The City Under the Mountain (The Seven Signs Book 4)

by D. W. Hawkins

  The tunnel rippled around her as she came, as if the stone had to expand to accommodate her presence. Bethany seemed blind to the chaos. She was silent, her expression devoid of emotion. Everyone watched her approach in rapt silence.

  No!

  In the space of a breath, a thousand regrets went through Dormael’s heart. He should have left her with his parents, should have protected her, should have left her at the Conclave. Even the care of Victus Tiranan would have been preferable to the vengeful clutch of the Nar’doroc.

  The sound of crackling stone drew Dormael’s eyes back to the horde. The damaged rift in the stone filled with the body of a frenzied Garthorin. Its arms scraped at the stone as it tried to escape the flames and slide into the tunnel with Dormael and his friends. It fell to the tunnel floor and scrambled to its feet as another body jammed into the hole behind it.

  With a deafening series of cracking noises, the stone of the tunnel turned on the Garthorin, growing sharp tentacles from the wall and pinning the beast to the cavern floor. The living rock moved like a striking snake, as if the stone of the tunnel had been made liquid. The second beast slid through the opening and onto the floor, scrambling into a crouch and locking its enraged eyes on Bethany. Shawna moved to dispatch the beast, but it rushed forward before her sword could connect.

  A hand shot from the stone of the cavern floor, breaking the surface in a shower of gravel. It grasped the ankle of the running Garthorin, bringing its charge to a painful halt. The creature screamed and turned to fight off the offending hand, but its claws only scraped against hard stone. The hand pulled on the Garthorin, drawing it into the floor of the cavern as if the stone were made of quicksand. The hand became an arm, then a shoulder. Another hand burst from the floor and grabbed one of the Garthorin’s flailing claws, pulling it down into the softened rock. The Garthorin kicked and screamed, but it was drawn into the floor with slow certainty.

  A woman emerged from the stone—the owner of the grasping hands. She pulled herself up the Garthorin’s body, using it like a raft in a flood. The beast’s screams were cut off as its face went under, pressed into the soft rock by the woman’s bare foot. When she was done, she raised her face and looked to Dormael and his friends.

  The woman was like a living statue. Her body was made from stone of the tunnel, her hair some mixture of flame and magma. Her eyes were alive with an inner flame, and her body glowed with heat as she moved.

  The Silver Lady!

  Dormael would know her face anywhere. It was burned into his dreams and haunted his waking moments. The woman of flame and stone looked at him and quirked a knowing smile.

  “You can't have her!” Dormael gestured at Bethany, who floated in silence. “Not the girl. Take me, but let her go.”

  The woman’s smile widened, but she said nothing.

  “Let her go!” Dormael took a step toward the woman. “Please!”

  Bethany turned her empty eyes to Dormael, expression devoid of feeling.

  “It’s alright,” she said. “I remember now.”

  As the words left her mouth, the tendrils around Bethany’s shoulders grew upward like the roots of a creeper vine. They formed around her face, cradling her features until her head was encased in a makeshift helmet of silvery threads. Her eyes, still glowing with warm light, regarded Dormael through the holes in the mask. Without another word, she turned her attention to the woman made of stone.

  The woman spread her arms like a girl falling into a summer stream. She fell backward into the floor of the cavern, her body changing in an instant to a spreading pool of liquid flame. The fire rushed down the tunnel toward the Garthorin, crawling through the hole in the defenses. The fingers of stone Dormael had summoned from the tunnel shattered with a noise like an earthquake, sending pebbles flying into the horde. Bethany followed the destruction down the tunnel.

  Everyone shared a stunned look. Rumbling rose from the direction of the fight. Tortured howling erupted in its wake, echoing the useless feeling in Dormael’s chest.

  Gods in the Void. What have we done?

  ***

  The source hummed in D’Jenn’s hand like a miniature star.

  It vibrated with a constant thrum of power. His Kai felt vibrant and whole, singing with a strength he’d never felt before. Even his legs, which should have been flagging from the day’s exertions, were charged with energy.

