The prince shook his head. "No, Latani. You fail to understand. Daenor can no longer stand alone, an outcast in the sunlight. The time has come to join the rest of Timandra, to be equals in a sunlit empire. That is what the Radian Order gives us—equality. All who serve Serin will find honor. And all who seek to fight my master will perish. And so will you and the prince pup." He turned toward the Magerians around him. "Slay them."
The Magerians raised crossbows. Quarrels whistled.
Neekeya and Tam dived and ducked behind a metal cart. The bolts slammed into it, and gemstones cascaded.
Boots thumped as the enemy ran forward. Growling, Neekeya shoved against the minecart she hid behind. It tilted over, spilling hundreds of gems across the floor. Three Magerians, racing forward with swinging swords, tripped and crashed down, clumsy in their armor. Others knelt and began to collect the gems.
Neekeya tugged the emptied cart back onto the track. She jumped inside and gestured to Tam.
"Well, come on! You wanted to save me, right?"
He nodded and leaped into the cart too. More crossbows thrummed. They ducked and the quarrels flew over their heads. Neekeya grabbed a lever and tugged, releasing the cart's brakes. With shrieks and a shower of sparks, the trolley began racing down the metal rails, heading deeper into the mine.
Wind whipped their hair. They gripped the sides of the cart, ducking as more quarrels flew overhead. The tracks plunged down into darkness, and craggy walls raced at their sides, their gemstones blurred into streaks. Only several scattered torches provided illumination.
"Idar's Beard!" Tam cursed. "Is this thing safe?"
Neekeya shook her head. "Not at this speed. But neither are Radians with crossbows."
As the minecart trundled down the track, she glanced behind her and cursed. Several other carts were racing in pursuit, the enemy within them. Prince Felsar sat in the lead trolley, and Magerians filled the carts behind him. All bore crossbows and swords. Another bolt fired and Neekeya ducked, dodging the projectile.
"Neekeya, watch out!" Tam shouted.
She winced to see a sharp turn in the tracks. Desperately, she grabbed the lever and tugged on the brakes. The cartwheels screamed. Sparks rose in a fountain. As the cart skidded along the turn, it tilted over, nearly spilling Tam and Neekeya. Below, she could see the darkness plunging down to the river of lava. She screamed and leaned the opposite way, and the cart's wheels slammed back down onto the track. They kept racing downward.
"Idar's Soggy Britches," Tam muttered.
An instant later, Neekeya saw Felsar's cart just barely make the turn; it too tilted and nearly tumbled down before righting itself. The cart behind Felsar, however, did not break in time. It began to make the turn, then veered off the rails and tumbled down. Men screamed inside before crashing down into the lava.
Neekeya's cart made another sharp turn, plunging into a dark, narrow tunnel that led deeper into the earth. Diamonds shone in the walls around her, and the ribs of ancient reptiles rose like archways above. The enemy carts pursued. Crossbow quarrels flew, and Neekeya ducked. The missiles whistled and slammed into the cart. One quarrel slammed into a wheel, and the cart leaped and nearly overturned. It crashed back down onto the tracks with shrieking sparks.
"Tam, grab the lever!" Neekeya shouted.
She sucked in air and rose above the edge of the cart. A quarrel whistled and she tilted, dodging it.
Focus. She inhaled deeply. Summon the magic.
She chose the tracks behind her. She claimed the metal. She changed the material, lifting the rails like the tusks of a rearing elephant.
The minecart behind her hit the shattered metal and flew into the air. Behind it, other carts bolted and tilted, slamming into one another. Felsar screamed, his cart tilting madly. Trollies crashed down into the lava below. Smoke and dust obscured the tunnels, blinding Neekeya.
Her cart kept racing downward.
No enemies pursued.
She breathed out a shaky breath of relief.
We're safe.
"By Inagon's moldy pits!" Tam shouted, laughing. "That was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."
The tracks led them onward, soon leveling off. They slowed down in a towering, craggy hall the size of a palace. The track here stretched over a chasm, and the lava roiled and bubbled below. Only the thin, rickety track—humble rails cobbled together into a bridge—separated the cart from the inferno below.
The track finally ended at a stone platform that thrust out from the cavern wall. A staircase stretched ahead, leading upward into shadows. The minecart rolled to a stop at the platform. No other carts followed; they all must have fallen off the broken track.
