see Cal gripping his reins and leaning forward, digging his heels into the side of his mount. “Keep going!” he yells. We can charge right through them; they’re on foot. They’ll have to move or be trampled. And they’ll never catch up without something to ride.
Grabbing on tight to keep steady, I lower my upper body and prepare to bolt forward, following Cal as he runs through the guards, except one of them is able to grab his foot and pull him from the horse. They struggle on the ground, the guard attempting to overpower him but failing. Cal lands a punch directly on the guard’s cheek, but he barely pauses before coming back at Cal.
Then Cal gets a burst of energy. A low growl erupts from him and he charges forward, knocking the guard onto his back. The two guards on the road start toward us. Cal yanks the guard’s sword away and pierces him in the heart. But there are more, and they soon surround him. Cal takes another down, and another; he is fearless and relentless and frightening in his speed and skill, but they keep coming.
Someone appears on my left and grabs my leg. I swing my sword at him but miss, as I’m losing my balance; I slide off the side of the horse, which is now in great distress, pawing back and forth in the dirt. I hit the ground, landing hard on my left arm, which softens the blow to my head and torso but does some serious damage to my elbow. A lightning bolt of pain shoots up my arm. I flinch and yelp in agony—I can’t help it—then immediately pull myself up, trying to favor the sore arm as much as possible.
I take a clumsy swipe at the guard with my sword, but hurt and winded and taken by surprise, I miss again. He catches my wrist and twists. I drop the sword. I try to shake him off but he grabs my other arm and twists it behind my back.
“Let me go!” I struggle against him but he yanks my arms again and immobilizes me. Nearby, Cal is faring no better—he lies facedown on the ground, his arms stuck behind his back as well, the guard’s knee pressing into his spine.
We’re trapped. This was an utter failure.
Worse, we’re both in deeper trouble than when we started.
We have to get out.
That’s when I remember a story Aunt Moriah told me once, about how she learned to conjure a power inside herself stronger than she ever dreamed she possessed. She’d been backed into a corner by an assailant, but her fury propelled her onward in that moment—perhaps I can do the same.
I close my eyes and concentrate, directing all my energy inward, willing my power to consolidate in the pit of my stomach. I feel it, hot, gaining strength. The guard is pulling me. But my feet are planted in the ground. I imagine them becoming one with the earth, growing roots, staying put. Stronger than any man. The guard is getting frustrated; I can hear him yelling, demanding I obey, but he’s outside of me somewhere, as if I were underwater and he were shouting from above. It’s muted here, and tranquil.
And I control what happens. Not the guard.
I ask the energy to come through me now. I feel it as a white-hot orb, quivering, ready to be unleashed. Legs solid, rooted, I prepare to knock the guard across the road.
I picture the orb; I release it. Everything in slow motion, with force, like moving through water . . .
But instead of attacking the guard, I’m knocked forward, slammed into the ground. I gasp to breathe, air sucked out of my lungs. What just happened?
The sounds around me waver back into focus. Voices are suddenly booming; leaves rustling more like crackling; animals hooting and chirping and howling, all bouncing off my pounding head.
I’m yanked to my feet, but my legs give out under me. The guard pulls me again and drags me along while I shuffle and scurry to get my bearings.
The guard laughs. “Tricky little witch, are you? Didn’t expect that, I bet.” He laughs.
My vision