by B. T. Narro
“The top? Yeso isn’t there.”
“I can ask someone else if I’m bothering you.”
“No, it’s fine. Stay to the left instead and you’ll reach the top. All other routes have been blocked to make it easier.”
“Thank you.”
When he didn’t respond, Basen figured she’d put the man back asleep with psyche. Soon the rest of them were trailing behind the woman as she crept through the cavern. There were far more enemies sleeping here than Basen first realized, at least fifty.
The cavern stretched on for a while, one main route going up the center like a spine. These men had laid down a rug, muffling Basen’s footsteps. Psyche kept all of them asleep as he carefully walked through.
Basen thought he caught a glimpse of light from the exit tunnel ahead of them, but it was gone before he could be sure. The psychic from earlier, he thought. Was their surprise already taken from them? No, a psychic would’ve woken these men if he or she wanted Basen and the Elves to be caught. So who else could it be?
They made their way through the long sleeping quarters and soon came to another tunnel. The mountain finally appeared different. Sconces on the wall and lighter air made Basen feel less like he was suffocating as he came closer to the kind of civilization he recognized. The tunnel became wider, allowing up to four people to walk side by side. Vithos suddenly appeared, surprising Basen.
“Shouldn’t you be in the back?” he asked.
“Yeso’s Elves will recognize anyone the same as they recognize me. But I am not the same. My psyche is strongest. I fight well, and they are close now. Be ready.”
Basen drew his sword with his left hand, keeping his wand in his right. The tunnel split, and they kept to the right as instructed. He could already see within the cavern where Yeso’s Elves were sleeping.
Suddenly, Basen’s reflexes told him to run from something tremendously powerful coming toward him from his left. He jumped back and noticed Fatholl’s Elves around him jumping as well as the same sense of danger overwhelmed them. But the only thing there was the stone wall that separated the two tunnels.
“Psychic,” some of the Elves muttered.
Someone was on to them, perhaps now trying to warn them or scare them off? No, it didn’t feel like psyche putting the fear of death in Basen. There was something far more real on the other side of the wall.
They had to ignore it, as Yeso’s Elves ahead were beginning to stir.
“They’re waking,” Basen hissed back down the tunnel.
Fatholl pushed his Elves out of the way to get to the front. “Yeso!” he called.
What in god’s world was he doing? Basen and the few other mages could’ve launched fireballs into the sleeping quarters, but now all were quickly rising and lighting lamps.
“Fatholl?” a distant voice questioned. A string of Elvish followed that roused the waking Elves quicker, all of them grabbing weapons.
Fatholl replied in their language. He sounded reluctant, not aggressive. Fatholl should’ve ignored the urge to speak to his brother before attacking. He was going to get all of them killed.
Now with the cavern as bright as day, Yeso hesitantly came forward wearing a look of confusion and worry. He said something softly in Elvish, as if to himself. Then he repeated it louder as he stood straighter. A third time he repeated it, opening his palms and scowling as if accusing Fatholl of something.
Fatholl’s reluctance dissolved as he pointed a finger in what appeared to be fury. But Yeso began to yell before his brother could say anything.
Suddenly they were screaming at each other. Ulric’s name was the only word Basen recognized. It was strange to hear Elvish at such a loud volume. Their words, usually light as a feather riding the wind, were now more like a flag thrashing from an approaching hurricane.
“What are they saying?” Basen asked Vithos. The Elf had told him he knew some Elvish but not enough to be fluent.
“Bad words for stupid, traitor, for destroyer of life. Yeso blames Fatholl for abandoning the Elves. Fatholl blames Yeso for greed.”
It was quite clear there would be no agreement between these two anytime soon. With Yeso’s much larger and better equipped army looking more and more hostile, Basen had only one choice of what to do.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Neither brother looked ready to dishonor the other with a surprise attack, so Basen had to be the one to do it. Part of Penny’s instruction had involved gathering energy quickly, and he made use of this practice by readying his fireball in the span of a breath. He could kill Yeso right here and avoid relying so much on chance for their plan to work.
