“Nobody would have blamed you, you know,” the Elder said quietly. “I saw your expression. You were tempted to change what he said, at least a little.”
Davian shook his head. “No. He trusted me, and he’s thought about this a lot longer than I have. It wouldn’t have been right.”
Nashrel gave a thoughtful nod. “I’m not sure any of us would have felt the same,” he admitted. “But maybe it’s for the best. And those new Tenets may still be restricting, but fates take me if they aren’t an improvement.”
Suddenly there was a flurry of activity at the door, and a younger man in a red cloak hurried inside.
“Elder Eilinar,” he said, out of breath. “We’re getting reports that some of the Blind are inside the Tol.”
Nashrel stared for a moment, then snorted. “In the Tol? How? They cannot have breached the Resolute Door,” he said dismissively. “Someone is seeing things, Ralyse. The Blind haven’t even made it past Fedris Idri yet, else we would have heard. And there is no other way…”
He trailed off, paling.
“Most of our people are already on their way to the Shields?” he asked. Ralyse nodded, and Nashrel bit his lip. “Warn everyone else to be wary, then. And have someone watch the El-cursed stairwells to the lower levels.” He turned to Davian. “Can you carry him?”
“I think so.”
“Then we need to seal this room, and get moving.”
Davian grabbed Wirr by the waist and slung him awkwardly over his shoulder. His friend was heavy, but not so much so that Davian couldn’t manage the weight.
“Taeris warned us,” Nashrel muttered to himself as they hurried along the tunnels, back toward the main part of the Tol. “He said the sha’teth had returned, and we didn’t listen.”
“Probably the one thing he didn’t lie about,” murmured Davian under his breath.
Soon enough they reached a part of the Tol Davian recognized. The passageways, normally full of red cloaks, were completely empty. Nashrel frowned at the deserted corridors but said nothing, pressing on.
Just as Wirr was becoming too heavy a burden for Davian to bear, Nashrel gestured to a nearby room.
“There’s a bed. Set him down in there and rest for a few moments; I’ll return when I find out what in fates is going on.”
Davian did as Nashrel suggested, closing the door behind him. The silence of the Tol was making him nervous, and it had obviously unsettled the Elder, too. The Gifted had sent on several of their people to the Shields already; Wirr had insisted that happen before he changed the Tenets. Even so… there still should have been someone left in this section.
Davian waited for a while, occasionally checking on Wirr, trying to stay calm. Ten minutes passed. Thirty. An hour.
Then the shouting began.
Davian’s first reaction was to open the door to see what was going on, but suddenly a scream of pain broke through the commotion, cut short as abruptly as it had begun.
Then a brief silence, followed by the sounds of heavy footsteps in the hallway outside.
Davian hurried over to where Wirr lay on the bed, looking around and trying not to panic. There was nothing in here he could use as a weapon, and he knew that neither kan nor Essence would be effective against the Blind, even if he was willing to risk a close-quarters fight in the same room as his unconscious friend.
Clenching his fists to stop them from shaking, he carefully drew a mesh of kan around both himself and Wirr.
There was a scratching at the door, and the handle turned. Davian hardened the layer of kan, praying fervently he was remembering how to do it correctly.
He turned, holding his breath as the door swung open to reveal the Blind soldier.
The man had removed his helmet, but the black-plated armor was the same as Davian had seen in his vision. The soldier’s eyes swept the room, and for an instant they paused on the bed, as if he’d noticed something amiss. Davian held completely motionless, willing Wirr not to choose this moment to stir in his sleep.
Then the man was shutting the door again, apparently satisfied the room was empty.
Davian waited a few seconds, then took several shaky lungfuls of air. He slumped onto the bed next to Wirr, putting his head between his knees as he tried to slow the pounding of his heart.
A few long minutes later, Wirr gave a small moan, then stirred.
“What’s going on?” he asked Davian, rubbing his eyes as he propped himself up. “Where are we?” He winced. “Fates, my head hurts.”