  D’Jenn sprinted across the deserted rooftops and used the floating spell to leap between them. His heart beat a furious rhythm in his ears, charging his limbs with humming energy. Without the Source, he would have been puffing and blowing like a spent horse, but while he held the ancient artifact in his hand, he felt like a hero on a battlefield. He was barely breaking a sweat.

  Garthorin filled the cavern. The horde had entered the city mad with blood lust and spread out like spilled wine. Scattered packs of Garthorin rushed down alleyways, or entered abandoned buildings. The main body had moved toward the entrance in pursuit of Dormael and the rest.

  D’Jenn went unnoticed by the horde. He heard a few howls of alarm when he jumped between buildings, or snarls of rage as creatures spotted him from the street below, but D’Jenn was gone before a chase could ensue. He moved among the higher regions of the ancient city, avoiding the street. The beasts rarely looked up.

  The magical cataclysms had ceased once D’Jenn had removed the Source from the temple. He could feel ripples of energy moving somewhere in the cavern, like aftershocks following an earthquake. A few structures had toppled in the chaos, but most of the city still stood.

  There are still scores of monsters to avoid, but it’s best to deal with one problem at a time.

  He came to a halt on the rooftop of a low, square building overlooking a large thoroughfare. The street was choked with packs of Garthorin. There were buildings on the other side, but the street was wide enough to march a spear-line down the center, and D’Jenn doubted he could make the jump, even with Dormael’s floating spell.

  He spared a thought for going in the other direction—out through the broken steel doors. If he went where the horde was not, he may be able to escape into the valley. He could shift into a raven when he hit open sky and fly to the top of the mountain. D’Jenn had never been much of a flyer. He disliked his chances in the turbulent winds of the Gathan Mountains, but he liked his chances against the horde even less. If his friends made it out, D’Jenn could meet them on the summit.

  I hope they made it—their chances don’t look good, either.

  D’Jenn’s eyes went to the Source in his hand. The stone was warm to the touch. Its surface was as smooth as a still pond, and glowing from within. There were designs reflecting with the inner light, as if tendrils of a separate material had been embedded into the gem itself. Two different glyphs were worked into opposite sides of the stone. Beneath those symbols, layered like an onion, was more intricate spell-work. D’Jenn tried to send his magical senses into the structure of the Source, but there was so much compressed magic in the stone that his mind bumped against it like a physical thing.

  How much power can one object hold?

  He had once seen a source built by a Lesmiran Infuser to power a large, complicated spell. It had been as perfect a creation as anything D’Jenn had seen, yet its capacity was nothing beside the ancient stone. The comparison was so disparate D’Jenn couldn’t think of an appropriate analogy.

  Subtle currents of magic moved around the stone. While he was touching it, he was connected to the magic inside, and felt certain he could tap into that power. When he stuffed the stone into his belt, the connection was severed.

  So it won’t refill what magic I’ve already expended, but if I’m touching it, I can use the power inside. D’Jenn clutched the Source in his hand and turned his eyes to the Garthorin in the street below. Opening himself to the ancient artifact, he pulled magic from the storm at its crux.

  Power filled him like icy water. His sight focused to pinpoint clarity, picking up the dim light in
the cavern as if it was a bright evening. His body was filled with the urge to run, to move, to do anything to expend the power he held. He felt like he should be glowing, like his skin should be shining like the stone.

  Is this what Dormael feels like when he uses magic?

  D’Jenn looked across the thoroughfare to one of the buildings on the other side. Garthorin ran through the street, howling to their pack-mates as they pursued the hunt. D’Jenn chose a tall structure—a tenement standing four stories over the cavern floor. D’Jenn sent his power into the walls of the building, into the foundations, and filled every corner of the structure with his magic.

  There was a resounding crack as every stone in the building was shattered. The Garthroin howled in terror as the street was assaulted with a hail of stones. D’Jenn laughed as he kept the magic going, sending chest-sized boulders tearing through the ranks of the horde. Garthorin fled the chaos, bodies flying through the air as they were clipped by flying rocks. The noise was deafening, and the street filled with dust from the building’s destruction.

