She landed a moment later. By then, Emma wasn’t looking at Pris. She was watching the wardens who had been standing guard outside the cave and who were now staggering about and dropping to their knees. Each one had a dagger embedded in his skull. They died quickly.
Pris waved them over. Emma followed her friends, Milo with his hand on Sevarin’s shoulder for guidance.
“I’m so scared,” Lily said, creeping alongside Emma.
“Me too.”
They entered the crevice as a hawk released a screeching call above them. It was a lonely place, the wind noticeably quieter. Pris grabbed one of the dead wardens and flung his body into the sky so high it became a speck that disappeared above the ridge. She did the same with the other, not even grunting or breaking a sweat from the effort.
“I could have done that,” Sevarin said in a whisper.
Lily glared at him. “This isn’t the time.”
Emma shook her head, annoyed that he would say such a thing at a time like this.
Pris scanned the mountains and trees beyond the crevasse, probably to make sure no one was watching or approaching, then motioned for the orphans to hold their positions. She entered the cave, then came back out a minute later.
“It’s clear,” she said. “Follow me.”
The darkness inside the tunnel frightened Emma. She clung to her brother, who kept his hand on Sevarin’s shoulder.
“I can tell it’s pitch dark in here,” Milo whispered to her.
“How?” Emma said.
“I can just feel it.”
On Pris’s command, Lily ignited the crystal at the tip of her staff and washed the walls with bluish light. Pris put a finger to her lips, the universal request for silence, and took the staff from Lily’s hands. She led them single-file into the belly of the cave.
The tunnel had obviously been carved into the mountain. The walls were unnaturally smooth, and after a few minutes of walking—Pris staying far ahead of them in case of danger—Emma saw hazy blue lights glowing in sconces on either side of her. They reminded her of the energy that flowed from the fountains.
At one point, Pris handed the staff back to Lily and made a slicing motion across her own neck. Lily killed the light by blowing on the crystal. There was enough coming from the wall sconces to get by, though it still felt eerily dark.
They arrived at the end of the tunnel to find a narrow metal door built into the stone. Pris halted them several feet away from it.
“Stop,” she said. “Look.”
She fell into a crouch, scooped up a handful of dirt, and tossed it through the air. As it rained back down, a thin cloud of dust lingered. It made visible, for the briefest of moments, crisscrossing lines of blue energy stretching all the way to the walls and ceiling. Like an invisible spider’s web made of magic.
“They’ll slice apart anyone not authorized to go beyond this point,” Pris said. “Only a passcode or another spell can undo it.”
“I’m guessing we don’t know the passcode,” Gunner said.
Pris turned to Lily. “You’ll have to cast it.”
Lily stared back at her, wide-eyed and afraid. She held her staff in both hands across her chest like a shield. “Cast what, exactly?”
“I can explain it to you, but you have to let go of your fear. Only with a clear mind can you learn it as quickly as I need you to.”
Lily nodded sheepishly. Pris put a hand on her shoulder. “Come with me,” she said, and led her further up the tunnel the way they had come.
Emma watched as Pris and Lily crouched facing each other, the staff between them. Pris kept her hand on Lily’s shoulder the entire time, and Lily nodded with each of her whispered instructions. Finally, after about a minute, Pris led a very nervous-looking Lily back to the group.
“I’m ready,” Lily said. “It’s not my best writing, but…”
She let her voice trail away and raised the staff, a green glow already intensifying in the crystal’s core. With her face awash in light, she stepped forward until she had her back to the rest of the group, Pris stopping her before she could go too far. She raised the staff, and the glow made her shadow dance across the walls. When she finally spoke, the chant sent shivers across Emma’s body. At times, Lily seemed more goddess than girl.
“By design the trap is set—by lies is death erected—but truth has forged my blade—to sever all that stands against it.”
