A questioning hoot sounded, and Whisper swooped down to land atop the ranger’s arm. The owl turned her head as if inspecting the ranger’s condition. She nudged at the side of his cheek with her bill and made a soft mewling sound.
“Fly free, Whisper,” Kennitt croaked. He raised a hand to stroke the owl, but his arm trembled and then fell back. His grip loosened on Mira’s hand as his life departed.
Mira could only stare, shocked at the sudden death of a friend. She’d never experienced anyone close to her struck down in violence before, and she found herself frozen with sorrow and indecision.
The ring of steel and a cry of pain drew her attention nearby. Creel was sparring with two remaining soldiers. The third had fallen while attempting to hold his guts in. One of the soldier’s blades dripped with blood. The sight of the black-and-gold colors and the bloody sword snapped Mira from her trance. Her stillness shattered and turned to rage.
She rose up and saw the nearest soldier was facing away, trying to flank Creel. The warrior quickly ran the other Nebaran through, but his back was momentarily exposed. The Nebaran brought his sword back to strike.
Mira chopped downward with one hand, striking the side of the man’s elbow. The joint dislocated with a crack, and he dropped the sword, arm flopping bonelessly. She followed up by driving a fist into his lower back. Vertebrae crunched, and he fell forward just as Creel turned. Final Strike neatly separated the Nebaran’s head from his body.
With the last of their swordsmen fallen, the crossbowmen loosed their bolts once more. Mira and Creel both threw themselves to the ground, and quarrels buzzed past like angry insects. One of them thudded into Kennitt’s shoulder.
Her perch disturbed, Whisper screeched angrily and beat her wings. She took to the air, her mottled plumage briefly lost in the shadows of the tunnel’s ceiling. The owl shrieked and dove at the crossbowmen. Her sharp talons raked one man’s eyes, and he cried out, blinded. Whisper’s wings pumped, and she nimbly sprang back into the air before dive-bombing another soldier. He screamed as she latched onto his head with her talons, her sharp bill pecking and lacerating his scalp. His crossbow fired wildly, the quarrel flying astray. The soldier beat at the owl, knocking her from his head, although he lost a good part of his scalp in the process. Whisper flailed to get airborne again, but a spear tip stabbed into her wing, and she crashed down. She was lost to sight in a flurry of stabbing swords and spears while bloodstained feathers flew.
Mira surged back to her feet, but Creel grabbed her arm before she could charge the soldiers. The horrifying loss of her friend and his majestic owl had shattered her calm, and at that moment, she grappled with a powerful need for revenge.
“We can’t win this. Not here,” Creel said.
She saw he spoke true, for the crossbowmen had reloaded and were lining up their next shots. They had taken the opportunity to advance and were now within thirty paces, a fairly easy shot. Mira couldn’t dodge that many incoming quarrels, nor did she have Creel’s remarkable healing ability.
“Mira, Creel—get down!” Taren stood at the mouth of the tunnel twenty paces away with his hands raised.
“Loose!” barked the Nebaran sergeant.
Mira dropped to the ground as did Creel. She looked at Taren, afraid he would be riddled with quarrels. His eyes gleamed brightly like stoked coals. The air shimmered around them, the floor trembling and chunks of stone rattling around. The dark blurs of loosed crossbow bolts suddenly scattered like insects batted away by a giant hand. The magical force Taren unleashed slammed into the Nebaran troops like a battering ram. Men flew off their feet like dried leaves in a gale, twisting around and crunching against walls and ceiling and floor, limbs twisted awkwardly. After a moment, all was still save for the cries of the wounded.
Taren wobbled on his feet and would perhaps have fallen had Ferret not come up beside him and put a supportive arm around his waist.
