She relaxed her shoulders, focusing on Jules’s relaxed gaze. And focusing on their mission. Another loud blast, this time closer and coming from the north. It was the sixth they had heard.
One more to go.
Swords brandished, the seventh strike came, and the Wolf Pack charged up, launching a howl of war. They trailed the tunnels until they reached the bottom access to the Bastion’s basement, then they burst the doors open and quickly dispersed. Cayne and Jules headed for the cells. Noah’s Tazman warriors led the battle to the main hall. Helena and her mercenaries wreaked havoc through every hall and corridor. The rest of the Wolf Pack followed, destroying anything in their path.
The guards of the Bastion were not prepared. Most were quickly overpowered, having no choice but to surrender or to fight to the death. Some managed to make it out alive, running into the streets like panicked dogs seeking shelter.
Cayne and Jules split up at the ground floor. Other Wolves vanished into corridors on their way to the arsenal.
“Find Azera!” Jules shouted, flailing a second sword. “I’ll take these men to the entrance. It won’t be long before City Watch heads our way!”
Cayne gave him a firm nod and took part of the squad with her into the nearest tower. Finding Azera became her one and only mission in that instant. Her heart pounded loud in her chest. So loud, it dimmed the shouts of rallying Wolves inside the Bastion.
A few floors up, Cayne could hear the thunder of the city outside. It was louder than she had imagined, like the entire city was on fire. She had no windows to look through and see it for herself, but it sounded like the roars of war. Were civilians fighting? Was the entire City Watch scouring the streets?
Were they coming this way?
Cayne and her squad were reaching the cells. They needed to find Azera fast to secure her.
It did not take long.
The Bastion was broken into hundreds of prison cells that all looked the same, but those on the higher levels were for the most dangerous criminals. If the general wanted Azera Condor isolated, he would place her in one of those cells.
When Cayne reached the highest floor, she sent the Wolves behind her further up so they could seize the roofs.
And then, at the pause of a heartbeat, the entire city fell silent. The silence was followed by the blare of a loud horn. The echo crashed against Bastion walls, making every brick harmonize with its vibrato.
It was the city alarm.
Cayne found a dent in the wall that let the light of the outside into the corridor. She peered through it, seeing thick clouds of smoke scattered across the capital. She heard the intrepid march of the City Watch coming closer to the Bastion. They would reach it any minute now.
“Falco!” a voice called behind her.
More Wolves had reached this hallway. They went through the cells one by one, calling Azera’s name until she would respond, checking the hatch of each prison gate. By the fifth one, they had the monarch’s cell. They rammed it open with a crowbar and a violent series of push kicks and shoves.
Cayne rushed inside the cell. Azera sat on the floor, her hands chained, her eyes flaring with shock. She was pale, like she had not been fed in days. Azera trembled upon Cayne’s touch.
“What in Hell is happening?” she murmured.
Cayne hushed her with her embrace. “We need to get you safe—”
Before she could finish her sentence, the shattering roar of a cannon blast boomed above them. The Wolves had seized the watchtower canons. The siege was complete.
But what were they shooting at?
* * *
Jules sought cover behind the Bastion’s stone fence. City Watch guards were shooting arrows in his direction, assembled at the open gates of the prison. After the roar of a cannon shattered the sky, the projectile quickly crashed among the guards, sending them flying in all directions. Now that the Bastion was taken, all they had to do was keep it.
After the alarm had been sounded, the guards scattered across the city had finally looked beyond the explosions. Their heads had turned to what was happening at the central plaza, at the Bastion Fortress. They had rushed to the fortress gates, weapons brandished.
Despite the roof cannons, City Watch guards pushed through the barricade and headed for the entrance through the wall that surrounded the fortress. They were quickly joined by more powerful soldiers, armed troops, ready to strike and take the prison back.
Jules had no choice but to fight. At the frontline, he sided with Noah’s troops and clashed swords with the Bravan Army.
But after more cannon blasts, a rain of arrows descended upon their opponents, and more Wolves charged out of the Bastion...in blacksteel armor, carrying blacksteel swords and spears.
