Fracture (Book 1)

by Craig Andrews

Nodding, the man started to respond when a distant boom interrupted him. The floor shook, knocking the decanter off the stand, spilling red wine across the dark hardwood like blood spilling from a corpse.

  “I thought you said they were secure?” Darian said.

  Before the man could answer, more explosions rattled the room, each bigger and louder than the last. Graeme’s thoughts went instantly to Liam. Was he all right? Had they bound him, too, or did they get him into the shelter by some other means? He struggled to control his emotions. Getting angry would make him rash and stupid. They were greatly outnumbered and in enemy territory. If they had any hope of escaping alive, Graeme needed to keep his wits.

  “Get him out!” Darian yelled, pointing at Graeme. “And find the other two. They’ll no doubt be heading for the others.”

  The other magi shoved Graeme through the doorway.

  Allyn woke violently. His back arched as though he’d been hit with a defibrillator. He gasped, his eyes bulging as volts of energy spread through his limbs. He felt the skin of his back stretch as his wounds healed. Burns were replaced by soft, tender skin. Soon, the sharp pain vanished entirely. Breathing became easier and less painful as his insides rolled and ribs popped back in place. The pressure around his swollen eye subsided, and his shoulder felt as if it had been guided back into place by invisible fingers. The energy surged through him, comforting him, addressing his most dire injuries, and then… it was over. His body relaxed as he lay on his back, breathing rapidly.

  Nyla stood over him with her hand against his bare chest. “How are you feeling?”

  Allyn blinked. He could see out of both eyes, and his left arm, while sore, was back in its socket and functional. He rolled onto his side and probed his ribs, which were bruised but not broken. He was in remarkably good shape.

  “Thank you.” The words sounded hollow. What do you say to someone who makes a habit of saving your life?

  Nyla nodded. Her cheek was red and puffy, and her left eye was nearly swollen shut. She held her left arm tightly against her body, keeping it immobile, swaying as she struggled to keep her balance. He didn’t know how many of the injuries she had sustained during her fight with Cason and how many of them were a result of healing him, but she was a mess.

  Cason’s body lay motionless in the center of the room. Blood streaked down his face, and more pooled behind his head. He didn’t look as though he would ever get up again.

  “What happened?” Allyn asked.

  “We survived,” she said. “For now. Can you walk?”

  Allyn planted a shaky leg on the ground and stood. He was weak, his muscles were pained and tight, and he would have to move slowly, but he could walk.

  “Good,” she said. “We need to leave before others arrive.”

  Liam stood at the double doors, looking down the corridor. “We’re clear.”

  “Then lead the way,” Allyn said.

  Nyla quietly led them down the corridor, with Liam a couple paces behind her. Allyn moved slowly, struggling to not fall behind. His legs felt mechanical, moving and bending on command but not adapting to the terrain. He tripped over his own feet more than once.

  They passed Scarlet, her skin red and blistered. Her neck was twisted backward, and her leg was folded awkwardly underneath her. One of Spike’s fireballs seemed to have gotten the better of her. Spike didn’t have any noticeable injuries, but his chest rose and fell weakly. Allyn knew if he didn’t get immediate help, the man wouldn’t live to see tomorrow.

  Nyla peeked around the corner and winced.

  “What is it?” Allyn asked quietly.

  “There has to be another way out,” she said.

  “Why not just go out the way we came in?” Liam asked. “It’s the fastest.”

  “It will also lead us directly into their reinforcements,” Nyla said. “We need to find another way.”

  “Liam’s right,” Allyn said. “We don’t know if there is another way out, and this way, we can move more quickly.”

  “Fine,” Nyla said. “But at the first sound of anyone coming, both of you will hide. No arguments.”

  They didn’t have to wait long. Beyond the entrance to the stairwell above them, Allyn heard the sound of people running. And they were getting closer. Allyn froze. He wasn’t in a condition to fight, and he wasn’t sure how far he could run. They had only one option.