Mira climbed to her feet, thinking to finish off the soldiers, when the floor shuddered alarmingly. Rock crumbled and shattered, and the whole tunnel began caving in, dropping away in the center where the chasm had formed. Huge blocks teetered and fell, the effect rapidly cascading, nearing Mira and Creel. The warrior cursed, scrambling back to his feet. Mira gave him a hard shove in the back, propelling him forward as the block beneath them gave way. She sprang off the great stone as it collapsed beneath her, leaping onto the next one, which was already teetering forward as well. Ahead of her, as that block dropped away, Creel jumped off and onto the next one.
Mira ran along the tilting block, her footfalls light, and she reached the end of the block as it was already dropping a couple paces below the floor above. Light yawned in the gap as thin air surrounded her. She got her foot onto the top edge and jumped with all her might, trying to will herself up to the floor above.
She saw she wouldn’t quite make it, though. The floor was too far above her, and she couldn’t get enough power behind her leap with the stone dropping away beneath her. She slammed into the edge of the floor, the stone striking hard against her chest. She gasped as the wind was knocked out of her. Her fingers scrabbled to gain purchase, but loose pebbles and grit came away. For a moment, she was perched at the edge, her grip failing.
Then strong hands seized her wrists. Creel squatted down and straightened, heaving her upward. He stumbled backward, and she landed lightly on her feet beside him, the floor stable for the moment.
“Thanks,” she wheezed.
He nodded. “We’d best get back in case this one goes too.”
They ran back to where Taren and Ferret were waiting in the archway to the now-isolated island. Mira put her hands on her knees, slowly regaining her breath as the tight band of pain across her chest subsided a bit. She probed her sternum and ribs, relieved that nothing seemed broken, although she would have a nasty mass of bruises.
“More bad news,” Ferret said, pointing to where the Nebarans were. “One of them got back up and ran off. Probably bringing reinforcements.”
“Won’t do them much good with the bridge out,” Creel said. “Then again, we’re trapped too.”
“Mira, are you all right?” Taren touched her arm gently, concern in his eyes. “I’m sorry about Kennitt.”
She straightened up, meeting his eyes and seeing genuine concern and sympathy. “I’ll be fine… I think I need some time to process everything.”
Mira glanced back to where the ranger had fallen, but his body was gone along with tons of stone, a yawning chasm forty paces across the only sign of what had occurred. Kennitt might have been gone, but the ranger’s final moments still haunted her: the pain in his eyes, the feathered shaft jutting from his chest, the grip of his blood-slick hand, that final soft gasp in the moment his life slipped away, and finally, Whisper’s raw grief.
“Save yourself and the lad. Fulfill your destiny.” Kennitt’s final words came back to her, and she was overwhelmed for a moment and slumped down against the wall to rest and try to center herself.
Creel clapped Taren on the back, a wry smile on his face. “Remind me not to call on you if we need some trivial bit of magic. Seems every magical feat you perform tends to be a bit excessive.”
“Sorry about the bridge. I’m still learning to control my power.” He looked abashed.
“I can’t complain too much since you saved our arses, lad.” Creel went over and rummaged around in his pack, pulling out a flask. He unstoppered it and took a long swig. “Might as well rest for a bit—not like we’re going anywhere. In the meantime, let’s try to come up with some ideas on figuring a way out of here.”
Mira barely heard him, for the harsh realities of her new life of adventure had come crashing down upon her, and she realized her fortitude would be sorely tested in the days ahead.
Chapter 38
The Nebaran soldiers returned before long, and this time, at least half a hundred must have been milling around at the far end of the partially destroyed tunnel. A handful of officers and other soldiers
were examining the collapsed floor and moving about near the walls, evidently searching for a way to rig ropes and climbing gear to try to send soldiers across the forty-pace-wide hole in the floor. Fortunately, the companions were out of range of their crossbows, and the soldiers posed no immediate threat.
Taren was busy inspecting the strange onyx cube in the center of the room. With his second sight, he saw that the stone emanated a strong magic. The stone was smooth as glass as he ran his hand over it, yet it somehow made no reflection of the light striking it. Even the runes seemed to be embedded within the stone, for not a scratch marred its smooth surface. He marveled for the third or fourth time at how well preserved the stone was, likely due to its magical enchantment.
