“I’ll stay on guard for any deceptions,” the assassin said. “And keep an eye on all our backs.”
“What about us?” Arivana whispered, huddled close beside Sem Aira.
“Stay low, but be ready to move if we call for it,” Mevon advised.
The queen twisted her lips, obviously frustrated by her relative weakness, but she merely nodded and tugged her charge down into a crouch behind him. The king squeezed her shoulder, then bent down and kissed her forehead before joining at Mevon’s side.
“Ever been used as bait before?” Mevon asked him.
“Plenty of times,” Daye replied. “In Sceptre, princes are chosen by their merit, and I was the youngest one so named in a century. I didn’t earn that honor by sending other men into danger in my place.”
“Though nothing quite like this, I imagine.”
Daye barked out a single burst of laughter. “No. Nothing like this at all. I may be a void, but there are few enough casters in Sceptre that I didn’t often have to face them.”
As he and his companions arranged themselves to meet the coming adversary, Mevon felt a newfound appreciation for their courage. Though Draevenus he knew and welcomed, the others were mysteries to him, and he hadn’t trusted that they would be worth bringing along. Step after step, they’d proven his doubts misplaced.
Though he had kept them within his peripheral, Mevon now turned his full attention to the six beings as they drew nearer. The crowd of mundane ruvaki warriors had backed away twenty paces, and those directly before him had parted, clearing the way for the eye-twisting entities, whose exact movements even he had trouble tracking. Every time he looked toward one, it seemed to have already moved somewhere else. No—like it had never even been where he’d first thought them.
They’re doing more than just playing with our eyes—they’re playing with our minds.
The six spread out, surrounding them, working chaotic energy in ways he could not discern. That they had drawn within spitting distance without testing the shields set off every instinct, but he was constrained by their mission.
Jasside’s muttered curse was all the warning he had before the floor fell away beneath his feet.
“I don’t care how many times you’ve done it already,” Yandumar said. “Check. Them. Again!” He slammed a fist on the table once each to punctuate the last three words.
He remembered a time when such an action would instill a dose of healthy fear into his subordinates, but the six young casters about the table only rolled their eyes in exasperation before closing them and slipping into commune. He even heard one of them mutter something about a crazy old man, but couldn’t pin down which it had been. Not that he could blame them, exactly; most people didn’t fly into a rage when given supposedly good news.
“What seems to be the problem?” Gilshamed asked. He’d been in commune himself until a moment ago and had missed what had prompted Yandumar’s fury.
“Idiots,” Yandumar spat. “It’s always the idiots who make a mess of everything.”
The valynkar waved towards the currently unpresent messengers. “Are you speaking of them?”
“Them, or the people giving them their reports. There’s no abyss-taken way they could all be this wrong.”
“How so?”
Yandumar pointed at the glowing figures along the table. “Look for yourself. I’ll burn my empire’s coffers to the ground if you don’t see it in the next three beats.”
He watched as his friend’s eyes narrowed in study of the presented information . . . then widened. Two beats later. “Can this be true?”
“No. It can’t. Which is why I’m making these idiots check their sources again.”
“But if it is—”
“It’s not.”
“If it is,” Gilshamed repeated, ignoring him, “then it can only mean one of two things.”
“I know, I know. Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. But there’s no use jumping to conclusions before we know anything for sure.”
“Not even for the sake of hope?”
“Especially not for that. I might accept my fate should the worst happen, but there’re plenty down there in the mud and snow that ain’t as old and bitter as me. Most are too young to have ever known pain. I’m talking real stuff. Agony and loss that leaves you curled up and making puddles on your pillow. If word gets out before we confirmed anything, and those soldiers get their hopes up only to see them smashed to pieces before their eyes?” Yandumar shrugged. “I don’t think I have to tell you why that’s a bad thing.”
“True. But look at what we were facing just before this happened. You and I have twisted our brains into knots moving our forces around to reinforce weak points, and we’ve only just managed to prevent this tenuous line from breaking. I think our troops could use a bit of good news for a change.”
Before he could refute Gilshamed’s words, the half dozen messengers returned to the waking world. Yandumar fixed them all with a hard stare.
“Well?”
“It’s as we said,” replied their spokeperson, a pimple-faced boy whose name Yandumar kept forgetting. “No units are currently engaged. There hasn’t been an active battle for the last half a toll.”
Yandumar closed his eyes, sighing. He knew exactly which two options Gilshamed had hinted at, the only two reasons the ruvak would pull back after having nearly broken them already: the strike team had either won through and bargained for peace . . . or the enemy had something even worse in store.
“Relay to every commander,” he said, forcing calm into his voice. “Tell them to give their troops what rest they can, but keep an eye out.”
“Keep an eye out for what?” the boy asked.
Yandumar grunted. “Anything.”
He flinched as distant peals of thunder rumbled through the air. More joined them, some closer, some farther away, and he moved towards the open doorway without even thinking.
“Just what we need today. A storm, on top of everything else.”
