“After I fix your wing, I will.” Nulthir pounded his fist into the floor.
His hair was cropped short to comply with regulations, but it was still strange seeing him with such short locks. Stubble shadowed his strong jaw. His eyes were ringed by tiny sigils. They popped up under his eyes, along his jawline and probably in other areas too. The sigils flashed blue before going dark again, and he winced. That couldn’t be good.
“What is it?” Nulthir looked at her.
Her hawkish face wasn’t hard to read, even with all her feathers standing on end. But Amal pressed her beak closed and shook her head. He had enough to worry about without adding those new marks to the pile.
“What’s wrong with your wing?” Thistle elbowed Amal in the ribs.
“Nothing. It’s just numb from the fight.” Amal roused her feathers. Nosy kit.
“It’s cold too.”
“It can wait.” Amal pushed her adopted daughter’s hand and her concern away.
“No, it can’t.”
Amal shot Nulthir a look. “You don’t get a vote. Get well then you can fix it.”
Thistle’s raptorial eyes lit up at the suggestion. “If he can fix your wing, then he might be able to stop the process the dark magic kicked off inside him.”
Amal blinked a few times as she rolled that idea around in her mind. "Can you fix it?” she asked Nulthir.
His eyes rolled back in his head as the blackness bled from his eyes and ran down his face in inky rivulets. All the shadows in the room lunged at him.
“No!” Amal wouldn’t lose her mate’s dearest friend, not like this. She pushed off with her feet and tail and sprang into the air. But only one wing worked, so she spun in a circle; her bum wing slicing through the converging shadows. “Take that, you fiends!”
The lumir crystals in the room shattered, extinguishing their glow as more shadows converged on Nulthir. Amal couldn’t hit them all. There were just too many. Maybe she didn’t have to. A square of sunlight painted the floor in golden tones, and that glorious light was only five feet away. Thistle saw it too.
“Help me!” Amal landed, hard, and skidded until her tail wrapped around a chair leg and stopped her.
Chapter Six
Iraine came to and groaned when pain tried to sledgehammer her back into unconsciousness. For a moment, she lay there on the cold ground, gripping her head until her fingers brushed something soft—a feather. Scrabbling sounds startled her then she remembered the glass shards and the intruder who’d hit her.
He must still be there. If she could get away, she could get help. But first, she needed that feather. Iraine lowered her hand until she could grasp it. Okay, feather, check. Now for an escape, then she’d have to come up with a plausible story for why she needed a contingent of Guards to accompany her back to this rock pile.
Footfalls startled Iraine, then a foot landed too close to her head for comfort. She dropped the feather and reached for his ankle. His other foot landed on her stomach, driving the breath out of her. But her hand closed around a surprisingly slim ankle, and she squeezed. Gotcha. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Away, like a thief in the dark,” whispered her attacker in a sexless rasp.
He kicked Iraine in the shoulder as she rolled and yanked the ankle in her hand, sweeping her attacker’s leg out from under him. Her attacker went down with a startled yelp.
Iraine rolled on top of him as something cold brushed her hand. Not again. Iraine threw herself to the side and landed hard on a pile of rocks. They rolled away, and Iraine slipped and slid as she tried to get her hands and knees under her again. Her head still rang from the blow she’d taken earlier, but she was still combat effective if she kept the fight on the ground where her dizziness wasn’t a hindrance.
But the darkness was. Hellfires, Iraine only had a vague sense of where her attacker was now. “Why’d you come here?” Maybe her attacker would reply and give his location away.
“To take back what’s mine.” A dark laugh echoed, giving Iraine no hint of her attacker's location. Damn.
“What is that glass? Surely, you can tell me. It’s not like I can tell anyone. Magical artifacts are illegal. So is knowledge about them.” Iraine pushed up into a crouch and listened hard. Something wasn't right.