I wish I could read this inscription somehow.
After studying the block and the surrounding rotunda, he came to the conclusion that the cube had been added later—it was distinctly different from the entirety of the ruins around them, in both material and form. Whereas the architecture of the ruins was of white marble, graceful and majestic, the cube had no ornamentation save the runic inscriptions.
He glanced over at his companions. Creel sat leaning against the wall at the rotunda’s entrance, keeping an eye on the Nebarans and taunting them by his mere presence there, out of reach of their blades and quarrels. He sipped from his flask occasionally as he kept watch. On the opposite side of the rotunda, Ferret sat on the ledge of one of the windows, legs dangling over the edge as she stared off into the steep gorge and bluffs in the distance.
Mira, however, he was a bit concerned about. Since the battle and the death of the old ranger, she’d been noticeably melancholy and sat, dispirited, against the wall by herself. Loss had scarred Taren deeply, and he knew she would likely need some time to overcome it. He was somewhat heartened when she turned to her meditation for what he hoped would provide her some consolation.
What is the purpose of this cube? And why place it in such a location? He sighed and slammed the palm of his left hand against it in frustration. A sharp clink drew his attention, and he frowned at the odd ring Gradnik had given him, for which he’d never discovered a purpose. He couldn’t even remember exactly when he’d started wearing it, perhaps on the road after Ryedale, but he’d grown used to its weight on his finger. The ring radiated subtle magic, so he knew it must serve some elusive purpose. He held his hand to the stone, noting the metal ring was nearly indistinguishable from the stone, matching its color exactly, a matte black that seemed to absorb the light. Then he noticed something else—the ring was tingling subtly on his finger. By scrutinizing it closely, he saw it seemed to ripple slightly on its face, as if a sheen of ebon water was stirring from a subtle breeze.
Taren placed his hand against the onyx block, touching the face of the ring to the stone. The glyphs on the cube suddenly flared to life, blazing with a red glow, and as he watched, a small area near the edge of the stone rippled like liquid and flowed away, revealing a distinct notch.
His discovery brought a surge of excitement. “A keyhole! But I don’t have a key… or do I?” He touched the ring, finding it noticeably warm. He glanced around for his companions, but only Ferret was in view on that side of the cube. “Ferret, take a look at this!”
The girl glanced over, and her eyes widened at the sight of the blazing runes. She hopped off the ledge and was beside him in a few quick strides. “What did you do?” she asked excitedly.
“My ring—it was resonating, and when I touched it to the stone, this keyhole appeared.”
“Try putting the ring to the keyhole,” Ferret suggested.
“That was my next move, but I wanted a witness in case something bad happens. You’d best keep your distance.”
She must not have thought of that, for her excitement dimmed a bit. After moving back a couple steps, she nodded for him to proceed.
Taren slowly extended the ring to touch it to the keyhole. When it was a few inches away, the band changed before his eyes, and he gasped with wonder. The inelegant, crudely formed ring unfolded itself in neat little movements as if it were a piece of parchment. He had to catch it in his free hand when it dropped away from his finger, but the ring continued to morph and extended itself into the shape of a rough-hewn key.
Holding his breath, he slotted the key into the notch in the stone. The blazing glyphs intensified, and stone simply melted away, receding like water until it revealed a man-sized hole in the block. He could make out the shape of a tight staircase spiraling down into the ground. He pulled the key free, but after a moment, the marble started to close back over the opening, so he hurriedly replaced the key, and the cube’s opening remained.
Ferret was beside him, eagerly peering inside. “It’s blacker than pitch at midnight in there. Where do you think it leads?”
“Only one way to find out. Over here!” he called to the others. “I found a way to open the cube.”
Creel stood and came around the cube, and Mira stirred a moment later.
“How did you open it?” Creel asked, regarding the opening warily.
