by Ross Kitson
***
Something subtle had changed in the day chamber when they ascended into its cool interior once again. Emelia sensed it immediately but the tension in the air seemed lost on her two companions. The wave of nausea hit her once more but less vividly than before and after a minor retch, with little to show for it, she was back on her feet.
Emelia shivered as she surveyed the room. All was as they had left it: the faint embers of the huge fire; the leather armchairs; the cluster of tables in the room’s centre; the cabinets and sideboards on the room’s periphery. It was the same sensation she had experienced when she had walked down the corridor earlier in the day: a feeling of being observed.
Jem and Hunor were securing their packs and talking in hushed tones about their pre-planned escape route. It was as they did this that Emelia noticed a wisp of blue smoke worming its way under the door from the corridor and into the room. She watched in fascination as it spiraled upwards and then began to coalesce, unnoticed by her two companions.
“Err... Jem, something’s wrong,” Emelia said.
Jem turned, his lips pursed and eyebrows raised. His face dropped in astonishment as the smoke transformed into a tall man. His bald head was tattooed with runes and he wore robes similar to those of Inkas-Tarr. Emelia instinctively darted for cover beneath the oak table that Uthor had pinned her against earlier.
The Air-mage raised his hands as Hunor and Jem leapt into action, the former drawing his sword in a blur. The air crackled with electrical power around the mage.
The chamber erupted into a gale. A ferocious wind blasted like a battering ram into Hunor and Jem, lifting the companions from their feet and propelling them backwards through the air. Jem slammed with a crash into the large mirror over the fireplace, scattering shards of glass around him like rain. Hunor grasped onto the side of the leather armchair as he flew past, but the move simply lifted the chair with him towards the large stained-glass window.
Emelia stifled a scream as Hunor spun towards the window. On its other side was a thousand foot plummet to a rocky death. Hunor twisted and the armchair was propelled with an explosion of glass through the window, its beautiful scenes of Eerian mountains and heroic knights annihilated by the impact. Hunor dropped lower as he neared the shattered window and jammed his legs onto the stone wall, then with a grunt managed to force his way safely into the corner between floor and wall.
Jem was bleeding from several cuts on his shoulders and back and was desperately trying to fight against the hurricane. The pressure of the wind dropped abruptly and with a thud he tumbled down onto the ashes of the hearth, a cloud of soot erupting around him. Emelia could see a look of intense disgust on his face.
The Air-mage spoke, his voice shrill in the wake of the hurricane.
“My name is Ekra-Hurr, Wizard of the Air and brown sash ferenge. I am the guardian of this treasure you have procured. Your fortune has turned for the worse, base thieves, for now you face the elemental might of the Air-mages. This charlatan magic you practice will avail you little against the ancient powers of the wind. Surrender now and I will ensure you both a fair trial and a kind death, should it come to that.”
Hunor was regaining his feet, his sword in his hand, but Jem was clearly still struggling to stand.
“No offence, pal, but your sweet talking blows more hot wind than your magic,” Hunor said. “Give us your best shot.”
Ekra-Hurr snarled and the air crackled around him once more, his robes billowing. The room flashed white as lightning coursed from his hands. Hunor was swift, rolling to the side behind an upturned table. The lightning bolt exploded into the table with a peal of thunder and it burst into flames.
Hunor moved swiftly behind fresh cover as Ekra-Hurr’s lightning began to build once more around his raised arms. Emelia could see from her hiding place the look of ecstasy on his face at the power he was wielding and it sent a chill through her. He did not look like the merciful sort.
Hunor was weaving across the room as lightning forked again towards him. He scooped a fallen shield from the floor and threw it into the path of another bolt. The shield flared with a bright flame then fell like ornate slag to the floorboards. Smoke was beginning to fill the room, its choking cloud snaking out through the shattered window and into the night air.
Emelia’s heart was racing at the pace of the battle. It was surely only a matter of time before either half the garrison arrived or the Ebon-Farrs came to investigate.
