But not before it blew the sand of the Greater Circle in all directions.
Dormael’s magic flooded into him as the presence in his mind was pushed back to its dark prison. He threw his power at the chain above him, snapping it with pure force. His feet landed on the cold, slippery stone, and he crouched there, naked, facing down the Taker before him.
Inera screamed a command, rage pouring from her voice. The Taker rose up on its hands, tongue whipping at the air. Dormael smiled.
There was a loud crack, and people started to die.
***
D’Jenn crouched in the tunnel, listening to the noises coming from the darkness in the distance. Allen was hunkered down near him, breathing heavy with anticipation. There was some sort of antechamber beyond them, and D’Jenn had discovered two guards watching the entrance to yet another chamber, and the noises coming from that room were more than disconcerting.
There was screaming, words that D’Jenn couldn’t quite hear, and someone—a woman, unless D’Jenn missed his guess—chanting in a strange, guttural language. D’Jenn could feel something strange in the magic—a greasy, slimy, wrongness that was slithering into the room beyond them. D’Jenn wasn’t sure what it meant.
We have to go now, Allen signed to him in the Hunter’s Tongue. His face had an urgent, excited expression, his jaw working as he ground his teeth.
We need to deal with the guards first. And quietly, D’Jenn replied.
Leave that to me, Allen signed back, and before D’Jenn could stop him, he was moving off into the darkness toward the antechamber. D’Jenn cursed, but followed his cousin down the tunnel. The water trickled around them, and every noise echoed from the stone.
Allen had somehow drawn weapons when D’Jenn wasn’t looking. He held his hand-axe in his right fist, and a long, thick dagger in his left. Allen moved like a stalking predator, his footfalls silent underneath the sound of the running sewage. He crept down the tunnel to the edge of the torchlight in the antechamber, and tossed a wink over his shoulder. D’Jenn tensed for the confrontation.
D’Jenn didn’t have Allen’s grace with weapons, and if he drew his morningstar, the guards would definitely hear him. To top it off, if he used any magic, then whoever was in that chamber beyond would sense him doing so. It was all up to Allen. D’Jenn settled back to watch, getting ready to rush in if he was needed.
Allen reached into a pocket and drew out a coin, placing his dagger in his teeth. Then, with a quick gesture, he tossed the coin side-arm into the chamber. It struck the wall to the guards’ right, causing both of them to look in that direction, hands going to their weapons. They both turned away from the tunnel, and that was apparently the moment for which Allen had been waiting.
He rushed forward, sending his hand-axe spinning through the darkness in an overhand throw. It sailed through the shadow and found a skull, sinking into the man’s head with a wet thump. The guard went limp, body slumping against the wall. His partner went for his sword and turned in Allen’s direction, but Allen was upon him before he could make the first move.
Allen rushed up against the man, trapping his sword arm against his body and ramming his dagger through the side of the man’s neck. The guard made a gurgling hiss as his legs gave out, but Allen caught his body, and lowered it to the ground. Within a few moments, the only sounds were the noises coming from the other side of the wooden door. Allen recovered his weapons, and the two of them turned toward the closed door to the second chamber. D’Jenn strode out of the darkness, giving Allen a fierce nod, and took his place beside him.
Torchlight seeped through the cracks in the door, throwing wild shadows over D’Jenn’s boots. The noises had stopped in the chamber beyond, but the silence felt ominous, and that feeling was reflected in D’Jenn’s Kai. There was a moment of quiet, and D’Jenn caught Allen’s gaze.
On three, D’Jenn signed, and Allen nodded his agreement.
There was a sucking noise like nothing D’Jenn had ever heard. It pulled at him, as if there was a whirlpool in the next room. The door began to vibrate on its rusty hinges, making a loud clattering noise in its decaying frame. There was a wet sloshing, slithering noise from beyond the door, and D’Jenn looked over at Allen. There came a scream from the chamber, a high-pitched wail of rage, and D’Jenn felt Dormael’s song ring out in the magic, a triumphant symphony of power.
