He jerked his gaze away and focused on the sphere and those cables. It occurred to him that if he could cut them, that ought to break the flow of power and knock out the dome. Could it be that simple? Maybe there wouldn’t be as much magical backlash from that as there would be from channeling enough power into the orb to cause it to explode or burn out.
“Might as well try it first,” Yanko said, drawing Sun Dragon’s scimitar.
He strode forward, gulping down air to try to calm his belly.
You can throw up again afterward, he silently told it.
Keeping his back to the vile cube, Yanko hefted the scimitar. He hesitated only long enough to check and make sure that Dak and the others had cleared the stairs.
A shout drifted down from above, followed by the clash of steel weapons meeting. Yes, they had cleared the stairs—and found someone to fight.
Yanko created a barrier to protect himself, then brought the scimitar down swiftly. The magical cable was denser than he expected, and lightning streaked up his blade when he cut into it. Even with his defenses up, he experienced a jolt of electricity that made his teeth slam together. He sensed that a lesser weapon would have broken. Fortunately, the scimitar successfully sliced through the cable. He immediately swung for the second one, committing to the action before pausing to second-guess himself.
Lightning spat from the severed cables, and he jumped back, losing his focus—and his barrier. Smoke flooded into the air, the acrid scent singeing his nostrils. He sensed an immense flux of energy within the sphere and stepped back farther, afraid he might yet cause an explosion.
Yanko was on the verge of sprinting to the stairs when light flashed and a cacophonous roar hammered his eardrums. Pain stabbed his head, and he almost dropped the scimitar. The floor heaved under his feet, and the sphere shattered into a thousand pieces.
Shards struck Yanko, slicing through his robe and his flesh, and he cried out. The floor pitched again, hurling him to the side.
As he landed on the bucking floor, his shoulder striking down hard, a thunderous snap erupted from the ceiling. Cracks widened, and chunks of rock hammered to the floor.
Yanko scrambled to his hands and knees but not in time. Rubble tumbled from the ceiling and buried the stone steps. He whirled back toward the tunnel he’d drilled, but a giant slab of stone slammed down in front of it.
Smaller rocks crashed down all around Yanko, some striking him in the back and head. Half-stunned, he groped for the power to protect himself, but his head hurt from more than rocks. Somehow, he’d ended up right next to that anti-magic artifact, and he couldn’t concentrate on his art. He wanted to kick the thing. Instead, he lunged inside of it, since it was the only protection in the room.
Only after he was inside, unable to sense anything or think through his aching head, did he realize that had been a bad move. The rest of the ceiling collapsed around him.
16
The granite walls of the cube protected Yanko from being crushed by the cave-in but not from being completely encapsulated by rocks. He sat with his knees pulled up to his chest, his tongue and throat coated with dust. The air was stuffy and thick, and he feared he didn’t have much of it. His stomach churned, his entire body loathing the mage-hunter artifact that surrounded him on all sides. It might have saved his life, for the moment, but that didn’t mean its very essence didn’t repulse him.
His stomach heaved, but there was nothing left to throw up.
The rocks settled, and silence filled the room. If there was a room now. It might have filled completely with rubble. And who knew how far up the stairway was now blocked?
If he’d been able to access his power, Yanko could have created a way out, but his entire brain ached. When he tried to perform the simplest magic of sensing the area around him, the pain intensified, and warm droplets of blood trickled out of his nose.
He sniffed and jerked a finger up to staunch the flow. For the first time, real fear filled him as he worried about what being so close to this artifact might do to him. Could it permanently wound him? Kill him?
The lack of air might do that sooner, unless someone came to rescue him. He’d been semi-serious when he’d mentioned the possibility to Dak that he might need rescuing, but he remembered hearing the clash of steel echoing down the stairs. By now, Dak might be battling a dozen guards or more.
Had the others heard the cave-in? Did they even know Yanko was in trouble?
