They rested
briefly before pushing onward. Raphael could take no chance with Swan’s life.
Vachel led them through labyrinthine paths, moving steadily down, darkness
swallowing their descent. Needing no torches to see, they passed through the
range quickly, moving with a speed borne of urgency.
Hours passed and
still they ran. The climate changed in the tunnel, growing warmer as they
approached the outside. Vachel hung back as they neared the entrance, waiting
in the dark. Raphael and Syrian continued on until they reached an edge much
the same as that where they had entered. Outside, the sun dwindled in the
sky. In the valley spread a small village, near enough to be a danger should
they be seen. Beyond its borders lay the Skarlothian mountains, black and
shining like glass.
One single,
hidden path led to the Lysian pool. Only a mage could reveal it, and while the
sun shone, they could not chance discovery by the villagers. They rested while
the sun dipped, waiting for cover of darkness before proceeding, hoping they
were not too late.
* * * *
Swan awoke to
Syrian’s golden face, his sapphire eyes full of concern. “You were asleep
longer than expected. I believe he nears. You’ve only just now changed and
the sun set an hour past.”
She sat up,
stiff, her left hand tingling. It was the first time it had ached since
Raphael had healed her. She flexed her hand, looking around. “Where is
Raphael?”
“He awaits you
outside. We must hurry if we are to succeed.”
She dressed
quickly and joined them outside. They watched the sky as gray clouds uncovered
the lonely silver moon. “The red has gone,” she whispered. “Have we come too
late?”
Syrian looked at
her. Raphael remained silent. “We’ve no choice but to try.”
Vachel carried
them down the mountain, one by one. Distant fires lit the town. Raphael took
no chance on being spotted as a beastman, and so remained in human form just as
Vachel ran alongside them instead of taking to the air. By the time they
reached the steep hills leading to the range, Swan was winded and tired. A
cramp stabbed her left side with each step. She said nothing, just gritted her
teeth against the pain and continued on.
She’d vowed not
to slow them down or be a hindrance. She would not start now, not so close to
their goal.
Syrian stopped
suddenly and pushed back his hood. They’d reached the path, though she could
see nothing with her untrained eyes. He turned his face skyward, his eyes
closed and palms clasped open against his chest. The wind stirred as he
murmured strange words that tickled the mind, gaining strength as he pushed his
hands forward. His hair flew around him with the force, his robes whipping in
the wind, cracking like sails.
A golden glow
spread down his arms, energy traveling toward his fingers, curling through the
air.
The hairs rose on
the back of her neck as she watched him, and she stood under Raphael’s arm,
seeking shelter.
Syrian stopped as
abruptly as he began, opened his eyes and pointed toward the mountain. A small
path she hadn’t seen twisted up the mountain, disappearing beyond a crevice,
invisible to the naked eye.
“So lays the
path,” he said, moving forward.
They walked up
the steep incline, the stone smooth and unlittered with even the smallest
pebble, the slightest crack. A crevice broke the mountain, dark and tight.
They continued climbing until they reached a wide platform. From there they
walked into the jagged rip that split the mountain. Light flared at their
approach.
Swan jerked back,
shielded her eyes until her vision adjusted. Slowly she withdrew her hands,
blinking. Her mouth gaped as she beheld the sight before them. Above the
silver moon hung in the center of a huge opening, shining down on a pool of
glittering water, illuminating the cavernous room. The water rippled at their
approach, sensing the presence of magic. It moved toward Syrian as he walked
around, silver ripples undulating like reaching fingers.
“It’s beautiful,”
she whispered, walking nearer.
Raphael stopped
her, held her arm. “And deadly to all but those with the gift.”
“Indeed,” Syrian
said. “I sense no disturbance, but he cannot be far. I must work quickly if
we are to leave before he comes. Stand away from the entrance.”
“What is he going
to do?” She’d never once thought to question how they would disable the pool.
She had foolishly thought perhaps they could break it apart, but remembered it
was protected with powerful magic.
“Drain it. I can
create but a small opening in the pool’s base, but it requires much of my
power. The runes protecting it meld cracks in the rock. I can hold it open
for a time, but do no lasting damage. To destroy it would take a coven with a
century’s experience.”
They moved aside
as he instructed, standing flat against the wall. To touch the liquid was
poison without the knowledge to channel its energy. Even beastmen were susceptible.
Syrian stood
before the opening, his legs braced. He pushed his sleeves up and focused on
the base of the pool. Sweat beaded his brow as his skin began to glow. The
light slithered up and down his arms, coating his skin, climbing beyond the
cloth, covering every inch of skin.
The air rippled
with energy, heating the atmosphere, scorching their lungs. The stone walls
sweat with the heat, gasped as a crack formed in the pool’s base. Silver water
burst through the opening, rushing along the floor the way they’d come.
Swan watched,
mesmerized, unable to tear her gaze away from the silver stream. It moved like
a live thing, a serpent slithering along the ground, suddenly freed. Syrian
breathed harshly, his arms shaking from holding the crack wide as though his
fingers pried the rock apart. His skin shown brilliantly as the Lysian water
drained away, down the mountainside. White streaks formed in his hair, and
still he continued chanting, drawing out the last drop.
He dropped to his
knees as the flow stopped, breathing raggedly. Swan and Raphael rushed to his
side, helped him to his feet.
“It ... took more
than ... I thought it would,” he said heavily, a wry grin on his face.