  D’Jenn split his consciousness and pushed the dust downward, sending it wafting through the lower streets in a great, choking cloud. He had never felt so alive, so charged with power. He sent balls of flame shooting into the street, leaving burning halos as they entered the dust. He crushed entire groups of Garthorin to the stone with the simple force of his will. He drew more power than he had ever held in his life, but still the stone blazed with intensity. There seemed to be no end to its capacity.

  Another deafening rumble sounded from the direction of the tunnel. The noise grew louder, and was peppered with the crash of falling stone. Guttural screams erupted, and an orange glow blossomed as if a great fire had been lit.

  The song of the Nar’doroc was at the center of the storm.

  D’Jenn cursed and looked down at the Source stone in his hand. The last time Dormael had worn the Nar’doroc, he’d been able to stop himself. Since then, he’d confessed to having dreams about it.

  Will he'll be able to stop this time?

  D’Jenn ran for the edge of the roof and leapt, using the floating spell to jump to the next building. He made his way across ever widening gaps and jumped to rooftops closer to the ground. The Garthorin in the streets were frenzied. Some ran toward the chaos, others ran from it, while still others rushed down side streets and into abandoned buildings. The cavern was alive with noise.

  He was forced to change direction and make his way toward the cavern wall, where tenement buildings were carved level upon level into the stone. Wide bridges stretched overhead, connecting the tenements to columns further in the city. D’Jenn climbed up the wall and leapt to the tenement walkways.

  The bridges spanned high above the cavern floor, creating a shadowed landscape lit by the glow of the inferno in the distance. Wide pathways stretched into darkness, or ended in cracked ruin as entire sections had fallen to the floor below. D’Jenn had no time to admire the view. He ran toward a central column where several bridges intersected one another. Circular ramps led to different levels on either side, and D’Jenn took the ramp to the highest walkway.

  The uppermost bridge was many stories above the cavern floor and ran vaguely in the direction of the chaos. The path was wide and silent, stretching into the shadows of the city’s upper reaches. D’Jenn sprinted into the darkness, the Source glowing in his hand. A wave of terrified howls rose from the destruction below, urging him to move faster.

  D’Jenn stumbled as the bridge shuddered under his feet but managed to keep his balance. He spared a thought for what he would do if the stone gave way. If the bridge came tumbling down, D’Jenn would likely be buried with the rubble.

  He tried not to look over the side as he ran.

  When D’Jenn reached the center of the bridge, the view of the city’s entrance spread out beneath him. He was still some distance from the edge of the city, but he could see the two statues and the wide patch of stone leading to the upper tunnels. D’Jenn slowed to a halt and stepped to the edge of walkway.

  The courtyard was a scene out of the Six Hells.

  Garthorin filled the cavern floor like a colony of disturbed ants. The crowd surged like a moving blanket, crashing against itself as its members tried to escape the chaos. Stones detached themselves from the ceiling and fell into the crowd, trailing bright tails of flame. They hit the ground with deafening cracks and great splashes of liquid fire, killing everything unfortunate enough to be standing nearby. The Garthorin howled in terror beneath the onslaught and struggled to flee, but D’Jenn could see great shards of stone jutting from the cavern floor, blocking all routes of escape. There were still Garthorin trapped on the outside of the courtyard, but those inside the killing field were doomed.

  When D’Jenn saw who was at the center of the storm, his stomach twisted into a knot.

  Bethany floated in the air above the dying horde, her arms stretched wide like a stage performer. The Nar’doroc clung to her, wreathing her upper body in a shining mass of silver. Tendrils reached up from her shoulders, forming a crest of needles that curled like the reaching fingers of a claw. Wisps of energy flickered along their lengths.

  Using his magic, D’Jenn warped the air in front of him to bring Bethany’s distant form into focus. Her face was exultant, her eyes vacant pools of orange light. The silvery fingers of the Nar’doroc covered her face and crept into her hair. Wisps of flame flickered over her skin, but if the fire pained her, she didn’t react.

  The girl can barely focus enough to pick up a single stone. How will she find the fortitude to pull herself from the clutches of the artifact?

