Indeed, now that Mako mentioned it, Ebon could see bruises and scrapes all across Gregor’s skin. He knew Mako could not have landed all those blows when they fought in the grotto. Gregor must not have had an easy time escaping the Mystics when they arrived. Now the giant’s nostrils flared, and he took a step forwards with bared teeth.
“Still your tongue, and bare your steel.”
“Sky above,” said Mako, snickering. “There are children present.”
With a roar Gregor charged. Mako danced again, but this time not so easily. Though Gregor was the larger man by far, he was lightning fast. Mako was forced to step nimbly around him, so that his back was to Ebon and Kalem. They saw it at the same time, and looked at each other.
“Should we …?”
Ebon glanced at Gregor’s broad back. Would throwing a stone even do any good? They might only anger the man, and then he would come for them. But in the grotto, Gregor had gotten the better of Mako by a wide margin …
“It is tempting to let him fight this battle on his own,” said Ebon with a sigh. “But no. We must help him. Can you play your trick with the stone floor again?”
Kalem gave Gregor another glance, and he quailed. “I can try.”
He crept forwards, hunched almost double so as to avoid Gregor’s notice. And Gregor did not notice him—but the firemage on the steps above did. She cried out, and a wall of fire sprang from the stone in Kalem’s very face. The boy screamed and fell back, batting at the hem of his robes where the flames had caught. Theren dispelled the fire almost immediately, but the edge of Kalem’s robe still burned.
“Hold still!” cried Ebon. He seized Kalem’s arm and dragged him towards the edge of the rocky platform. Taking him under the elbows, Ebon threw his legs over the edge and into the water, where the flames died in a hiss.
“There now,” said Ebon, pulling him back up. “No harm—”
But Kalem looked over his shoulder, and his eyes shot wide in terror. Ebon did not even turn—he only seized Kalem’s shoulder and dove. A rasping hiss sounded as Gregor’s sword sliced through the air where his head had been a moment before. Now the giant loomed over them, and they fought to scramble away—but then Mako was there, forcing Gregor to turn around. And across the cove, Theren gave a shout, and her magic struck Gregor a mighty blow. He stumbled away, striking the base of the cliff hard.
The firemage was waiting. As Theren’s attention went to Gregor, the woman on the steps let loose a flurry of magic. Fire shot forth, laced with thunder, and a gale behind it all. Theren threw up her arms, holding it back with a wall of pure force. But the winds broke through, and buffeted her, and then an arc of lightning struck her in the chest. She screamed and dropped to the ground.
“Theren!” cried Ebon.
He looked to Mako, hoping the bodyguard could help, though he did not know how. But Mako was not looking at Theren. He had turned towards the steps, and even as Ebon’s gaze fell upon him, he threw one of his daggers. It flew through the air, straight as an arrow, and buried itself to the hilt in the firemage’s neck.
She stood there slack for a moment. Her fingers probed at the dagger, while her eyes tried to turn in their sockets to see it. Then she tumbled from the edge, and landed on the stone shelf with a wet
crack.
It had taken Mako only a half-second, but it was long enough. He danced away even as he whirled to face Gregor again, but the giant had already struck, and four inches of his sword tip plunged into the flesh of Mako’s shoulder before withdrawing almost at once. Mako grimaced, but did not utter a sound, not even a grunt. He sank down on one knee with the pain, and Gregor stepped forwards.
By Ebon’s hand lay a sword, dropped by one of the guards Mako had killed. He snatched it up without thinking, and he leapt. A scream ripped from his throat as he swung it into the back of Gregor’s leg. Ebon had thought the man wore only leather pants, but he must have had chain beneath, for the sword rebounded with a rending sound. Still, Gregor stumbled. He turned and sent the back of one boulder-sized fist into Ebon’s face. Ebon went crashing into the stone wall.
As he lay there, senseless for a moment, he saw that his little swing had been enough. Mako was up once again, and with a savage kick he knocked the sword from Gregor’s hand. It plunged into the Great Bay and vanished. Gregor reached for him, but Mako leapt over his arms and behind him. One massive arm came around, searching, but Mako caught it and twisted it, and before Ebon could blink he had flung Gregor to the floor. He twisted the hand until Ebon thought it must surely break, and put his one remaining dagger to Gregor’s throat. Everyone went deathly still.
