“Go, we’ll watch and wait.” Amal pointed to the ceiling which had plenty of things protruding from it to perch on.
Even if someone looked up, they’d just see shapes in the shadows up there. Crispin and Thistle waddled out of the shadowy alcove formed by two stalagmites after Iraine dashed away to summon help.
What now? We can’t let that healer see Nulthir, Crispin sent telepathically, so Iraine wouldn’t hear. Her footsteps echoed ominously behind her.
Thing looked at the three of them, then at Nulthir, and ground his beak in frustration. They didn't have many options, and time was waning. Nor could they trust that Guardswoman to keep her word. After all, she was a stranger to them.
Can we wake him? Thistle extended a hand to do just that, but Thing knocked it aside.
We must hide him. Thing didn’t suggest a way to do that. He scanned the tunnel and its walls all the way up to the ceiling forty feet overhead. Up there was the obvious answer, but Nulthir was a full-grown man who outweighed them by at least a hundred-and-fifty pounds at the minimum.
We can’t carry him. We have to wake him. Crispin stepped forward, until he was beak-to-beak with his father.
Amal gripped both their shoulders and pushed them apart. Now wasn’t the time for an argument. “He’s right, and we’re wasting time.” Amal gave her mate the look. His ruffled feathers weren't important, not when Nulthir's life was in danger.
Thing nodded, then waddled over and gently butted his head against Nulthir's and called his friend and brother-of-the-heart back to consciousness. They all watched and waited, but nothing happened. Nulthir didn’t so much as twitch.
Crispin stiffened. Hurry. Someone’s coming, and it might be that healer. He shifted from foot to foot after delivering that warning, and they all wondered the same thing—had that Guardswoman lied to them?
Amal heard those footsteps too. They were too tentative to be a Guard's. So, they must be the healer's. He or she might have been down here for another reason. Only Nulthir would know, and he hadn’t woken yet. She dropped the dawn rune under his tunic again to hide its glow. Why give away their presence? Surprise might be her only advantage if this healer had magic.
“Stay here,” Amal said as she dug her claws into the nooks and crannies in the wall. She only needed to climb high enough to drop into a steep dive. A few passes with her claws should send whoever was coming packing real fast if he or she wanted to keep their scalp in one piece. Her claws were razor-sharp and perfect for shredding.
“What are you doing?” Thistle mantled her wings in alarm.
“Creating a distraction,” Amal replied in kind.
“Don't let him see you.”
Or the game was up and so were their lives. If anyone got a good look at her or any of her family members, they’d know them for what they were—owl-monkey-cats. From a distance, she resembled a hawk but not close-up. Hawks didn't have opposable thumbs, cat ears, furry bellies or a monkey’s prehensile tail extending from under their flight feathers.
Amal easily scaled the wall using her hands and feet, both of which had retractable claws. When she'd climbed high enough, she let go and spread her wings to catch the air current stirring the mist that was creeping toward Nulthir and her family, turning her dive into a glide away from where Iraine had gone.
Hit them for me, Thing said.
Amal couldn’t help but crack her beak in an imitation of a grin. She was as bloody-minded as her mate in a fight. After all, they were both part birds of prey, and there just might’ve been more raptor in their souls than anything else.
Chapter Four
Nulthir floated in a sea of formless darkness. Cold gnawed at him, and exhaustion pressed down on him with a thousand invisible hands. As he lay there, water crept up his back and seeped into his tunic. It was made of wool and still retained some of his body heat, but not enough to keep his teeth from chattering. What the hell had happened?
Wake up, insisted the voice inside his head. It was familiar.
Thing?
Who else talks in your head? Thing asked.
Nulthir laughed at the mental image that question evoked. He could picture Thing standing there, his mostly bird-like head cocked to one side giving him a gimlet stare with his big owlish eyes. Thank Fate, his friend could project his thoughts into anyone’s mind even if they didn’t have the gift for mind-speech, and Nulthir didn’t.
