by ML Spencer
Walking to the opening, he hesitated in front of it and peered inside, which was like looking into a dark, yawning throat. Cold air moved past him, as though the cave itself were alive and breathing. He turned back, glancing back up the canyon, nearly overcome by feelings of helplessness and futility. The task Vandra had given him was impossible. There was no way he could defend this cave alone.
But he didn’t have a choice. Drawing a deep breath, he pushed his fears to the edge of his mind and entered the passage, using his sword to prod at the ground in front of him like a walking stick. Determined, he inched forward into the darkness, which encased him immediately.
A few more steps and a bend in the cave eliminated even the memory of sunlight. Very seldom had Markus experienced total darkness, and it was disorienting. He reached out and trailed his hand along the cave wall, as much to stabilize himself as to guide his passage. The temperature plunged as soon as the light gave out, taking on a damp chill as cold as the high mountain passes. His wet hair made it worse, and he immediately started shivering.
The further he went, the more unnerved he became. It would be very easy to get lost in the darkness if he broke contact with the wall, even for a second. The breath of air moving past him told him there were other entrances ahead, somewhere in the darkness. This wasn’t just a cave, but an entire cave system, and if he became lost within it, he might never find his way back out.
He almost turned back. After all, he’d just meant to go in a little ways, to make sure he could take refuge within if he needed to. But the air moving past him changed his mind about going back. It was coming from somewhere, which meant the caverns had at least one other entrance. Those who meant harm to the Wellspring wouldn’t necessarily enter the caverns through the grotto.
Feeling conflicted and more than a little claustrophobic, Markus paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts and fighting back feelings of helplessness. Just when he was ready to give up and head back, he noticed the faintest light on the cave wall just ahead.
Relieved, he moved toward it. The glow came from a side passage up ahead. Markus walked forward, his pulse quickening, for he had no idea what the source of the light could be.
Turning into the side passage, he followed it only a short distance before it opened into a wide cavern filled with stalactites illuminated by a soft, rippling light. He paused before entering the chamber, letting his gaze move carefully over the obstacles in his path. There didn’t seem to be anyone lying in wait for him, though it was hard to tell. Some of the cave decorations had grown into wide columns, behind which a man could easily be hidden.
When Markus was as certain as he could be that he wasn’t walking into an ambush, he started forward, winding his way along a path between stalagmites that were reminiscent of sharpened teeth. He found himself having to duck in places, as glistening spikes jabbed down from the ceiling overhead. Pieces of stalactites littered the floor, broken off from their bases.
The light seemed to be coming from an opening in the far wall ahead between folded stone decorations that look like marble draperies. Markus lifted his sword and adjusted his grip on the hilt then moved toward the opening. In the entrance, he paused.
Ahead was a smaller chamber that encased a circular pool. It was from the pool’s smooth surface that the blue light emanated, swirling over the rocks and ribboning the walls with scintillating tendrils of light. The shore of the pool sparkled as though coated with silver dust.
It was a Wellspring.
Edging forward, Markus knelt on the shore of the pool and dipped his fingers into the glowing blue water. Shocked, he retracted his hand. The water was warm, much warmer than it had any right to be, surrounded by the frigid air of the cave. And yet, no steam rose from its surface.
It was so unnatural.
He rose and backed away, glancing around. For the first time, he saw signs that other humans had come to this place. He could see their footprints in the silvery dust that clung to the ground. There was another opening on the other side of the chamber. Another entrance, more heavily travelled, judging by the prints.
Staring at the Wellspring, a powerful sense of awe crept over him. This was what he was here for, what he had come to protect. This place was hallowed. He could feel the solemnity of the cavern seeping into him as though exuded from the surrounding rocks. He had the strong sense that there was something here far greater than himself, something profound, something essential to the earth.
Markus tightened his grip on his sword, feeling his resolve solidify. No matter what was coming, he would stand against it to his last breath.