“Still in the Tol,” said Davian. He recounted the events of the past hour to Wirr.
Wirr shivered once Davian had finished, looking nauseous. He took a deep breath, staring at the tattoo on his forearm. “So we need to get out of here,” he said. “The Tenets are definitely changed?”
Davian nodded. “I think so. The Council certainly did, too.”
Wirr levered himself out of bed. “Then we should get moving.”
He was halfway to the door when it swung open.
“Taeris!” Wirr exclaimed.
Taeris winced, limping inside and putting his fingers to his lips.
“Not so loud, Wirr,” he muttered as he shut the door.
Davian stared at Taeris for a long moment. He still felt a deep, burning anger toward the man, but now wasn’t the time to bring it up. The issues between them would have to wait.
“What’s going on, Taeris?” he asked, tone grim. “I thought you were locked up.”
“I was.” Taeris gave the door a nervous glance. “Nashrel came to let me out when he realized what was happening. He told me where you were before he…” He grimaced, looking at the ground. “He didn’t make it.”
“He’s dead?” Wirr paled. “Fates. What’s happening out there?”
“Most of the Gifted that didn’t head for the Shields are dead. The Blind have mostly moved on into the city, but there are a few groups sweeping the Tol, looking for survivors.” Taeris spoke quietly, but Davian could hear the anxiety in his voice. “The new Tenets do let us use Essence in combat, but the Blind’s armor is still making it hard to fight them, especially in enclosed spaces.”
“How did they even get in here?” asked Davian.
“Nashrel thought they were coming through the catacombs.” Taeris looked sick. “There’s a network of old tunnels, deep beneath the Tol, that supposedly have an exit out past Ilin Tora. No one knows where that exit is, though.” He rubbed his forehead. “Those roads are a labyrinth, but Nashrel said the sha’teth have been using them. It’s how they get in and out of the city unseen when they go about their… business.”
Davian felt a chill. “So the sha’teth are here? Helping the Blind?”
Taeris nodded. “It would seem so.”
Wirr grimaced. “And the Tol didn’t guard this entrance, I take it?”
“They didn’t think they needed to, and I don’t blame them,” said Taeris. “The catacombs come out next to the Conduit, something the Builders created to help power the Tol. Any living thing coming that close to it should have died within seconds.” He shook his head. “The Blind’s armor must have protected them against it, somehow.”
There was silence for a few moments, then Davian shifted nervously. “So what do we do now?”
Taeris chewed at his lip, expression thoughtful. “There’s nothing more we can do here. If we want to help, we need to get back to the fight.”
Davian and Wirr both nodded; Davian helped his friend to his feet, glad to see that Wirr’s strength seemed to be returning.
Taeris opened the door a crack, peering through cautiously before beckoning for the boys to follow.
They started out through the Tol at a silent half jog, Taeris going ahead and checking around each new corner. After a minute they entered a new hallway and Davian faltered.
Crumpled, lifeless bodies littered the way ahead. They were all Gifted, from their red cloaks. He knelt by the closest one—a young man, no older than Davian—but the Gifted’s chest was still, and his eyes we
re glassy as they stared at the roof. Davian stood unsteadily.
“It’s like this everywhere,” Taeris warned him.
They moved on; every new corridor greeted them with eerie, unsettling silence—and, in a few cases, more bodies. A couple of the corpses were holding daggers, which Wirr collected as he went. Davian wasn’t sure how much use they would be against swords; even so, he didn’t refuse the one that Wirr offered him.
A few tense minutes passed. Davian’s eyes and ears strained for any hint of danger, but it was still without warning that the two black-armored men wandered into the passageway up ahead.
Though they were not wearing the distinctive helmets, there was no doubting who they were.
Before anyone could move, Davian felt Wirr gathering Essence; his friend threw it at the soldiers, aiming for their exposed heads. To Davian’s dismay, the bolts evaporated just before they made contact.
