The Warder Shae raised his hands, but his thin arms were trembling.
The Sorian stepped forward, his green eyes locked on them both.
”Go,” Justin whispered to Thealos.
Thealos couldn’t move.
“Go!”
Magic exploded from Justin’s hands, rushing to close the gap between them and the Sorian. The blast had destroyed the Kiran Thall one by one, but the Sorian held up his hand, revealing an orb the color of fire. The orb simply swallowed Justin’s attack. He continued forward.
Justin sent a stronger wave of magic, trying to stall the advance. The magic hammered at the Sorian, but the orb deflected it, sending it spraying away from the green-eyed man, shattering rock and sending shudders through the tunnels. The orb flared once and the Warder Shae’s magic winked out, tamed and controlled. Justin’s face twisted with horror. The Sorian gave him a small glance, and Justin slammed into the rock wall before crumpling to the floor.
Thealos’ breath came in quick gasps. Fear weighed on him like a heavy mantle. He was going to die. His legs were still rooted to the floor. He slid the Wolfsman blade out of his belt and felt the cool tingle of Earth magic swell in his arm.
The Sorian gave him an amused smile. The orb flared once and suddenly the blade was white-hot. Thealos gasped with pain and dropped it, soothing his burned hand. The blade clattered to the floor, twisted and warping as the magic destroyed it.
Glancing down at Justin’s still body on the floor, the Sorian looked up and gave Thealos an arch look. “You can walk or I can drag you,” he said in perfect Silvan, his voice soft and subdued. “But either way, you are coming with me.”
XXX
The hall torches hissed and sputtered, making Thealos squint as he passed them and turned the corner. He was flanked by a dozen Bandit soldiers, each one wearing a sword at their belts and tunics of black and gold. Ahead walked the Sorian with his green-fringed robes whispering across the paving stones. The Bandits said nothing, neither to Thealos nor to the Sorian. He wondered whether he was quick enough to slip past the guards behind him. He wondered, but he didn’t dare. Two soldiers followed, dragging Justin’s limp body.
The tunnel rose in a steep slope that ended at a large iron door, its hinges embedded into the rock. It creaked and Thealos was ushered into a cell block. A few sallow faces stared at them from the shadowed corners. Rats peeked down from the rafters while roaches skittered across the floor, only to be crushed underfoot by the guards. The corridor ended at a sharp stairwell leading up. Thealos kept going, but he retraced the steps in his mind as to how they had reached that point. They were far from the whispering magic of the Silverkin Crystal. The soldiers dragging Justin didn’t follow him up the stairs. Instead, they took him towards another passageway deeper within the tunnels.
Entering the waiting chamber at the top of the steps, Thealos saw a row of low-hanging iron chandeliers. They were as wide as wagon wheels with thick black chains suspending them from the web of arches above. The air held the aroma of kitchen smoke coupled with the smells of bread, cheeses, and salted meats. Deeper into the hall, they passed the kitchens, and Thealos spied large hearth fires with roasts twisting on the skewers. Bread ovens were open, revealing oval loaves of golden bread. The cook slid them out with a long wooden paddle. Further down the hall, two well-fed dogs skirted away from the advancing guards and then watched them take Thealos away.
The guards stopped at a lacquered oak door bound with iron hinges and decorated with fluted gold work. It was certainly Silvan in design, reminding Thealos of Elder Nordain’s private chamber in Avisahn. The Sorian faced the guards. “Go to the kitchens for something to eat. You’ll be called when you are needed.”