Aram tumbled out of the portal, rolling across the sand and smacking his head on the ground. Feebly, he pushed himself upright, just as Esmir came rushing toward him. The old man caught him by the arms and hauled Aram to his feet, bracing him by the shoulders as he raked his gaze over him with a menacing expression.
“What happened to you?” Esmir demanded. Then he waved his hand through the air. “Tell me later! Calise is in the portal, looking for you. Get your clothes on! You’re needed!”
Aram sprang for his clothes, but only had time to get his breeches up before Calise came staggering out of the portal. For a moment, she stood blinking as if stunned, but then her eyes fixed on him. She threw her head back and sagged visibly in relief before rushing toward him and sweeping him up in a hug.
“Thank the wind!” she gasped, pulling back. “I thought you were dead! Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”
Shaking with apprehension, Aram struggled into his pants and pulled his tunic over his head. “I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong. It’s just … what happened?”
“There’s been a battle!” Calise exclaimed. “Their sorcerers called lightning and killed twelve of our dragons! Vandra needs you to protect the Anchor because we can’t stop them!”
Aram glanced around, feeling disoriented. “Where’s Markus?”
“I sent him ahead,” Esmir growled. “Now, get going!”
Aram hesitated, his mind reeling from too many shocks too close together.
Casting his emotions aside, he sprinted after Calise toward the stairs.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Vandra screamed as the spear-thrust of lightning impaled Kade’s dragon. She watched them fall, crackling energy clawing over the dragon’s body, streaming a trail of smoke. Taranth hit the ground and rolled, mowing down a line of footmen. It was seconds before he tumbled to a rest against a rocky scree. Vandra spat upon the ground, shaking in fury, for there was nothing she could do.
She brought her hand up, fingers splayed, commanding her warriors to hold. Below them, the defenders of Inuine fled toward them, chased by a large group of cavalry that were swiftly overtaking them. The fleeing Highlanders were outnumbered and exhausted, losing ground with every stride. It wouldn’t be very long before they were overrun, and Vandra was starting to fear that they wouldn’t be able to gain the slopes in time. Every instinct she had screamed at her to order her dragons to their defense. But she had to let the enemy come to them. Somewhere down there was a sorcerer—or sorcerers—and they had to keep their dragons out of range.
Beside her, Somlan growled, “Are we just going to wait for them to be slaughtered?”
“We can’t risk more dragons.” Vandra glanced at the sky, praying for a miracle to descend. But there were no miracles to be had. The enemy had superior numbers and superior capabilities. And magic.
There was a cry from her warriors on the adjacent ridge, directing Vandra’s attention to the ravine behind them. Hundreds of soldiers on horseback were pouring into the ravine, flanking their position. Beside her, Somlan cursed and drew his sword, starting forward.
A bolt of lightning arced down, and a dragon behind them fell over and convulsed.
Sorcerers had entered the ravine.
“To the air!” Vandra screamed.
Within seconds, the ridge was abandoned as the surviving members of her Wing raced to their dragons. Vandra spr
inted to Ragath, a terrible fear gripping her as she watched the first group of dragons take flight. As she climbed onto his back, the sky lit up above them with an iridescent flash that was followed by a reverberating clap of thunder. A jagged net of crackling energy appeared, clawing at the air.
Five dead dragons fell from the sky, trailing lines of smoke all the way to the ground.
Ragath reared back with a roar of fury, nearly dislodging her.
“Gods be damned!” Vandra cried and jumped from her dragon’s back, drawing her sword.
The men and women of the Wing gathered around her, forming a line behind their dragons, preparing to receive the enemy charge while waiting for the lightning to descend.
A shadow streaked by overhead, and then the ridge before them erupted in flames. Startled, Vandra glanced at the sky to see a small golden dragon sweeping by overhead. When it reached the end of the ravine, it banked sharply, turning back toward them.
“No!” she screamed as a streak of lightning speared down from the clouds.
But instead of stabbing through the dragon, the lightning exploded in the air, erupting into a shower of sparks.