A ghostly white blade, seemingly composed of glass and mist, jutted out of the crystal. It locked itself into place, turning the staff into something resembling a spear. Mist poured from the weapon, making the crisscrossing lines visible again.
“Wonderful,” Pris said, sounding genuinely impressed.
Lily took a step back. Emma watched in dumbstruck wonder as her friend wielded the staff, slashing its ethereal blade through the air and severing the lines. They disappeared, several at a time, until there wasn’t one between Lily and the metal door.
When she was finished, Lily blew against the crystal. The ghost-blade disappeared in a puff of luminether mist that was quickly sucked back into its core. Lily turned to face the orphans, though she wasn’t interested in them. Instead, she was staring down at her staff with the kind of amazed look a child might wear after seeing her favorite teddy bear come to life.
“Mighty,” she whispered.
The moment didn’t last very long. Pris took charge again with a whispered command that filled Emma with a sense of urgency.
“Listen to me,” Pris said. “It’s your turn. We need to see what lies beyond the door before we open it.”
Emma was surprised to find Pris staring at her.
“Me?” Emma said.
Pris nodded. “Your Sight.”
A cold, creeping anxiety slithered its way from Emma’s chest into the very pit of her stomach. How could Pris suddenly spring this on her with no warning? And what if Emma’s Sight failed her as it had done so many times in the past?
Her chest tightened. It was hard to breathe. She was having a panic attack, just like the ones she used to get back home whenever she tried to sing or dance in front of an audience and her stage fright would consume her like wildfire.
“You can do this,” Pris told her.
Milo took her hand. “I believe in you, Emma.”
Her friends surrounded her, nodding reassuringly. It felt good to have them so close, but it wasn’t enough. Emma was breathing so loudly she feared she might be hyperventilating.
“It’s okay,” Milo said. “You’ll be fine.”
“Barrel,” Emma gasped. “He needs me.”
“Yes. We all do.”
Emma shushed him and closed her eyes. “He needs me. He needs me. He needs me…”
This time, Barrel was the one pulling her out of a dark lake that threatened to swallow her up. His smiling face looked down at her from above, and his hand reached down to grab hers, and she began to rise…
Someone caught her limp body before it could hit the ground. By then, Emma was gone, already in the next room. Alone with the horror that lay inside.
CHAPTER 45
T he first thing Emma saw were the two wardens walking toward the metal door.
One of the men held a blueprint that he was carefully studying, a beamcaster dangling from a sling around his shoulder. The other held his weapon at the ready, as if he couldn’t wait to use it. They were headed straight toward her friends.
Time seemed to slow. With a sickening lurch, her mind’s eye split in two. She was now able to study her surroundings from two perspectives instead of one.
Half of her Sight flew toward the wardens, rising and swiveling to better examine the blueprint, on which were drawn hundreds of tubular devices, and then the beamcasters, which had been set to “kill” mode. She could tell by the animated red arrows on the sides, which shot back and forth in a stabbing motion. “Stun” mode was quite different; the arrows in that case would have been blinking bright blue.
Simultaneously, the oth
er half of her Sight examined the room itself. The blueprint had been a mystery a second ago, but it made sense once she had the chance to study the person-sized glass tubes lining the walls. They held actual people inside—prisoners suspended in a yellowish fluid, wearing breathing apparatuses that coughed out steady streams of bubbles.
Emma would have been terrified had her brain not been so busy processing both feeds at once. There was so much more to see.
At least a dozen wardens were busying themselves with various chores. One was even mopping the floor where fluid from a tube had been spilled. More than half were abnormally tall and muscular, and they wore swords instead of beamcasters. These must have been the Sargonaut mercenaries Pris had warned them about.
The Archon stood in the center of the chamber, dressed in plainclothes and wearing a weird, helmet-like contraption on his head. Blue lights blinked all over it that made Emma think of an ugly, homemade computer Milo had built from scrap parts as a young kid. Wires fell from the back and connected to a machine console against the wall.