Soft footfalls raced away into the darkness. Oh, hell no, her attacker wasn’t getting away that easily, not when he was her only avenue for answers. She'd solve this case no matter the cost.
Iraine pushed to a stand and froze when her head spun. Dizziness forced her to grab onto the first thing that came to hand—a wall. It had plenty of nooks and crannies to hang on to until she steadied. But that momentary pause gave her attacker more time to get away.
Come on, girl, you’re stronger than this. Go get those answers before they get away. Just don’t touch any glass. You don’t want to black out again. She needed light to see them.
Iraine reached under her tunic and pulled out three crosses on a leather thong. They glowed a soft white as she ran them over the rocks. Damn. There went her only clue. She grabbed hold of a nearby stalagmite.
That was one hard hit to the head, but she saw only one of everything. Well, except for the rocks, they were legion. So, she wasn't concussed. Iraine turned in a slow circle around the stalagmite she clung to, searching for those shards, but they were gone. Every single one of them.
Why didn’t they drain her attacker? What was so special about him? One word leaped to mind—magic. It explained everything, but it wasn’t a satisfactory answer. Every legend Iraine had ever heard had hinted that magic functioned on rules, and she knew someone who just might know them. After all, he had magical creatures for friends, so it wasn’t that much of a stretch.
Iraine put those questions aside and picked up the black feather. It was cold like that glass and much colder than the stone floor. She tucked the blackened feather into her pocket, but there was already one in there. How strange. She didn't remember picking up that first one.
Iraine shrugged off that curiosity and strode through the darkness to the transept with her head held high, and her shoulders squared. She had something for a diviner to anchor a finding spell to. Now, she just needed to convince a witch to help her.
One thing at a time, Iraine reminded herself as she made her slow way out. The clock was ticking. She had less than an hour now but how much less? Surely, she hadn’t been unconscious for long. Iraine put that worry out of mind as the wall to her right vanished.
Chapter Seven
This way, Thing sent right before he turned into the transept.
Right, the tunnel collapsed the other way. Crispin followed, his mind buzzing with thoughts about those they’d left behind.
Stop worrying. Your mother will make everything right. Thing was convinced of that. His steel-spined sweetie was a wonder to behold. When she put her mind to something, it got done no matter what it was. She would find a way to anchor Nulthir against the darkness threatening to wash him away until they returned from their errand with some much-needed answers.
How can you be so sure about that? Crispin asked.
Because I know your mother. Never doubt her. Thing slowed as he sensed people moving below them. Why were they heading away from this part of the prison? What were they up to?
Nulthir would want to know. Thing pulled his wings in and dropped twenty feet before extending them again. Twenty feet below him, the Guards kept doing whatever they were doing. Thing debated about getting closer. His vision was excellent especially in the half-dark, but humans had strange ways. He might need a more detailed picture to pass onto Nulthir than he could get from up here.
Dad? What are you doing? Crispin slowed.
Keep flying. I need to find out what they're doing. Thing glided closer to the humans on silent wings.
What am I supposed to do when this tunnel ends? Crispin turned a wide circle above Thing, keeping his father in sight.
That was a good question. Wait for me. I won
’t be long. Thing circled the seven Guardswomen. They moved like fighters with their heads on a swivel. Their eyes scanned the shadows ahead. These were war women. Who or what were they guarding?
Not those magical shards. There were no cold spots in his infrared vision or his mage sight, but the robed man in the middle of the Guardswomen had some magic. It was partially veiled somehow from his mage sight. A vague glow seeped through, but it was too warm to be those shards.
Thing made another slow pass over them. Had these Guardswomen disturbed the seeing stone he'd left in the rubble not far from here? They had no reason to unless they'd gone looking for those crystal shards. Thing made a third pass. This time, he concentrated on the man they escorted.
He wore the yellow robes of the flesh menders, like the man he'd seen in the cell with the prisoner last night.
What are they carrying? Crispin asked from above. His son hadn't followed orders. The kit had perched on an outcropping to watch.