  “Hide!” Allyn whispered forcibly. Without waiting for a response, he darted back into the maze of corridors. Their footsteps echoed off the bare walls, and maybe it was the adrenaline kicking in again, but Allyn started to feel better. His ailing limbs grew more responsive, and the pain subsided.

  Liam blew past him, fleeing like a frightened animal. He stopped abruptly at the intersection and looked around frantically before rounding the corner and vanishing. Allyn recognized the corridor.

  The holding cell. The Hyland magi would be going there, and they would find Cason, Spike, and Scarlet.

  “Wait!” Allyn shouted after him.

  Liam didn’t listen and charged into the room.

  Allyn cursed and followed. He couldn’t leave him. After jumping over the scorched remains of Scarlet, he landed softly then rushed toward the holding cell. He really was feeling better. What did Nyla do to me? He’d always assumed healing was instantaneous and that once it was done, he was as good as he was going to get. But he was growing stronger. Did that mean she was growing weaker?

  Allyn planted his foot, skidding to a stop.

  The corridor behind him was empty.

  Where’s Nyla? She had been right behind him. She could have got turned around, he thought, though that wasn’t likely. She might be lying in wait, ready to spring an ambush on their attackers and give him and Liam a chance to escape. That was more likely. She was a warrior and would fight until the bitter end.

  Torn, Allyn looked back at the holding cell. Somewhere inside, Liam was hiding, and unlike Nyla, he wasn’t a warrior. Liam needed his help. But something wasn’t right. His body felt better—better than it should. Nyla wasn’t waiting behind to spring a trap. She would have said something. She would have told them to go on and to save themselves while she did something to help. No, she’d disappeared because she was in trouble and didn’t want to be saved. She was like a laboring animal finding a quiet place to die.

  Liam needed his help, and Nyla didn’t want it. He doubted that he could find her and still have time to help Liam. But he had to try.

  He owed her.

  He found her stumbling deeper into the compound, holding onto the wall for support.

  “Nyla!”

  She didn’t stop.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Go back,” she said.

  “No.” She is trying to lead them away! “I’m not going back without you.” He grabbed her arm. She tried to pull away but was too weak.

  “Please,” she said softly. “I’ll lead them away, give you a chance.”

  Allyn shook his head. “The only chance we have is with you.” He pulled her to him, and she collapsed. After hoisting her up over his shoulder, he raced back to the holding cell. He heard whispers and footsteps on the stairs when he rounded the corner to the long hallway. His steps became labored. His injured body was running out of strength. They weren’t going to make it.

  Liam appeared in the doorway. “Come on!” he called out, waving them on frantically.

  The terror in Liam’s eyes urged Allyn on. Nyla stirred, and a fire ignited inside him like a shot of pure adrenaline. He charged forward with renewed intensity, rushing past Liam into the holding cell. Liam kicked the door closed behind them.

  “Block the doors,” Allyn said, gently laying Nyla on the floor. Her breathing had grown frantic, and her eyelids fluttered. Her body trembled. “Nyla. Nyla, stay
with me. Stay with me, Nyla.”

  Her eyes opened.

  “There you go,” Allyn said. “Stay with me.”

  She looked at him, her eyes narrowing in confusion.

  “I’m not leaving you,” Allyn said. “Okay? You saved me. It’s my turn.”

  Nyla whispered something inaudible.

  “What?” Allyn put his ear close to her lips.

  “I didn’t… do it… for… you.”

  Allyn pulled away. Her eyes locked onto his, and a silent understanding passed between them before her eyes rolled back. He watched helplessly as the convulsions took her.

  Footsteps echoed through the corridor.

  “Help me!” Allyn yelled, running to the wall and grabbing one end of a large desk. Liam grabbed the other end, and together, they slid it in front of the door. It wouldn’t stop them from getting inside, but it would give him time to build a more proper barricade. “Get ready. The moment that door opens, blast them with a fireball.”