Gilshamed joined him, his gaze cast towards the evening’s earliest stars. “This is no storm, old friend. How can it be when there isn’t a cloud in the sky?”
Yandumar squinted. The bright spots above him grew larger, closer, and he could now make out smoky streaks trailing behind each one in the sky. “Those aren’t stars . . . are they?”
Gilshamed had already returned to commune.
But Yandumar knew his message would arrive too late.
The air continued rumbling as thousands of meteorites fell among his scattered troop formations, crashing into the ground with fiery effect. He spun back into the room, but didn’t need to wait for the information on the table to update.
“Call the retreat! All units pull back through the passes. We’ll hold there, if we can.”
It took a while for all his messengers to acknowledge, struck to their core by the bombardment of reports they were each receiving. The order was probably unnecessary. He could see the ranks breaking and falling back even as he watched more meteors dive down from the sky. Still, when chaos struck, that was when it was most important to maintain order.
Or, at least the illusion of it.
I’ve bought you all the time I can, son. If you’re still alive, and you still have a chance, please . . . hurry.
Arivana felt as if she’d plunged into a sea of darkness, floating freely but for the current of stale air from below, which grew faster and louder with each beat until the loose flaps of her dress started whipping about her so hard it stung. When she heard her companions shouting invisibly somewhere around her, her only thought was how absurd that was.
Fear had gripped her so tightly, she didn’t even have breath enough to scream.
A body collided with her, an elbow or heel painfully impacting her rib cage and sending her into an uncontrollable spin. Her ability to orient herself, or even tell up from down, fled as she twisted again and again.
They’d been almost to the pinnacle of the Cloister, hi
gher above the sea than most mountain peaks, but their fall couldn’t last forever. Mathematics hadn’t been her strongest subject, but she was skilled enough with numbers to know that their time was running out.
At least it will be quick. A fall from this height . . . I’m sure we won’t even feel it.
It seemed silly, but she felt thankful for even that small relief. She knew of people who had experienced more pain or sorrow in their lives than she had, but as for trouble? She’d had quite enough of that in her sixteen years. A death free of complication was almost welcome.
The bright, lavender-hued light that blazed to life a moment later, however, made her forget all thoughts of dying.
Tassariel’s wings illuminated what she now saw was a wide, roughly circular shaft, and some of her companions as they fell through it with ever-quickening speed. Arivana tried in vain to keep the valynkar in sight as she spun, and at last filled her lungs with enough air to do more than gasp.
“Tass! Help!”
Every rotation, Arivana craned her neck to keep her winged friend in view as long as possible, but doing so only made it clear that Tassariel was not moving any closer. In fact, she’d grown noticeably farther away.
Arivana shouted again, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. Tassariel was reaching for, then grasping, another figure by the shoulders. She spun him around to get a better grip, allowing Arivana to see who it was.
Mevon Daere. Of course she’d rescue him. He’s more valuable to our mission than me. More useful.
She searched through the shadows and found Draevenus flying towards her husband, his black wings spread like something out of a nightmare. Where Jasside and Sem Aira were, she couldn’t tell. She didn’t know how much weight two sets of wings could carry safely to the ground, but she didn’t think it would be enough to save them all.
We’d always known success would likely require sacrifice. I only hope the others can finish this without me.
What brief hope she’d felt at the flare of Tassariel’s wings faded once more as she fell. She closed her eyes, exhaling deeply. Every source of stress expelled, every worry waned, every muscle loosened into numbness.
She did not brace for impact but instead embraced her end.
It was . . . colder than she expected.
Arivana felt herself jerked suddenly to one side, the ice tightening across her chest.
She opened her eyes.
Something blacker than the shaft wrapped like a tentacle around her torso. She traced it out toward two sets of eyes, dimly reflecting the glow from Tassariel’s wings. Feeling herself being pulled again, she saw the eyes grow bright.
Arivana stumbled onto a flat surface as two sets of arms curled tight around her.
“I’ve got her,” Jasside shouted.
“Can we set down yet?” called Draevenus from above.
“Almost. I just need a little more time.”
“Well, hurry it up, will you? These louts are getting heavy.”
“I don’t . . . want to hear you . . . complain,” Tassariel said, pausing for breath every few syllables. “You have . . . the easy one.”
“Are you calling my husband fat?” Jasside asked.
“No. Just . . . cumbersome.”
“Well, you’ll just have to deal with him a few moments longer. He can’t touch down while I’m still shaping the platform.”
Arivana felt her weight begin to settle in and looked down to see a smooth, featureless surface below her feet, spreading outward even as she watched. Though she’d seen Jasside perform near-miracles on countless occasions, she had somehow forgotten the woman’s ability to fashion things out of thin air.
Sheer panic had a funny way of destroying all semblance of faith.
“Are you all right, my queen?” Sem Aira asked, alone in embracing her now that Jasside had turned her attention elsewhere. “Your heart is beating faster than a galloping horse.”
“I am now,” Arivana said. “I just thought—for a moment, anyway—that I was going to die.”
“How could you? Didn’t you hear them shouting?”
