Crispin hadn’t. Could he make it through in one shot like that and not clip his wings? He landed in front of that hole and peered into it just as the pale light shining through it winked out.
Screams rang out on the other side as Dad no doubt harassed the humans. Nulthir was the only human Thing was fond of. His family had soured his father on the rest of the humans. Shouts of ‘hold it’ and ‘move those rocks’ followed as the ranking Guard tried to regain order. Good luck with that. Crispin peered into the darkness. Should he go through?
He still had no idea what his father’s plan was or if his father had one at all. Thing tended to fly by instinct, but that instinct hadn't passed from father to son, or not enough of it to help Crispin. That was probably due to his more blended nature.
“Hey, are you with the other bird creature?” Iraine asked from below.
Crispin turned to look at the Guardswoman squatting in the debris. “How did you get around this?” Crispin squawked as he pointed to the wall of loose rocks he perched on.
Iraine shrugged. “I went around it. I didn’t feel like squeezing through a hole when there was another way into this tunnel. What is this?” She picked up a blue shard that seemed to drink in the light of the yellow lumir crystal glowing in the palm of her other hand.
The shard was a cold spot in his infrared vision. Crispin remembered hearing something shatter when his mother had fought someone earlier. Mom, what are these shards? Crispin sent along with an image of the piece of dark blue glass in Iraine’s hand. More shards of that same material littered the area.
They’re from an object I think was used in the attack on Nulthir. Don't touch it, Amal replied.
Iraine slumped down, and the shard fell from her nerveless fingers. The lumir crystal she'd been holding suddenly darkened, dropping them back into darkness until a pale gold glow seeped out of the collar of her uniform tunic.
“Are you alright?” Crispin glided down and landed beside the stricken Guardswoman. Was this what had happened to Nulthir?
“Yes, my faith protected me.” Iraine shook herself out of whatever had come over her. She pulled out three glowing crosses from under her tunic and smiled at them. “The preacher said they'd glow in the presence of evil. I didn't think he meant that literally.” Iraine shook her head then stuffed the trio of crosses back under her clothes where they belonged. “I can't let any of my fellow Guards stumble onto this. They're not protected like I am.” She laid her hand over her heart where those crosses hung under her clothing.
“No kidding.” Nulthir needed something like that. Crispin made a mental note to ask Nulthir to fashion something like it later when he was conscious again. It had been awhile since Nulthir had used his talent to manufacture magically imbued items, but it was time his friend took that up again. Mount Eredren wasn’t the safe haven they'd all hoped it would be. It had become quite dangerous of late.
“Can you keep the other Guards away from here?” Crispin backed away from those evil shards. Best he not get too near them either until he had a safe way to dispose of them, and for that, he needed Nulthir to be ambulatory.
“I'll come up with something, but I can only delay them for a while. I can't keep them away from here forever.” Iraine started to rise then sat down hard on a rock and pressed one hand to her temple. She still looked a little dazed.
“If you just sit here until you regain your strength but don't touch them, I think you'll be okay.” But to be sure, Crispin asked his mother. She’d seen more of the object and might have some ideas about what its shards could do.
Agreed, but we can't leave those shards there. They’re dangerous in the wrong hands, Amal replied. Mind-speech easily bridged the distance between them, not that his mother was all that far away. But still, this was one conversation Iraine didn't need to hear. She already knew too much, but that was a problem for another day.
Neither can we gather them up without something to protect us, Crispin reminded her.
Leave them where they are. I have a plan, Thing sent as he bulled his way into their tête-à-tête.
Are you reading my mind again? Amal asked, but there was a warm chuckle in her mind-voice.
Always, Thing replied, then Crispin left the conversation before his parents’ light teasing could make him any more uncomfortable. He didn't have such a tight bond yet with Thistle, but their pairing was new, and they were both still learning how to be mates.
Crispin put all such thoughts away for now as something Iraine had said niggled at him. “You said you ‘went around’ to reach this area. What did you mean by that?”
