There was a powerful sense of events colliding, of too many things coming together at once, and they weren’t coming together at all the way Dawson had hoped or expected. Hanging on to Selyn, he raced down the stairs and prayed for the impossible—that they’d have enough time to save their friends, stop the demons, and maybe even live to tell about it.
Isra heard the sound of footsteps and harsh breathing and she panicked. Which way to run? Then she spotted a dark niche along the wall and slipped inside. Her brown slave’s robe blended perfectly with the gray stone, and she knew no one would see her unless they were actually looking for her.
She’d barely stepped into the darkness when that bitch Selyn and her human boyfriend raced past her, practically flying down the steps. Now where in the nine hells would they be going in such a rush?
She stuck her head out and watched until they were out of sight, but as tempted as she was to follow and find out what was going on, she was almost to the level where the free folk lived. She’d never been here before, but she was absolutely sure the actual civilization of Lemuria was merely one portal away.
As soon as Dawson and Selyn were out of hearing, Isra slipped out of her hiding place and started up the stairs once more. Her legs ached, and her nerves had her jumping at every sound, thank goodness. Otherwise she might have run right into Selyn, and that wouldn’t do at all.
She reached the portal after a few hard minutes of climbing. Then she took a moment to look back down the stairs. Light faded into darkness, but that’s exactly what she was leaving. Darkness and drudgery and not a single person who actually cared about her.
If anyone had thought she mattered, she would have had a crystal sword. But no, Isra didn’t count. She’d never counted, but she would. After today, they’d all wish they’d been nicer to her. Every single one. She was leaving them behind and moving forward.
Nothing but good things awaited her. She was positive.
With a prayer to whatever gods heard the plea of slaves, she slipped through the portal into a wide, well-lit passage—directly into the midst of three Lemurian guards on patrol.
She recognized them immediately—and they knew her. They were part of the same group of guards who had watched over the Forgotten Ones for Isra’s entire life, and one of them grabbed her before she had a chance to run. She grunted and twisted out of his grasp. The next guard grabbed for her robe, but she turned toward him, pushed at his chest, raised her knee, and planted it between his legs as hard as she could. He screamed and clutched for his crotch as Isra tore free, falling to her knees on the stone floor as the tension from his hold gave way.
She rolled, scrambling on her hands and knees out of the third man’s reach, but the first guard had recovered. He jumped over his fallen comrade and wrapped his thick fingers in Isra’s dark hair, jerking her to a stop.
He used her hair to drag her to her knees and then to her feet while she twisted and fought like a wild thing. The one she’d kneed rose slowly to his feet with a look on his face that spelled her death.
So be it. She had little to live for anyhow, though it didn’t seem fair that Selyn ran free while she, Isra, would die here. The guard hauled back his fist. She had a moment to choose whether to face her death or shut her eyes.
Then the first guard blocked the other man’s fist. “Wait,” he said. “First let’s find out why she’s here.”
“The bitch kneed me in the balls. She dies.”
“After we find out why she’s here.” The guard holding her by the hair shook his fist. Isra grabbed his arm to take the pressure off her head and neck.
“I have important information for the Council of Nine,” she said, praying these idiots would know who she was talking about.
“What kind of information?” The guard shook his arm again, shaking her like a rag doll.
Her feet kicked mere inches above the ground, and her arms ached from holding her weight off her hair. “Information for them alone,” she gasped. “Turn me loose.”
“I think not.”
At least he lowered his arm so that her feet found the stone floor. She went from her tiptoes to full contact, breathing hard and fast. “Take me to the council. I have news of an insurrection in the slave quarters.”
The three looked at each other, and the one who held her, who was obviously their leader, nodded. “Drago’s still at the vortex, working on the portal. We’ll take her there.” He turned Isra loose and shoved her toward the one she’d kneed in the groin. “Bring her.”
This one intended to hurt her. He wrapped his meaty fingers around her upper arm and tightened them in a painful grasp. “With pleasure,” he said. Then he jerked so hard she was afraid he’d dislocated her shoulder, but he didn’t let up on the pressure enough for her to find out. Biting back a cry of pain, Isra stumbled after the three men as they marched quickly along the passageway.
She had no idea where they were, what passages they followed. She’d hoped to see the fabled plaza with the walls of crystal and gold, but all she saw was gray stone and dirt floors. They moved quickly, following narrow passages that must have been designed for the guards to move separately from the free folk. She wasn’t sure. Her shoulder hurt so badly she didn’t really care.
But they’d pay. She had no doubt they’d pay for what they were doing to her. She had information this Drago would want. Information that would mean the end to her sisters’ foolish dreams of freedom.
But were they so foolish? She’d had them too. Wasn’t that why she’d run away, why she was putting up with the cruelty from the stupid guard? He jerked her arm hard, and she cried out. Then she bit back any further sound. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of making her cry.
They passed into a wider tunnel that was well lighted. A loud roar echoed off the walls and made the floor vibrate beneath her feet, but she had no idea what made the sound.
They rounded a corner, and she saw it—a solid wall of molten gold pouring from the ceiling and disappearing somehow into the ground. There was no sign of heat, no smoke from any fire, but the guards continued walking toward the wall as if they intended to walk through it.
They’d burn! Didn’t they know that metal hot enough to flow would burn the flesh from their bones? She’d seen it in the mines, when there’d been an accident so many years ago, when one of the younger women had fallen.
She hadn’t even had time to scream. The image of the girl’s startled eyes and open mouth as she’d fallen into the cauldron of molten gold filled Isra’s mind. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder she struggled, twisting and turning, pulling as hard as she could, but the guard merely laughed and kept walking.