Thing ground his beak in frustration. I told you to keep flying.
Someone must watch your back, Crispin sent then thought, ornery old owl.
No thoughts were truly private when Thing was around, but Crispin didn't need to know that. I can watch my own back, Thing shot back.
But his son had asked a good question. Thing scanned the Guardswomen's minds as he circled them. If they felt the wind of his passage, they gave no sign. But they were fully kitted out in the Guards' uniform of blue wool tunic and trousers plus leather gauntlets, vambraces, and greaves. They even had cuirasses.
When Thing pierced their minds, all the usual chatter humans indulged in inside their thick skulls washed over him. He picked through it, searching for answers.
Did you find out what they’re carrying? Crispin asked.
Bodies, Thing sent as he flapped silently for the ceiling. They pulled wheeled stretchers behind them, and the yellow-robed mender moved between the stretchers as the group progressed.
“Are they dead bodies?” Crispin squawked in alarm.
Shush. Speak only mind-to-mind until we’re out of earshot. Sound carries when stones are naked like this. Thing gave him a reproachful look as he took the lead again. Behind them, the posse of war women vanished around a bend.
You didn’t answer me. Are those dead bodies? Crispin stayed on the outcropping, his claws scratching the stone.
The thought of dead humans was strangely horrifying to his son, but Thing couldn’t understand why. Everything died eventually. No, they’re not dead, just drained. Their spark is dark.
The transept ended finally, thank the Creator, because the seeing stone had gone still a few minutes ago, and they hadn't found any trace of those crystals. Which meant, they might still arrive in time to see who had disturbed them. That person might still be there, passed out among the shards, just waiting for them to interrogate him or her. At least that was the plan Thing had cobbled together on the hurried flight down here.
So, those people are darkening like Nulthir? Crispin landed on a shield-shaped rock formation facing the intersection. He was still talking about the bodies those Guardswomen were transporting. Why them? It was a strange duty for such warriors to carry out.
Thing considered his son’s question for a moment. Yes, they are. And that was interesting, perhaps more interesting than the shards whose magic had infected Nulthir with its darkness.
Where are they taking those drained people? I presume they're inmates here, Crispin asked as Thing hovered over the intersection.
Another good question. Thing cast his mind back to the Guardswomen and read their destination. To the infirmary. Thing landed on the stone ledge overlooking the T-intersection. Maybe they should follow those bodies and the man who was hiding his power. He could be hiding more than that.
Crispin swung up beside his father using his tail and claws to find purchase on the wall. Which way do we go now?
Before Thing could answer, a figure dashed into the transept. He zeroed in on the bag the gray-robed human carried—it had a familiar magical signature, and it was cold in the infrared and in his mage sight.
Thing leaped off the ledge. Follow him. He has the shards of that object inside the sac. That would account for the odd protrusions, and why this person was running all out. Whatever protection his master had given him must have a time limit. Good because so did Nulthir.
Finally, we'll get some answers, Crispin said as he flew hard to catch up.
Don't get too close. We don't know how far away those shards can drain a body, Thing warned as Crispin struggled to pass him.
Crispin tried to look him in the eye, but he couldn’t turn his head one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. It was just another difference between them. It can't strike us down from afar. You have to touch it for it to affect you.
In that case, Thing put on a burst of speed. There was no need to hang back and every reason to keep a tight tail on this gray-robed human.
The lumir crystals set at shoulder height in niches carved into the wall winked out as their quarry passed them.
“How will we know if he turns?” Crispin squawked as they were plunged into darkness.
I'll see it. But Thing wasn't sure how good his son’s eyesight was. Not even Amal’s was as sharp as his in the dark, and this tunnel was growing darker with every extinguished crystal.
“Yeah, but will I see it?” Crispin asked before Thing could shush him. His son was a warm blob with wings and a tail in his infrared vision.