Jem was on his feet now, tunic caked in dark soot. He thrust his arms forward in rage. A small table, one of the leather chairs and two heavy brass pokers from the fireside tumbled through the air with ferocious force towards Ekra-Hurr. The Air-mage snarled and directed his electrical blast towards the missiles, which exploded as the energy struck them. Smouldering wood cascaded around the room and Emelia winced as a glowing hot poker hissed into the floor five feet from her arm.
Once more the wind arose from the Air-mage and soared towards Hunor and Jem. Hunor anchored himself against one of the heavier tables, his ponytail writhing in the gust. Jem gritted his teeth and forced his own magical force against the hurricane. Goblets, platters, bottles, shields and books danced like leaves in the air, suspended between the two opposing forces.
Despite the ringing of the wind in her ears Emelia could somehow sense that the corridor was echoing to the sounds of the garrison’s boots. Tears welled to her eyes as she realised that capture was inevitable; her freedom had been short-lived. Once again a sense of indignation boiled within her and then impulsiveness took over.
She crawled from under the table and across the wooden floor. Her nails dug into the wood and split as they tore along it. Both the wind and some other unseen force buffeted against her but the move to stay prostrate on the floor was proving a wise one. The sword was stuffed down the back of her dress, given some security by the cloak that she had pulled tight to her back.
Within a minute she had come behind Ekra-Hurr’s legs. She could see the strain in his calves as he forced his magic against that of Jem. Emelia bit her lip in determination, the salty iron taste of the blood giving her a boost of willpower. She slid the sword from its scabbard with her right hand then, yelling in fury, slashed the blade across Ekra-Hurr’s ankle.
The razor-sharp edge sliced to the bone and blood spattered against her arm as the mage stumbled. His concentration broken, a shower of debris crashed into his front then rained down around Emelia. A bottle glanced off her head sending a flash of white-hot pain across her vision.
Emelia scrabbled to sit up, the sword still in her hand and her fingertips raw and bleeding. The Air-mage was leant back against the table, blood streaming from his ankle, his chest cut and his breathing ragged from several broken ribs. Emelia could see the pulse of a glowing diamond embedded in his chest. His angry gaze met Emelia’s as she came to her feet only six feet away from him. Her blood ran cold as she saw lightning crackle around his hands.
In a blur of dark leather and a flash of steel Hunor was there beside her. He moved with the fluidity of a dancer, his sword slashing across the Air-mage’s arm as he thrust it out to cast the spell. Ekra-Hurr screamed as the blade tore open his wrist, releasing a morass of tendon and artery and carving a deep furrow into his bone. A jet of bright arterial blood sprayed forth and the mage dropped like a stone, instinctively clutching his crimson arm to his chest.
For an instant, Hunor paused and Emelia felt suddenly sick and afraid. She wanted to look away from the scene rather than witness this man’s death. Then Hunor kicked out, the toe of his boot catching the chin of the fallen mage. Ekra-Hurr’s head bounced with a resounding thud against the leg of the table and he slumped dazed to the floor.
Hunor grabbed Emelia’s arm and pulled her across the room towards Jem. They weaved through the wreckage of the room as both doors opened, spilling yellowy torch light onto the destruction.
The three stood before the broken window, the chill of the mountain winds
blowing into them from the black void that lay beyond. Emelia glanced back at the eight guards bundling into the chamber, their swords shakily held forth. She saw Lord Talis and Lady Heler holding each other in the doorway of their bedroom. The chamber seemed to be full of noise and shouting and smoke but all she could hear was Hunor’s warm voice slicing though her pounding headache.
“Say goodbye to this world, Emelia, and hello to the next.”
Jem and Hunor grasped under her armpits and lifted her up. They stepped on a wrecked table and vaulted through the large gap that was once the window. Emelia’s scream was lost in the roar of the wind as they plummeted into the pitch black void, thousands of feet above the base of the mountain.
Darkness Rising
Book One
IIChained