  Bethany’s eyes turned to him through the farseeing. They locked gazes, and there was no recognition in glowing depths of Bethany’s eyes. Bethany smiled at him, her features distorting in the warped air of his spell.

  Is it Bethany looking at me, or the Nar’doroc?

  A crack of grinding stone sounded from down the bridge. D’Jenn abandoned the farseeing spell and summoned a quick magical defense as he turned to face the noise. Splitting his consciousness, he pulled magic through the Source, letting the invigorating power fill his body.

  A form rose from the stone of the bridge, tearing itself free of the pathway. The shape resolved into the supple curves of a naked woman. She pushed herself to her knees and rose to her feet, fixing D’Jenn with an angry glare. Reaching up, she ran a hand over the stone surface of her long hair, causing fire to blossom from her touch. Her eyes filled with the same light D’Jenn had seen in Bethany’s gaze, and the woman’s hair became a flowing carpet of fire and magma.

  “Fuck the gods.” D’Jenn glanced around and took a step back—there was nowhere to go.

  The woman took a single bounding step and leapt toward him, an expression of righteous glee on her face. Her fingers extended into delicate claws she flew through the air, and flames blossomed from their tips. She opened her mouth as if to scream, but no sound came from the burning pit of her throat.

  D’Jenn released his gathered energy into a sheet of hardened air, putting more magical power into the spell than he’d ever used in his life. The air in front of him refracted, taking on a translucent, crystalline structure. It shone with a dull light and hummed in the ether.

  The stone woman slammed into the barrier, sending a web of cracks through its structure. Her face contorted into a mask of rage and she battered at the wall, widening the cracks with each blow. D’Jenn pulled more magic through the Source and changed the form of his barrier, wrapping it in a smooth globe around the stone woman. She thrashed like a caged animal, putting long, glowing slashes in the surface of the crystalline globe. D’Jenn felt each attack as a drain on his power, but the reserve of magic from the Source had not diminished. D’Jenn kept the flow of magic going, repairing the cracks as the stone woman made them.

  It’s holding!

  D’Jenn’s eyes flashed to Bethany as the stone woman battered his shield. The girl was still floating above the chaos, spi
nning in the air as flaming stones rained around her. Her attention was on the Garthorin, and despite the stone woman being on the bridge with D’Jenn, she still had the capability to bring destruction upon the horde. D’Jenn turned his gaze back to the struggling woman, mind whirling with the implications.

  Indalvian said it needs a host, or its power is diminished. Dormael had told him about the Silver Lady from his dreams, about the way she appeared and enticed him. This creature of fire and stone must be a manifestation of the same entity. Why had the woman appeared in this form? Why had she not turned the stone under D’Jenn’s feet to magma instead of flying at him in a rage?

  Because she can’t. Even now, she struggles against my shield rather than summoning fire. Perhaps her power is somehow divided. The bearer of the Nar’doroc can affect things in the world, but the entity trapped within only seems able to alter its own form.

  D’Jenn looked again to the Source in his hand. The spirit in the artifact was affected by the magic in the stone. If the entity could be contained, or cut off from the artifact itself, then maybe D’Jenn could pull Bethany from its clutches.

  D’Jenn turned his attention to the raging stone figure and increased the pressure of his spell. He poured magic into the barrier as she struggled against it, repairing the damage. He compressed the circular shield until it crushed her, forcing an end to her struggles. Clenching his fist, he applied even more pressure, eliciting cracks of stone as the crystallized air compressed the woman’s body. The globe grew opaque as D’Jenn hardened it further, though the glow from the woman’s fire shone through its surface.

  Now if I can just figure out a way to hold this spell while—

  A noise somewhere between a crack and a shriek pierced D’Jenn’s ears. His hardened globe of air ignited into white-hot flame, turning the stone a deep orange with residual heat. D’Jenn would have lost his concentration if not for his hold on the Source, which kept his senses sharp. The stone woman emerged from the flames, striding forward like she was stepping from a bath. The flames died as the last remnants of the shield burned away, leaving an afterimage in D’Jenn’s vision.