Alora: The Portal (29 page)

Vindrake held his hand in the air, crisscrossed with white, scarred lines. In a flash, his other hand circled with the blade, slicing his skin. A line of red blood oozed out, dripping to the stone floor. He sliced Kaevin’s palm as it lay bound in the iron cuff. Alora felt the bite of the blade, but neither she nor Kaevin cried out.

She turned her head and locked gazes with Kaevin, willing him the strength to withstand the temptation. His deep green eyes were open windows to his emotions. Fear. Despair. Overwhelming love.

Don’t do it, Kaevin. Don’t do it. I can handle the pain. God help me… I have to stand it.

Vindrake stepped forward, pressing his bloody palm to Kaevin’s, blocking her view of his face. The low, sing-song voice made Alora think of the snake in the Garden of Eden. “I will swear never to hurt Alora again. After this,
you
will be the one to force her to obey me. We will see how long she can withstand being tortured by her own soulmate.”

Alora gasped as her heart threatened to leap from her chest. She couldn’t hold her tongue. “No, Kaevin! Don’t do it! Don’t speak the words!”

“No! You
will
take the oath! You
will
! Empusa… the iron.” Vindrake’s veins bulged on his face, the blue of his eyes gone, replaced with blackness.

Empusa placed the iron in Vindrake’s hand, and he lifted it toward the ceiling, his entire body shaking with fury. The smoke spiraling from the end of the fiery rod was so thick Alora could smell it.

A bell tolled, resonating through the caverns.

“A fire bell! Glare it to damnation! I’ll have to continue our persuasion after I’ve investigated this disturbance. Allow me to give you something to consider while I’m gone…”

He lowered the smoking iron to her arm.

“What’s that bell?”
Arista kept her voice low, though the guards passed by at such a frenetic pace they were unlikely to be spotted in their dark alcove.

“I believe it signals a fire inside the caverns,” Alleraen said. “Not so much a danger from flames, since the rock walls prevent the spread, but heavy smoke will quickly spoil the air in every passage if it builds beyond what the vents can handle.” Alleraen bent to whisper in her ear, his curly, reddish-brown hair falling forward in his face. She noted his beard was the same color and texture.

“You don’t really look much like your brother.”

“I was told our mother had black hair like Vindrake’s, though I don’t remember her. My hair came from our father.”

She almost asked about his father, but noticed his expression had darkened. Irritated with the delay, she decided enough time had lapsed since the last guard passed. “Time to go.” Arista stepped out, but his hand grasped her arm, jerking her back into the shadows.

“Wait. More sentries are coming. I hear footsteps.”

She pulled her arm away with irritation, but his prediction proved true, as three more sentries hurried through the passageway. Craning her head up, she frowned at his expression. “Don’t look so smug. I could’ve made it to the other passageway before they arrived. I may be small, but I’m fast.”

“You’re also a child, and you should learn to obey your elders.”

“I’m no child; I have almost seventeen years. But I won’t dispute your claim to be elderly.” Arista laughed as she dashed down the corridor, padding silently in her stocking feet.

“I didn’t say
elderly
.”

She ignored his muttered protest, though impressed to find his voice so close behind her despite the breakneck pace she set.

“Hold up,” he whispered, grappling for her arm.

But she slipped away with a burst of speed, rounding the corner without slowing down. She slammed into a solid wall, bouncing back to the floor.

She looked up as the wall slowly rotated, revealing a large, humorless face atop a thick stone body with tree-trunk legs, wearing the uniform of Vindrake’s sentries. The human wall lifted his sword, slamming it down with a roar to slice her in two. She rolled to the side. His blade sliced the back of her loose shirt and clanked against the stone.

Whipping out a knife as she sprang to her feet, she let fly with perfect aim. The knife tip clanged, striking metal, bouncing off the breastplate beneath his tunic.
No wonder he felt like a wall.

Dodging his blade again, Arista blessed her countless hours spent at swordplay with Jireo. The knife she withdrew from her stocking came out with its sheath, and she wasted precious time taking it off. His blade swung again. She leaned from its path, losing her balance and stumbling to her knees. He pulled his lips back, revealing jagged brown teeth. Arista scooted away. Her back hit the wall behind her. His sword point jabbed toward her ribs. She leapt to the side, throwing her knife as she fell.

The wall stood still. His hand dropped, and his sword clattered to the stone floor as he toppled slowly back, falling like a tree in a forest. His heavy body thudded to the floor, armor clanking against the stone.