He wondered if cutting those cables had lowered the dome. If the imprisoned people up there were free, he could accept that sacrificing his life had been worthwhile, but it was distressing to think that his brother and cousins might be so close and he’d never get to see them again.
Tears leaked from his eyes. He’d also failed to acquire the continent for the nation and to find Zirabo again. He’d wanted to do so much more. To be so much more.
A muffled boom reached his ears, and he jerked his head up, clunking it on the side of his little prison.
From inside the cube and buried under rock, he couldn’t tell if that explosion had come from the stairs or from halfway across the island.
Another boom sounded, closer this time. Rocks flew in the room outside, clunking and clattering into each other. Yanko hunkered in his shelter, his arms and hands over his head.
Scrapes reverberated through the granite walls of the artifact. Someone was coming. He risked more pain to check with his senses. Were his friends coming? Or the soldiers?
More blood trickled from his nose. It was worth it. He sensed Dak on the stairs.
Yanko sniffed again, grimacing at the metallic tang of his own blood trickling down his throat. Dak was alone. Where had Lakeo and Jhali gone? Were they fighting while Dak excavated him?
“Yanko?” came Dak’s muffled call.
“Over here,” Yanko shouted.
He patted around, found a fist-sized rock, and clanged it against the granite above his head.
More rocks shifted, and a hint of light broke through. Light and air.
Yanko tried to claw aside rocks from the opening, but there was nowhere in the tight space to put them.
Fortunately, a dusty, calloused hand soon snaked into his nook. Dak shoved aside enough rocks to pull him out, and Yanko pushed with his legs to escape as quickly as possible.
The pain lessened slightly as he was pulled away from the artifact. Dak hoisted him over his shoulder, and Yanko squawked in indignation and protest.
But not that much protest. His entire body ached, and he bled from more than his nostrils. It was easy to go limp and let Dak carry him across boulders and up the recently cleared stairs.
Intense relief flooded him as they moved farther and farther away from the mage-hunter artifact.
“If you throw up at any point,” Dak said, “this rescue is over.”
“Turgonians,” Yanko muttered into his back from his upside-down position. “So crotchety.”
The crack of a rifle drifted down to them, and Dak doubled his speed, taking the steps two at a time.
“You can set me down,” Yanko said, alarmed when they kept going up and up. How many floors down had that room been from the main fortress? “Then I’ll hug you, and we can go save the others.”
“Hug?”
“I’ve had a bad day. I’m extremely grateful to be rescued. Uhm, do the others need saving?”
Another rifle fired. Yanko tried to marshal the mental strength to sense the world around them. Men were running through hallways above. The soldiers. And they had Turgonian firearms instead of more typical Nurian bows and crossbows. Maybe the rebel factions were abandoning tradition in favor of martial advantages.
“The dome disappeared when you did whatever you did. We hadn’t found Tynlee or Arayevo yet. The others were supposed to stay where they were.” Dak stepped over a fallen soldier. Someone they had dealt with earlier?
“Lakeo rarely stays where she’s supposed to stay.”
They finally reached a landing, and Dak set
him down. “I’ve noticed.”
The wall on one side of the landing held the first window Yanko had seen, and he rushed to open the shutters and look out. The light of the dome had indeed disappeared, leaving the island in darkness. And people. Yanko couldn’t see them, but he could sense them now. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. And they were afraid.
A scream sounded out there among the rocks, punctuating his thought. A few dim lights appeared at the corner of Yanko’s eye—soldiers rushing out of the fortress with lanterns, swords, and firearms. They ran toward the area that had been covered by the dome. Surprisingly, Yanko sensed fear from them also. Because they worried the prisoners, no longer confined by the dome, would retaliate? Or because of some greater danger?
Shouts joined the screams, too distant for the words to be decipherable.
“Can you tell what’s going on out there?” Dak stepped up to the window beside him.
“I…” Yanko peered into the gloom and tried to sense what was out there that would alarm people. The prisoners ought to be rejoicing at their freedom. Admittedly, they were still stuck on the island, but the loss of the dome shouldn’t scare anyone.
