by Tara Grayce
Edmund held out the harness for her and showed her how to put it on. Straps pulled tight against Essie’s thighs and around her waist. Not the type of harness she could have worn in a dress.
“Keep your feet planted against the cliffside and walk as Julien pulls you up.” Edmund checked the knot connecting the harness to the rope. He raised his hand and gave a thumbs up.
Julien, after peering over the edge, gripped the rope and began pulling, hand over hand.
Essie’s feet lifted from the ground. She gripped the rope, spinning in the air.
Edmund grabbed the rope, steadying her. “Lean back. Center your weight in the harness.”
Her heart racing, Essie leaned back, settling her weight more firmly in the harness. She swung toward the cliff, and she planted her boots against the cold stone.
As Julien pulled, Essie walked up the cliff, her rifle hanging heavy against her back. She refused to look down, though she was probably immune to deep drops after strolling around Ellonahshinel.
When she reached the top, Julien held her steady while one of the Escarlish soldiers held out a hand. Essie took it and was hauled onto the ledge.
The ledge was about ten feet deep and extended for about fifty feet along the mountain side. It was plenty big for all of them, though it felt smaller as no one but the elves wished to go anywhere near the edge.
At one end, an opening cut into the mountain, but it was blocked by a flat stone wall about a foot inside the mouth of the cave. Beside it, Julien and the Escarlish soldiers had laid out the small, steam-powered drilling machine that would bore holes into rock for the blasting sticks.
Edmund and the remaining two elves climbed the ropes and knelt on the ledge. After a glance at the stars, Edmund eased next to Essie. “Should be only a few more minutes until the bombardment starts.”
As if on cue, the first rumble blasted through the night air, followed by three successive booms.
Essie found herself giving Edmund a small smile. “I think your clock is a little off.”
“Avie is early.” Edmund glanced at Julien.
After checking his pocket watch and shrugging, Julien held up the steam-powered drilling machine. “He’s early. But I don’t mind moving up our schedule.”
Essie gripped the stock of her gun. Time to get Farrendel back.
MELANTHA SHOVED herself to a sitting position, her arms shaking from lack of food and water. It had been three days since anyone had come to her cell for any reason, though King Charvod had stopped to gloat a few times as he passed to and from Farrendel’s cell. She hadn’t seen Prince Rharreth.
Farrendel. He had been far too quiet in the past hours. How long had it been since she had gotten a response to one of her shouts?
A distant noise caught her attention. Melantha cocked her ear and held her breath to listen. What was that? It must have been loud, for her to have heard it down in the dungeon.
Another boom. Vibrations—so small she would not have felt them if her hands had not been pressed to the cold stone floor—shivered up her arms.
What was that? It must have been some kind of...explosion.
Another distant explosion. Another shudder.
Melantha stared at her hands on the stone, her mind hazy. Those explosions meant something. Something she was supposed to remember.
The Escarlish army had explosive weapons. She had heard that somewhere, though she had never heard them in action before. But that could be the only explanation.
And that meant the Escarlish army was out there, attacking the castle. Presumably, the Tarenhieli army was with them. Weylind was out there.
This was the moment Melantha and Farrendel had been waiting for.
Melantha crawled as close to the door as the stone chains would let her. Her throat hurt, but she forced herself to shout as loudly as she could. “Farrendel! Can you hear me? Farrendel?”
No answer.
“Farrendel!” Her voice creaked, but she managed enough volume that he should have heard her.
Was he awake and simply too weak to reply? Or was he unconscious?
He could not be dead. Surely King Charvod wanted Farrendel and Weylind to suffer too much to have allowed Farrendel to die in his cell.
Unless King Charvod had not realized he had pushed Farrendel’s body too far. He had been weak. Tortured. Then left for three days without food or water, all alone except for King Charvod’s torture.
What if Farrendel had quietly died in that cell, all alone? Abandoned?
No. He had been too determined to live to return to Essie. He must be still alive.
Yet, he must be in no shape to put his plan into action. Too weak without her magic to break his bonds and escape.
She had to get to him. Before Prince Rharreth or whatever troll King Charvod sent came down here to kill him.
But how? She did not have magic capable of breaking the chains holding her to the wall.
She yanked on the chains. They would not budge.
How could she be this helpless? She was a princess of the elves. The daughter of a long line of kings. She could not—would not—be this helpless.
With another yank on the chains, she gave a short scream. If only she had magic like Farrendel’s where she could blast through these chains, these walls, this castle.
Even if she had magic like Weylind’s or Jalissa’s, maybe she could have broken the chains.
What good was healing magic? It was nearly useless. Sure, she had kept Farrendel alive this long because of it. She had helped him regain the use of his magic temporarily.
But she could not do anything herself. She could just help others do things.
Another scream. Another pound of her fists on the stone. She wanted to do something great. Herself. Not through someone else. But by herself.
Now was not the time for self-pity. She had work to do and a brother to save.
Melantha stared at her hands, at the stone shackles clasping her wrists. If she could not break the shackles, could she slip her hands free? Elven hands were slimmer than troll hands tended to be, though the trolls would know that. They had practice shackling Farrendel.