Legs rubbery, Neekeya and Tam climbed out of the cart onto the stone ledge. The platform was only a few feet wide, trapped between the lava and the staircase.
Growls rose to her side.
Eyes narrowed, Neekeya turned toward the sound. A barred door was worked into the stone wall. Beyond lay a chamber full of furry black creatures the size of boars. Tipped with claws, their forepaws were massive; they formed half of each animal's mass. The creatures' tapered heads were eyeless, their noses were long and pink and whiskered, and sharp teeth filled their mouths.
"What are they?" Tam asked, eying them wearily.
"We call them minemoles," Neekeya answered, "though their true name in our tongue is da'altin. They are excellent diggers—they dug these mines—though they're also nasty, hungry creatures who thirst for human blood." She shuddered. "Several times, miners cut their fingers upon sharp stones. The minemoles smelled the blood like sharks and . . ." She shook her head wildly. "Never mind that." She pointed at the staircase. "Here the mine ends. These stairs will lead us into the western swamps, hopefully beyond the battle. From there we'll travel, hidden between the trees, to the sea."
Tam nodded and took her hands. "We'll find the sea. I promise you. We'll sail to safety. If my parents still live, we'll find them. We'll survive." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. "I'll look after you always. I'll love you always."
They stood holding each other for long moments, the chasm of lava to one side, the cellar of minemoles to the other, and the staircase behind them. Finally Neekeya broke apart from the embrace. She placed one foot upon the staircase and reached out to him.
"We climb."
Before she could take another step, a voice rose from across the chasm.
"You cannot escape, Neekeya. It's over."
Prince Felsar came walking along the rails over the pit of lava. Behind him walked a dozen Magerian soldiers and three mages in black armor.
Neekeya hissed, crouched, and claimed the track. She tugged the metal, intending to shatter the rails again, to send the enemy plunging down into the lava. The rails began to bend. But the three Magerian mages—they seemed to hover above the track—seized control of the magic, pressing the rails back into place. They raised their hands, and blasts of magic shot across the chasm to slam into Neekeya and Tam.
The two fell, writhing in pain.
The pain ended as fast as it had begun. Neekeya lay gasping, electricity crackling across her. She struggled to her feet, and Tam rose beside her, coughing. Sweat dripped down their foreheads.
Neekeya took another step onto the staircase.
More magic blasted out, knocking her down. She screamed. Blood dipped from her mouth, and the minemoles shrieked in their enclosure, banging against the bars, begging to feed.
When the pain ended, Neekeya spun back toward the track that spanned the chasm. Felsar and the mages had crossed half the bridge now. Hoods hid the mages' faces, but Neekeya could see Felsar clearly. He was smiling.
"You cannot escape us," the prince said. "Even if you make it up the stairs—and perhaps I will let you climb them for sport—we will hunt you in the marshes. Perhaps I will keep you alive. Perhaps I will drag you to Emperor Serin in chains, so he may torture you himself. The Latani of Eetek and the Price of Arden . . . fine prizes." The pri
nce licked his lips. "Fine prizes that would elevate me to glory in the court of my lord."
Tam coughed and hugged himself. Blood dripped from cuts the magic had left across him. The minemoles were shrieking, reaching their paws between the bars of their enclosure, consumed with bloodlust, desperate for their crimson drink.
Neekeya's limbs shook. Her head spun. Coughing and bleeding, she struggled back up to her feet. Tam grasped her arms. He stared at her, sweat dripping into his eyes.
"Climb, Neekeya." He stroked a strand of her hair; it was wet with blood and sweat. "Run."
She looked back at the tracks. The enemy was advancing, the lava gurgling below. If she stepped onto the stairs again, the mages would blast their magic, she knew. What could she do? She was trapped. She had failed. She—
"Run!" Tam shouted.
He spun toward the enclosure in the wall. Magic blasted out from his hand, shattering the metal bars. With a single swift movement, Tam swiped his hand across his blade, then lifted his bleeding palm.
The minemoles raced toward him, clawing over one another in a mad dash.
"Up the stairs, Neekeya!" the Prince of Arden shouted . . . and leaped onto the track.
"Tam!" she shouted.