The gold dragon dove toward the ground, spewing flames that carved a fiery path right through the heart of the charging cavalry, enveloping men and horses alike. The rest of the enemy horsemen wheeled to retreat.
Defying another lance of lightning, the gold dragon swept low over the ravine, laying down a path of fire that consumed dozens more. This time, when the dragon passed over, it came close enough for Vandra to identify Zandril. And when she saw who rode upon Zandril’s back, she almost sank to her knees in relief.
Aramon Raythe.
More spears of lightning streaked down from the clouds, this time aimed at the dragons on the ground. Every bolt died a violent death as they smacked into an invisible barrier that had been woven in the air above them. The sky above the hills lit up with showers of sparks and arcing forks of electricity. On the ground, her warriors rallied, streaming forward to attack the remaining horsemen who hadn’t succumbed to the flames.
Vandra heard a shout and whirled, sword already raised, just in time to block a ringing strike from an enemy warrior who had managed to circle around and come up behind her. The leather-clad warrior was as large as an oak tree and fell upon Vandra with an oak’s weight of inertia. She crumpled beneath him, her sword arm pinned to the ground.
Vandra struggled, but the warrior butted her in the face with his iron helm. For a moment her consciousness ebbed, but then the clamor of the battle came rushing back. With her left hand, she drew her dagger from its sheath and drove it deep into the warrior’s back. There was a grunt of pain, and then the pressure on her eased. Vandra took the opportunity to stick him twice more, just to make sure, before throwing him off.
She struggled out from under her dying opponent, kicking him in the head for good measure. Then she staggered back, hauling her sword up with both hands. Next to her, Somlan was engaged in a brutal struggle with an enormous warrior who had him overpowered. Bringing her sword back over her shoulder, Vandra swung the blade with all her weight behind it, lopping the man’s head off.
Somlan nodded his gratitude. He dodged behind her to fight at her back as more enemy warriors swarmed around them. They were massive, armored in leather and fur, wielding monstrous weapons. It took all of her strength to block their swings, and she couldn’t just rain down mindless blows against them but had to be smart about her footwork and attacks.
Exhausted, she lost her footing and almost lost her life, but someone thrust a sword through her opponent from behind, and the man crumpled.
Turning, she looked for someone else to fight, but there wasn’t anyone. Panting, Vandra scanned the ravine, realizing that the battle was over. Somehow, they had won.
She glanced up to thank the man who had just saved her life and found herself looking into the youthful face of Aram Raythe, who stood in front of her with burning eyes, his sword sheathed in blood.
“You came,” she gasped. She lowered her guard slowly, taken aback by the look on his face.
The eyes she looked into were not the eyes of a boy.
A man stood before her, his gaze burning with magic and fury. It took Vandra a moment to understand. This is what Auld magic looked like when it blazed within a man, and it was a powerful and eerie sight.
Slowly, the burning fire dimmed in Aram’s eyes, and the boy she knew stood before her once again. Vandra took him by the shoulder, drawing him close in an embrace, for she couldn’t be prouder.
“You have to go,” she said gruffly, panting from exhaustion. “I sent Markus ahead to the Anchor. He’s going to need you.”
Aram pulled back, nodding, then stooped to wipe his blade clean on the back of the man he had killed.
Markus stood beside the glowing Wellspring, watching its light ripple across the walls and ceiling of the cavern. Here, the cave decorations seemed sculpted from white marble, and they were finer and much more numerous than in the larger chamber he had passed through. One of the stalagmites across the room reminded him of the silhouette of a woman. The wall behind it was ribbed in dripstone, looking as though it housed a pipe organ. The chamber of the Wellspring was a beautiful place. A hallowed place, of a kind he never could have imagined seeing in the World Above.
As he stood there, his thoughts turned to Aram, wondering if his friend had made it out of the portal. A great sadness filled him, for he feared that he hadn’t. Why had Esmir sent him in there when he wasn’t ready, when he knew there was a chance he wouldn’t come back out?