“My ring. I held it up to the stone, and it transformed into a key.”
Ferret had a grin on her face. “Magic.”
“Aye, so it seems.” Creel leaned his head inside and took a tentative step, as if afraid the stone would swallow him up.
Mira remained silent although she also looked curious.
“It’s either wait out here until they find a way to come attack us or explore inside this thing,” Ferret pointed out.
Creel gave a half smile at her enthusiasm. “Aye, just so. Might as well do some exploring, in that case.”
They gathered their gear, and Creel lit a torch. The monster hunter stepped inside first, holding a dagger in one hand, for the tight confines of the stairwell wouldn’t allow him to wield his sword, the torch aloft in his other hand. Ferret followed on his heels, then Mira. Taren waited until they were all inside and plucked the key free of the stone then quickly ducked inside.
For a moment, he feared the entire cube would seal back up and trap them in the stone like ants frozen in amber, but his fears were allayed when the stairwell remained clear. The wall sealed shut, drowning the cramped space in a blackness so absolute, Taren thought he’d fall endlessly into the void. He focused on the light of the torch below, growing fainter as Creel descended. Noticing the ring had returned to its original form, he stuck it back on his finger and hurried down to catch the others although he needn’t have rushed, for Mira was waiting patiently a turn below him.
They continued downward for long minutes, their footsteps and breathing harsh in the enclosed space. Taren quickly lost all sense of time and distance in the darkness, feeling as if he must be at the center of the world by the time the group halted. He marveled at the size of the stone block, somehow placed inside the very island the rotunda was built upon. His imagination failed him at how such a thing had come to be there.
“Hold a moment,” Creel called back. “There’s a room ahead—I’ll take a quick look inside.”
The torchlight faded until Taren began to feel vertigo from the smothering blackness around him. At one moment, he felt as if the walls were crushing in on him, but the next he could’ve been on the verge of falling forever into nothingness. He stumbled against the wall before reaching down and touching Mira’s shoulder, reassured by her presence. She reached up and squeezed his hand.
After an indeterminate amount of time—likely only two or three minutes, though it felt like an eternity—the torchlight returned. Taren saw Mira was gripping Ferret’s hand also, and he felt relieved he wasn’t the only one to experience a moment of panic.
“Nothing but an empty chamber here although there looks to be a portal,” Creel said. “Care to try your ring again, Taren?”
They all filed down into the chamber at the bottom of the stairs, and Taren was relieved to be out of the claustrophobic stairwell. The room they entered was roughly hewn out of dull, gray stone, like an ordinary tunne
l in the earth. At the far end of the chamber, a metallic disc was embedded in the ground, inscribed with glyphs around its circumference. Other than the disc, the chamber was barren, with no exit.
Taren approached the disc and extended his ring, unsure of how to use it, if indeed it would do anything. When he held it out, the band turned warm on his finger once more. A rune formed on the flat face of the ring and glowed a pale blue. A matching symbol ignited in the center of the metal disc, the luminosity increasing in intensity until Taren had to look away from its brilliance. When his eyes adjusted, he saw a glowing blue oval had coalesced before them.
I sure hope this takes us somewhere out onto the surface, preferably the edge of these damned ruins.
He looked at the faces of his three companions, lambent in the glow of the portal. They exchanged resolute glances and, one by one, walked into the magical gateway, each disappearing with a soft flare of light. Taren waited until the others were through, maintaining the open portal with his ring.
Once he was alone, he took a deep breath and stepped into the light.
Author’s Note
Thank you for taking the time to read my book! If you have a spare moment, please take the time to leave a review and spread the word to your friends. It doesn’t need to be a long review—one or two sentences would be perfect. Reviews and word of mouth are really important for independent authors to find an audience. I invite you to visit my website for news about future stories and to leave a comment there if you like.
The adventure continues in Scions of Nexus Book 2: The Way of Pain (Coming Fall 2018).
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