He ran across the metal track over the chasm, heading toward the enemy. Neekeya cried out and tried to run after him, but the minemoles raced around her, each as large as a boar. They slammed into her, knocking her down, in their mad dash after Tam's dripping blood. The creatures scurried along the track like rats along a rope.
Upon the track, high above the lava, Tam swung his sword, parrying a bolt of magic. Shouting wordlessly, he slammed into Felsar.
"Tam!" Neekeya shouted, tears in her eyes.
An instant later, a dozen minemoles leaped onto Tam, Felsar, and the soldiers on the track. Magic blasted out. Men screamed. Blood showered. Fire exploded.
With creaks and snaps, the iron rails shattered.
Both men and minemoles fell.
Neekeya reached across the chasm, screaming, watching the rails plummet.
The lava showered up toward the ceiling and walls, greedy tongues licking chops of stone, satisfied after a hearty meal.
"Tam . . ."
Neekeya remained upon the stone ledge, reaching down toward the lava. Her body shook. Tears gushed from her eyes.
"My husband . . ."
The lava settled and gurgled peacefully, a red river. The bridge had vanished, leaving only a few shattered spikes of metal. All that remained of men and minemoles was the echo of a scream, perhaps only a memory. All that remained of Neekeya's life was a hollow, empty shell.
She wept. Her life was saved. Her husband was gone.
"Tam . . . please," she whispered. "Please, let this be a trick. Let this be some illusion of your magic. Tam . . ."
More Magerian soldiers emerged across the chasm from the opposite tunnel. They saw Neekeya, raised crossbows, and fired. Several quarrels clattered around her, and one drove into her thigh. She screamed.
I'm sorry, Tam. I'm sorry.
She turned and ran up the staircase, quarrels pattering around her feet. She climbed for hundreds of steps, moving higher and higher, her blood dripping, her tears falling. Finally she emerged back into the marshlands, turned around, and saw the Pyramid of Eetek a mile away. Radian banners rose from its crest, and Magerians blew horns in victory.
Covered in blood, dust, and mud, Neekeya stood in the marshes, the water up to her knees. She lowered her head and clutched the hilt of her sword.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR:
THE BLOOD OF ELORIA
Lari leaned back in her lush armchair, placed her feet upon her embroidered footstool, and sipped from her glass of wine.
"Well, well." She examined Madori. "The war hasn't been good to you, has it?"
The camp outside—Iron Mine Number One—was a nightmarish land of screams, blood, and death. Here in this tent was an oasis of comfort and splendor. The tent walls were woven of rich, crimson wool embroidered with golden thread. Golden bowls of fruit, jeweled jugs of wine, and ivory cutlery rested upon giltwood tables. Statues of rearing buffaloes—symbols of Old Mageria—held crackling embers in their mouths, and their ruby eyes gleamed.
And in the center of this splendor is me, Madori thought.
She looked into a tall mirror, its frame golden. She did not recognize the creature she had become. Cuts bled upon her naked scalp. Grime covered her body. That body was thinner than she'd ever known it, her ribs visible between the tatters of her rags, her joints knobby. The brand still blazed upon her shoulder, raw and red, and the stripes of Gora's whip marked her skin.
She looked back at Lari. As wretched as Madori was, Lari was resplendent. The princess wore a burgundy gown strewn with golden suns, and rubies hung around her neck. Her blond hair cascaded, scented with sweet oils, and even here in the camp, the princess kept her face finely painted—her eyelids powdered blue, her lips tinted red, her cheeks kissed with pink. On her fingers shone rings, each one worth more than Madori's old house and everything it had contained.
"What do you want from me?" Madori asked.
Lari sloshed the wine in her mouth, swallowed, and raised her eyebrow. "Why, I should think it clear, mongrel. I want you to suffer. I want you to stay alive to endure all the pain I can give you. I want you to remain the last living nightcrawler after all others have perished, and to remain by my side, to watch the destruction of the night with me." Lari leaned forward, her teeth stained red with wine. "And then, mongrel, I will return you to the sunlight, where I will parade you around as a freak, a creature for a menagerie. Men and women from across the empire will travel to see you, to pelt you with stones, to laugh at the deformed creature of darkness that I tamed. That is what I will turn you into."
