he was still conscious -- threw his hand forward and a puff of black dust showered Butterworth's arm and her leg. Before Halen could react, a searing pain tore through her leg. She screamed, withdrawing and crashing onto the floor. The nose-curling scent of burnt flesh made her gag. Tears streamed down her face. Through hazy vision, she saw Jarsdel withdraw, limping and bruised-faced, into the shadows of the tunnel. A smug Butterworth stood over her, Jarsdel's caustic dust washing off in his steam.