He took a deep breath and focused, following the failed attack with one of his own. It was just as he’d found while fighting at the Shields, though, despite the missing helmets. The two men seemed to have an invisible barrier around them that Davian’s thread of kan simply could not penetrate.
“Looks like we missed a couple,” snarled the man on the left.
Wirr and Davian both took a faltering step back and drew their daggers as the men began walking toward them; though they started more than thirty feet away and appeared to be moving at an almost casual pace, they were covering the space between unnaturally fast.
“Your knives, boys. Throw them now,” said Taeris urgently.
Davian and Wirr both hesitated for a split second, then did as Taeris instructed, throwing the blades wildly at the oncoming soldiers.
Taeris stretched out his hand.
The daggers stopped for a second in midair as if frozen in time, then spun, their blades pointing straight at the approaching men.
The soldiers were fast, but Taeris was faster. The daggers blurred forward; the Blind might not have needed their helmets to stop Essence, but steel was another matter. They yelled something incomprehensible as they saw the danger too late.
Taeris sunk a dagger into each man’s left eye.
The soldiers crumpled to the ground, pools of scarlet forming on the stone around their heads. Davian leaned weakly against the wall, staring at Taeris, who was busy reclaiming their blades from the bodies.
“So the new Tenets really are working,” he said eventually.
Taeris gave a tired nod. “We were just lucky they weren’t wearing their helmets. Fully armored, we would have had to run.” He handed the boys a dagger each, the blades now smeared with red. “We should get moving. We’re not far from the gate.”
Davian nodded, accepting the dagger and trying not to look at the corpse it had come from. His stomach churned. Fighting the Blind with their helmets on, without the advantage of the Shields… Tenets changed or not, he shuddered to think of how the Andarrans were going to fare. For the first time, he couldn’t see how this was a fight they could win.
Still, they had to try. He took a deep breath to steady himself, nodding to Taeris.
“Lead the way,” he said quietly.
They headed down the corridor at a jog.
Chapter 53
Caeden looked around the massive cavern in despair.
This one was nearly identical to the many others he’d already crossed, and he was beginning to wonder if he was moving in circles. His head spun a little from the oppressive heat as he examined the expansive maze of narrow paths ahead. Slim walkways of hewn black stone crisscrossed the vast, open space, their treacherously sheer sides plummeting into the seething river of molten rock far below.
Some paths ended abruptly, their crumbling edges highlighted by the fierce glow that emanated upward, tingeing everything an angry red. Others appeared solid enough… but that made the prospect of walking on them no less daunting. He’d already had several secure-looking footholds threaten to crumble beneath his weight.
Caeden wiped sweat from his brow, taking a deep breath to ensure he wasn’t getting light-headed again. The heat hadn’t been a problem at first, but he’d been wandering this network of caves for hours now, following the inexorable flow of lava in search of an exit. Dehydration was beginning to rob him of his balance. Along these narrow walkways, that could easily result in a quick but painful death.
Still, he knew there was nothing to be gained by waiting. Keeping his eyes fixed on the path ahead, he started forward once again.
He rubbed at his wrist absently as he inched his way through the cavern. The wolf tattoo had vanished as soon as he’d touched the bronze box at the Tol, and even now he couldn’t help but notice the absence of its familiar glow, which had tugged at the corners of his vision for as long as he could remember. Taeris had once suggested that the link would remain only until it had physically been completed. It appeared he’d been right.
After a few minutes of carefully picking his way across the cavern, he paused, allowing himself some rest. Ahead the path disappeared into the gaping black maw of yet another tunnel. He squinted toward the exit, heart suddenly leaping. There was something about the tunnel entrance—something new. A series of markings, etched in a semicircle into the rocky wall around it.
His need to rest faded as he edged closer, a surge of excitement running through him. He couldn’t read the strange symbols, yet they were also somehow familiar.
Then he knew why he recognized them.
Digging into his pocket, he drew out the bronze Vessel that had brought him here, holding it up so that the light from the red river below illuminated it.