  Liam looked to the floor.

  “What?”

  “I can’t,” Liam said softly.

  “You don’t have to kill them,” Allyn said. “Just scare them. Make them think twice about coming in here.”

  Liam rubbed the top of his foot with his heel. “I can’t,” he said again. The echoing footsteps nearly drowned out his voice.

  “We don’t have time for this. Just do it.” Allyn ignored Liam’s response and checked on Nyla. The convulsions had subsided to a sight tremble in her hands and feet that was masked by her labored breathing. Her skin was cold and clammy as the life flowed away. Allyn propped her head up with a fringed throw pillow from the couch. “Don’t quit on us now.”

  He exhaled. What now? They were in a room without windows or exits, save for the one they just barred shut. The barricade would have to slow their entry and allow Liam to take care of them one by one as they tried to enter. Liam would have to get over his fear. They didn’t stand a chance without him.

  “Liam, I know—” Allyn came to an abrupt stop when he saw him.

  Liam stood in the center of the room, tears streaming down his face. “I can’t,” he said between sobs. “I’m sorry.” Shame, embarrassment, and pain hidden behind tears boiled to the surface. “I can’t wield.”

  Bang! The door rattled against its hinges.

  Graeme’s procession received more than one confused look as they escorted him through the estate. Since the explosions had stopped several minutes before, Graeme supposed it looked as if he had attacked the Hyland Family. The handcuffs and heavy guard didn’t help.

  Darian planned this well, Graeme thought.

  His guard picked up two additional escorts as they exited the main living quarters and entered a private wing at the north end of the estate. The additional guards took up position in the rear behind the two who were already on his heels. He had six escorts in total. Darian was afraid of him.

  As he should be.

  Darian favored intimidation and brute strength with his procession. Each of Graeme’s guards was a magi. Why not use a cleric’s abilities and subdue me by forcing me under? Graeme’s blood boiled as the realization came to him. He’s going to use my son against me.

  Graeme wielded water and fire, using the fire to draw the heat from the water, and projected it onto the steel handcuffs binding his wrists. They were a European design with a thick hinged steel plate instead of a chain—more of a shackle than a cuff and far more difficult to break out of.

  The private wing of the estate bore few of the decorative adornments the main living area displayed. Simple runners lined the floors, and the old singled-paned windows were left without drapes. Paint flaked away from the bare walls, and the baseboards were dented and scratched. Where the front rooms felt new and modern, this felt old and dingy.

  Graeme continued to pour his efforts into the cuffs. The silver cuffs were coated in thick frost, and the cold steel bit into his wrists. His escort paid him little mind, but he pulled the cuffs closer to his body anyway, partially obscuring them under his shirt. He projected the building ice crystals into the locking mechanism. Baylis had been able to pick locks this way, using slivers of ice to push against the correct pins and then reinforcing them with air to turn the mechanism, but Graeme had never been very good at it. Making matters worse, the cuffs were an unfamiliar design with a locking mechanism that he was unaccustomed to. Graeme quickly gave up on the idea.

  He continued to fill the lock with ice and focused his efforts on freezing the areas where the cuffs were weakest. If he projected fire and air into it, expanding the ice crystals almost instantaneously, he could create a miniature blast and blow the cuffs off—and maybe his hands along with them. Better to use that as a last resort, he decided.

  The procession stopped outside a nondescript door, which the lead escort opened and then ushered him inside. The two magi at the rear took up station in the hall on either side of the door and pushed it closed.

  The lead guard, a thick man who kept his hair long in an attempt to hide his receding hairline, strode across the room and yanked open the burgundy floor-to-ceiling curtains, allowing daylight to enter the room for the first time in a long time. Dust billowed from the curtains, making the air heavy. Mothballs had gathered in the corners of the room, and still more dust covered shelves, tables, and lamps. The furniture—a simple loveseat and an armchair with matching ottoman—were hidden under white sheets.