He reached the wall of gold, and without a moment’s hesitation, stepped into the flow. She knew she was going to die, knew it was all … all an illusion. They passed through as if it were nothing but a cool flow of air.
The guards were laughing. All of them laughing at her because she’d been ignorant of the truth. She held her head high and refused to look any of them in the eye. Still laughing, the bastard pulled her along the tunnel until they reached a larger cavern. A man wearing the flowing white robe of an aristocrat stood before the opposite wall.
He held what at first appeared to be a crystal sword, but then Isra realized the blade was black obsidian, which made no sense. Didn’t a black blade mean the owner had died? Whatever, his was black, and he held it up at shoulder height with the tip pointed toward the wall of the cave. Energy poured from the blade, and a sense of evil surrounded the entire area.
The man turned and sneered at the guard in charge. “I told you not to disturb me. This is difficult work. Who is she?”
“Councilman Drago, she claims to have information of an insurrection among the slaves. We thought you should know.”
The councilman cocked his head and stared at her as if she were a speck on an otherwise clean plate. “Let her go.” He lowered his sword and sheathed it at his hip. “So, you have information for me? Why me? Why not Chancellor Alton, once of Artigos? Shouldn’t you want to share your news with our revered leader?”
She shook her head. With a name like Alton of Artigos, he must be related to that old man. “No, sir. I think it’s his father who’s leading the insurrection. Or maybe his grandfather. He’s an old man.”
“What old man?” The councilman stalked across the cavern and grabbed her chin like she was a little kid. He pinched it hard between his fingers. “Look at me. What old man?”
It was hard to talk with him holding her this way, the bastard. “I don’t know. He’s an old man who’s been imprisoned in the slave levels since before I was born. He’s free now.”
He turned loose of her chin and rubbed his own with a thoughtful expression on his face. “Artigos the Just has been detained since the great move. Given time, he could gain the citizens’ trust once again.” He glanced over his shoulder at the point on the wall where he’d been working. “We’re too close. We can’t let him screw this up, but I’m going to need a little more time to open the portal to Abyss.”
To Abyss? He’s opening a portal for demonkind?
His hand streaked forward before Isra could react. He grabbed her by the throat. “What else do you know of this insurrection, young lady? What of the guards? Were they overwhelmed by a group of women?” He laughed. “I find that a bit difficult to believe.”
She shook her head, but her mind was spinning. He’d not cut off her air, though she knew he could crush her throat with very little effort. But did she want to tell him everything? If she did, what would she have left to bargain with?
And did she really want to help a man who was working with demonkind? She hadn’t imagined anything so awful. Her mother had been a warrior who fought against the spawn of hell, yet this man wanted to help those evil creatures enter Lemuria?
Dear gods, what had she done?
He squeezed her throat tighter. Did it really matter?
“I’m waiting,” he said. His fingers tightened even more around her throat. Gagging, struggling for air, Isra realized she very much wanted to survive.
“The guards joined the women.” She could barely get the words past the constriction around her neck. He lifted her off her feet, holding her by the throat, and he glared at her with eyes that sparkled with madness. Madness and something more. Demonkind lurked behind his eyes. Was Drago possessed? Was everything Selyn said really true?
Isra clutched at Drago’s arm with both hands, but he didn’t seem to notice. A terrible, soul-deep sense of despair washed away all hope of survival. Isra was going to die. She’d taken her chance and she’d lost, but a last burst of anger kept her talking. At least she wouldn’t die alone.
She barely managed to force the words out of her rapidly swelling throat. “They formed a single army. The old man … he leads,” she gasped. “They’re on their way here now, over one hundred strong, armed with …”
He cursed, flexed his arm, and threw her against the wall. Isra’s head slammed into rock, and she slid bonelessly to the floor. Lights flashed behind her eyes. She felt herself fading, falling deeper into darkness. Still, even dying, she knew she had the last laugh.
The damned fool!
What irony! He’d shut her up too quickly. She hadn’t told him everything. He had no idea the women and the guards were all armed with crystal.
Blinking slowly, Isra tried to focus on her surroundings, but everything seemed to swirl and pulse in clouds of darkness. Was this death, this horrible icy chill that brushed over and around her skin?
She took a couple of deep breaths and planted her hands on the rocky floor. Shoving with all her might, fighting the nausea that warred with the pain rocketing through her head, she finally managed to push herself up enough to lean against the rough wall of the cavern.
Everything spun and whirled, as if her body floated, and there was no particular sense of up or down. She fought a wave of nausea that almost pulled her under. If only things would hold still for a moment!
Light flashed and drew her blurred gaze. Blinking slowly, she forced herself to concentrate on the dark and eerie glow on the far side of the chamber. It pulsed with a powerful sense of anger, almost as if it lived. Squinting against the pain in her head and the sense she was still falling, she stared at the deep, red light.
Slowly, Isra brought it into focus. She blinked again, not quite believing what she saw with her own eyes.
Black figures oozed from the spinning center, sliding along the wall, gathering in roiling clouds of darkness on the floor beneath what could only be a portal to Abyss.
Drago had succeeded. The passage was open. Isra swallowed back a scream as one of the wraiths slid across the cavern floor, oozed over her leg, and floated around her body. Was it testing her? Trying to gain entrance to her soul?
“No!” She screamed at the thing, swung her hands, and tried to push it away. She merely succeeded in shoving her fingers through the mist. There was no substance to fight, nothing beyond the chill of death clinging to the demon wraith.
Scrambling awkwardly to her feet, Isra pressed her palms to the wall behind her. Moaning, she held herself upright with nothing more than the strength of her fear.