The arsenal had been pillaged by the Wolf Pack.
They joined the frontline to defend the Bastion. Wolves hurled Bravan forces back. The wall’s gates formed the perfect bottleneck that the Bravan Army could not push through. Enemy soldiers were forced to retreat. But Jules was too far ahead. He was beyond the gates now. On the wrong side. When he turned around to check on the rest of Wolf Pack troops, he saw the gates close. He had to make it back quick before he would be locked out himself. He dropped one sword, pulled his own arcane pistol out of its holster and charged it up. Prototype or not, he had to make it and fast.
He was about to reach the gates when the violent slash of a sword cut through his leather sleeves and the skin of his arm. Jules recovered his balance and turned around, ready to fire that pistol. But his arm was bleeding profusely, the pain increasing. Jules was trembling. He dashed back to dodge another strike, but a quick blow to his flank surprised him. Hands seized his shoulders and arms. Jules was immobilized. One knock of a pommel to his head and everything went black.
* * *
The gates of the Bastion fence were closed. Wolf Pack fighters barricaded the gates with crates and dead bodies so that no City Watch guards could penetrate. The Bastion was now theirs. It was insurgent grounds.
Cayne made her way down after having secured Azera to guard quarters. Relief drove her quick cadence She found Helena in the main hall, having just recovered from a severe leg wound with the help of Sister Giselle. More clerics had made it through the tunnels to the Bastion. Noah and his men were switching armor to blacksteel plate. More of the Wolves were searching through the prison to replenish their supplies.
She looked around, searching for those she knew, making sure everyone was alright. She found her closest men. Her friends. Luky rolled out of a corner and hugged her leg. He had stayed hidden in Bastion shadows, away from the battle. He was happy, but he had tears in his eyes. He must have been dead afraid, Cayne thought, but that was not it.
“Where is Jules?” Luky asked urgently. His voice seemed broken.
Cayne looked around, feeling panic well up again.
Shit. Jules was nowhere in sight.
Cayne and Luky rushed to the nearest corridor, to the arsenal, to the watchtowers. Nothing. No sign of Jules.
Cayne immediately headed to one of Noah’s men once she and Luky were back in the main hall.
“Where is Jules?” she asked. “Blond, two swords,”—she held a hand right above her forehead—“about yay high.”
The man shook his head, confused, but he still asked one of his comrades—a Tazman woman warrior with green paintings on her face. She had not seen Jules either.
“He was at the frontline!” Cayne said, almost shouting.
The woman curved in concern. “I’m sorry. The gates closed, and we all ran back.”
Cayne turned around, cocking her head left and right. Someone had made the order to close the gates, leaving some stranded Wolves to wander a city on high alert.
Now the panic was real. Cayne started shouting Jules’s name, searching through the few wounded fighters, looking for her friend. It was Berius who stopped her in her march. She did not see him step in her way and bumped into him full force.
“Hey, shonnhet, watch
where you’re going!” Berius called. He ran his hand along her arms to appease her. “What’s all this distress about?”
Cayne realized she was out of breath. And so was Luky.
“Jules is missing!” the catling cried.
“He was at the frontline when they closed the gates,” Cayne explained between shallow pants. “We locked him out.”
Berius straightened his posture. “Jules? That lovely bloke that always bees around you?” He raised an eyebrow.
Cayne responded with a distant nod. Luky was still sniffing his tears inside. He did not want to cry anymore. Him, a courageous sindur warrior never afraid of danger. He should not show weakness! Not now when his friend was missing. What would Jules do without him?
Berius scooped him up with one arm and patted his head. Luky’s whisker twitched.
“Put me down!” Luky yowled.
Berius did not heed. Instead, he pressed Luky against his chest, allowing for the boy-lynx’s tears to flow freely.
Berius leaned close to Cayne while he still held Luky firmly. “I’m going to find him.”
“What?” Cayne’s eyes opened wide.