But her chains were not tight and embedded into her skin like his were. These chains had been done hastily, and not by Prince Rharreth who knew her better than the other trolls did. Perhaps the troll who had formed the shackles would not take into account that her hands were even smaller and slimmer than a male elf warrior’s hand.
Squeezing her thumb to her palm, she shoved the shackle with her other hand. After several minutes of straining, the shackle popped free, leaving bloody gouges across her hand behind. The second one popped off with a few more minutes of effort.
Melantha stood, the shackles still rattling against her ankles. The shackles halted her several feet from the door. Even leaning forward, she could just brush her fingertips against the stone of the door.
This would not work. She had to free her ankles as well as her hands if she were to reach the door.
Melantha plopped onto the floor and removed her thin shoe, then her stocking. Even then, when she pulled on the shackle, she could not get it over the heel of her foot, no matter how she worked it back and forth. She even tried lubricating her ankle with spit, but she could not get the shackle close to slipping free.
Melantha heaved a sigh that sounded more like yet another scream and stared at that shackle. In the distance, the booms were growing more constant, more insistent. Surely King Charvod would not hold off on sending someone for Farrendel for much longer. She had to get herself free.
She had taken an oath that she would not cause harm with her magic. But, would that oath stop her from rearranging the bones in her ankles temporarily in order to escape? She would not be using her magic with the intent to harm, even if she would be hurting herself in the process.
Another boom, this one louder, shook the floor beneath her.
Melantha drew in a deep breath. She had no choice on this. To free herself, she would ha
ve to break her own ankles. She could heal the bones afterwards, and she probably could dull the pain. Maybe.
Calling on her magic, she pushed a soothing burst of magic through her foot and ankle, numbing her skin, muscle, bones.
Gritting her teeth, she gathered more magic and for a moment simply held it, ready.
She could do this. She had to do this. No matter how much it might or might not hurt. To rescue Farrendel, she had no choice.
With a deep breath, she shoved her magic into her ankle, grabbed hold of the bones, and snapped them.
Pain shot through her, first in her ankle, then spreading into her chest and head. Melantha gasped, black spots dancing in front of her eyes.
Her stomach roiling, ankle throbbing, she reached for her other shoe, her hands shaking. Somehow, she peeled off her shoe and her stocking.
This time, she did not bother trying to numb her foot first. With a growl, she grabbed her magic, shoved it into her ankle, and cracked her bones.
Fiery pain exploded in her ankle, spreading up her leg until her whole body seized with it. All she could do was whimper, under too much pain to even scream, as a few hot tears coursed down her cheeks.
Blackness danced across her vision. Somehow, she had ended up curled on the floor, even though she did not remember lying down. She tried to breathe through the agony, but it squeezed deep inside her chest.
No matter how much it hurt, she needed to gather her strength and push through this. If she waited too long, her ankles and feet would swell, and she would never get the shackles off even after breaking her own bones.
With shaking hands, she reached for her ankle. She must not be weak. Not now. More tears coursed down her cheek as she shoved the stone shackle over her shattered foot.
Her stomach heaved as she shifted to reach her second ankle. This one was the foot she had broken first, and it had begun swelling. She pushed, but the stone shackle got stuck partway off.
Melantha groaned with the pain. She was so close. Just a little bit more pain. After the beating she had endured, surely she was tough enough for this.
With a deep breath, she shoved on the shackle. It clattered to the stone floor, free of her ankle.
She had done it. She was free.
Gathering her magic, she pressed a hand to her leg and let her magic flow into her bones. It would take some time for her magic to heal herself after the damage she had done. Hopefully the trolls would not come for Farrendel while Melantha was still lying there on the floor, helpless to even walk.
Just a few more minutes. That was all she needed.
THE WHINE OF THE rock-cutting drill cut off as the Escarlish soldier finished the last hole in the stone.
Essie lifted her hands from her ears and craned her head around Julien to watch as one of the other Escarlish soldiers stuffed a blasting stick into each of the holes. He then uncoiled all the fuses and tied them together and to one longer fuse a few feet from the door. He then laid out this longer fuse for about ten feet.
About forty feet away, Essie was huddled against the cliff side between Julien and Edmund. The three elves crouched behind Edmund. One of them tapped Edmund’s shoulder. “Should I shield us when that explodes? I do not like the look of the slope above us.”
Edmund glanced at the shale above them. “Neither do I. But whatever happens, no magic unless we are all about to die. If there’s a chance the trolls will sense the use of magic back here, I don’t want to risk it.”
The elf nodded and sent a glare upward, as if daring that slope to come sliding toward them.
Essie leaned closer to Julien. “This is safe, right? There isn’t going to be a rockslide?”
Julien’s muscles tightened. “Keep your head down. And be prepared to run.”
That was...not comforting. Not at all. Was this the kind of thing her brothers did all the time? They were far too calm for the circumstances.
The soldier lit the fuse, then raced to where everyone else was huddled. Julien turned and put an arm over Essie. “You might want to plug your ears again. And keep your mouth open.”