It made sense now—the helmet, the tubes, the fountains. Milo’s explanation of how the magic from the fountains could take certain memories and bits of knowledge away from its victims. This was the Archon’s secret to transforming himself from the below-average student he had been to the man capable of building all this while manipulating the city’s most important political election.
She remembered Uncle Manny’s words during that Wingcab ride in the rain.
Somehow… this failed student went on to become a brilliant magical engineer…
And Barrel…
They had kidnapped Barrel, and others like him, to make this possible.
Time sped up again, going back to normal. Emma’s fear and dread had gotten the best of her, and now her Sight was a mere shadow of what it had been only moments ago.
Speaking of time—it was running out.
The Archon fiddled with the unwieldy headpiece as he addressed Kellan and Garig. The cadets listened intently, occasionally shooting glances at the tubes lining the walls. They looked impressed, alert, ready to do anything the Archon asked of them.
Emma would have listened to what they were saying, hopefully to gain some sort of advantage or idea of what to do next, but the two wardens were almost at the door. She had to warn her friends.
Flying back into herself, Emma awoke with a gasp.
“What did you see?” Pris said.
“Two of them coming this way,” Emma said in a rush. “They have beamcasters set to kill.”
Pris whipped her head around to face the door. “How many others are inside?”
“A lot of them. A dozen, maybe, and the Archon and his son and Garig. And—and the victims, but—it doesn’t matter right now. They’re coming!”
“Hug the walls,” Pris said.
The orphans obeyed as Pris went straight for the nearest wall sconce. She jabbed her hand into it, extinguishing the flame or spell or whatever it was that generated the light. She did this several more times, launching herself around the narrow space, until the last light died and darkness fell along with the clang of a heavy metal bolt being retracted.
The wardens appeared as two silhouettes against the light from inside the chamber.
“Why is it so atrociously dark out there?” a well-mannered voice said behind them. It was the Archon.
“The lamps must be out,” one of the wardens at the door said.
“Well? Go check it out, you idiots. Or are you afraid of the dark? Should I send a merc to check for monsters?”
Chuckles rose inside the room.
“No, sir,” said one of the wardens at the door. The other hissed out a quiet sigh of frustration.
These two weren’t mercenaries, which meant they also weren’t Sargonauts. Pris would cut through them like butter once they emerged into the tunnel and closed the door. The ones inside might never know what happened.
Emma wanted that to happen. She wanted these men to be punished for what they had done to Barrel. Never had she felt such a desire for violence, and it frightened her to think she might feel like this from now on.
Her hope was quickly shattered. The warden holding the blueprint reached into a leather pack on his belt and plucked out what appeared to be a plastic tube filled with milk. He gave it a hard shake and tossed it in front of him. The white light that exploded out of the tube forced Emma to shield her eyes.
Sevarin swiveled away from his spot against the wall to shield Emma with his body. Steel rang against stone—a weapon striking a wall? Had Pris swung her sword at the men and missed? Emma looked past Sevarin’s broad shoulders to find out. What she saw was a brilliant splash, the result of Pris’s sword shattering the tube.
“Intruders.”
The warden with the blueprint tossed it away and lifted his rifle. His partner was one step ahead, already aiming.
Pris swung her broadsword one-handed. A bang went off. One of the beamcasters had misfired, sending the warden tumbling backward. It wasn’t a happy coincidence, the weapon choosing to fail at just the right moment. When it fell from the man’s hands, it dropped in two pieces. Pris had chopped it cleanly in half.
Before the tumbling pieces could come to rest, Pris had severed the other warden’s hand, causing it to fall along with the rifle still held in its grip.
The injured warden howled and clutched his bleeding stump. Pris kicked him through the door and into the chamber. Following, she picked his beamcaster off the ground, tore the severed hand away from the trigger, and fired several blasts into the chamber. She quickly stepped aside to avoid the barrage of red beams that immediately shot past the doorway.