Fatholl would be livid, as he’d insisted he be the one to kill his brother. But Fatholl had opened his mouth to start an argument rather than attack with psyche as he’d said he would.
Basen pulled out a fine stream of sartious dust from his wand, moving it into the burning ball of energy. It caught fire as he directed it at Yeso.
The Elf dropped flat on the ground, the fireball exploding amid the Elves behind him. Basen cursed.
Fatholl tried to grab Basen, but he was ready for Fatholl to throw him to the wolves and spun away. Damn Fatholl. He’d ruined everything.
Screams rang out on both sides, half of all the Elves dropping like Yeso. Now back a few rows and untouched by psyche, Basen took a moment to launch another fireball. It exploded into a heap of charging Elves. He hoped they were part of the group who’d broken the Academy’s wall a few days ago.
Basen backed away, expecting the rest of his temporary allies to follow. But most were down and seemed unable to get up. He raised his wand for another fireball when he caught sight of Yeso raising his arm. An intense pain akin to being struck by lightning made Basen curl up before he hit the ground. It tore through him with more force, and screaming did nothing to help.
Someone grabbed him by his shirt collar. He could do nothing to focus, nothing to resist the spell or even move.
But whoever had him by his collar dragged him away from the fray. He regained some strength in his legs the farther he went from the psyche spell. Soon it stopped completely, though it had taken a lot out of him as he struggled to stand.
“We run now,” Vithos said, still holding onto Basen.
He found his footing and hurried toward what now would be the front of their army. He couldn’t take another spell like that, and frankly he cared just as little about Fatholl’s Elves as they did about him.
Damn, Fatholl has to live, Basen grudgingly reminded himself. He went back to find the Elf on his knees, his outstretched hand aimed at nearly a mirror image of himself. Both he and Yeso groaned in pain as Elves crawled around them to get to each other. No one could get up or even get their hands around a bow or wand. Fresh to the scene, Basen hadn’t yet been targeted and hurried to gather more energy.
He almost lost his grip on his wand as another terrible spell of pain took him down and sapped his strength.
“We have to get out of here!” he yelled through the agony. “More will come!”
But his words had no effect as everyone seemed to be disabling each other with psyche. It was a testament to the power of Fatholl’s Elves, as he had only about a fourth as many as Yeso.
Suddenly the spells stopped and everyone’s screams ceased. A scent came to the air, bitter and tart. Basen recognized it immediately.
Sanya.
She must be the psychic they’d sensed earlier. Now she’d broken the bastial energy in the air as she had when she’d killed Nick…and then again when she’d killed Alex. Who did she plan to kill now?
Basen raced down the short tunnel, hearing both armies of Elves behind him as he quickly made it to the front. He took a sharp turn and expected to see Sanya in front of him, but the tunnel was too dark.
Fatholl’s Elves were close behind, with Yeso’s behind them. Had Sanya done this to save Basen and his group from certain death? It seemed likely, as she’d done nothing earlier to alert Yeso’s Elves about the ambus
h.
Soon the odor was gone and Basen could feel his grasp on bastial energy returning. Screams of agony rang out behind him, but he didn’t slow. Fatholl’s Elves had known they might not make it out of these mountains.
Vithos was quicker than most and soon caught up to Basen.
“Do you sense anyone ahead of us?” Basen asked.
“We go too fast,” Vithos replied.
There was only one route to follow. Planks of wood barred the entrances to every other tunnel. It wasn’t long before Basen caught sight of someone running ahead of him. The figure was cloaked in loose robes of black and dragging an enormous satchel. Basen noticed a mask when the person glanced back.
Sanya? Whatever she’d gotten herself into here, Basen didn’t care to know. The only thing that did matter was how whatever she had planned would affect his group.