He smiled in triumph.
The writing wasn’t identical, but… there could be no doubt. The inscriptions on the box were in the same language as the markings around the tunnel entrance.
Replacing the Vessel in his pocket, he ventured cautiously into the darkness.
He took several deep breaths as he entered; the air here was much cooler, and he straight away felt more clearheaded. He hurried forward, eager now. This passage was longer than the others he’d been through, and he was soon forced to create a small ball of Essence to light the way ahead.
It was a full ten minutes before the tunnel began to lighten again, and Caeden paused uncertainly as he reached the exit.
Instead of yet another cavern, he was at the entrance to a large room, black stone walls smooth and straight. It was the floor that had made him hesitate, though. Fine cracks ran everywhere, along which crimson lava flowed in tiny rivulets, lighting the room a virulent red.
For a moment Caeden thought the ground might be unstable, but then he took a half step back, squinting. The cracks were too regular, too straight to be natural.
The lava was creating a series of symbols.
They were similar to those he’d seen outside the tunnel, he soon realized—clearly the same language. The design pulsed and glowed, the floor shimmering through the haze of rising heat.
A warning. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he was certain of it.
He tore his gaze from the symbols, studying the rest of the room. It was empty except for a short stone pillar set at the far end, with a single naked sword balanced across its peak.
Caeden stared at the blade curiously. Something about it looked… alive. It gleamed not with the eerie red of the lava, but rather with a white light, like that of Essence.
There was nothing else in the room, nor any other exits he could see. As if this room had been built specifically to house the sword, nothing more. Almost like a shrine.
He hesitated. He felt as though he’d intruded, stumbled across a place where he had no right to be. Yet the box had brought him here, was clearly connected to this place somehow.
And he knew he couldn’t go back the way he’d come. He had a couple of hours at best before dehydration got the better of him. He wouldn’t survive on those narrow walkways for long.
Cautiously Caeden placed one foot into the room,
testing the stone underfoot. It seemed firm. Taking a deep breath, he put his whole weight onto it, stepping completely inside.
There was a grinding sound behind him and a hidden door slammed shut, neatly bisecting the chamber and the tunnel.
Caeden stared at the blocked exit in horror. He looked around, trying not to panic, but his gaze met only solid stone. There was no other way in or out that he could see.
“You have intruded once again, I see,” came a soft voice from behind him.
Caeden froze, then slowly turned.
A man now stood between him and the sword, though Caeden had no idea where he had come from. He resisted the urge to shrink back against the wall. The stranger’s skin glowed a smoldering, writhing red—darker than the light from the molten rock in the floor, but not by much. His hair and clothes appeared made of strands of lava itself, but… his eyes were human. Blue and calm, intelligent.
Watching Caeden closely.
“I… I’m sorry,” stuttered Caeden, taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Of course you did.” The luminescent man began to pace, circling Caeden. His body language gave nothing away, but his eyes held an intense curiosity. “You have come for Licanius, as you always do. The question is, how did you get in this time? Did the Traveler bring you? Did the Keeper take pity on you? Or perhaps you finally plucked up the courage to return to the Plains of Decay and use one of the Columns?” He kept moving, never taking his gaze from Caeden’s face. “Another body again, I see. Which poor soul did you take it from this time? Did you really think it would fool us? Fool me? No. No, such a poor deception is beyond you, I think. You have a plan. You always have a plan.”
He stopped, this time a little closer to Caeden, who had been gaping at him in silence. “Well? Am I to be kept waiting, or shall I just expel you now?”
Caeden coughed. “I’m sorry, but truly… I’m not sure why I am here. I don’t even know where here is.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Who are you? Do you know me?”
The man’s eyes flickered with puzzlement. “We have danced this dance for near five hundred years,” he said. “I am Garadis ru Dagen, and I know you, Tal’kamar, no matter what you do to your face. Of all of them, you are the only one who ever gets this close. And yet none of you can take her. That law is immutable.”
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