“The prison is a series of concentric rings. Six tunnels connect the center of the prison with those rings.” Iraine paused and nodded. “I see where you're going with this. My fellow Guards are probably already in the closest transept, or they will be soon.”
Which meant they might already be on their way, and they were probably armed and itching to hurt someone thanks to Dad's harassment. Damn. Crispin relayed that to both his parents as he hopped from boulder to boulder up the rubble pile. When he was high enough, he launched himself back toward his mother, his mate, and his only human friend, who had better live through this.
Furball screamed. What had scared that kit now? He'd last seen the little guy in Amal’s arms. Crispin pumped his wings to fly faster, so he could find out. Hang on, nephew. I'm coming.
Chapter Eight
Thing popped out of the hole in the rubble and collided with a Guard. The man toppled, taking the three climbing up behind him down with him. A luminous crystal bounced away from the Guard, taking with it all the light in this tunnel. It went bouncing down the rock pile, throwing some truly interesting shadows as it messed with the Guards’ eyesight but not his.
Good. Thing didn't need light. He could see five bodies well in the infrared spectrum and hear them too. Shouted orders mixed with screams as he ran roughshod over several fallen Guards then launched himself into the air again. Dale, he called.
“Here, Father!” Dale chirped in their language.
Follow me, son. No more talking. Mind-talk only from now on. Thing fumed as he veered around a stalactite.
I hear and obey. Dale sounded entirely too cheerful.
And what was with all that formality? It wasn't like Dale. Maybe it was a phase the youngster was going through. Thing chose to ignore it. He had larger problems right now.
There's just one problem, Dale said.
What’s that? Thing asked, but then he saw it, or rather them and a whole lot of red. Three winged, cat-like creatures wrestled with a floating red blanket with blue squiggles painted on it that had gotten snagged on something. What did you do? Thing didn’t want an answer to that question, nor to deal with this sort of snafu right now. He had loved ones to spirit away on the very object caught up in the mess.
“It was his fault.” Dale pointed to Yarn while Mixie picked at the blood red threads wound around her mate's claws and a carpet of needle-thin crystals covering this part of the ceiling. The trio had let the blanket fly too close to the ceiling.
Thing didn't even want to know how his adopted son had gotten snarled up in this. He should have sent Crispin to supervise them. Just stop. Nobody move. We're running out of time.
Rather than untangle the inextricable, Thing tore the threads caught on the crystals and on Yarn’s claws and snapped off some of their protrusions until the blanket floated freely again, but it trailed a disconcerting number of threads by the time Thing had freed Yarn.
That couldn't be helped, so Thing grabbed one of the red tassels with his feet and glared at the others to do the same. Mixie and Yarn brought up the rear where they were unlikely to get into any more trouble if they followed instructions to the letter. Dale grabbed the tassel on the corner opposite Thing.
When he was certain they were ready, Thing dove off the ledge they’d perched on, and the blanket floated along behind them, following as they towed it. Good, the old float spell was still active on
it. Now, if only this blanket would stay together until they’d all escaped.
“Where are we going? Mom and the others are that way.” Dale pointed over his shoulder at the rubble choking the tunnel they’d just left.
There was no way they could take their only means of conveyance capable of carrying a full-grown man through there. Surely, they’d realized that? One glance proved they hadn’t. Kids today, they were always questioning him. Thing ground his beak in frustration. Why couldn't they just trust that he knew what he was doing?
“He's right, Dad,” Mixie said. “And my baby is with them.”
“Furball is fine. He's with your mother. We go this way because it’s better.” And that was all Thing had to say on that matter, so he switched to mind-speech. No more talking out loud. There’s Guards below and ahead of us. We don't want them to hear us.
Dale gave him a frightened look, and Mixie was just as jittery as her brother. Thing could feel his daughter’s apprehension as he took them around a bend, and he understood it. Nulthir was the one human they'd come into regular contact with, but he wasn’t a good representative of his people.
