Igor caught movement from the corner of his eye, a blinding light coming from another hill, directed right at him. He ducked and rolled just as the ball of flame smashed into where he had stood a moment before. He looked up. A man in the red robe of an elementalist threw a second fireball at him.
Igor ignored the danger. He began to run. He would end this, once and for all.
For Amber.
63
We will find only what we look for, nothing more and nothing less.
— The Evermen Cycles, 26-12
THE great shriek came again. It sounded like a terrible beast was lost in the hollows of Stonewater, restless and searching for food. Killian put it to the back of his mind and pondered the extraction system.
He paced the length of the endless tubes and bubbling vats. Runes glowed with eerie power. Hoses connected transparent flasks to great drums. At the heart of it all was a pumping machine the size of a house. It rumbled and throbbed, symbols changing colours constantly. Killian decided this was where to place the cube.
A mighty roar echoed through the huge chamber. There was something he recognised in its sound.
Then he remembered.
The trail from Sarostar to Torlac in Petrya. Ella huddled in fear. The dark forest. The screams of a man in extreme agony.
The beast. It was here.
He quickly removed the cube and spoke the runes. It came alive in his hands. He placed it on the ground next to the pulsing machine. He began to count.
One.
There was a sound from behind him, almost lost in the thumping of the machine. A heaving, as of a panting creature.
The blow snapped his head back. His vision went dark. He held up his arms in front of his face. A second blow smashed into his forearm, tearing his skin to the bone. Some of the runes on his arm went dark.
Two.
He opened his eyes and ducked. The creature was faster. It caught him under the chin. He flew through the air, smashing into one of the vats. It burst open, scalding liquid covering his torso. He screamed.
Three.
The beast came towards him. With a shock he realised it was a woman. She may have once been beautiful, but any beauty she once possessed was lost in the twisted snarl, the wild hair. She wore a billowing white dress, torn and bedraggled. The symbol of the priesthood could still be discerned on her breast. Her eyes were completely yellow.
Four.
Killian came to his feet. He felt the strength of the runes flowing through him. His arms had the strength of steel, the lightness of air. He crouched and then jumped. His arms caught the thin steel of some tubing overhead. In a single movement he flicked his body into a spin. He dropped to land behind the woman and spun his elbow into her head, following it with two hard blows in quick succession.
Five.
She fell back before the assault. His elbow had sunken into her temple, crushing her head; his fists had stove in her ribs. She fell.
As Killian watched, her body started to writhe, somehow reforming itself in front of his eyes. A rasping, wheezing sound came from the creature. He realised she was laughing.
Six.
She stood, holding her distorted arms out at her sides. She was unarmed, but her hands were like claws, curled and tipped with black fingernails.
Seven.
One moment she was in front of him, the next she was behind him. She moved so fast he couldn’t follow her. She went for his throat, scratching and gouging at any piece of flesh she could find. Killian’s body became visible as the runes sparked again and again. She shrieked in triumph as she found a weakness in his left arm. He felt her clutch it in a grip of unbelievable strength, her fingers cutting into his skin as she began to tear his arm from its socket.
Eight.
Killian screamed. He writhed and swung his head from side to side. He looked down and saw a rune, one amongst so many drawn all over his body. He remembered Evrin’s story: a rune for mending. It was the same rune. He knew it.
He named it. The skin on his arm began to reform, and he felt the strength flow back into him with the lessening of the pain.
Nine.
He smashed his head backward and simultaneously lashed out behind him with his elbow, throwing the woman off him. She fell to the ground.
He ran.
Ten.
The extraction plant blew in a series of explosions, each greater than the last. Killian’s body was thrown across the chamber to smash against a wall. He picked himself up and ran for the vertical shaft. The mountain thundered as flame and superheated air tore Killian from his feet.
And then he fell.
64
A real leader faces the music, even when he doesn't like the tune.
— Memoirs of Emperor Xenovere I, 150-3, 381 Y.E.
MIRO’S gaze left the lone warrior as he watched his weakening line begin to crumble. There were simply too many of the enemy. They pushed against each other with endless momentum, pressing forward.
The defenders were about to be crushed against the Sarsen.
He saw an overcrowded raft topple, sending dozens of women and children plunging into the icy water. They were swept away, never to be seen again.