“Shouting was all I heard. I couldn’t understand a word of it.”
Sem Aira shook her head, a smile painting her face. “They were coordinating from the very moment we began falling, making a plan to ensure no one fell for long. Did you truly believe they’d give up so easily?”
“I did, I’m ashamed to admit. Thank you for helping see my faith restored.”
The ruvak tensed slightly at this, pulling away. Now that the tension had passed its peak, she once again became distant and quiet, her face plagued by consternation. It was a look Arivana had grown quite used to in the past few weeks.
The platform slowed further, jostled momentarily as the flying figures above them—following Jasside’s permissive gesture—let down their burdens, Draevenus groaning in relief while Tassariel collapsed onto her back, gasping for breath. Daye lunged towards Arivana, scooping her up into a tight embrace.
“I’m okay,” she assured him between kisses.
“I know,” he said. “I just heard you shouting. You sounded so scared.”
“Of course I was! But I should have known better. Our friends would have never let something so trivial as a disappearing floor get in the way of completing our mission.”
He chuckled, then kissed her again.
Jasside guided the platform towards the shaft’s outer wall, slowing them until they were hovering in place. The sorceress swept her hand across the surface in front of them, and it vanished in an instant, emitting a dull, green light from the chamber beyond. The platform slid through the hole, and Arivana followed her companions, sure she wasn’t the only one relieved to be back on solid ground.
“Sweep the room and find us an exit,” Jasside ordered.
Tassariel and Mevon were already moving away in opposite directions. Draevenus, however, didn’t budge.
“What then?” he asked. “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of running around without a plan.”
Jasside nodded. “What did you have in mind?”
In answer, he faded into shadow. The voice that spoke next seemed to come out of nothing. “You had the right idea when you suggested we ask for directions. We just need to find someone who’s a little more willing to provide them.”
Draevenus remained still as the enemy circled in, growing closer with each of his shallow, silent breaths. The use of sorcery had drawn them, as he knew it would. But with their trap already sprung, the ruvak that came against them were disorganized, their nature made manifest in the chaotic pattern of their attacks.
Jasside and Tassariel lured them, with Mevon guarding their backs. They ran along preordained, circular routes, filled with as much dark and light energy they could sustain as bands of Cloister guards pursued. The more that joined in on the chase, the more manic it became.
And all the while, Draevenus waited in the shadows.
Your opportunity will come soon enough. All it takes is a good plan—which we have—and a few drops of patience.
His own, he was glad to see, was about to be rewarded.
A squad of ruvaki soldiers slowed as they came abreast of the hallway in which he was hiding. One pointed down it, and they turned as a flock of birds in his direction. The fastest among them raced by first, obviously eager to close with their enemy, yet in their haste they left some stragglers. One in particular, a smallish ruvak sporting a limp, shuffled behind the rest of them by a full dozen paces.
He’d passed up other opportunities because they hadn’t quite been ideal. This one, however, was like a gift from the gods.
Draevenus kicked off the wall behind him, surging towards the straggler. Both arms reached for his target, one covering the mouth while the other curled tightly about the neck. He wrapped his legs around the ruvak’s body, clenching his thighs and hooking his feet together to pinch both of the guard’s arms to his sides.
The creature struggled, writhing in a vain effort to
throw Draevenus off for almost ten beats—longer than he’d anticipated. Eventually, though, the limping leg gave way and they both toppled to the cold, tiled floor. Another score beats with the air cut off, and the figure fell limp in his grasp.
Draevenus released him and jumped to his feet immediately. In nineteen centuries of this kind of work, he’d never known anyone who could fake a loss of consciousness convincingly. Grabbing his prize beneath the shoulders, he began dragging him to the designated meeting point, glancing up and down the hallway to make sure the way was still clear. The guard’s squad had already turned the corner, none having so much as glanced back. No new faces had shown themselves.
He paused only once, drawing a dagger to carve a symbol into a post. To most, it was nothing: a random set of scratches or a crack in the paint. To those with keen enough eyesight, and who knew what they were looking for, it would deliver the intended message. On their next pass of the adjoining corridors, he had faith that Mevon would see the sign and advance to the next phase of their plan.
A mark later, he kicked open the door to the chamber where the rest of his companions waited.
He heard the familiar ring of drawn steel, and twin feminine gasps of surprise.
Daye sighed a beat later, returning his sword to its scabbard. “You could have knocked, you know.”
“No time,” Draevenus said, dumping the guard at the feet of the two women. “Another squad was about to turn this way.”
“Is he even alive?” Arivana asked, squatting beside the prisoner. “He looks so . . . stiff.”
“He gave me a bit more of a fight than expected. But yes, he’s still breathing.”
Arivana sighed. “Let’s get on with it, then.”
Catching his eye, Daye said, “Take the top half? I’ll get the bottom.”
“What about her?” Draevenus asked, tilting his head toward Sem Aira.
Daye shrugged. “She’ll be fine.”
Draevenus leaned in close to man, lowering his voice so the two women couldn’t hear. “Are you sure?”
The Light That Binds Page 40