by Keri Arthur
He screamed, a sound that cut through the very heart of me. It was—mercifully for him—a sound that abruptly cut off. He was unconscious, which at least meant he wouldn’t feel anything I now did. I pushed the knife’s point deeper into the opposing magic. The runes flared brighter and the red tendrils leapt down to counter the yellow-green. For several seconds, the two magics fought each other, the tendrils lashing and counter-lashing, making his flesh and muscles leap and twitch in time.
Thankfully, the red won.
The blade’s magic returned, leaving an open and bloody wound the size of my fist but thankfully not the depth of it. I sheathed the knife, then swung my pack around to grab the medikit.
After cleaning and packing the wound, I sprayed the entire area with a sealer. The false skin would help prevent infection and allow freer movement, but it wouldn’t stop the pain. It was also doubtful he’d be able to move very fast. Not under his own steam, anyway.
I returned the kit to the backpack and then looked around. A faint haze of dust was visible on the horizon, suggesting the bipeds were still coming after us. But dawn was drawing ever closer and would hopefully soon force them underground.
Even so, there was little chance of us moving anywhere for some hours to come, and that meant constructing a shelter for us both.
I rose. There were plenty of stones around the area, but it would take me forever to create a shelter large enough to hide us both, and there was no guarantee it would prevent them from smelling us, let alone protect us for long against the acidic globules.
What we needed was a cave—one deep enough to stop our scent from rising and to protect us from the acid.
Which in turn meant I had to call to the earth. But creating stone shackles was vastly different to creating a deep cave. I’d never done anything like that before and had no idea of the protocols or even if there were any.
I shoved the knife hilt deep into the hard soil and then closed my eyes. The response, while still a little distant, was immediate.
What is it you wish?
I need to create a cave large enough to protect us.
Picture it, and it will be done.
I immediately envisioned a long deep cavern that was wide enough to hold the two of us, with an entrance that was short and steep. The knife pulsed and power surged up the hilt into my body, forming a deeper connection between the earth and me. Though she wasn’t actually pulling on my strength, I nevertheless felt it slipping like rain from my body. This was the cost of the earth magic and one I was more than willing to pay if it kept us safe until Donal had recovered enough to move.
Dust plumed gently into the air as the earth set about creating the chamber I was picturing. Sweat soon trickled down my body and my head started to ache, but I didn’t release the knife. Not until the dust had stopped rising and the earth informed me that the cavern was done.
Thank you, I said, not sure of the protocols when it came to this sort of stuff. I took a deep breath that did little to counter my racing heart or the weakness washing through my limbs, and then freed the knife from the ground. Once I’d sheathed it, I rose. For a heartbeat, everything spun, and it was all I could do to lock my knees and remain upright. I took another deep but useless breath and then walked across to the cave’s entrance. It was certainly steep, but there was enough roughness in the packed earth and stone to provide grip points to climb out. I took off my pack, tossed it down, and, after a slight hesitation, slithered after it to check the cave out.
It was deeper than I’d actually imagined and carved entirely out of stone, which should proof it against any sort of cave-in. It was about six feet wide and seven long—just wide enough to fit us both in comfortably.
Now I just had to get the highlander in here, and then figure out a way of blocking the entrance while still providing an air source.
I climbed out—a task made harder by my aching head and trembling limbs—and walked back to Donal. I knelt to check his pulse—it was a little faster than it should have been but nevertheless strong—then rose and grabbed his arms. I couldn’t drag him butt-first thanks to the wound, and that meant holding him high enough so that his face wasn’t scraped across the ground or the rocks.
But that made it infinitely harder—especially when the man wasn’t a lightweight.
By the time I got him down to the cave’s base, my breath was little more than short, painful pants, and my head was spinning. I released him and slumped back against the stone for several minutes, dragging in air and trying to ignore the desire to just collapse and sleep. I wasn’t done yet—creating the cave was pointless if I just left the front door open and allowed the bipeds easy access.
I pushed away from the wall, staggered over to the ramp, and dragged myself up it. Once at the top, I again thrust my knife into the soil. This time I imagined a thick slab of rock sliding across the opening but left a fist-sized hole on one edge and semicovered it with a small wave of stone to ensure there was fresh air coming in.
Again the knife pulsed, and again my strength slithered away. My heart was now racing so hard it felt ready to tear out of my chest, and my head was on fire. I could barely see through tears, but I didn’t need to see to know what was happening—I could feel it through the knife. Stone flowed across the entrance, creating the door I imagined and enveloping us in utter darkness. But air still stirred, an indication the air hole had indeed been created.
We were safe.
Relief surged, my strength gave out, and unconsciousness swept me away.
I had no idea how many hours passed before I woke. I did know my head still thumped and that there was a matching ache in my right leg. I groaned and shifted, and almost instantly various other bits of my body started complaining.
