The Crossroads!
Jaerod had taken him through the Crossroads before he had become a Sleepwalker. Perhaps he could take Stasy through as well so that she might flee with the Silverkin if it killed him. The very idea made his stomach clench and heave. It was either try or die in the tunnel inlet.
He gripped Xenon’s shoulder. “I’m going for the Crystal with her. I can’t bring you with me. It would be too much. But I swear, if I can get it, it will stop the Forbidden magic of their weapons. It will stop the Sorian.”
Shadows from the entryway told them the Kiran Thall had arrived.
Xenon looked him in the eye. “You’d best hurry, Sleepwalker. There’s nowhere left to run.”
“What are you going to do?” Stasy whispered, her eyes wide with fear. She gripped his arms.
He hooked the back of her neck. “Trust me. I’m taking you…through this wall. It’ll make you sick. But you must trust me. Don’t fight it. It won’t last long.”
She nodded faintly and closed her eyes. It was as if he asked her to step off a cliff and trust him to catch her. She did not hesitate a moment.
Thealos took deep breaths, trying to steel himself. Putting his arm around her waist to help hold her up, he invoked the Oath magic again and felt it rush through him dizzyingly. Ticastasy thrashed against the magic, but he gripped her hard against him, clutching her head to his shoulder as he stepped into the writhing sea of ice-shocking cold. His vision blurred and he nearly lost grip on the magic. Step after step, his lungs screaming for air. How thick was the barrier? How deep had the tunnels been sealed?
They emerged on the other side and Thealos let the magic fall and he fell with it. Struggling against the lethargy of the experience, he fought to remain conscious. He heard Stasy retch violently, but he was too weak to join her. He rested, trying to recover some of his strength. He pushed himself up on his hands and knees, his sword arm trembling with the weight.
“Achrolese, that was…that was awful.” She cradled her stomach with one arm and wiped her mouth.
He looked up at her. “It gets…worse…each time I do it.” He closed his eyes and struggled to his feet.
She made it up first and helped him stand. “Look at you, Quickfellow. How are you going to use the Silverkin? You’re not strong enough.”
He licked his lips, shuddering down to his toes. “I don’t have a choice. Those knights will all die if I don’t. Xenon…the Wolfsmen…they’ll all be killed if I don’t. I have to, Stasy. Help me walk. I don’t think anyone is guarding down here any more.”
Together they hurried down the corridor, the noise from their boots clipping softly against the uneven stone floor.
–Son of Quicksilver, hurry! I sense great evil–
“Quickfellow, did you hear me?” she asked.
He looked at her, but his mind was swallowed by the ravings of the Silvan magic. Its voice nattered at him, urging him to run to fly through the warding. He could hardly walk.
“Do you hear that sound, Quickfellow? Listen? Like a child weeping.” Her grip tightened against his arm.
They reached the intersection that led back to the dungeons and straight ahead to the Silverkin. Forbidden magic stank from both passages, coming in billowing clouds.
–I will protect you from the Firekin’s magic. Claim me!–
“Don’t you hear it?”
“All I hear is the voice of the…”
Then he heard it.
A child’s whimper came from the tunnel of the Silverkin. The stench grew stronger, pervasive, shrouding his thoughts and senses with horrible fumes.
It sounded familiar. But that wasn’t possible. He knew of no child in the tunnels of Landmoor. Not one that sounded so much like…
The sobs railed again. “You promised, Thealos. You promised you’d come back. You promised.”
Little Arielle.
He stared into the smothering darkness of the tunnel. Something moved. He realized that they were not alone.
Something had been left to guard it.
Chapter XXXII
Allavin twisted loose of the straps and harness and slid down the alerion’s flank, pitching forward onto the moor grass as he landed. The creature let out a piercing cry and the bulky destriers of the knights shied away from it. General Shearmur’s bay snorted as he glanced its flanks with his spurs and urged it forwards.
“Devers, it better be banned well important.” His voice sounded raw from constant yelling. Dirt and blood took the shine off his armor, the sculpted vine and ivy trimwork caked with debris and carnage. His face was ashen, his eyes bleary and bloodshot, but his countenance was iron. He was going to stop the Bandit army before the rest of the combined armies of Dos-Aralon arrived.
Allavin had observed the tactics swirling from the heights above. The knights had divided into three prongs to hem the Rebellion around Landmoor. Only the Kiran Thall were left on the field, and they waited with uncharacteristic patience around the lower hills of the fortress.