“Now then, brute,” said Mako. “That is enough of your bawling. You have two choices here, and one of them sends your blood flowing into the ocean. But I will let you leave here alive—as long as you tell me where that mindmage whelp is.”
“You have your own mindmage,” said Gregor through gritted teeth. “Do with her what you will.”
Mako sent the tip of the dagger into Gregor’s throat—not deep, and almost flat, so that a half-inch of it slid
under
the skin, rather than into it. “Do not give me sass, Gregor. I do you a great honor by offering you your life, for you have killed many of my warriors. Speak now, or die.”
Ebon stared at him in wonder. Would Mako really let Gregor sail away from here, after all the man had done? But then he saw the hard glint in the bodyguard’s eyes. And he remembered in the basement of Xain’s home, when Mako had promised to let Isra live, and then had tried to kill her anyway. Ebon had stopped him then, but he could not now. Mako had no intention of keeping his word and letting Gregor leave.
But neither, it seemed, did Gregor have any intention of doing as Mako wished. “Drown in your own piss,” he spat. “Slit my throat, if that is truly your aim, for you will get no truth from me. And you will never find Isra before it is too late.”
Mako sighed and opened his mouth as if to speak. But then Ebon heard many voices from above, and Kalem cried, “Watch out!” Mako dove without thinking, rolling away from Gregor as arrows rained down from the sky. One struck Gregor in the back, but it rebounded from his chain, and he fought to rise to all fours.
Looking up, Ebon saw many soldiers gathered at the cliff’s edge, and they were beginning to come down the stairs. They were clad all in the red leather armor of constables, and his heart skipped a beat.
Gregor was up now. Ebon’s limbs obeyed him at last, and he scrambled up, expecting the giant to come for them—but instead he turned and ran for the docks. He leapt into the boat there, nimble as a cat, ignoring the cries of the Yerrin guards. With a dagger from his belt he cut both mooring lines, and then his huge arms pulled at the oars to launch his craft into the Great Bay.
“Time to go,” said Mako, teeth bared against the pain of his shoulder. He pulled Ebon along with him, and Kalem hurried after as they ran for the sewer entrance from which they had come. Theren was there, and to Ebon’s stark relief, she was up on her knees and looking about, blinking.
“What happened?” she said. “Where is Gregor?”
“Gone,” said Ebon pointing out to sea. He and Kalem took her arms to help her up.
“No!” cried Theren. She reached out, and light sprang into her eyes as she tried to clutch Gregor’s boat with magic. But he did not slow, and the magelight winked out almost at once.
“He is gone now,” said Kalem. “And we must leave as well.” He flinched as an arrow struck the stone by them, though in truth it was not a very close shot.
“No truer words were ever spoken, goldshitter,” said Mako. “Into the sewers once more.”
thirty-four
THEY HAD NOT EVEN ROUNDED the first corner when they heard shouts at the sewer entrance and the tramp of feet behind them.
“I hope you are faster than you have shown yourself to be, boys,” grunted Mako. “Otherwise Theren and I may be forced to leave you behind, for the redbacks will surely catch you.”
“You cannot abandon us down here!” cried Kalem.
“He is having a joke,” said Ebon. “Though he should save his breath for running.”
Mako grinned. “I know my way around these sewers like a babe in its mother’s womb. They will not be able to track us.”
But his boasting seemed a lie, for they could always hear their pursuers behind them in the tunnels. When they reached the area they had dropped down before, the Yerrin guards were gone—many ridges in the stone floor thrust through the muck to show where they had been trapped, but the stone was chipped away, and Ebon guessed that they had managed to dig themselves out. Mako helped them up the ladder and into the tunnel above, despite his wounded shoulder. There they felt sure they would lose the constables at last. But in no time they heard their pursuers anew, voices echoing with shouts and cries to halt.
I wonder if anyone ever does,
thought Ebon.
Just stops in their tracks and waits to be captured.
“How do they keep finding us?” said Kalem, voice heavy with fear.
Theren said nothing, but Ebon caught her looking at Mako. He followed her gaze, and saw the blood that still flowed steadily from the bodyguard’s shoulder. It ran down his arm to his elbow, and from there it splashed to the stone floor every few steps. Some of it sank into the muck in their feet, but much of it showed on the stone.