“If they took him, he mustn’t be far. I doubt they’d take him all the way to the castle.”
Cayne shook her head. “If he’s even alive! Why would they spare him and take him?” Panic was still etched into her voice.
Noah had heard Cayne’s words. He approached the group cautiously, not to alarm her. Once he was in a word’s reach, he laid a hand on her shoulder so she would look at him.
“They took some of my men at the gates,” Noah said. “I saw guards drag them away.”
Now, he tells me! “In which direction?” Cayne urged.
“Toward the river towers.”
Berius put Luky back on the ground. The exhausted sindur cub rubbed his yellow eyes with his furry paws. He let out a repressed yawn when Berius hooked his bow to his shoulder and readied his sword. Luky knew what that meant. Berius was about to go rescue Jules.
“I’m coming with you!” Luky shouted.
Cayne was still talking to Noah when she heard the catling. Only then did she notice Berius heading straight for the gates.
She skipped toward him and stepped in his way, bumping into him again.
“I’m not letting you go, Berius. You’ll get killed,” she warned.
Berius smirked. “Please, I don’t get killed.” He was about to say more when the familiar scent of blazing cedar oil reached his nose. For one second, Berius cursed his ljosalfar olfactory prowess. He knew damned well who stood behind him. It did not take long before that idiot spoke.
“Tiberius?” the man called.
Berius sighed, rolled his eyes, and turned around. Behind Luky, Cayne, and Noah, stood someone who looked like he had just crawled out of a dirty tunnel. Berius bit his inner cheek and turned back to the direction he was going.
“Tiberius, wait!” the man called again.
“What?” Berius spat, looking over his shoulder.
Cayne’s voice came next. “Luthan...you’re back.”
Luky just stared at the tall elf in a silver archmage robe, with hair like Berius and eyes of emerald. He held some sort of longsword bigger than Luky in his hands, wrapped in linen sheets.
“I saw the smoke from outside the city,” Luthan said. “I made it to the tunnels through the western entrance, and some of your underground friends led me here.”
Berius was about to leave when Luthan’s voice stopped him again. “If Jules has been captured, I’m coming with you.”
Luthan meant it. All of it. It was one thing to see his son again after eight years. But to hear that Jules had been captured and Berius was heading out alone to rescue him was an entirely different issue. The warmth in his heart, seeing that face that looked so much like his, was tamed by a sense of urgency. A sense of duty.
Berius was annoyed at best by his father’s blatant display of so-called righteousness. What did he care about an uprising or saving a stranger? It was not like the Academy ever cared. Nor was it Luthan’s business, having disappeared for over a hundred and fifty years. But whatever. His father was the most powerful pyromancer in Bravoure, so there was that. And Berius could definitely set a watchtower aflame right now.
Berius flicked his chin toward the gates. “Well, father, what are you waiting for? Let’s go.”
Luthan rounded his eyes but regained his composure once Berius started walking again. He turned to face Cayne for a moment and handed her the sword wrapped in linen.
“Keep this safe,” he instructed.
Cayne took the longsword in her hands. It was heavy but had a certain solemn feeling to its touch. “Did you find what you were looking for?” Cayne asked, wondering what this was about.
Luthan shook his head. “I didn’t find more than this.”
Cayne grasped the weapon, tucking it close to her. Luthan was already marching away. She wanted to ask for more information about whatever this was, but it would have to wait.
“Let’s get Jules back here before nightfall,” she heard Berius say before he and Luthan fell out of earshot.
Thamias’s silence was not uncomfortable. Instead, it had an absolute calm to it that Ahna valued dearly. A dark elf marching out of Sud on a black stallion was one thing. A dark elf accompanied by the Arena Champion on a white horse was a different story.
Ahna was safe in Thamias’s proximity. He knew that well, and he used it to their advantage to get out without too much trouble. He had not hesitated to take his sword with him and equip himself with his polished bronze armor, the armor of Colosseum gladiators.