  The guard in front of Graeme visibly relaxed as the door closed. Graeme lunged forward, throwing his hands and wrists over the man’s head. He pulled back viciously, choking the man with the centerpiece of his cuffs. They fell backward into the door with a loud crash.

  The other three guards watched in horror as Graeme strangled their fellow magi. The man struggled to pull the cuffs away from his neck. He kicked, scratched, and clawed, but Graeme had the leverage. The guards in the hall banged on the door, trying to get in, but Graeme and his hostage pushed against it, keeping it closed.

  The magi to his right charged. Graeme wielded fire and projected it into the cuffs. They burned orange, swelling from the mix of ice and water inside, and exploded against the man’s neck. Shrapnel scattered through the air, taking out the incoming magi’s eye and dropping him to the ground, dead. The man he was strangling went limp against his chest, and Graeme pushed him aside, letting the body collapse to the ground.

  The magi at the window sent a fireball hurtling in his direction. Graeme dove aside, and the fireball struck the door, blowing it to splinters and knocking the magi in the hall to the floor. In a matter of seconds, Graeme had cut the procession of six down to two, and the remaining magi waited nervously, watching Graeme with wide eyes.

  Graeme got to his feet, rubbing his wrists. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but I will protect my Family by any means necessary. You can either let me walk through that door, or you can join your comrades on the floor.”

  The two men exchanged looks before holding their hands in front of them in surrender.

  “Where are you holding my son?” Graeme asked.

  “The holding cell,” one of the men said. “In the basement.”

  “Is there another entrance?” Graeme asked.

  The man shook his head.

  “Get on the ground, facedown, noses touching the floor.”

  Graeme took a deep breath and held it. He wielded air into a solid wall that he placed directly behind each of their heads. The barrier would keep them from looking up, or so they would believe. “Do you feel that?”

  The men grunted.

  “Good,” he said. “That shield will dissipate as I get farther away. Do not try to watch, do not try to get up, or else I will know and have to come in here and deal with you. Understood?”

  Again, the men grunted.

 
It was a lie, of course. The barrier would hold only as long as Graeme focused on it, which wouldn’t be long. But if they believed it to be true, then it was as real as steel. The two men wouldn’t move until Graeme was long gone.

  Graeme backed into the hall, stepping over fragments of wood. A hole had been blown open in the wall, exposing pink insulation and electrical wires. Both guards were lying dead on the floor. The one nearest to Graeme lay slumped against the wall, with a large piece of wood buried in his chest, and the other was facedown, with blood matted against the back of his head.

  It’s a shame it had come to this. Two dead out here, two more inside, and who knows how many more down in the basement. They’d come to the Hyland Estate looking for answers to prevent war, but instead, they had started one. Lukas was one step ahead of them, and he obviously had other plans. They had walked straight into a trap. Graeme kicked himself for not having seen it coming. He should have known Lukas would already have reached out to Families that might be sympathetic to his cause. And who better than Darian Hyland, the youngest grand mage of all the Families? He led a weak fledgling Family that had shed many of the ancient customs and traditions. They had much to gain by being the first to join Lukas’s movement.

  He had no excuses and no one to blame but himself. Even as Graeme went through all of it in his head, he knew that Allyn was the key to the trap. He wasn’t a magi, and he wasn’t a savior. He was just a man, another pawn in Lukas’s game, nothing more than a distraction meant to divert him from focusing on the real problem—stopping Lukas.

  Was the Hyland Family the first to form an alliance with Lukas or just the latest and the first to make a play? Word would be out as soon as Graeme made it known to the other Families. He would find out who stood with whom. Lukas wouldn’t surprise him again.

  Graeme charged forward, ready to take on the entire Hyland Family. He was going to find those stairs, enter the basement, and find that holding cell. He was going to protect his Family—by any means necessary.