Far below, Guards moved about, alert for trouble. His coterie flew about thirty-five feet over their heads through deep shadows. Mixie flew on silent wings just like Thing did, so even if the Guards did hear the flap of Dale’s or Yarn's wings, they'd see nothing. None of them had bows or any ranged weapons, so his family was in no danger from below.
The transept ended finally, and they turned left into a large cave full of cells. A narrow aisle wound between them. Some cells were occupied; some weren't, but there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to that, or not any Thing could fathom from looking at them.
Something’s going on down there, Mixie sent. Good, she’d followed his instructions and confined her comments to mind-speech.
Keep going. There's another tunnel. Your mother is in there. She’ll guide you. Thing reached out to relay his plan to Amal as he pulled his wings in and dropped down to get a better view of what the Guards were doing. Nulthir would need to know when he regained consciousness, and Thing was curious about all the rushing to and fro below.
The Guards dashed from cell to cell exclaiming something. Instead of trying to parse their echoing shouts, Thing skimmed their minds for the salient details, and what he found had him diving down for a closer look into one of the cells the Guards had just left. Bars formed three of its walls with the stone wall of the cavern making up the fourth. Inside the cell, a scraggly man of indeterminate age lay in a heap on a pallet. The inmate breathed shallowly and stared blankly into space as he drooled and twitched involuntarily.
Thing perched on the bars forming the cell’s ceiling and peered into the cells alongside this one. Their occupants were in similar states. Could a disease spread that rapidly? Thing didn’t think so. More likely, they’d been hit with the same dark magic as Nulthir, but his friend had some protection thanks to his markings, and these inmates hadn’t.
Thing had seen enough to report back to Nulthir when his friend awoke, but he stayed put when he heard the cell door creak open to admit someone. What have we here? Thing wondered.
The stranger crouched before the stricken inmate. He wasn’t a Guard. Guards didn't wear flowing yellow robes, and they couldn’t afford the white lumir crystal clutched in the man’s other hand. The paler the color, the more expensive the stone. The newcomer extended a bony hand and laid it on the inmate’s furrowed brow. The fella relaxed and exhaled something the stranger sucked in.
What had this guy done? Thing watched as the robed stranger left the cell and entered the next one. He watched the guy perform the same ritual, but this time, Thing switched to mage sight and saw a vague gold glow where the robed man stood that was barely perceptible against the inanimate objects in the cell, as if all the robed man’s light had turned inward. How strange. Magic was always externally focused, at least the sort Nulthir had always used was. What sort of magic was the opposite of that?
What was this guy doing to the inmates? Thing silently hopped over to the next cell to watch the process again. This time, he was determined to catch something he could report back to Nulthir that would make sense of what he was seeing.
“Neeeeeeep!” Furball screamed, startling Thing.
He mantled his wings to keep from falling then flapped them to lift off while calling for his mate mind-to-mind. Amal! But Thing couldn't touch her mind. He screeched in surprise and fear and put on a burst of speed. Whatever that robed man was doing could wait, his family could not.
Chapter Nine
Nulthir awoke to pain. Every part of him ached and burned with magic. He had too much of it, and the excess bounced around inside him, alternatively freezing him, burning him, and delivering painful shocks as he rolled off something hard and plummeted into darkness again. Oops. He wasn’t supposed to roll over. There was a reason for that, but it escaped him.
“Neeeeeeep!” Furball screamed from his pocket.
“Furball? What are you doing in there?” Nulthir traced the leaf and the warlock’s six-pointed star in the air. “Light as a leaf, stiff as a stone.” Magic trailed from his fingers in bright sparks. Some glowed a pale green shading toward gold, but darker patches were eating the light. How strange.
Runes drawn directly on the air had never worked for Nulthir, so this was nothing new. It did slow his fall a little, probably not enough to matter though. He needed a medium to hold the spell long enough for it to take shape and catch him. His clothes had been full of enchantments, but they were gone. That attack had stripped all of them away including the one he’d cast to protect Furball.
