Crown of Crystal Flame
Page 134
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A few chimes ago, however, the screams had fallen mysteriously silent.
“Do you think the torture masters have tired themselves out?” Gaelen pondered with black humor.
“More likely, we’re next, and they’ve just gone to sharpen their blades,” Tajik said.
Locked up in the room with them, Farel gave a grunting laugh of amusement. “Could be. They’ve been using them enough.”
“You know,” Gil announced, “as rescues go, I have to say, this one pretty much scorches rultshart turds.”
About a man length from the source of Gil’s voice came Rijonn’s rumbling agreement. “Tairen turds.”
“I told you,” Gaelen said, “I had backups. I don’t know what happened to them.”
A metallic scraping sound came from the direction of the door, and they all fell silent. The scraping sound was followed by the distinctive click of the latch lifting free. The door swung inward, and a sliver of light—the first in bells—spilled into the cell, widening rapidly as the door opened more fully. Two armored silhouettes stood in the doorway.
“Well, aren’t you a sorry sight,” a familiar Fey voice drawled.
“Kieran?” Gaelen sat up straight. There wasn’t much in life that could surprise him, but the appearance of Kieran vel Solande in the heart of Boura Fell definitely did. “What are you doing here? “
“Apparently, uncle, I’m saving you from a very nasty demise, though gods know, I’m sure it won’t take me long to regret it.”
Gaelen grinned, too pleased to take offense at his nephew’s cheek.
“Well, it took you long enough,” Bel groused, holding up his hands as Kiel ran over with a key to unlock his sel’dor manacles. “I was starting to get worried.”
Gaelen turned on Bel in disbelief. “You knew they were coming? “
Bel arched a brow. “You think the High Mage is the only one who plans backups for his backups?” Rijonn laughed, slow and deep.
Bel jumped to his feet, rubbing his wrists where the sel’dor piercings had chafed. “All right, kem’jetos. First we save Rain and Ellysetta, then we kick some Elden ass.”
* * *
«This way, shei’tani.»
Shrouded in blue Primage robes and guided by the information Shan had retrieved from the umagi girl’s mind, Shan and Elfeya made their way as quickly as they dared through the dark maze of Boura Fell. From the observation chambers, they had ascended several levels and crossed a wide common area filled with scores of Mages in green, red, and Primage blue. Though it cost Shan a great deal to keep his steel sheathed, they navigated that lyrant nest without incident and slipped down a hallway to the more private area they were in now. As they approached the intersection of two wide corridors, their steps slowed.
«The girl’s map says there will be guards up ahead,» Shan said. «At least six of them.»
The plucky little umagi girl had given Shan more than a simple map of the fortress and the path to the place Vadim Maur was holding their daughter. She’d given him all the details about all the rooms and wards and guard postings along the way, and identified spots where they would have to exercise extreme caution to avoid being caught.
«Let me check,» Elfeya replied, and with a skill unaltered by centuries of confinement, she sent her empathic senses whispering out ahead of them. The tendrils of awareness curved around the blind corners and streamed, undetected, down the hallways, pale threads of invisible golden light, imperceptible to all but the strongest of senses. Swiftly, she verified the location and number of the guards.
«Four to the left, two to the right,» she confirmed.
«I’ll have to take them all,» he replied grimly. «If even one of them raises the alarm, we won’t make it.» Their path lay to the left, up a flight of stairs to a heavily guarded, private level of the fortress restricted solely to Vadim Maur and a select few Primages.
A flash of awareness made Elfeya’s senses tingle. «Some-one’s coming!» The tingle darkened to discomfort, then outright pain. Her breath seized in her throat as she recognized the feeling. «Dahl’reisen, Shan.»
«Quickly,» he said, «into this room.» He turned abruptly towards a door on the left and reached for the sel’dor handle. The door was locked but unwarded. Ignoring the sear of pain, Shan sent his senses into the keyhole, examined the locking mechanism, then pulled a black Fey’cha from his harness. A quick weave of Earth drew the Fey’cha’s tip into a shape that would release the lock.
He thrust the key-blade into the lock and turned just as Elfeya cried, «He’s here.»
The door opened. He thrust Elfeya inside and glanced over his shoulder as he followed her inside. The corridor was empty. But Elfeya’s pain was real. Shan had long ago learned to trust his mate’s senses, even above his own. The dahl’reisen was there. Fey eyes could not see him, but he was there.
As the door swung closed, Shan’s own warrior senses flared to abrupt life, as certain and infallible as Elfeya’s empathy. He dodged left just as a red Fey’cha whirred past the spot his head had been.
The door shut. Another blade thunked deep into the sel’dor-braced wood. The first red blade, which had sunk into the far wall of the room, disappeared as the dahl’reisen spoke his return word.
«Scorch it. We must have given ourselves away.» Shan shed his Primage robes and reached for his black Fey’cha as he scanned the room for a position of safety and attack. There was a table in the center of the room. Elfeya was already racing to take shelter behind it before he spun the weave to flip it on its side.