The two siblings loped along the coast, circumventing the forest, heading north to the Chasm. During that time, neither of them spoke very much. Thamias told Ahna of the little he could remember from after she had left to find the magi. He had to confess that he did not even remember Kairen and David’s faces. Nor did he remember what their stone house in the middle of Bravoure City had looked like. Ahna felt a pinch in her heart, knowing that her little brother, her only anchor to that place she had called home, did not even remember it. Thamias had not set foot in the capital since the cleansing, a subject he dreaded talking about. He became hostile, and his eyes shot flames when Ahna brought it up.
By nightfall, they had reached the Chasm, a fissure in the soil leading to a narrow canyon that descended further than the eye could see. Horses could not trot here. Thamias dismounted his and motioned for Ahna to do the same.
“It’s best to let them head back to Sud. Belle knows the way,” Thamias said.
“You called your horse Belle?” Ahna chuckled.
Thamias sent her a murderous glare. Ahna complied and dismounted Coal. She wanted him to be safe, but she also had no idea how long they would be gone. If Belle could get Coal safe in the Arena stables, then so be it.
Ahna and Thamias walked and walked until the sun had disappeared and only darkness surrounded them. There they were, walking the road of Den Grotto that led to the entrance of the Dwellunder.
Ahna had trouble seeing through this darkness at first. The canyon had narrowed into a dark cave that felt hot and damp. A small gasp escaped her lips as she knocked her foot against a stone.
She heard Thamias chuckle. “Hang on, systr,” he said calmly.
What happened next was something Ahna would have never thought possible. Thamias stretched out his hand close to her, and a spark of golden light burst out of the palm of his hand. It was bright enough to cover a radius of a few feet.
“How...where did you learn that?”
Thamias began marching again, lighting the way through the cave. “Turns out dragonborn have powerful clerical abilities if they learn to master them. Mother Divine was a great teacher.” He noticed Ahna’s features change upon the mention of Astea the Wise. “I remember her.”
“So...what kind of powers do you have?” she asked, tweaking the subject a little.
“Divine blessings, oaths. I can heal
.”
Thamias did not really seem convinced of what he was saying. But this no longer mattered, because after walking for a few more hours down this trail, the walls opened into a vast cavern. At the edge of it was a sight that brought instant shivers to both their spines. More than shivers in fact—sharp, ice-cold needles.
A colossal gate, sixty feet tall, stood at the end of the path. It was made of the same steel as the typical Dwellunder armor. Ahna’s gaze climbed the gate from bottom to top and back to the ground, where she noticed footsteps in the sand they walked. People had walked here. An entire army had marched here, a little over two hundred years ago.
The two looked at each other, unsure of what to do next. They expected it not to take long before someone would sound the alarm. They were at the outer gate of Mal, and Mal had an armed outpost right behind it.
The gates opened with a low hum, and within mere seconds, Thamias and Ahna were surrounded by a squad of six silversteel dokkalfar soldiers. They shouted words in Dokkalfari, commanding them to raise their hands in the air and get to the ground. Both siblings refused. They nodded in each other’s direction and unsheathed their weapons.
Ahna veered her gaze in the direction of the one that seemed in charge. A slim dokkalfar woman who carried a Dwellunder spear.
“We’re not here to fight,” she said, calmly but in a stern tone.
The woman observed the two. Her fierce red eyes disclosed extreme caution.
“Personally, I wouldn’t mind a good fight,” Thamias whispered to Ahna, and she immediately hushed him.
Ahna was not sure about Thamias, but everything she felt right now was undefinable. No words existed for the sense of both disgust and comfort that had settled down her stomach and made a home there. She stood by the doors of a place she had scratched out of her past. And yet, it strangely felt like a distant home.
“Dark elves on the surface,” the woman finally said, first in Common then again in Dokkalfari. “Is this some sort of joke?”
The woman peeked at Ahna’s hair, silver, the color of nobility. Ahna knew she could summon her true name and be done with this confrontation, but she had no wish for this. Just the thought of speaking that name clogged her throat. She could not bring herself to sink that low.
Tempest of Bravoure Page 15