“Three!”
He sent a torrent of magic at the door, blowing its remains into the room beyond.
***
The tunnels beneath the Conclave were an exciting place.
Bethany had known how to get to them—she had found the servants’ stairs on the first day, and the top level of the tunnels had a few rooms that the cleaning staff used to store their equipment. Servants and Initiates went to the top level of the tunnels all the time. It hadn’t been too hard to slip by them, though. The tunnels were dark, and the dark was always a good place for hiding.
It hadn’t taken her long to find another staircase headed down. The level beneath the first looked much like the one before, only with fewer sconces for candles on the walls, and more darkness. Every now and then, Bethany would find a strange design laid into the wall, like knots turning in upon themselves. Other times she found the Eye of Eindor, or runes that she couldn’t read.
For some reason, she got angry about that—she wanted to read everything.
The corridors were peppered with old, wooden doors, shut tight against the dusty hallway. She tried almost every door she came to, but most of them were locked. Where they weren’t, what she found wasn’t much fun—old furniture covered with sheets, and dusty stacks of this-or-that. Never a magical chest, like she’d heard about in all the old man’s stories.
I want to be like Leyton, she thought. Pirate-King of the Sea, Rescuer of Princesses.
In all the old man’s stories, though, Leyton fought evil wizards for one thing or another. Bethany had never wanted to be the princess—after all, what good was just sitting in a tower, waiting to be rescued? And now, to add to the problem, she was a wizard. Who was she supposed to root for in the story?
“I’m Bethany,” she said aloud, her voice echoing down the darkened hallways. “I’m here to save you—I’m a wizard, not an evil one. A girl, not a princess. I’ll save you, but you can keep the kiss, thank you very much.”
She skipped down the hallway, wielding a length of wood she’d found in one of the storerooms. She wanted to be on Leyton’s crew, and sail the seas in search of gold and plunder. She wanted to rescue princesses from evil wizards—she could use her powers for good—and be a hero to all her friends. She wanted to explore old ruins and magical caves, to slay ghosts and goblins and dragons and trolls.
“I’m Bethany,” she growled. “Pirate-Queen of the Seas!”
Her voice echoed down the darkened hallways.
Pirate-Queen of the Seas…
Brandishing her table leg, she chased her voice down the hall, further into the twisting labyrinth of corridors. She laughed the way she only could when she was alone, and laughed again as she heard the echoes. Her voice bounced from the stony hallways, and chased her around corners. She between isolated bubbles of candlelight, though the sconces began to get farther and farther away from each other.
Then, the sconce she left behind her was the only one she could see. The hallway stretched into the darkness, branching off left and right, but no light peeked from anywhere. Bethany retreated back to the puddle of candlelight, eyes drawn to the blackness beyond.
This was the sort of situation that Leyton would find himself in, and he always found a way to win through. Bethany knew that getting lost in the tunnels was a real danger, but she also knew that anything good hidden beneath the Conclave wouldn’t be tucked into a storeroom, guarded by dusty furniture. It would be beyond—in the dark.
“Pirate-Queen of the Seas,” she growled.
Shawna wouldn’t stand here in the torchlight, afraid to go on. Dormael wouldn’t be scared that mon
sters would come out of the dark. D’Jenn would simply ask her—are you not a wizard, Bethany? Leyton wouldn’t be afraid to go on, and neither would Bethany.
Bethany was a wizard—a rescuer of princesses.
She closed her eyes, sinking once again into the trance that D’Jenn had taught her. Her heart fluttered a bit, fear tickling at her mind like a ghost in the darkness. Bethany stilled her breathing and concentrated, walling away her fear.
Her magic flooded into her.
It always came like lightning. She could feel the stones around her singing with their emptiness, an endless note reverberating not just through the walls, but through every part of the structure. The heat of the candles slid over her skin like warm water, flickering in time with the unpredictable rhythm of the flame. Bethany felt like a storm.