He paced back and forth along the shore, struggling to push those thoughts aside. Right now, worry wouldn’t serve him, so he forced himself to turn his attention back to the cavern surrounding him. He could feel the power of the Anchor throbbing the air around him. He still didn’t have a good sense of exactly what an Anchor was or how it worked. No matter how long his gaze roved over the walls, he didn’t see anything that stood out to him. Nothing about the cavern seemed capable of standing in defiance of nature, of holding two halves of one world forever apart.
He also wanted to understand the relationship between the Anchors and the Wellsprings, for it couldn’t be coincidence that one always occurred beside the other. Perhaps the Wellsprings provided some kind of lifeblood to the Anchors. Or perhaps life-magic…
A sharp sound made him startle.
Snatching his sword off the ground, Markus stepped sideways to put a wide stalagmite at his back. He stood with his gaze fixed on the opening in the wall that led to the large chamber, feeling his mouth go dry and his insides squirm. Slowly, he edged toward the opening.
There, he halted, staring out into the looming darkness.
For a long time, he saw and heard nothing.
But then a light appeared at the far end of the wide cavern, coming from the passage where he’d seen the footprints. He readied himself, adjusting his grip on his sword, watching the orange light of a flame spread across the cavern wall.
A figure stepped into the chamber, eclipsing the light. Another followed, this one holding a torch. Markus wished he could see their faces, but all he could see was the dark silhouettes of their bodies, as undulating shadows obscured their faces. They crossed the chamber toward him, winding through the forest of stalagmites. It wasn’t until they stepped into the pool of light cast by the Wellspring that he made out who it was, and his stomach twisted.
Sergan and Obriem.
The sorcerer flashed him a smile and nodded in greeting. Markus froze, taken off guard by the look in Sergan’s eyes. At first, he wasn’t sure what to label it. Was it disappointment? Hurt? It couldn’t be. Whatever it was, it was quickly replaced by anger. Sergan’s face went rigid, his smile faltering.
Markus’s gaze dropped, and he noticed that Sergan was holding a vial of essence in his hand, which he made a point of slowly drinking. He swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut and smacking his lips.
Markus understood. It was
Aram’s essence in those vials.
Standing beside Sergan, Obriem looked unsettled, as though dismayed by the prospect of fighting an acquaintance. And even though he and Obriem had never seen eye to eye, Markus bore him no ill will.
“Why, Markus.” Sergan smiled congenially, his eyes blazing with the cold light of sorcery. “What an absolute pleasure to find you here. Are you alone, or did you bring Aram with you?”
Markus didn’t speak, for he couldn’t decide which answer would give him the best advantage. For all Sergan knew, Aram could be hiding in the cave behind them, which might give the sorcerer pause. Or maybe it would embolden him; it was hard to say. So he kept his mouth shut and met Sergan’s eyes.
The sorcerer chuckled. He glanced at Obriem. “I guess we’ve scared him speechless.”
Markus felt his ire rise, and his grip tightened on his sword.
Sergan tossed the empty essence vial away. There was a small tinkling sound as it shattered against the stone. “You’re alone, then. That’s too bad. Or maybe it’s good.”
He took a step forward.
“Let’s talk about how this is going to play out. You’re Impervious to magic, but not to Obriem’s steel. And, to my recollection, he was always better than you in the practice yard.”
Another step forward.
“Meanwhile, while you’re distracted by Obriem, I’ll be kicking over stalagmites.”
A smile. Another step.
Markus licked his lips, settling deeper into his stance.
“Maybe I can’t attack you with sorcery, but I can toss anything in this cave at you. Things around here look pretty sharp.” Sergan drew to a stop just out of range as Obriem came up to stand at his side.
“Or, you can surrender.” Sergan shrugged. “Up to you.”
Markus felt cold sweat collecting on his brow. He had very little chance of beating them both. The sorcerer was poison; he’d always known that. The man was a scorpion, and during the time Markus had known him, Sergan’s sting had only become more deadly.