“Cast a spell before you hit the ground!” Crispin shouted. His claws dug into Nulthir’s shoulder, puncturing the leather epaulettes. His claws drew a rivulet of blood as the brave owl-monkey-cat pumped his wings and tried in vain to slow his fall, but Nulthir was too heavy, and gravity had him in its jaws. But the blood—that Nulthir could work with. There was a dark power simmering it from the attack.
Nulthir dimly remembered his mother saying something about blood being the pathway to darkness. But he had no other options right now, so he dipped his pinky into the blood and traced a leaf, but it resisted the warlock’s six-pointed star, which always pointed up toward the sun and the Eternal from which all power flowed. The blood forced him to draw its inverse, a downward pointing six-pointed star that called to the dark rather than the light.
Nulthir rubbed it out. He refused to wear the devil’s symbol, not even to save himself. A flash blinded him, and a pop of displaced air almost deafened him as Nulthir landed on something soft—a floating blanket, which was also falling. He was too heavy, and its float spell was failing. The runes he’d drawn on it years ago were fading away.
Nulthir fumbled in his utility belt as the blanket tilted, and he slipped off. He landed feet-first, thank Fate, and the runes inscribed on his knee-high leather boots protected his ankles. They absorbed the shock of his fall as he wavered, and Crispin flapped his wings madly to help stabilize him, but Nulthir was too weak to stand. He sat down hard as Crispin’s claws retracted, and he fell on his rump and blinked up at the Guard rounding the bend.
Nulthir touched his breast pocket to hide Furball, but it hung slack and empty. Furball must have teleported away. Maybe he’d gone back to their flat where they all belonged. But knowing his luck tonight, Furball had probably teleported himself into the arms of trouble. Well, the little fella would have to fend for himself for a little bit. Nulthir was in enough trouble, and more of it was clomping toward him brandishing nightsticks.
“Who goes there?” the Guard asked as he held a pebble-sized lumir crystal up that barely gave off any light at all.
“Nulthir, I’m a Guard.” Nulthir bowed his head partly out of respect and out of weariness and a desire to keep his eyes hidden until someone could confirm they weren’t glowing.
Magic was supposed to make its user’s eyes glow only while using magic. But
Sarn’s eyes had glowed all the time. Since meeting that kid, Nulthir had been more careful about hiding his eyes after using magic just in case that glow lingered, or the magic left some other sign of its use. One could never be too careful in a country that spurned magic in all its forms.
Tell them a wall collapsed on you. There was a structural instability in it, Amal prompted him. Her voice was a welcome addition to the confusing tumult in his mind right now.
Nulthir did as she advised. The Guard said something, but the tunnel—was he in a tunnel right now? —began to spin. His shoulder throbbed where Crispin had accidentally gored him.
I’m so sorry about that, Crispin said. His sincerity was touching but not necessary. The owl-monkey-cat had tried to save him, and that was an admirable goal.
Nulthir tried to send that thought to Crispin to allay his little friend’s guilt, but nothing happened as usual. His mind just didn't transmit. It was telepathically inert. But somehow, Nulthir could still receive at times. Maybe the two types of magic bouncing around inside him were boosting his nonexistent mental gifts. Anything was possible.
Nulthir, I need you to focus. Listen to my voice and say exactly what I tell you to. Are you ready? Amal sounded like she stood right behind him. Maybe she did. Everything was spinning and starting to slip away again. Nulthir slumped down and threw his arm over his closed eyes just in case the magic fighting each other inside him was somehow visible in his eyes, and their struggle might be. Magic wanted to be seen.
Nulthir? Tell the Guard you don’t have a concussion. You don’t need a healer. You just need to rest. Ask the Guard to give you leave to do that. Nulthir! Amal pulled him back from the dark veil falling over his sight.
Magic Underground: The Complete Collection (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 4) Page 36