She knew she was supposed to refrain from using her magic when she was alone—she knew because D’Jenn had taught her that word, ‘refrain’. Bethany thought that was a stupid word, that it sounded like something you did to a piece of armor, or a wagon wheel.
“Just going to get my wagon wheel refrained,” she said aloud.
Such a stupid word—refrain.
But what was she supposed to do? If she took the candles from the wall, she’d have no way to measure where she was. It was like when Leyton entered the Labyrinth of Carcas, and was given a string by a fair maiden to take with him, to show him the way out. Bethany didn’t have a string, but if she took the candle, she knew she’d get lost. The candle was her string.
If she couldn’t take the candle, then she had to use magic. D’Jenn was always telling her—Bethany, there’s always an option, you’re only stuck if you want to be stuck. Bethany didn’t want to be stuck. She thought D’Jenn might be proud of her, come to think of it.
She was only doing what he’d taught her to do.
Besides, she wouldn’t use her magic, not exactly. With her Kai singing to her, she could feel every speck of dust on the stone around her. She could see, in a way. Bethany’s eyes pierced the darkness like daggers with her Kai singing, but there was little light for her eyes to see. Her magical senses helped, though she was still learning how to use them.
“Pirate-Queen of the Seas,” she whispered.
Then, she ran into the darkness.
***
For one single, impossibly long second, Dormael crouched on the ground, feeling his magic sing through him like a torrent of fire, his naked body sweating and dirty, his hands still shackled to a length of rusty chain. The Taker’s ember eyes bored into his, its tongue still lashing at the air around its triangular head. Inera was still screaming, and he could feel her gathering her power for some sort of attack. The three guards behind him were reaching for their swords.
Dormael weighed his options for a split second, surrounded by enemies, completely naked—and there was just something embarrassing about that on top of everything else—but far from helpless. Would it be worse to be killed by the sword, burnt to a cinder with magic, or whatever the Taker planned to do with him?
It will crawl into your body and eat your insides, then wear your skin, the ancient power had said.
Dormael liked his skin. He’d rather keep it, given the option.
He screamed his anger at the ugly thing before him, reaching deep inside his being for the magic. Tiny fingers of iridescent lightning began to arc up from his body, touching the stone around him in quick flashes. His hair began to stand and his skin tingled with anticipation, his muscles tensed for the explosion of power. The lightning rushed up from his feet, through his shoulders, and down his arms as he sent his magic forth.
The bolt of lightning slammed into the Taker, lifting its wet, quivering body from the floor and sending it flying back toward the yawning blackness of the gate. The Taker uttered no cry as it was hit, but it left behind the smell of acrid, burnt flesh. As Dormael’s lightning slammed through the gate, pushing the Taker back to wherever it had crawled from, the black substance began to crack and sputter. The gate burst like a bubble, and the Taker was gone. The dark fluid that the gate had been made from bled into the cracks in the stone, and all was silent for a short moment.
Then the door burst into the room in a shower of shattered wood.
Dormael had to cover his face and turn away, shielding himself from the flying debris that pelted him. Inera was blown from her feet, having been standing near the doorway, and she tumbled across the floor until she smacked into the far wall. She let out an angry, incoherent noise as she tried to climb to her feet. Dormael rose and began gathering his magic for another attack. He heard D’Jenn’s song ringing through his Kai, and it was the most welcome noise he’d ever heard.
Dormael turned toward the door in time to see D’Jenn and Allen rush into the room and take a quick look around. Their eyes alighted on Dormael, and he could see relief written over their faces. In the next instant, they sprung into action.
Dormael felt Inera’s song ring out with an attack, and D’Jenn’s answered. The two of them squared off between warring energies, steam and flame and water flying in all directions between them. Dormael wanted Inera himself, wanted to ask her why, wanted to find out so many things. He couldn’t get between them now, though—not without risking D’Jenn’s life. The conflagration forced him to back away from their fight.