“Why can’t I see you?” That question came out less slurred than the last one, not that it mattered to the mind-reading owl-monkey-cat, who was his oldest and smallest friend—unless Furball counted. Furball, oh Fate. “Is Furball okay?” The breath caught in his throat as he waited for an answer.
Yes, he’s home safe now, Thing replied, and Nulthir squashed a flash of guilt that he hadn’t come up with a better name for his stalwart friend. Silly man, Thing’s a good name. Open your eyes.
“So I can see you roll yours and shake your head in dismay?” Nulthir thought about moving, but he felt like someone replaced his bones with lead weights. Just whispering was an effort, and it was draining what little energy he had left.
Yes, we must go now. Thing shifted positions, and his claws clicked on the stone floor.
“Furball’s really okay? He’s not hurt, right?”
He’s not hurt, just scared for you. Get up, Thing sent, his mind-voice growing more insistent as his patience waned. Your marks are glowing.
That was bad, but there was nothing Nulthir could do about that except make sure his clothes covered them, but that involved moving. Thank Fate the Guards had chosen dark blue wool for their uniform. No light would escape its tight weave unless he was unlucky.
You are. Move. We have to go now. What little patience the owl-monkey-cat had was gone now, replaced by a gnawing worry that leaked into his mind-voice.
“If Furball’s okay, then who are you worrying about?” Nulthir opened his eyes, but that didn’t help. He still couldn’t see anything, and that wasn’t right. He should see the blue glow of the lumir crystal lighting the cellblock he’d left or the green one lighting the next one. But Nulthir didn’t see either, and that was a problem.
Lumir crystals were magical. They didn't extinguish on their own. They could glow for centuries, maybe even longer than that. What could have snuffed out their magical glow? Nulthir only knew one person, a kid really, who could manipulate lumir crystals, but that boy wasn't here, so someone else had messed with them. Someone who had magic like that boy, but that didn't fit either. That boy’s magic was bright and warm, not cold and dark.
“It's an inversion,” Nulthir said aloud as the pieces fell into place.
“What is?” Crispin asked from the shadows to his left.
“The magic that attacked me. You remember that kid, Sarn?”
“Yeah, he was the kid with glowing green eyes. I remember him. He didn’t do this.”
“No, not him, but someone like him, only this person's powers are the inverse of his. Does that make sense?” Nulthir hoped it did because his mouth was dry and talking was an effort.
“It does,” Thistle said from somewhere nearby.
Nulthir couldn't see her, and her presence begged a very important question. “How did you find me?”
Furball called us. Told us you were in trouble, Thing sent, but his mind was on other matters, which explained his curt responses. Must go now. No more talking.
“Where’s Amal?” Nulthir tried to push himself up, but he was shaking too hard and still lying on his side. Something was wrong. Amal and Thing were a team. She wouldn't have stayed behind unless someone was bleeding. “Are you sure Furball is okay?” Because that was the only scenario Nulthir could think of to explain Amal’s absence.
Thistle patted his hand. “He is, but we need to get you out of here. Can you move at all?”
Before Nulthir could say anything, someone screamed, and a hawk screeched—Amal. She must be in danger. Nulthir cursed the prison’s administration for not purchasing enough of tho
se damned luminous crystals to properly light the damned prison. Then it wouldn't matter if two had gone out. But they hadn’t, so this tunnel was blacker than a devil’s soul.
“Amal—where is she?” Nulthir rolled onto his back and lay there cold and spent. “What the hell happened to me?” He remembered that cold magic striking him down, but other than it somehow being the opposite of Sarn's magic, that was all he knew about it. His tattoos should have done more to protect him. Why hadn’t they?
“That’s what we want to know,” Crispin said.
Amal let loose another ear-piercing war cry. Nulthir winced. Her shriek was an icepick digging into his heart and twisting him up with worry for Thing's brave mate. Thing hopped up and down hooting like the owl he partially resembled. Thing was torn between helping his mate and getting his friend to safety. No one should have to choose like that.
"Go, help her." Nulthir managed to raise his hand enough to wave in Amal's general direction.
