Free Accidental Sorceress (Hardstorm Saga Book 2) by Dana Marton Page A

I had to steady myself against the pole that held the canvas roof of the stall next to us. She moved her arms and legs, laughter bubbling up her throat as she jumped to her feet, losing her balance and falling down again. She hung on to the wheat sacks behind her and pulled herself to standing once more, eager to learn to walk again.
    “Tera.” Batumar managed a growl that was at the same time angry and concerned.
    I tried to breathe against the pain I had drawn, watching the girl move in every direction in jerky twists, like a dancing drunkard. Then she suddenly stilled, staring past us before collapsing to the ground and wrapping her arms around herself, her laughter replaced by a gasp of fear.
    A wizened old man was running toward us with a dark storm on his face. “What have you done?” He sucked in air. “Heathens!”
    He reached us and began to strike me with his fleshy hands at once, but Batumar shoved him back, looking ready to cut him in half.
    The man turned to the merchants behind their stalls, and, having caught his breath at last, began loudly complaining for all to hear. “A full gold piece it cost me for the blacksmith to burn them just right. My grandson I lost to infection, but this one lived. Now I have to have her burned again. Who will pay for that? What if she dies? She will probably die, I tell you.”
    He waved his arms and stomped his feet as he turned to Batumar. “I demand payment.”
    The vendors around us nodded in agreement.
    “It is right.” A tall man with pockmarks on his face spoke up. “You damaged his property. If you do not pay for it, you are committing theft.”
    The sea of angry faces scowled at us as if we had stolen a side of mutton off a table.
    I let the pole go and stepped closer to Batumar, leaned against him for support as pain coursed through me. We could be swallowed in this crowd and never be seen again. One-Tooth Tum would not come looking for us or be overwrought by our disappearance. He already had our crystals.
    The crowd moved in closer. A few daggers appeared. One man hefted an ax. I hid my hands behind my back, fearing what would happen if they branded us thieves.
    Batumar shot them a warning look, pulling to his full height, squaring his shoulders.
    “Can we take her with us?” I whispered, my heart pounding.
    He stepped between me and the angry mob, measuring up the men, his stance ready for fight. “We will be traveling through war-torn lands crawling with enemies. She would be no safer with us,” he told me under his breath, his gaze on the crowd.
    I knew he had little if any coin left, which we might need to pay the captain to let us off the ship in Ishaf. We might have to buy our own lives yet. And the lives of every man, woman, and child on Dahru depended on our success. But Batumar did reach under his doublet and pulled out a gold piece.
    The old man’s eyes glinted with greed as he snatched the coin with a speed that belied his age. He bit hard on it, then gave a satisfied nod as he quickly hid it in a secret pouch behind his belt. Then he stuck his chin out toward us. “Where is the rest?”
    I could not have moved had I tried, just breathed against the pain as I waited for the men to finish bargaining.
    “Do not burn her again.” Batumar’s voice had a cold edge. He held out another gold coin. From the grim look he shot me, I understood that this coin was our last. “On the next merchant ship, send her to Karamur to serve.”
    He stood and spoke like a warlord. He put his hand on his sword.
    The old man grabbed the coin, bit this one too, then hid it as quickly as the first. “Yes, my lord. On the next merchant ship, I shall send her to Karamur to serve.”
    Batumar looked around at those who had gathered around us. “You are the witnesses.”
    Some men put away their daggers with disappointment as they eyed us, probably wondering if we could possibly have some coin left. But a few of the more honest-looking men nodded.
    Then Batumar