Dormael snarled in frustration.
Allen rushed the three guards standing nearby, ripping Dormael’s attention away. He held a long dagger in one hand, and his Orrisan-style axe in the other. The first man stepped forward, whipping his sword from his waist in a smooth horizontal slash. Allen rolled to the outside, putting the man between himself and the other two guards. With two vicious movements, Allen’s axe chopped into the back of the man’s knee, eliciting a scream of pain. It ended with a gurgle as Allen rose to his feet, shoving the dagger into his throat. Blood welled over his hands as he pushed the man into his comrades, forcing them to stumble backward.
The second guard snarled and quick-stepped to the side, whipping his own sword free of his sheath as he did so. He stepped toward Allen with a feint, testing the gladiator’s reflexes. Allen returned the feint with one of his own, and then the two were dancing around each other—step, parry, thrust, and swing, steel ringing from steel. Allen fought with a wolfish grace that set him apart from the other man, his movements like a predator flowing through its natural environment. The guard looked amateurish by comparison, struggling through the steps of a dance that came natural to Allen.
The third man was the one who had taken that jagged little knife to Dormael’s skin. He’d been the one who had beaten him while he hung from the chain. Dormael felt his anger rise, heating his blood to a boil as the man tried to step in and stab his brother in the flank.
Dormael reached out and snatched him from the ground with his power, wrenching down on his chest. The man screamed as Dormael ground his power against him, feeling the satisfying crackle of ribs stretching to their breaking point resonating through his power. The man floated in the air, his limbs spread out as far as they could go. He tried to scream, but nothing could come out of his mouth—Dormael crushed the air from his chest, and kept the pressure on. His eyes found Dormael’s, and the two of them shared an understanding about what was to come.
With a flick of his wrist, he sent the man hurtling through the air, smashing him against the wall with a wet thump. He grimaced, but he couldn’t scream—Dormael pushed him hard into the stone, holding him high against the wall with the weight of his power. Splitting his consciousness, he sent two of the discarded short swords hurtling from the ground, and slammed them through the man’s shoulders, right into the stone. They rang as the force behind the thrust caused them to vibrate, and the man’s face was a mask of agony. Dormael let his body hang from those blades, and took the pressure off his chest.
The screams came out like they had been closed up in a sack, and opening them had let it all out at once. Dormael felt a moment of vindictive elation at the sound, a
nd vaguely heard his brother dispatch the other guard somewhere off to the side. Dormael only had eyes for his torturer, and since D’Jenn and Inera were still busy, he had a little time.
He glanced over to the table, where the jar of water rested beside that jagged little knife.
***
The tunnels beneath the Conclave, as it turned out, weren’t so easy to navigate.
Bethany had lost sight of her candle a long time ago, and had wandered down endless corridors. She’d even gone down a flight of stairs once, then back up when she found another, but still she was lost. She tried to think of what Leyton would do, how he would get himself out of this situation, but there was nothing in the stories to give her a clue.
Pirate-Queen of the Seas, she grumbled. Right.
She felt sure that if she kept walking, kept looking, that eventually she would find her way out. There could only be so many staircases, so many intersections, so many old doors. They all looked the same to her, though, and that was the major problem. No matter which way she turned, she got turned around. Whenever she thought to backtrack, she ended up in a new place.
Bethany had called out once. Her voice had fled from her, pealing down the halls and bouncing from the stone. Her Kai still sang, but returned nothing to her that she knew how to use. She was awash in a world of darkness, sound, and silence all at the same time.
She was utterly lost, and she knew it.
Bethany had no idea how long she’d been down in the tunnels. The shadows yawned to either side of her, darkness in both directions. Fear beat a tight rhythm against her ribcage, and her mind started to play tricks on her. Did she hear something in the dark—a boot scuffling over stone, a rat skittering through the corridor?
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