As Yanko searched, Jhali and Lakeo appeared and whispered something to Dak about soldiers all over the levels above.
Yanko swept over a distinct presence and halted his search. No, two presences. And they were magical. Very magical.
They immediately reminded him of the soul construct he’d faced in that waterfall cave—and how he hadn’t been able to do anything to defeat it. Neither had the Kyattese mages who had also been there. It had taken his mother, with her great command of fire magic, to destroy the creation.
“There are soul constructs,” Yanko said. “Two of them. I’m not sure if they appeared when the dome disappeared—maybe they’re the backup security—or if they were inside of it all along. This is the first time I’ve been able to sense—”
Heavy bootsteps sounded on the landing above, and Dak jerked a hand up for silence. It was too late. The soldiers knew they were there. Or they’d been sent to find out why the dome had gone down.
Six men with swords charged down the stairs. Dak shot the first one in the chest before they fully came into view.
Yanko’s heart almost stopped. These were Nurians, even if they belonged to a rebel faction. His people. He hadn’t wanted to kill anyone.
Dak fired again and charged up the stairs to meet the others. Lakeo and Jhali only hesitated a second before springing after him.
Yanko’s skin tingled in warning of magic being used as a wave of power slammed into all three of his friends. They flew back down to the landing, not even those with mage-hunter training impervious to the physical attack.
Yanko growled at himself, annoyed that he’d paused for a moment of introspection—had he truly thought he’d break out his family without hurting anyone? He flung his own blast of wind, knocking the soldiers onto their asses before they could jump to take advantage.
Next, he stretched his senses wide, searching for the mage. He or she didn’t need to have line of sight to hurl magic about.
There. The woman he’d sensed on the way into the island stood on the floor above, a dozen paces from the landing. She was readying another attack.
As Dak, Jhali, and Lakeo leaped back up and engaged the soldiers on the steps, Yanko flung an image of fire into the mage’s mind. She jumped back and lost her concentration on whatever attack she’d been readying. But she soon recovered, realizing she faced another mage.
More screams sounded outside, reminding Yanko that the battle he needed to fight was out there, not in here. What if those soul constructs had been commanded to kill the prisoners rather than let them go?
Who are you? the mage spoke into his mind as Dak downed one soldier and launched himself at another. The clangs of metal and thuds of punches filled the stairwell. Why do you fight with Turgonians against your people?
You’re not my people, Yanko replied, debating how to take her out of the fight without killing or seriously wounding her. You’re with the Swift Wolf faction. You enslaved my family.
So you bring Turgonians to help you break in? To involve them is to act without honor.
Yanko snarled. How dare she accuse him of having no honor when she was enslaving Nurians and trying to take over the Great Land? What did she expect to get out of this? A place at the new Great Chief’s side? Some favor for her family?
What did you do to the artifact? she demanded. If it cannot be repaired, you will be—
Not caring to hear whatever threat she planned to deliver, Yanko called upon the magic that came most easily to him. Earth magic. He channeled his power into the arched stone ceiling above her head, snapping rock and mortar. With thunderous cracks and scrapes that echoed down to their landing, the ceiling fell on her.
She sensed the threat in enough time to create a barrier around herself, but that didn’t keep her from being buried by stone, just as Yanko had been. She would survive, but it ought to take her time to extract herself. He hoped that would keep her too busy to bother them further.
“Uh.” Lakeo eyed the ceiling as the thuds and cracks from the floor above them dwindled. “Should we be worried about that?”
Yanko sent a few tendrils of magic upward to harden and reinforce their ceiling. “No.”
“Are you sure?” Jhali asked. “It sounds like you blocked the way out.”
Dak leaned back from where he crouched, cleaning his cutlass on one of the soldier’s uniforms. Yanko stared bleakly at the uniforms of the men now dead on the stairs. Nurian men with the same dark eyes, skin, and hair he had, clad in the familiar uniform of the Great Chief’s army, the main source of authority he’d known his whole life.