Thing caught his hand in a powerful grip that belied his small size—about that of a twenty-pound baby—and pulled. No, I’ll help you first. That's what she wants, but it wasn't what he wanted. Neither would he cross her, though. Thing was smart enough to know better than to disobey his mate. After all, Amal was part hawk, and not even her mate would get between her and her prey.
“There’s nowhere to hide,” Nulthir said as he attempted to sit up and flopped back down. He was too weak. “You can't carry me, and I can't even crawl.” Nulthir outweighed Thing by at least a hundred-and-fifty pounds. But he couldn’t rise without help.
“Up there, there’s plenty of places to hide,” Crispin said, and it took Nulthir a moment to figure out what the owl-monkey-cat was talking about. “There's a ledge up there. It’s close to the ceiling, but there's enough space for you to lie down.” Crispin's voice was a shade deeper than his father’s and full of worry for his mother. But like his father, he wouldn't interfere unless Amal asked for help.
Nulthir shook his head. "How can I get up there? The ceiling's roughly forty feet overhead. I'm too weak to climb, and I can't fly."
"But we can," Crispin continued, sounding way too sure of himself.
Nulthir wished he could see Crispin in the dark. His face was more feline than his parents and a lot more expressive.
Hide now. They’re coming. I can't hold them for long, Amal sent, and they snapped into action.
“Up, Nulthir, you have to go up.” Thistle was a dark smudge against the deeper black of the tunnel. She pointed upward.
“I can’t climb. I’m too weak.” Nulthir couldn’t even muster up enough energy to shake his head again. He wished he could sink into the floor. That would get him out of sight, but he didn't know a rune that could do that and keep him alive with no air to breathe.
“You still have some magic. Whatever your attacker did to you, he—”
“Or she,” Thistle interrupted and probably gave her mate a pointed glare.
“Or she,” Crispin said to appease her, “didn’t darken all of it. Use it now.” Unlike his parents, Crispin had learned human speech early and preferred it.
“Make yourself light as a leaf.” Thistle shoved her small hands under his right thigh. “We’ll carry you.”
Yes, yes, Thing chimed in and mantled his wings a little too close to Nulthir’s head for comfort. Their tip brushed his ear. Thing spoke aloud only when necessary, and he didn't deem it so now.
Would their plan work? Nulthir had no other option. He knew which rune to cast. It sprang easily to mind, so did the game he’d played as a child. “Light as a leaf, stiff as a stone,” he whispered. “Light as a leaf, stiff as a stone.”
Light as a leaf, stiff as a stone, Thing echoed, adding his mind-voice to the spell Nulthir was constructing as he slid his hands under Nulthir’s head and neck.
“Light as a leaf, stiff as a stone,” repeated Crispin and his mate as they each prepared to lift, but if the spell worked as it should, they'd have no weight to carry.
Light as a leaf, stiff as a stone, Amal added in between shrieks and hoarse shouts.
Nulthir pushed aside his worry for her and concentrated on drawing the rune that would shift all his weight elsewhere if cast right, making him as light as a leaf and as stiff as the stones under the enchanted trees that used to hold up his childhood home. "Light as a feather, stiff as a stone," he said through chattering teeth as his shaking hands traced two graceful arcs for wings and the warlock's six-pointed star in between them and shoved what little power he had left into it to ignite the spell.
In his mind’s eye, he imagined a silver leaf shining as it caught in the sunlight shafting through the dense canopy of the enchanted forest he’d once called home. He willed that leaf to rise, like a seed on the wind, and the rune he’d traced on the ground warmed under his hand as he fed it what power he had, then he rose into the darkness like a giant leaf.
Amal screamed a warning Nulthir couldn’t parse, and the rune he’d cast faded. He fell onto hard rock and kicked up a choking cloud of dust. The darkness took him, coughing and spitting, down into unconsciousness again.