Thing held one finger up to his beak and signaled for silence before the next crystal light winked out. Mind-talking only, remember? We don’t want him to know we’re following him.
Sorry. Is it a 'him' were chasing? I can barely make him out. They flew on, dodging stalactites.
That was another good question. If this human ran into more humans, he'd be harder to track especially if he lowered his hood. Thing scanned the thief's mind, but there was just some nonsensical prattle about an angel, but no thoughts about what he was doing with those shards, or why he’d taken them in the first place.
Did you get anything from your mind scan? Crispin asked. He'd fallen further behind because the darkness made it hard for him to see the stalactites and avoid them.
No, there's something wrong with his mind. But Thing delved deeper because he needed answers. A dark thing pushed back hard, forcing him out of the gray-robed man's head.
Stars exploded in his vision, and everything went dark for a moment. A deep rumbling laugh resounded along with the gnashing of many teeth as something grabbed hold of his mind and pulled.
Thing clawed at the dark creature that was trying to capture him, shredding its mind. I'm not your prey. Go back to the shadows where you belong. With one more vicious strike at the heart of the laughing darkness, Thing wrenched himself free of its dark, suffocating grip.
Dad! Crispin shouted as he put on a burst of speed and flew blindly on. But there was nothing his son could do in a battle of minds.
Thing slammed back into his body in time to twist aside and avoid a stalactite. He dug his claws into the stone wall, extended his tail and caught his son around the waist before Crispin slammed headfirst into the same stalactite. Relief swept through his son at the physical contact as they hung there by Thing’s claws.
What happened? Your mind disappeared. I couldn't find you. Crispin patted Thing down, seeking injuries that weren't there while their quarry got further away.
I'm not sure. My mind might have gotten too close to those shards he carries. That would explain the darkness. But not the laughter or the gnashing teeth, and that bothered Thing. A bad feeling sliced through him, leaving him cold and shaking from fear for his family and his friend.
What is it, Dad? Did you find something? Crispin swung up onto the rock ledge above them. It ran parallel to the ceiling at just the right height for his son to run along it.
There isn't just magic in those shards. There's something else in there. And that something had a mind of its own. I
f Thing's hunch was correct, then Nulthir was in grave danger of losing not just his life but his soul. In need of solid stone under his claws, Thing swarmed up the stalactite to join his wide-eyed son.
You can't mean... Crispin's voice trailed off. He couldn't say the word, 'demon.'
There's an intelligence in there. Thing clasped his son's shoulder tightly. I don't know if it's a demon. I just know there's something in those shards, and it's hungry.
Crispin swallowed audibly. What do we do now?
Same plan as before. We find out where he's taking those shards and what will become of them. Thing squeezed his son's shoulder then let go. He scanned the transept with his mage sight.
What about Mom and Nulthir? We must warn them. Crispin dropped to all fours; his wings tightly folded against his sleek back. He was seconds from bolting back to his mate and siblings.
They're depending on us to find a solution. Thing was built for flying, not running, so he stepped off the ledge and snapped his wings open to catch the draft coming from the vent cut into the ceiling directly above. He wouldn't force his son to follow him, but he did glide just below the ledge within eyesight of his son in case the kit decided to stick with the chase.
Crispin was silent as he paced him. His son ran with the liquid grace of a cat, as swiftly and silently as the wind in Thing's feathers.
Thing kept the hooded human and the cold spot he carried in his mage sight as another set of footsteps echoed softly in the tunnel. Thing stretched his thoughts out until they bumped into another mind, one he'd read before.
That Guardswoman, Iraine, is headed this way, Thing sent, breaking the silence between their minds.
She is? What's she doing here? Crispin's cat ears pricked up as he waited for a reply.
Thing slowed, so he could skim her surface thoughts. He found confirmation of what he already knew. She ran into the thief. There was a scuffle—no make that two scuffles. He took the shards and knocked her out. She wants answers too.
Magic Underground: The Complete Collection (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 4) Page 136