The princess's cheeks flushed, and her grin stretched obscenely wide—so wide it almost seemed to split her face. Her eyes blazed with fire. With her garish makeup and hissing grin, she suddenly seemed less like a woman and more like some demonic jester.
She's insane, Madori realized. She's not just cruel, not just hateful. She's utterly mad.
"So why keep me here?" Madori said. "Why not toss me into the mine with the others?"
Lari plucked a grape from a bowl and chewed. "Too easy for you to kill yourself down there. I've seen one do it—slam the pickaxe right into his own head." She laughed—a trill shriek of a sound. "You will not leave my sight. You will not be a miner. You will be my servant; that is a better fate for you. Until the war is over and all the nightcrawlers are dead, you will prepare my meals, wash my clothes, empty my chamber pot, clean my dishes, and mostly watch with me. Yes, mostly you will stand with me above the canyon, watching as the nightcrawlers wither away, watching as they die." Lari rose from her chair, approached Madori, and held her arms. Her eyes blazed with the white light of a madwoman. "It will be glorious."
Madori stared into those two blue orbs of insanity. She shook her head. "I refuse. I will not serve you, Lari. You've gone mad with your power." Hesitantly, she touched Lari's shoulder. "You don't have to become this person. You don't have to let your father turn you into this. I can help you. I—"
Lari screamed and backhanded her. Madori clutched her blazing cheek.
"Be silent, mongrel, or I'll cut out your tongue." Lari grabbed a pitcher and tossed it at Madori. It slammed against her chest and spilled its wine. "I thought you might refuse. I knew you would. But I have ways of forcing you to obey."
"If you hurt me," Madori said softly, "I will endure it."
"May be." Lari laughed. "But I think, if I hurt another, you will find it harder to resist." She shouted toward the tent's entrance. "Gora! Bring her in!"
The tent flap opened. Gora and two other guards dragged in a bald, beaten Elorian.
Madori's eyes dampened.
Her heart seemed to fall still.
Mother.
"Mother!" she cried, leaped forward, and pulled Koyee into an embrace.
Tears str
eamed down Koyee's bruised face. "Madori! Oh, Madori!" Koyee trembled, caressing Madori's cheek again and again. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, daughter."
Madori could not speak, only weep. Gone was the proud, noble mother she had known, a warrior of starlight. Koyee was now battered, bleeding, her head bald, her hands raw and blistered, her limbs stick-thin. Tears flowed down Madori's cheeks.
"It'll be all right, Mother," she finally whispered through shaking lips, holding Koyee close. "Help will come to us. We—"
"Pull them apart!" Lari shrieked. "Gora! Make the mother suffer. Let the mongrel watch."
With a few grunts and curses, the Magerians grabbed mother and daughter and tugged them apart. Madori wailed and reached out to Koyee, but the guards only laughed, their grips like iron.
With a grin, Gora struck Koyee, knocking her down.
"Damn you!" Madori howled. She struggled against the guards gripping her but couldn't free herself.
Gora chortled and raised his whip above Koyee. Coughing out blood, Koyee struggled to rise, but her arms wobbled, too weak to support her.
"Stop!" Madori cried. She turned toward Lari. "Stop. I'll do as you say. Just let her go."
Gora froze, his whip held in the air, and glanced at Lari. The emperor's daughter nodded. Disappointment clouded Gora's face, and he hawked and seemed ready to spit, then apparently remembered where he stood and swallowed. With a grunt, he grabbed Koyee and manhandled her out of the tent.
"Be strong, Mother!" Madori called after her. "I love you. I love you . . ."
The other guards shuffled out, leaving Madori alone again with Lari in the tent.
Lari cleared her throat, sat back down in her armchair, and placed her feet back upon the footstool. "Now, my dear mongrel, I thirst for wine. Pour me a new cup. Afterward you may fetch me my dinner from the kitchens, then wash my boots and gown; both are dirty from my ride last turn. Well . . . get to work. Or shall I call your nightcrawler mother back in?"
For the next few hours, Madori worked in silence—serving Lari, cleaning her plates, cleaning her clothes, grooming her horse, and obeying her every command. Her head would not stop spinning, and her limbs would not stop shaking, and she wondered how long she would remain alive, how long any of them would. Her chains rattled with every step.
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