Chapter Five
Amal flew on silent wings toward the footsteps echoing down the tunnel. Its owner didn’t feel or look right, not in the magical spectrum nor through her raptorial eyes. It was a man-shaped shadow tiptoeing through the darkness that none of her enhanced senses could pierce. It barely even registered in the infrared, but it wasn’t an undead thing because that she would sense. Whatever it was, it wasn't human, but it wasn't an animal either. It was some strange being neither dead nor truly alive, nor should it be here. That made it fair game, and her claws were ready to rend.
While she assessed it, Amal glided high above the shadow creeping toward Nulthir and her family. Even if it had looked up, it never would have spotted her in the dark. She hovered over it for a moment longer then dropped like a stone, talons extended until a blue light kindled in the darkness and reached hungry tendrils for her. She screamed and pumped her wings as she tried to pull out of a dive.
But it was too little too late. Amal struck the creature’s arm, and her talons cut through cloth to the flesh underneath before her prey knocked her aside and sent her careening into the wall. Amal retracted her claws and extended her leathery hands and feet, so they’d strike the wall instead of her wings. She hit hard and bounced off, but she was part cat with a flexible spine allowing her to twist midair to get her hands and feet under her. Amal landed on the ground on all fours and froze, her beak opening in an imitation of a smile as her prey turned in a slow circle, using the blue glow of the thing in its hand to look for her.
So, it couldn't see her, but she could see it. Very interesting. Amal fought the urge to attack it now when its unprotected back was turned. But the more she learned about her opponent, the better. She moved behind a stalagmite and waited for it to turn around again. Come on, show me your face.
When it did, Amal turned her mage sight on it, but the object in its hand didn’t register as magical. She turned off her mage sight and looked at it again. The object was a cold spot against the creature holding it, which itself barely registered in the infrared. Her attacker passed her hiding spot as it resumed heading toward the echoes of a quiet conversation ahead. Nulthir must be awake. Thing sent something, probably a request for information. Well, he could wait for that. She didn’t interrupt his hunts.
Amal dug her claws into the stalagmite as she scaled it. She needed a little height—a man-length would be perfect. This creature wasn’t all that tall, maybe average height for a human in this country, but it walked bent over as if weighed down by the object it carried. If she struck him just right, she could knock him over and maybe knock that strange object out of his hands.
When she was high enough, she pushed off and spread her wings. But she must have made some noise because her quarry turned, and a bolt of dark power clipped her wing, knocking her off course. She screeched in pain as she plummeted and raked her claws down he
r attacker’s shoulder and chest, ripping cloth and skin alike. He screamed and doubled over in pain but held onto the object that bolt had emanated from. At least she assumed it was a him from the raspy voice. But it could've been a strong woman under all that gray cloth too.
Amal tried to control her fall but her left wing was so cold, and that stinging cold was traveling through muscle and sinew, heading straight for the bright flame in her heart. It darkened her feathers to black. Her power was protected by the claw and star sigil Nulthir had inscribed with sacred oil back when he was learning his craft, and that sigil on her breast flared up, shining golden against her mottled brown and cream fur, stopping that foul magic's progress.
Amal sent a silent thank you to Nulthir for it and flapped hard to pull out of her fall. If she could get enough altitude, she could get in one or two more strikes while this mysterious stranger was still reeling from the pain. Nothing else mattered except getting that object away from him, but her left wing wouldn't work properly. A curious numbness was creeping through it. With only one wing operable, she managed to angle herself to intercept a stalagmite. Thank the Creator, there were a bunch of them in this tunnel lined up like stone soldiers.
Amal, Thing shouted as Amal extended her legs and dug her claws into the side of the stalagmite to arrest her fall.
I'm busy. Get Nulthir out of here. We’ll talk later. Amal sent an image of the gray-garbed fool and the blue-glowing object cradled in his arms. Had it grown? The object looked larger now than before. Maybe that was due to her vantage point. She was looking at it from an angle now. Or maybe it was glowing as he used it.
The object had odd protrusions radiating off it, like a star. It dimmed then spat out another dark bolt that was nearly invisible in the darkness except as a cold spot hurtling toward her. Amal jumped, tucked and tumbled. That dark bolt just missed her by a feather. Only her feline quickness and natural grace had saved her. But she was falling toward the wall.
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