Effie had told Basen about her encounter with Sanya and a woman claiming to be Sanya’s mother. There was no chance Sanya could still be angry with Basen for opening portals if she’d brought her mother back from the dead. But Cleve and Reela had heard from Sanya that her mother and Alex were now at peace after some horrendous event in the dungeons of Kyrro’s castle. None of it made much sense to Basen, and he hadn’t had time to consider any of it, but now, with Sanya leading the way, he regretted not finding out more about it.
Basen gained on her but separated from Vithos and the other Elves in the process. The tunnels through the mountain were mostly straight, giving a strong runner like him the advantage. The ground began to incline soon enough. It wouldn’t be long before they reached the top.
Ahead of him, the cloaked figure made a turn. Basen came to the same turn but stopped when he noticed a plank of wood nailed across the entrance to this tunnel. It wasn’t the way to the top. Sanya didn’t want to be caught, or she had something else in mind.
Basen chose the other route instead. But as he came through the short tunnel and into a vast cavern filled with sleeping men, he realized Sanya wasn’t just trying to avoid him; she wanted to avoid everyone.
The men awoke and began to shout to each other that something was happening.
“What is it?” someone asked Basen. “An attack?
“The Academy is trying to pass through the pathway,” he announced. “Get to the top!”
Hundreds rushed to grab their swords and bows.
“Hurry,” Basen said, knowing Fatholl’s Elves wouldn’t be far behind.
Bustling and screaming at each other to move, they exited the cavern quickly. Basen stayed at the back of their ranks. He looked over his shoulder to find Vithos and the Fatholl’s Elves coming in. He waved for them to follow.
The mountain peak turned out to be close, and soon Basen was relieved to feel the fresh air on his damp forehead. He didn’t know where Sanya had gone. Why had she helped them escape? Effie had mentioned something about Sanya telling Reela she would assist the Academy, but both Basen and Effie believed Sanya was just saying whatever she could to keep herself alive.
Fortunately, the peak of the southern end of the mountain was not like the northern side. Countless pillars of rock coming up from the ground provided cover for Basen to slink away without being noticed. As Vithos and Fatholl’s Elves reached the top, Basen called out to them.
Eventually all of them were running north while their human enemies went south, soon hidden behind the tall spikes of the mountaintop. But where were Yeso’s Elves? Basen continued to jog as he turned back to watch the opening in the ground.
“Where are they?” he asked Vithos.
“I heard them fighting. Not far.”
Yeso was the first to emerge, his face twisted by aggression. He started after Fatholl’s Elves but then checked behind him. Yeso could’ve shouted for human reinforcements, but he didn’t. Whatever the reason, Basen was thankful.
Fatholl had brought the Elves with the greatest stamina for this task, but already most of them had begun to slow more than Basen would’ve liked. It would be daylight before they got down the slope on the other side. Basen stayed a good distance ahead of everyone.
Before long, he reached the flat plains of the northern side. The first light of the sun came up over the western ridge, painting the clouds red. The Elvish shouting behind him was almost like the caws of morning birds.
Basen had a swig from the water skin he’d brought, then checked over his shoulder yet again. Yeso’s Elves didn’t appear to be as fit as Fatholl’s, struggling to keep up. Their determination was admirable, though it would soon prove to be foolish.
There were many more entrances down into the mountains, but Basen worried less and less about an army coming out of one to stop him the closer they got to the northern edge.
“Basen.” Sanya, with her mask removed, peered out from behind a jutting pillar. “Don’t tell anyone I’m here. There’s something you need to know.”
He stopped and realized there was nowhere he could run to find cover, while she had plenty of protection in case they exchanged fireballs. He wasn’t sure she could even cast one, though she certainly could kill him with psyche.
“What?”
“I noticed your Elves are lacking bows and arrows.”
We knew we’d be running a long distance. “And?”
“What do you plan to do here?”
He looked behind him. He was far ahead, but he didn’t like standing idle.
“Helping our side in this war.”
She stomped her foot, showing the same anger he’d seen countless times in Tenred castle.
