He held out the pistol for Mariz; the conjurer took it from him. Ethan held up his blade for the sailor to see.
The man looked away, fresh tears on his face, his breathing ragged.
“Surely you understand by now how desperate I am. How much are you willing to endure for the sake of Ramsey’s blind vengeance?”
“He’s my captain,” the man said. He shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“I would, actually. I was once a seaman, as you are.”
The sailor sneered. “You were a mutineer. A traitor. I’m nothin’ like you.”
Ethan shrugged, and in one swift, brutally quick motion he stabbed down with his blade, burying it in the man’s leg an inch below the bullet wound.
The sailor screamed. Mariz let out a sharp hiss and grabbed Ethan’s shoulder.
Ethan shrugged him off before pulling the blade free.
“Where is Ramsey?” he asked.
The sailor had fallen back onto the ice. He sobbed softly, his eyes squeezed shut, bloody fingers gripping his mutilated leg.
“He is not going to tell you,” Mariz said, his voice low but hard.
“Not yet. I don’t wish to alert Ramsey to our presence here, but you may have to conjure after all.”
“I won’t.”
Ethan looked up at him. “You know what Ramsey has done. And you know as well that if Sephira were here, she would be doing exactly as I am.”
“Yes, Kaille, she would! Does that not tell you how wrong this is? You are not like her. That is one of the reasons I have been pleased to call you my friend.” He gestured at the sailor. “But this … This is precisely what she would do.”
Ethan turned back to Ramsey’s man, who still lay on his back, his chest rising and falling. Ethan’s hands had started shaking again. His hatred for Ramsey churned in his gut like bile. But Mariz was right. This man lying before him had done nothing to him. “What am I supposed to do?” he whispered, his throat tight.
“I do not know,” Mariz said. “Not this, though. Surely not this.”
Ethan exhaled through his teeth, his shoulders slumping. He reached for the sailor’s hands, but the man flinched and tried to crawl away.
“It’s all right,” Ethan said. “I’m going to heal you.”
Still the man resisted; why wouldn’t he?
“Mariz.”
The other conjurer knelt beside him and removed the sailor’s hands from his leg. Ethan placed his hand over the two wounds and whispered, “Remedium ex cruore evocatum.”
At the first touch of the healing spell, the sailor tensed and inhaled sharply through his teeth. But after a few seconds his fists unclenched and his breathing eased a little.
When the wounds had healed over enough to stop bleeding, Ethan sat back on his heels. The sailor was watching him.
“You’ll need to have a surgeon work on that leg,” Ethan said.
The man spoke not a word.
But a voice from behind them said, “What’s the matter with his leg?”
Ethan had expected this. He stood and faced the illusion Ramsey had conjured. “I shot him. Stabbed him, too. Even now, you inspire great loyalty in the men of your crew. He told me nothing.”
“You tortured him?” the figure asked.
“Aye.”
“And then you healed him.”
“I suppose that makes me weak.”
“It doesn’t make you weak, but it is symptomatic of your weakness.”
“If you care to tell me where you are, I’ll bring him to you. Perhaps you have a surgeon among your crew who can tend to his wound.”
“My thanks, but I’ll send men for him. You’d best not be there when they arrive. There will be many of them, and they’ll all be armed.”
“I’m going to find you eventually, Ramsey.”
“Perhaps. You might die first.” The figure grinned.
Ethan turned and walked away. Mariz followed.
“Harm one of my men again, and those you love will suffer even more.”
“Do not answer him,” Mariz said, whispering the words. “Keep walking.”
“Kaille!”
Ethan heeded Mariz’s advice.
“Damn you, Kaille!”
A spell rang in the icy ground. Reg appeared beside him, a warning in his brilliant eyes. Ethan had little time to wonder what spell Ramsey had cast now using his power.
Pain exploded on the side of his head, behind his ear.
Ethan stumbled and fell to his hands and knees. Mariz kicked him in the gut, flipping Ethan on to his back.
Ramsey’s illusion laughed.
Mariz cut the back of his hand.
“Tegimen ex verbasco evocatum!” Ethan said, blurting the words, and using the mullein he carried to protect himself. He didn’t know if he was still warded, and with Mariz being spell-crazed he wasn’t taking any chances.
Mariz’s conjuring hit him an instant later, pounding his body like a mighty wave, but doing no further damage. Ethan didn’t know what spell Sephira’s man had cast; he knew only that his warding had held.
He kicked out, his boot catching Mariz just below the knee. The man lurched back a step but then righted himself.
Ethan tried to get to his feet, but Mariz directed a second conjuring at him, and he was thrown to the ground once more. His warding protected him from the effects of the spell, but as long as Mariz continued to hammer at him with conjurings Ethan would be unable to get away from the cemetery before Ramsey’s men arrived.
Unwilling to give the man the chance to conjure again, he sliced the skin on his hand and spoke a sleep spell. The conjuring pulsed, and Mariz reeled, as if kicked by a mule. But the spell did not put him to sleep.
“You’ll have to do better than that, Kaille. A sleep spell won’t defeat his wardings. You’re going to have to kill him, too.”
With his next conjuring, Mariz did not attack directly. Rather, he made the torch Ramsey’s man had been carrying fly at Ethan’s head. Dark as it was, Ethan didn’t realize what he had done until it was too late; he only saw the torch at the last moment. It hit his forehead as hard as it would have had the man swung it like a club. Once more Ethan was knocked to the ground. Addled, dizzy, he lay still for several seconds, trying to clear his vision.
He had no chance to get back up. Mariz loomed over him, the torch in hand. He aimed a blow at Ethan’s face, but Ethan managed to roll out of the way before the torch hit him. As it was, he heard it whistle past and slam into the ground. Shards of ice hit his head and neck.
Mariz struck at him again, hitting his side. Ethan let out a grunt; he thought he felt ribs crack.
He bit down on the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. He whispered a shatter spell. The wood splintered, slivers of the torch rained down on him. Before Mariz could kick him again, or worse, he rolled away and clambered to his feet.
Sephira’s man was stalking him now, knife held ready, his eyes blank, passionless.
“Mariz,” he said. “It’s me. Look me in the eye.”
Mariz leaped at him, leading with his blade. It was a clumsy assault: too rushed, too reckless. Clearly Sephira had hired the man for his conjuring ability, not his skill as a fighter. Ethan dodged the attack, and struck a blow of his own to the side of Mariz’s head. Mariz reeled. Ethan dove at the man, pressing his advantage even as he sucked his breath at the pain in his side. Grabbing Mariz around the midsection, Ethan drove him to the ground. He punched him once, and a second time. The knife slipped from Mariz’s fingers. Ethan grabbed it and shoved it into his pocket.
He started to his feet, only to feel the pulse of another conjuring. It struck him squarely in the chest, lifting him off of his feet and slamming him down. He thought it might have been a blade spell, one that would have sliced him in half but for his warding. He realized, though, that the type of conjuring was of little importance. Ramsey wanted to keep them fighting; nothing else mattered.
“Mariz! Look at me!”
Sephira’s man was standing once more, searching for his blade or for the torch. Seeing neither, he took a step in Ethan’s direction.