Swan touched his
snowy hair, overcome. She hugged him tightly, and he patted her back
soothingly. Pulling back, she held his hand to her heart. “Thank you,
Syrian. Had I but known, I never would have allowed you to take such a risk.”
“You are most
welcome, my lady.” He nodded at Raphael, who gripped his biceps in a gesture
of thanks. “Now if I may say so, we must hasten our return to Shadowmere.
Morvere will go there now that the pool is empty.”
“I agree.
Vachel, come. We go,” Raphael said.
They needed no
prodding to leave the haunted cavern. The presence of ancient magic had
disturbed them all. As they moved through the crevice, the stone shifted,
groaning. Swan glanced over her shoulder to see the opening close, melding
together as though never cracked asunder.
She shivered and
hurried behind Raphael, Vachel close behind her.
As Syrian stepped
outside, on the cavern’s ledge, a bolt of light shot from the sky and struck
him full in the chest. Smoke billowed as he fell to the ground.
Swan gasped, too
shocked to scream. Raphael ran, reached the edge first, his eyes straying
right, away from Syrian. Vachel rushed past her, brushing her aside as he
joined his brother. Desperate to reach them, she followed quickly, not knowing
what had happened or what to do.
A roaring growl
ripped from Raphael’s throat just as she crossed the darkened threshold into
the light. She knelt beside Syrian, checking his pulse, turning only after she
made sure he still lived to see what had captured Raphael and Vachel’s
attention.
A black fog
spread up the mountain path, slithering up the sides like snakes, tendrils
groping for their feet. It emanated cold like the grave, chilling the marrow,
drawing the heat from their bodies.
Vachel leapt from
the ground, summoning the wind to clear the black obscurity. It parted before
them, revealing a man shrouded in robes of blackest velvet, steel gray hair
streaming from his head, the ends crackling with chained energy.
“Morvere,” Swan
hissed, then fell to her knees as a force wrenched her insides. She gasped in
pain, clutching her stomach, unable to tear her gaze from the horror playing
out before her.
“You are supposed
to be weakened,” Raphael gritted out. They’d all thought so. It had been
their only chance for success.
“I have enough
strength to kill you all,” he snarled.
“You cannot kill
me with such foulness,” Vachel growled, diving for him. Raphael moved in,
racing toward Morvere as Vachel caught the sorcerer’s attention.
Morvere raised
his hand and another bolt lit up the sky, flying toward Vachel. He dodged
it--too late. The bolt ripped through his side, smashing into the mountain.
Rock shattered, raining down on them like broken glass, littering the ledge
with deadly slick debris. Vachel yelled in agony, diving still for Morvere,
his hands curled like talons. The smell of scorched flesh filled the air with
nauseating thickness.
Morvere waved him
away with a glancing blow of power, and Vachel whirled in a somersault. He
fell behind the sorcerer, plowed into the stone path and went still.
It was enough
distraction. Swan struggled to her feet just as Raphael struck Morvere in the
chest, his fingers grown into black claws. Blood, black in the darkness
sprayed from a slash in Morvere’s throat. Morvere laid hands on Raphael’s
biceps, smoke rising as he scorched Raphael’s flesh.
Swan ran toward
them as they locked in a deadly embrace, pushing back past safety toward the
edge of the mountain as each man grappled for domination. Raphael stumbled on
the rock littering the ground, his greater weight pulling them both toward the
edge.
Swan screamed as
they went over, her cries mingling with Morvere’s own.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Swan ran to the
edge, but could see nothing with the distance. He couldn’t be dead. She
scarcely noticed her missing finger had returned, could think of nothing but
Raphael.
A hand grasped
her shoulder. She startled, half expecting Morvere, and cried when she saw
Syrian standing beside her.
“We must go to
him,” he gritted out, clutching his chest. He coughed, bending nearly double.
She turned to
rush down the mountain.
Vachel was gone,
she’d not seen him recover, so couldn’t know what had happened to him. Had he
been dragged over the side as well? Swan raced down the mountain, Syrian
trailing behind, moving as quickly as he could, each minute agony. Tears
streamed down her face. She wiped them away, only to be blinded by more.
An eternity
passed until they reached the bottom. Syrian limped behind her, too injured to
keep up as she scrambled over the steep hill, her fingertips bloodying as she
struggled not to fall, to reach him as quickly as she could.
She cried in
relief when she found him, crumpled on his side, Vachel beside him. Morvere
lay a short distance away, broken over a crop of rock, his head lolling at an
obscene angle. She turned away from him, unable to bear the sight.
Vachel looked up
at her as she dropped beside Raphael. “He’s broken inside,” he whispered.
“Don’t say that!”
she screamed, kneeling beside him, touching his skin. He was cold, chill as
the grave. Her heart ceased beating as she stared down at his still form.
Syrian came up
behind her, quiet.
She turned to
him, clutching the hem of his robe. “You have to do something, Syrian. He’ll
die if you don’t.”
Syrian gave her a
pitying look, his eyes saddened. “There is nothing I can do for him. My power
is completely drained.”
“No!”
“I can’t wake
him. There is nothing we can do,” Vachel said softly, rising.
“Leave me be,”
she cried, gathering him in her arms. They left her quietly, moving away for
her privacy.
Swan rocked him,
her tears gliding down her chin, falling on his face. “Raphael, open your
eyes, please. Please! You have to wake up.” She shook his shoulders. His
head fell back limply. “Raphael! You need to change so you can heal. Do it for
me, Raphael.”