Then everything stopped. No one fired a shot. Pris stood next to the doorway, her back against the wall, rifle against her chest. Emma waited to see what she would do.
Two men dressed like hunters—big, hulking, brutish men with beards—suddenly appeared, darkening the doorway. These two were Sargonauts. They wielded swords, which would be even deadlier than beamcasters in the tunnel’s close quarters.
Pris tossed the rifle aside, pulled out her own sword, and tried to slash one of the men. He was obviously well trained—at the last second, he lifted one arm and caught the blade against a metal armband that must have been made of Tiberian Steel. The incredible clang it made was so loud Emma thought her eardrums had burst.
The mercenary cracked the armband against Pris’s jaw.
The impact must have been like a sledgehammer striking concrete. Pris slammed against the wall and dropped to one knee, looking dazed. The Sargonaut who had struck her pulled two short swords, certainly edged with Tiberian Steel, from sheaths strapped to his legs and approached Pris to finish her off. As he did, his partner turned to face the orphans.
Emma caught the man’s hateful glare and screamed.
“Barrier!” The shout came from Lily. “Surround us!”
Lily had leveled her staff at the man, the crystal brilliant and misting, and had cast the spell just in time. The man lunged at them, daggers ready, and smacked into a rippling barrier that hadn’t been there a moment earlier.
He punched the barrier but couldn’t break through. It wasn’t long before he realized the futility of even trying. Less than a second later, he joined his partner in attacking Pris.
“Get up,” Emma shouted at her, and soon the others joined along. “Get up. Get up, Pris.”
Could she even hear them? She shook her head as if to clear a fog in her mind. Weakly, she lifted her broadsword only to have one of the mercenaries kick it out of her grasp.
He went to drive his blade into her neck and hit stone as Pris evaded his thrust. She must have been faking her disorientation. One hand, quick as ever, twitched upward to grab the man’s wrist before he could plunge his dagger into her neck.
With her free hand, she grabbed the other Sargonaut’s wrist. Holding them both—a wrist in each hand, two men in her grip—she gave a violent twist, turning the blades away from
her body, and launched herself into a flip that took the men with her.
Except that Pris landed on her feet, while the men landed on their faces.
Milo stood at the forefront of the group, one hand against the barrier. He looked back at them. “Will this shield stop the lasers?”
Lily almost dropped her staff. “I didn’t think of that.”
“Hug the walls!”
They moved quickly, Emma keeping her eyes on Pris. The fight wasn’t over. There were grunts and curses from the mercenaries as they went to push themselves up. Pris, however, was deathly silent as she quickly went to work with her hands, jabbing points along their bodies to paralyze them. When she grabbed one of the short swords, Emma closed her eyes.
She heard the men die horrible, painful deaths. Then all she heard were bursts as laser fire opened again, and the tunnel filled once more with searing heat and flashing red light. The barrier did nothing to slow them. The shield spell died, along with the light in Lily’s crystal.
“It’s gone,” Lily said.
“Now what?” Sevarin shouted.
“Catch!” Pris fell to a crouch and slid the short sword up the length of the tunnel floor, handle-first. Sevarin scooped it up, narrowly avoiding a blast, and threw himself against the wall.
Then Owen spoke. “What about us?”
Pris didn’t seem to hear them. She stood against the wall next to the doorway, taking deep breaths and staring at the opening as if mentally preparing herself to run inside. Emma wasn’t so sure that was a good idea—but what else could they do out here?
“Grab the guns,” Pris shouted finally. “Not yet. When it stops.”
There was a break in the assault. It only lasted a moment, yet Pris used the time wisely; she lifted the two corpses, one in each hand, and retreated to the wall. Glancing at the orphans, she gave a single nod. It was all the instruction they needed. If this worked, follow her. If it didn’t—they knew what to do.
Savant & Feral (Digital Boxed Set): Books 1 and 2 of the Epic Luminether Fantasy Series Page 103