Iron and Blood by Auston Habershaw Read Free Book Online Page B

away—­the wound was healed. Practically gone. “How in hell’s blazes did Reldamar—­”
    â€œOh Saints! That’s right!” Artus’s eyes popped open wide. He moved as if to get up again, but Myreon pushed him back down. “Lemme go! I gotta talk to Reldamar!”
    Myreon still couldn’t quite figure out what had happened. She found herself staring at the boy for a moment before finally gathering her wits. “Artus, you nearly died—­you have to stay in bed!”
    He nodded slowly. “Okay, Ma. Sure . . . sure thing . . .”
    Myreon felt a force seize her by one arm and begin dragging her out of the room. She struggled against it. “Artus, what do you mean Reldamar saved you? What did he do?”
    Artus, though, seemed to be drifting away again. “Saints, this is a swank place, huh? Nice . . . nice curtains . . .”
    Another specter had its hooks in now, and Myreon felt her feet sliding on the floor. “No! Somebody needs to take care of him! He needs water! He needs something to eat!”
    The specters made no comment. She was slowly dragged from the room and into the hall, cursing the whole way. She considered trying to dispel them—­a relatively simple maneuver, typically—­but that would tip her hand early. She was saving what little energy and strength she had regained for the moment when it would be most necessary. So instead she wove a small portion of her power into a small telekinetic push that knocked a vase off the mantelpiece in the living room. This prompted one specter to release her immediately and, moving faster than Myreon might have believed, catch the vase before it hit the floor.
    It was the opening she needed, however. She yanked against the other specter, and though it didn’t lose its grip, it did slide across the floor with her, unable to find purchase with whatever eldritch process gave the thing traction. Dragging it along, if slowly, might be enough—­she only needed to make it to the front door of the flat. Once she crossed the threshold, the things would have no further power over her.
    Her heart pounded in her chest as she forced herself against the living room floor, step by labored step. The specter had replaced the vase on the mantel and again she felt the cold, formless force of the thing join its companion by grabbing her under her other arm. She was stopped in her tracks and dragged backward half as far as she had come. It was only by propping herself against a pillar that she managed to stop her backward progress. “Dammit!”
    She created a bigger distraction then—­this time a telekinetic burst at the fireplace, stirring ash, soot, and fiery sparks across the floor. One spark landed softly on the armrest of great, high-­backed chair. The specters released her immediately, fetching brushes and dustpans from distant closets and flying to the rescue of Tyvian’s upholstery with all the speed of falcons in flight.
    â€œHa!” Myreon bolted for the front door. She had no staff, but she was strong enough to possibly work a few spells to get her to safety. Any reward she could offer the city watch for her safe return would probably outstrip whatever funds Tyvian could offer to bribe them. She had to hope.
    She flung open a closet in the front hall and fished out a heavy purple cape with a hood. For that split second, she wondered about Artus. If she left now, what would become of him? Could she leave the boy in Reldamar’s care?
    And yet . . . Artus had been saved. By Reldamar. Somehow.
    Maybe, against all reason, Reldamar would take care of him. Maybe the ring would make him. Maybe . . . maybe he even wanted to.
    Myreon shook her head. She couldn’t wait any longer. She turned and threw open the door.
    Reldamar stood on the threshold in front of her, key in hand. He looked at her with a kind of resignation. “I thought