“Do you think the torture masters have tired themselves out?” Gaelen pondered with black humor.
“More likely, we’re next, and they’ve just gone to sharpen their blades,” Tajik said.
Locked up in the room with them, Farel gave a grunting laugh of amusement. “Could be. They’ve been using them enough.”
“You know,” Gil announced, “as rescues go, I have to say, this one pretty much scorches rultshart turds.”
About a man length from the source of Gil’s voice came Rijonn’s rumbling agreement. “Tairen turds.”
“I told you,” Gaelen said, “I had backups. I don’t know what happened to them.”
A metallic scraping sound came from the direction of the door, and they all fell silent. The scraping sound was followed by the distinctive click of the latch lifting free. The door swung inward, and a sliver of light—the first in bells—spilled into the cell, widening rapidly as the door opened more fully. Two armored silhouettes stood in the doorway.
“Well, aren’t you a sorry sight,” a familiar Fey voice drawled.
“Kieran?” Gaelen sat up straight. There wasn’t much in life that could surprise him, but the appearance of Kieran vel Solande in the heart of Boura Fell definitely did. “What are you doing here? “
“Apparently, uncle, I’m saving you from a very nasty demise, though gods know, I’m sure it won’t take me long to regret it.”
Gaelen grinned, too pleased to take offense at his nephew’s cheek.
“Well, it took you long enough,” Bel groused, holding up his hands as Kiel ran over with a key to unlock his sel’dor manacles. “I was starting to get worried.”
Gaelen turned on Bel in disbelief. “You knew they were coming? “
Bel arched a brow. “You think the High Mage is the only one who plans backups for his backups?” Rijonn laughed, slow and deep.
Bel jumped to his feet, rubbing his wrists where the sel’dor piercings had chafed. “All right, kem’jetos. First we save Rain and Ellysetta, then we kick some Elden ass.”
* * *
«This way, shei’tani.»
Shrouded in blue Primage robes and guided by the information Shan had retrieved from the umagi girl’s mind, Shan and Elfeya made their way as quickly as they dared through the dark maze of Boura Fell. From the observation chambers, they had ascended several levels and crossed a wide common area filled with scores of Mages in green, red, and Primage blue. Though it cost Shan a great deal to keep his steel sheathed, they navigated that lyrant nest without incident and slipped down a hallway to the more private area they were in now. As they approached the intersection of two wide corridors, their steps slowed.
«The girl’s map says there will be guards up ahead,» Shan said. «At least six of them.»
The plucky little umagi girl had given Shan more than a simple map of the fortress and the path to the place Vadim Maur was holding their daughter. She’d given him all the details about all the rooms and wards and guard postings along the way, and identified spots where they would have to exercise extreme caution to avoid being caught.
«Let me check,» Elfeya replied, and with a skill unaltered by centuries of confinement, she sent her empathic senses whispering out ahead of them. The tendrils of awareness curved around the blind corners and streamed, undetected, down the hallways, pale threads of invisible golden light, imperceptible to all but the strongest of senses. Swiftly, she verified the location and number of the guards.
«Four to the left, two to the right,» she confirmed.
«I’ll have to take them all,» he replied grimly. «If even one of them raises the alarm, we won’t make it.» Their path lay to the left, up a flight of stairs to a heavily guarded, private level of the fortress restricted solely to Vadim Maur and a select few Primages.
A flash of awareness made Elfeya’s senses tingle. «Some-one’s coming!» The tingle darkened to discomfort, then outright pain. Her breath seized in her throat as she recognized the feeling. «Dahl’reisen, Shan.»
«Quickly,» he said, «into this room.» He turned abruptly towards a door on the left and reached for the sel’dor handle. The door was locked but unwarded. Ignoring the sear of pain, Shan sent his senses into the keyhole, examined the locking mechanism, then pulled a black Fey’cha from his harness. A quick weave of Earth drew the Fey’cha’s tip into a shape that would release the lock.
He thrust the key-blade into the lock and turned just as Elfeya cried, «He’s here.»
The door opened. He thrust Elfeya inside and glanced over his shoulder as he followed her inside. The corridor was empty. But Elfeya’s pain was real. Shan had long ago learned to trust his mate’s senses, even above his own. The dahl’reisen was there. Fey eyes could not see him, but he was there.
As the door swung closed, Shan’s own warrior senses flared to abrupt life, as certain and infallible as Elfeya’s empathy. He dodged left just as a red Fey’cha whirred past the spot his head had been.
The door shut. Another blade thunked deep into the sel’dor-braced wood. The first red blade, which had sunk into the far wall of the room, disappeared as the dahl’reisen spoke his return word.
«Scorch it. We must have given ourselves away.» Shan shed his Primage robes and reached for his black Fey’cha as he scanned the room for a position of safety and attack. There was a table in the center of the room. Elfeya was already racing to take shelter behind it before he spun the weave to flip it on its side.