Arista tasted blood in her mouth and realized she’d bitten her tongue. She chuckled.
All that, and I injured my own self
.

“I hope you’ll be a bit better at obeying me.” Alleraen offered his hand to Arista, hefting her to her feet. “Since I saved your life with my arrow.”

“My knife struck his left eye before your arrow struck his right one.”

“True, true… but your blade merely blinded him, while my arrow struck the killing blow.”

“Only after my knife made your target stand still. The skill was in hitting him while he moved.”

“But to be entirely accurate, the knife was mine as well. Did I not supply you with five metal blades as you had only strange lightweight knives of your own?”

“And does Vindrake’s guard, who
donated
your arrows, get credit for your shot as well?”

Alleraen grinned. “You make me understand at once all I’ve missed in my life… all the pains of fathering a recalcitrant child.”

Jireo moved through the corridors with unerring accuracy, not only because of his gifting in direction and his knowledge of Daegreth’s detailed map, but also because his compulsion drew him to Kaevin. For whatever reason, Vindrake hadn’t killed them yet; of that much he was certain. A chill ran up his spine as he realized his certainty didn’t extend to Arista.

To his surprise, some of Vindrake’s sentries were quite content to let him go his way, intent on carrying their heavy buckets of water toward their destination. One even nodded, giving him an encouraging smile.
Could Vindrake be losing control of his people? Or perhaps capturing Alora, along with the threat of fire, had divided his attention.

Then two guards emerged through a doorway, catching him by surprise. These two were obviously not inclined to let him pass through, drawing their swords with practiced surety. From his talks with Daegreth, he knew how the two were trained to fight in tandem… one to jump in and distract, parrying the enemy’s sword, while the other circled around to make the killing blow. His only chance was to strike before they separated.

Ambidextrous, Jireo drew a knife and threw with his left hand, following with a thrust of the short sword in his right. The blade flew true, embedding below the guard’s right shoulder, his sword dropping from his fingers to clang on the floor. He prayed Vindrake’s guard wasn’t likewise blessed with the ability to utilize the alternate hand.

The other guard dodged his stab, swinging his heavy blade down across Jireo’s with such force it almost slipped his grip. Jireo used the impetus, spinning around and lifting his sword to slice through the guard’s side, drawing blood.

When the guard lifted his hand to his bleeding side, Jireo lunged forward, sliding his blade between the ribs to sever his heart. As the guard crumpled to the ground, Jireo wrenched his blade free, spinning to face the wounded guard, lest he attack again. But the guard slumped against the wall, watching Jireo with wary eyes. Deciding he was no further threat, Jireo turned to go.

“Wait. Come back.”

Jireo hesitated, but something in the man’s voice made him return. He addressed the man who grimaced with pain. “I’m sorry to have killed your friend, but your own wound may not be fatal.”

“I… I freely and gladly serve my master…” The man lifted his eyes in a soulful gaze.

“Yes. Yes, I understand. I’m certain you serve with honor.” Jireo almost choked on the words. “Uhmm… I must go.”

“Wait… please… If I threatened you now, you would kill me, no? As you did Waedden?”

“You’re not a threat to me. I promise I won’t take your life when you can’t even lift a blade against me.”

“But… if you leave me alive, I’ll sound the alarm. I won’t let Stone Clan vermin roam in my master’s halls.”

“Are you trying to provoke me to kill you?” Jireo tightened his fist, biting back his temper.

“I’d never ask you to kill me.” His eyes puddled with tears.

“Sound the alarm if you must; I’d be a fool to let you delay me longer.”

As Jireo turned away, his eye caught a movement. The guard’s left hand came up into knife throwing position. Darted forward.

Pivoting on reflex and grasping his knife, Jireo threw. The blade buried in the guard’s throat, the startled
O
of his mouth transforming to a smile as the light left his eyes. His left hand relaxed, and Jireo spied the guard’s failed weapon… a small stone.

As Markaeus led the way, Uncle Charles tried to take stock of their abilities. “I’m guessing one of you, at least, is gifted with throwing knives, right? I brought a bunch along, but I don’t throw them. I do a lot better if the hilt stays in my hand.”

Haegen fielded the question. “We might both be gifted in weapons some day. But that’s a major gift; we don’t get those until we have sixteen years.”

“Great.” Charles didn’t hide his sarcasm. “Then what
can
you do?”