That was how the constables were tracking them. But what could they do? Ebon would not abandon the man who had saved them all so many times already.
Without warning, Mako skidded to a stop. “Here we are,” he said. “The street above is just outside the Academy. The three of you must climb up and return to the citadel. I will lead the redbacks away.”
“You cannot,” said Ebon. “You are hurt, and they are tracking you by your blood.”
“Do you think I did not spot that?” growled Mako. “Loss of blood has not yet made me a fool. But I was hampered by you and your stumpy little friends. Without you, I can finally lose the constables, as I would have from the beginning if it were not for your useless hides.”
Kalem seemed taken aback by that, but Ebon only fixed Mako with a keen stare. “Very well,” he said quietly. “Only do not let yourself be captured.”
“Do you forget with whom you speak?” said Mako. “You need not worry yourself on my account.”
“Who said I was worried for you?” said Ebon, shrugging. “I worry only that if they caught you, it would go ill for the family.”
That earned him a smile. “More like a proper Drayden every day. Now shut your fool mouth, for they will be here in a moment.”
He lifted them up one by one, and they broke out blinking into the light of the afternoon sun. Then he ran off again with light, springing steps. Ebon and his friends hurried away from the sewer entrance.
“Will he be all right?” said Kalem.
“Of course,” said Theren. “And even if not, do you think he would spare any worries for us, if our positions were reversed?” But she could not hide the concern in her eyes as she looked back over her shoulder.
“What time is it?” said Ebon. “If it is still the afternoon study period, we should not enter the front doors.”
“The sun is too low,” said Kalem, pointing to it. “It must be after the bell.”
“If you say so.” They ran around the corner, into the street just before the Academy. “I know the first place we should go, for I think we all need a bath.”
Theren outpaced them for a moment and reached the front doors first. They were shut—and something in the back of Ebon’s mind shouted a warning at that fact—but she had them open at once, and bounded inside with the boys just behind her.
And there they stopped.
Before them were arranged almost the entire faculty. Ebon saw Jia present, and Perrin, and Dasko—Dasko who looked at them all with smoldering eyes. But Xain was at their head, and Ebon saw a look of fury upon his face—fury, and triumph.
In his hand he held the amulet of Kekhit.
For a moment Ebon and his friends stood rooted, unsure of what to do. Instinct told Ebon to run. Reason told him he would never escape before the instructors there—wizards, all of them—stopped him with spells. Terror told him to throw himself at their feet and beg for mercy, to say it had all been Theren’s idea. Pride told him to hold his head high, to demand what they were all there for, and to deny any knowledge of the whole affair.
But no emotion won, and so he simply stood there.
“Drayden,” said Xain. His voice was like a serrated blade in a sheath of velvet. “Do you know what I hold in my hand?”
“Dean Forredar,” said Kalem. It sounded as though he were trying a diplomatic tone, but his voice cracked, ruining the effect. “The three of us were—”
“Shut up,” said Xain. Kalem did. Xain lifted the amulet a little higher. “This is the amulet of Kekhit. An artifact from the Academy vaults. Stolen from them. Stolen by you.”
“That is not true, Dean,” said Theren. “The three of us—”
“SILENCE!”
Xain’s voice was like a bolt of thunder. The air itself crackled with the force of it. “Silence. The three of you are done talking. You have done too much of that already, and all of it has been lies. You have been behind the mindwyrd from the first. You concocted this story about Isra, when in truth you had killed her long ago and thrown her into the Great Bay. It was you who killed Credell, and Vali, and Oren. You three: a Drayden, and his accomplices.”
Theren’s shoulders slumped in defeat. She bowed her head, casting her hair into her eyes.
“Now you have my son. My
son.
You cannot know the lengths I have gone to for him already. And now I make you this promise: if he has been harmed in any way, there are no words for the pain I will make you endure.”
Slowly Theren turned to her friends. She met Kalem’s eyes first, but only for a moment before she looked straight at Ebon.
She gave him a little smile.
“I told you,” she whispered. “From the first, I told you. Now run.”
Ebon’s brow furrowed—and then at once he understood. He lifted a hand. “Theren, do not—”
Magelight sprang into her eyes. Xain’s eyes flared in defense—but she did not attack him. With a blast, she threw Kalem and Ebon through the Academy’s open front door and into the street.