I forced my eyes open and saw only darkness. I waited until they’d adjusted and then looked around. I was at the bottom of the ramp, meaning I’d tumbled down after falling unconscious. My right leg had been cut from my knee to near my ankle, but thankfully, the wound wasn’t serious, even though it had bled enough to soak my pants leg. What I’d cut it on, I had no idea, but there were plenty of rocks on the ramp that were sharp enough. I certainly hadn’t specified smoothness when I’d created it.
I warily checked my other limbs, but aside from various bruises and sore spots—probably a result of the tumble—there didn’t appear to be anything major wrong. I’d been very lucky yet again.
I sat up, waited until the booming in my head eased again, and then glanced around, looking for the knife. It wasn’t visible anywhere near me, but a faint flicker of gold had me looking up. It was still lodged in the earth, and that meant I’d have to retrieve it before I made any attempt to get further rest. If the biped mage came anywhere near our hideaway, the knife’s reaction to his magic might just give away our position even if the air hole wasn’t particularly large.
But I had no intention of doing anything until I’d looked after my leg. One of us had to be fully mobile—although in truth, if Donal couldn’t haul us out of here on the air, we were in serious trouble. While I could certainly provide a shoulder to lean on, the sort of speed he’d be capable of wouldn’t get us far. And it wasn’t just the bipeds we had to worry about, but also the Skaran. Presuming, of course, we actually did get across the Skaran border. Right now, things weren’t looking good.
I shuffled forward on my butt until I reached my backpack. After treating and sealing the cut, I gingerly got to my feet and climbed back up the hill, retrieving the knife and tucking it safely into its sheath. A lone sliver of daylight shone through the small air gap, but gave me little indication of the time. There was no noise out there—nothing to indicate the bipeds or anything else were even remotely close. Of course, that wasn’t so surprising given the bipeds appeared to be nocturnal.
But we needed to be out of here by night to have any chance of putting distance between them and us. If Donal hadn’t recovered sufficiently by that time, then it might be better to remain here until the next sun
rise. The last thing we needed was for his strength to give out halfway across Skaran lands. Even if we called the captain for help—
The thought froze me and I swore. We hadn’t updated the captain since we’d left the ember-lit shaft and gone beyond the range of the halo.
I immediately double-tapped the device, but there was no response other than static. Either the unit was broken or we were too deep under the earth for it to work.
I carefully slipped down the ramp, then grabbed my pack and limped across to Donal. I did a quick check of his pulse, discovered it was back to normal, and then pressed a hand against his forehead. He didn’t have a fever and there was no redness developing around the sealed wound. The fierce tide of relief that ran through me was telling—in the brief time I’d been in this man’s company, I’d come to rely on him more than anyone else currently in my life.
I eased his backpack off, shifted him into a more comfortable position, and then tucked the sleeping roll under his head. The cave was warm enough that he didn’t need to be covered.
After unclipping my own sleeping roll, I took the time to both eat and drink. Neither particularly helped ease the ache in my head, but I suspected only time and sleep would do that. I settled down, crossed my arms, and gradually drifted off.
I woke to an awareness of being watched; while there was no hint of threat in that sensation, tension nevertheless gathered. I opened my eyes, but before I could say anything, Donal’s hand touched my shoulder—as if to gauge my position—and then he leaned close, his breath warm on my lips as he whispered, “The air warns of movement.”
“How many, and how close are they?”
“An advance party of three, but the main group isn’t far behind them.”
Meaning we either got out of here now or we took the risk and stayed. “What do you think is our best option?”
“I don’t think we can risk any further delays,” he said. “Now that the bipeds know we’re aware of their presence, they may give up the tunneling and just attack.”
“Except the tunnel might be a means of protection rather than a method of concealment. It wouldn’t be practical to expect a sizable army to dig themselves shelter every night.”
“Perhaps, but we still can’t risk remaining here. The garrison will need to prepare for a possible attack.”
I wasn’t entirely sure there was any way to protect a city made of stone and metal from a substance that melted both, but I guessed time would at least give us a chance to discover if there was any information about the bipeds or their magic in either the Mauvaissian archives or the larger libraries within Divona.
“Will you be able to control the air long enough to get us back to the garrison?”
“Yes.”
I snorted softly. “I suspect you’d say that even if you were knocking on death’s door.”
Amusement briefly crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Undoubtedly, but we have little other choice. I can’t run—not very far, at any rate.”
I wrinkled my nose. “How bad is the pain?”
“It hurts like a bitch, but there’s nothing either of us can do about that, so I’ll just have to ignore it.” His amusement grew. “And to do anything else would ruin the stoic reputation we highlanders have.”
“It’s better to ruin a reputation and be alive than not. Trust me on that.”
His amusement faded. “I have no intention of dying, Princess, either here or in the Red City. I want to watch the reaction of Cannamore’s so-called finest as you claim the sword and your rightful place on the throne.”
“If we don’t beat these bastards at the Karva Pass, then that’s something neither of us might live to see.” I hesitated and cocked my head sideways. I couldn’t hear anything, but the knife’s light was flaring to life again. There was magic out there, somewhere.
I pressed my hand against the stone and the earth immediately spoke. Another biped has arrived; he thrusts one of their long staffs into the soil and uses it to seek.