“Keep my mouth open?” Essie tucked herself into a tighter ball.
“For the shock wave from the explosion. It shouldn’t be bad enough to burst our eardrums, but best not to take the chance.” Julien shifted so that even more of his body covered Essie’s. Next to them, Edmund tucked close to Essie’s other side, further protecting her.
Essie plugged her ears and let her mouth hang loose. With her brothers pressing so close, she couldn’t watch the fuse. The only warning she had was a tightening of Julien’s arm.
A boom tore through the air, shaking the stone beneath her. A fist of air pummeled Essie so hard her breath caught in her lungs. When she tried to gulp in a breath, it clogged in her throat.
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t.
Julien’s arm wrapped around her waist and dragged her to her feet. Shale peppered Essie’s back, rattling off the barrel of her rifle. A cloud of dust and smoke enveloped them, stinging her eyes. She probably would have been coughing, except that she had yet to force her lungs to take a breath.
Then they were inside a dark tunnel, piles of rubble at their feet. Essie slumped against the wall and finally drew in a breath of the dusty air choked with the acrid stench of the explosives.
The others piled inside, even as a deeper rumble started outside. More of the shale mountainside poured onto the ledge.
“Is everyone here?” Julien glanced around, his mouth moving as if he was counting heads. After a moment, he nodded. “Ah. Good. Everyone’s here. Let’s get moving. Someone might have figured out that blast came from the rear instead of the front gate.”
Two of the Escarlish soldiers lit lamps. As much as they did not want to give away their position, they also wouldn’t make good progress if they stumbled around these tunnels in the dark.
One of the elven scouts took the lead with Edmund padding behind him.
As Julien set out after them, with the Escarlish soldiers following, Essie hurried to keep up. The other two elves glided behind her. Until they reached Farrendel, they would be severely outmatched if they ran into any trolls with strong magic. Even after they rescued Farrendel, would he be strong enough to help?
The dark tunnel sloped upwards. It was nearly pitch black, even with the two lamps casting pale orange circles around them. Edmund and the leading scout elf disappeared into the darkness ahead.
Essie’s chest tightened, and she forced herself to breathe normally. Her heart beat so loudly in her ears that she couldn’t even hear her own footsteps, much less anyone else’s.
Calm. She needed to remain calm. And focus on Farrendel.
Concentrating, she felt the heart bond, warm and still crackling with Farrendel’s magic. She reached for it, mentally holding it tightly, and sensed...
She sensed Farrendel. He was somewhere ahead of them. And above them? On a higher level, that must be it. At least the tunnel still sloped upward, so they were going in the right direction.
After taking a few turns, the tunnel opened into a large chamber with four tunnels branching off it. Edmund and the elf scout waited in the center of the room.
Edmund gestured at the branching tunnels. “Essie? Can you tell which way we need to go?”
Essie closed her eyes, double-checking the direction. She pointed at the tunnel on the far left. “He’s in that direction, but still on a higher level than we are.”
Julien studied the tunnels. “It appears that tunnel on the far left goes down, and not up. While Farrendel might be in that direction, we might have to wind our way through the tunnels to reach him. There probably isn’t a tunnel that goes directly there.”
“I had the same thought.” Edmund waved to the elven scouts and switched to elvish. “Let’s each take one of these tunnels. Go down them for two minutes or so, then come back.”
With nods, each of the elven scouts loped down three of the tunnels. Edmund took the last one.
&nb
sp; Julien glanced over his shoulder to Essie. “I take it they are scouting?”
“Yes. They’ll be back in about five minutes.” Essie turned in a circle, checking that her senses were correct. Yep. Farrendel was to their left somewhere. We’re coming, Farrendel. Hold on just a little longer.
“Very well. Everyone at ease.” Julien sat, took out his canteen, and sipped.
Essie sat next to him and took a small sip from her own canteen. But not too much. It would be a long time before they would be safe and anywhere near a latrine.
Until then, she had never realized how long five minutes could feel. She tapped her fingers against the stock of her gun, glancing between the tunnels.
Arlanor, the elf sent down the far-left tunnel, returned first. He glanced at Essie and pointed down the tunnel. “This tunnel goes down to a large storage chamber with a pool of water and a few crates of food.”
Essie repeated what he’d said for Julien. She’d barely finished when the other two elves returned, followed by Edmund.
Edmund pointed back the way he’d come. “This tunnel continues to the right before branching into other tunnels.”
“This tunnel is the same, but to the left.” The elf who had scouted one of the middle passageways nodded to the one he had scouted.
“Mine was the same, though it seems to continue straight,” the other elf added in elvish.
Once Julien had the report translated, he frowned as he studied the four tunnels. “Let’s take the upper one that goes to the left. It should take us in the right direction.”
As they set out again, Essie kept her grip on the heart bond, following her senses. They were getting closer to Farrendel. She could feel it.
Melantha pulled herself to her feet. Her bones still ached, but she could walk. After tottering the few steps to the door, she strained to reach through the bars. Her fingers brushed the locking bar. With a growl, she stood on her tiptoes, her still-healing bones in her feet screaming with pain, and gained a few more inches.