But, he reminded himself, these people hadn’t been loyal to the Great Chief. They’d chosen to join the rebels, and they must have known this might be their fate.
“Yanko?” Lakeo prodded him.
A cut on her cheek trickled blood, but she didn’t seem any more badly injured. Dak and Jhali appeared unscathed. He nodded, glad that his comrades were talented enough fighters to hold their own against soldiers.
“It’s possible, Jhali,” Yanko said, “but we’re not going that way.”
Dak arched his eyebrows.
Yanko pointed at the window. “There are two soul constructs out there. We have to deal with them.”
“Deal with them?” Lakeo curled a lip. “The last time we ran into one of those, it very nearly dealt with us.”
Another scream pierced the night.
“No choice.” Yanko pushed the shutters open further and climbed onto the sill. “We’ll find a way.”
“Wonderful.”
* * *
As Yanko ran along the dark rocks toward the soul constructs, he used his senses to guide him since he could barely see. Lakeo, Dak, and Jhali weren’t far behind—Yanko heard Lakeo’s frequent curses as she slipped and tripped on the rough footing.
The soul constructs radiated magical power and filled Yanko’s senses, but he was also aware of dozens of people in pain and hundreds of terrified people running toward the water, something they hadn’t been able to do before. But they oozed defeat, for they knew they couldn’t swim to safety.
A few lanterns burned up ahead, and Yanko got his first glimpse of the two massive soul constructs, easily towering forty feet. Two-legged and two-armed, the creatures had a semblance of a human shape, but they were made of rock and metal rather than flesh and bone. Like monsters that some mad Turgonian engineer had crafted in a shop. But their eyes glowed an eerie red, and they radiated magical power as they stomped around. They crushed people caught under their huge feet, and every time the constructs lifted their arms, metallic shrapnel flung away from their blocky hands, the tiny shards infused with power that guided them into living targets with deadly accuracy. A pile of bodies already littered the rocky ground.
“Bloody ancestors,” Dak growled, and Yanko sensed him pulling his pack off his
shoulders as they ran.
As if explosives would do anything against ancient magic like that. Yanko didn’t know if the mage in the fortress had created them or if some more powerful practitioner had done it when the prison had first been established.
Rifles fired, and soldiers running down a path from the fortress yelled at people for fleeing. A flush of rage filled Yanko. They should be saving the people being trampled by the soul constructs, not shooting at them.
He summoned his earth magic, sending energy into the rocky path ahead of the soldiers. It heaved as if with an earthquake, flinging them far to the side, their weapons falling from their grips.
Yanko knew it wouldn’t delay them for long, but if he could keep even a few people from being shot, he had to do it. His family could be out there somewhere, in the line of fire.
“More soldiers coming,” Lakeo panted, waving toward an open door in the fortress. “I think they noticed you’re here, Yanko. And a problem.”
Yanko didn’t look back. He wasn’t surprised the soldiers were focused on him now. Better him than people who couldn’t defend themselves.
The only problem was that he needed his magic to attack and couldn’t defend himself at the same time.
“Watch my back,” Yanko called to his friends as he raced toward the soul constructs. “I’m going to try—I’m going to defeat them.”
He had to believe he could.
He found it encouraging that the creatures seemed to be made of rock. Maybe his earth magic would affect them?
Yanko used his senses to examine their hulking bodies but shied away from closely studying the little white balls of energy that burned in the center of them, the souls of those who had been sacrificed in order to create the constructs. He prayed to the badger goddess that nobody from his family had been killed that way, trapped for eternity—or until the creation was destroyed and the souls were set free.
After watching one of the creatures hurl another round of shrapnel, Yanko stopped about fifty meters away. Getting close would only make him an easier target.
Assassin’s Bond: Chains of Honor, Book 3 Page 27