I swore softly. How far are any of them from our cave?
Half a mile. They inspect each of the larger stone deposits and then move on.
Meaning they suspected we were hiding and would undoubtedly find us sooner rather than later. I returned my gaze to Donal. “We need to get out of here.”
“You clear the way and then come back down. If we leave direct from this cave, there won’t be the usual dust devil to give our position away.”
I nodded, rose, and grabbed my pack. I didn’t bother retrieving the sleeping roll—it was just one more thing for Donal to carry and I suspected that, despite his bravado, he was skimming far too close to the edge when it came to strength.
I scrambled up the ramp and then shoved the knife into the earth and quickly pictured the stone slab silently retreating. Once again, the knife’s hilt warmed and energy began to flow. The night slowly became visible, the stars bright in the blackness. We’d be visible the minute we left this shelter.
With the stone back in its original position, I slid back down the ramp and limped over to Donal. He frowned. “What did you do to your leg?”
“Had a bit of a blackout last night, so I can’t really say. It’s only a scratch, though.”
“Says the other master of understatement in this little outfit.” He held out his hand. “Shall we go?”
I placed my fingers in his and let him pull me close. Once he’d wrapped his arms around my waist, the air stirred, whirling silently around us until its force was enough to lift. It twisted us around so that we were horizontal, and then shot us out of the cave and into the night.
Ten seconds.
That’s all it took for the bipeds to spot us. They were closer than half a mile, but fired neither their globule weapons nor the yellow-green tendril mass. The three of them simply chased us. What they intended I had no idea; maybe they just wanted to see where we were going.
The remaining biped—a mage, although a different one to the one we’d seen earlier, as he was shorter and wasn’t wearing the thick white necklace—knelt and wrapped both hands around the staff. It came to life and sent a beam of light arcing back to the volcano. Some form of communication, perhaps?
Once again, we slowly drew clear of our pursuit; the ground beneath us changed, becoming less arid and far greener as we drew close to the Skaran border.
The Kanjoi River—the demarcation zone between the dead lands and the Skaran—soon appeared. The landscape didn’t instantly change—while there were thick pockets of trees, it was for the most part as flat as the dead lands. But aside from the occasional black scar—reminders of just how far the volcanic eruption had reached—the land was lush and green.
Our pace began to slow. Donal’s expression was again determined, but his sweat soaked my clothes and his arms trembled. I didn’t say anything—there was little point. He would get us as far as he could. Beyond that, it was up to me.
Buildings started dotting the landscape. At first, they were little more than huts on the edge of fields that were laid to cropping—though what, exactly, they were growing wasn’t clear from our current height. Gradually, though, the fields gave way to a city that was ringed by a wide, deep ditch, and a fence that appeared to be made of swords—ten-feet-tall, rusted metal swords. The Skaran were capable of smithing, something I really hadn’t expected—although I was not entirely sure why given I’d witnessed firsthand the detailed gauntlets that covered their hands and feet. They certainly hadn’t purchased those from any of Cannamore’s smiths.
Their buildings were far less sophisticated, being circular in shape and made mainly of stone, with what looked like thick straw as roofing material. All the buildings—be they large or small—were positioned around what looked to be a circular meeting and marketplace situated in the center of the fenced area.
There were hundreds of Skaran out and about—not only fierce-looking warriors but also men without tusks, women with thick black manes and fur covering their genitals, and naked children wh
o ran, screamed, and played in much the same manner as children all across Cannamore.
Then we were past them and skimming across treetops. Once we’d crossed the Quaih River, we were over the Wild Lands and close—so close—to safety. But our height was again dropping; the swirling wind kept the branches at bay as we dipped down below the treetops, but I could see the ground now and it was coming at us way too fast.
“Donal—”
“I know,” he all but ground out.
At the last possible minute, the wind braked and we were deposited gently on the ground. Donal sucked in a deep breath and released me. A second later he was kneeling on the ground, his whole body shaking and the stink of his exhaustion staining the air. I grabbed his water bottle and handed it to him, and then hit the halo.
“Garrison, this is Caracal One. Wildman One and I just arrived back in the Wild Lands and are in serious need of escort and help.”
For several seconds there was no response other than static. I tapped the unit in frustration, shoved the link tail deeper into my ear, and a woman’s monotone voice finally came online. “—you, Caracal One. We have a unit close—they’ll be with you in an hour. Stay at your current location if you can.”
“As long as the Skaran don’t attack, we will.”
“There’s been no sighting of them by either team tonight,” she replied. “But keep an eye out. The bastards move fast.”
“So I discovered. Caracal One out.”
I squatted in front of Donal and studied him.
“What?” he said, after a few seconds.
“You look like shit.”
“That’s because your ass is heavier than it looks.”
I grinned. “If you’re flinging insults, then you’re stronger than you look. Do you think you can shuffle back to the tree?”
He glanced over his shoulder; the tree in question was a thick old black pine that would, with a little earth reinforcement, provide the perfect shelter to wait out the arrival of the rescue party.