“I’m gifted in gresses, of course,” Markaeus said, “and Haegen’s gifted with animals.”

“What about this gift where you don’t get lost? I know Jireo has it…”

“That’s
direction
,” Markaeus answered, dancing with enthusiasm.

“Direction. Have you got that?” asked Charles.

“Uhmm… no. I’m gifted in horsemanship and water-source.” Markaeus’ voice sounded hopeful.

“I’m gifted in weather,” Haegen said.

“Weather? Does that mean you can maybe call lightning from the sky? Or a tornado? Something like that?”

“No, I can predict weather changes. Or at least I’ll be able to do so after I train with the weather guild. It’s a rather difficult gift.”

“Sounds like we’d be in great shape if we were going camping, but not so much if we want to get out of this cave alive. And I’m stuck using a knife instead of a gun,” Charles mumbled.

Markaeus stopped just before the passage turned, holding up his hand for silence. Crouching, he peered around the corner. “There’s a sentry in the spoke room, and our passage is almost directly across the way. We’ve no rat to distract him, this time.”

“A rat? Yuck!” Both boys grinned at the disgust in Charles’ voice. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. Can we go a different way?” He whispered the question as he leaned to peek around the corner to view the room for himself.

“Besides the main entrance, I know of only one secret passage out of the caverns. To reach it, we must use that passage.” Markaeus pointed his finger directly across the room. “Farther on, we must pass a guard station. I slipped inside unseen when the sentries were on the north patrol, but there may be no way past them now.”

“Maybe we should try the main entrance, then.” Charles suggested.

“No, there are even more guards at the cavern entrance.”

“We may as well surrender,” Haegen said. “I’ll simply go back to the children’s chamber and await my birthingday. Perhaps I can find some way to resist taking Vindrake’s bloodbond.”

His forlorn tone tore at Charles’ heart. “Hold on, here. I’m not giving up. If I get you to that passageway, can you get away from here on your own?”

“We can make a run for Laegenshire. I’ve been there before, and I have a few supplies for the journey. My bread is ruined from the water, but the cheese should be good enough.” Markaeus patted the rucksack beneath his soggy cloak. “But won’t you be going with us?”

“I’ll try, boys, but if the guards stop me, you keep running. Okay? For now, let’s make a plan. I don’t have my favorite weapon with me, but I do have a few tricks up my sleeve. Or a few cans…”

Taking advantage of the still-tolling bell, Graely motioned the other three to crouch with him beside the cavern entrance. Removing one of the bundles of special fiery noisemakers Charles had secreted for him in Montana, Graely handed the small bag to Naegle, along with a box of tiny wood fire-starters, motioning with his hands. He’d hoped to save the “firecrackers” and “matches,” as Charles had called them, to aid them in their retreat, but perhaps they’d have enough left for that purpose at the end.

Naegle inched his way up the rocky precipice over the opening of the cave. Reluctant to waste his precious supply, Graely hadn’t afforded his men much practice. So he hoped Naegle could properly time the lighting and throwing of the miniature sticks with the deafening bang. Lying on his side, Naegle wedged his foot under a rock, stretching his upper body above the opening. A tiny flame flared at the end of the fire-starter. As he touched the fire to the wicks, the noisemakers sizzled and smoked. Graely held his breath, counting in his head.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Naegle bent his body down into the cave opening, swinging his arm in a wide arc and throwing the bundle inside.
Five. Six. Seven.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Shouts and screams erupted with the bangs. The head guard burst from the opening, scrambling to make the sharp turn on the rocky ledge while his attention was still riveted on the exploding noisemakers. Beside him, Morvaen lunged at the guard knocking him off the ledge to fall screaming and flailing to the waters below. With his cries of alarm covered by the commotion within the cavern, another guard ran outside through the opening, unaware of the danger awaiting him.

Naegle, having dropped down the opposite side, engaged the sentry who’d turned that direction. Unfortunately, Naegle’s guard was massive and would have been much more suited to battle Morvaen. Yet, catching him by surprise with his eyes better adjusted to the dark, Naegle stabbed his side and sent him to the ground.

Three more sentries rushed from the cave, jostling one another as they ran. With his short sword drawn, Graely took aim at a guard with a grey cap. Ramming with his shoulder, he tried to push the guard off the ledge as Morvaen had done. But as Grey Cap toppled toward the edge of the cliff, he grasped Graely’s hair. Grey cap hit the ground rolling, hefting Graely after him, propelled by the painful pull on his roots.