“Don’t be vague! I’m trying to help you.”
“Why?”
She looked even more perturbed as she gritted her teeth. “Just tell me! You don’t have much time.”
“Yeso is going to die.” He wasn’t sure why he was confiding in Sanya of all people, but he knew to trust his gut. “Still going to help us?”
“Yes,” she said. “First by telling you that some of Ulric’s troops now know about your escape and will try to block your way down the slope. You won’t be able to beat one of them. The largest one—he’ll stand out. Don’t try to fight your way past him. Just run around him because he doesn’t like to.”
“Doesn’t like to what?”
“Run!” She shook her fist and disappeared behind the pillar.
Basen didn’t know why, but he believed her.
As Sanya had warned, enemy troops began to pour out of an opening ahead of him. Among them was a giant of a man. With a torso as thick and strong as the trunk of a tree, he would’ve made Cleve look like a small boy if the two stood next to each other. He wielded a massive battle axe of orange and red bastial steel that looked too heavy for most men to lift with two hands, though he gripped it with one. In his other was a tall shield of the same precious metal, no doubt strong enough to block a fireball.
He let out a roar like a beast, then put on a sick grin. “Battle!” he yelled to the morning sky above, as if making an announcement to grab the attention of the heavens.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Who you speak to?” Vithos asked as he came up to Basen, huffing for breath.
“Sanya. She told us we can’t beat him.” Basen pointed toward the group of men forming ranks.
“Them?” Vithos asked.
“No, just him,” Basen specified as he kept his finger aimed at the giant. There were about twenty others that looked like Fjallejons next to him. They didn’t share his fervor for battle, holding up their weapons with nervous, inexperienced hands, none wielding a bow.
Making matters worse, Yeso’s small army of Elves was closing in from behind with Fatholl and the others. There would be no time for this glorious “battle” that the giant had announced to the heavens.
There was only one option, and it was the opposite of what Sanya had said. They would have to fight through the giant, and quickly.
The moment Basen drew his wand, they began to charge. “Don’t waste psyche on the big one,” Basen advised Vithos as they t
ook their places shoulder to shoulder. “It won’t work.”
“How you know?”
“I’m trusting Sanya.” Basen launched his first fireball, happy to see that his aim was true. It plummeted quickly upon his enemies, all of them scattering except for one. The giant actually moved toward it, catching it with his enormous shield. The force of it knocked him back, his massive boots sliding across the mountaintop. It came no closer to knocking him over than if Basen had sneezed on him.
Basen muttered a curse as he put away his wand and drew his blade. “How many of them can you pain at once?” he asked Vithos.
“Half,” Vithos replied to Basen’s shock. “They look weak. But I want hurt the big one.”
“Don’t try to hurt the big one,” Basen urged.
“I will.”
Basen dashed at a sharp angle to the side and called for Vithos to follow. Half of the humans chased after them, showing their flank to Basen’s allies. The giant gave Basen a passing glance as he crossed by, ready to protect himself from a fireball if needed. Basen didn’t have time to cast one.
“Now, Vithos,” he said as he charged the oncoming enemies.
Vithos screamed and slapped his hands together. The men groaned and gasped as the spell hit them. Half of them tumbled, tripping the others who’d managed to stay on their feet. Basen cut whatever flesh was in front of him, landing a few deadly blows. It wasn’t his priority. He just needed to maim as many as he could before they could get up.
“Fatholl!” Basen shouted without taking time to look. “The giant cannot be hurt. Run past him!” Basen circled around while the men he hadn’t had a chance to cut began to stand. Now with the mountain slope—the exit—behind him, he had a clear view of the terrible collision between Fatholl’s Elves and their enemies.
His advice to Fatholl was ignored, as many of the Elves had their hands directed at the giant. Their faces contorted with strain at first, then morphed into confusion, and then concern. Fatholl showed complete shock just before ducking under a surprisingly nimble swing from the giant’s massive battle axe.