Asunder (53 page)

            "We're under attack!" he screamed.

            "What? By whom?" said one of the others. "Where's the Lord Seeker?"

            "I don't know!"

            There was a moment of confusion, followed by another sound from far above: an explosion this time. That jolted them into action. One of the templars took command, ordering three men to remain behind as he gathered up the others and ran off. The sound of their boots on the stairs was growing faint when the Sister finally shifted.

            She unslung the longbow and notched an arrow, but didn't draw it. She seemed displeased. "That's not good," she whispered. "They left three. I'd hoped for less."

            "Is three too much?"

            "It's not that. It will only take one to activate the defenses, and killing all three quickly enough may be . . . tricky." She gave the slightest smile as she raised her bow, aiming carefully as she drew back the arrow.

            Cole put his hand on her shoulder. "I can do it," he said.

            The Sister looked at him curiously, but didn't object. So he stood up. He'd never hurt a templar before. He wasn't going to let them keep him from saving Rhys, however, and Evangeline had said they wouldn't have much time.

            Clutching his dagger tightly, Cole crept down the hallway toward the guard station. He reached the first templar, an older man who stood near the entrance. He had tanned, weathered skin and a bushy black mustache flecked with grey. The man looked right through Cole, staring nervously in the direction of the stairs. At every faint sound of battle he twitched.

            "Another rebellion," he growled.

            One of the other two, a square- jawed woman who wore a helmet that covered most of her face, shook her head in disgust. "Foolish," she sighed. "The Lord Seeker will have their heads this time. You'd think they'd learn."

            The old templar merely grunted. Cole stared into his eyes, so close he could smell the man's sour breath. Concentrating, Cole reached down into the well of darkness inside him. He steeled himself against the fear that came with it.

           
I won't let myself be washed away,
he thought. Rh
ys is the only friend I have in the entire world, and I would do anything to help him. Anything.

            Cole raised the dagger. Gently he placed the serrated edge against the templar's neck. It pressed against his skin, drawing the slightest bit of blood . . . but the man didn't react. He continued to stare, as if nothing was happening.

           
You won't see me.
Cole cut deep, the man's neck gushing bright blood down the front of his armor. His eyes went wide and he gasped, clutching at his throat in panic. The blood flowed more quickly now, staining his tunic and dripping onto the floor. He raised his gauntlet to stare at it, confused. Then he let out a single gurgle and dropped to one knee.

           
You can't see what I do.
Cole left the old templar behind and moved to the woman. He could feel it, feel the shroud he'd lain over her eyes. She struggled against it, not even aware she was doing so. His temples throbbed painfully.

           
You can't stop me.
He placed the point of the dagger against the base of her throat and pushed, pressing his weight against it. The blade plunged deep. The woman grunted, the slightest bit of blood spurting from her mouth. Still she seemed transfixed, unable to surface from the sea of oblivion in which she swam.

           
None of you can stop me.
He pulled the blade out, watching as she reeled back and fell against the wall. Her sword dropped to the floor with a clatter. She tried in vain to staunch the flow of blood with her hands. She turned to the last templar, reaching out with a shaking hand to try to warn him, but all that came out was a strangulated cry.

           
If he's dead, I'll hunt every last one of you. Every last one, I swear it.
The last templar was a younger man. His blond hair was long and messy, and in some ways he reminded Cole of himself. The young man's brow furrowed, as if he detected something amiss but couldn't quite put his finger on it. Cole struggled to maintain his concentration, but felt it slipping through his fingers. His heart thudded so loudly in his ears it was all he could hear.

            The woman finally slumped to the ground, and the sound she made suddenly alerted the young templar. He spun around, shouting in surprise, and at the same moment spotted Cole. "No!" he shouted, raising his sword to strike.

            It was too late. Cole lunged, slashing the dagger across his neck. The templar staggered back, his clumsy swing easy for Cole to evade. He tried to lift his blade again, but the blood was gushing freely now. He was too weak. The sword wavered, and then dropped. He fell to his knees, staring at Cole in utter astonishment. T en, ever so slowly, he collapsed.

            Cole let out an explosive breath. He reeled away from the body, leaning against the wall and struggling against the urge to vomit. That dark power was in every inch of him now, like a sickly oil that filled every fiber of his being. He shook, sweat pouring down his brow, and closed his eyes. Push
it down, back down
. . . it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to regain control.

            When he shakily got back to his feet, the Sister was already entering the guard station, bow still in hand. She noticed the fallen templars, but her attention remained fixed on Cole. There was wariness in her eyes. Fear, even. Of him.

            "That . . . is an interesting thing you do," she said carefully. "It's okay. You won't remember it."

            She didn't appear to believe him. He didn't mind. He wiped the dagger on the cloak of one of the templars. The sounds of shouting up the stairs was louder now. Closer.

            The Sister grabbed the glowlamp from the wall, as well as the key ring from the older templar's belt, and together they ran into the hallway with all the cells. Cole could hear muffled shouts behind some of the doors— lots of them, in fact. There were more people here than he'd ever seen before, including some on the lower levels, and they all seemed to be calling for help.

            "I need to find Rhys," he said nervously.

            "We will!" The Sister ran to the nearest cell and unlocked it. When the door opened, it revealed a short woman with an ugly bruise covering one of her cheeks. She glared at them angrily, crouching in the corner like a cornered cat ready to leap. Cole realized he recognized her: it was Red Hair. Adrian. The one who argued all the time.

            "What do you want with me?" she demanded.

            The Sister chuckled. "That's a fine way to greet your rescuers."

            Red Hair's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Rescuers?"

            "Unless you'd prefer to stay."

            It only took a moment for Red Hair to realize the truth. She stood, holding out her manacled hands. "Get me out of these, then," she said. "We have to find the Grand Enchanter. If anyone escapes, it has to be her."

            The Sister nodded and turned to Cole. She tore one of the keys off the ring and passed it to him. "Let the others out. Quickly."

            "I need to find Rhys," he repeated.

            "We need to let them
all
out." She immediately ran over to Adrian and unlocked her cuffs. Cole ran out into the hall. The noises were louder now. The cries of those in the cells were a rising swell of fear, and he let it wash over him.

            Cole closed his eyes, reaching out with his thoughts. Rhys was alive. He could feel him close by, weak and slipping away, but still holding on. Cole wasn't too late. The Sister could help the others— he wasn't here for them.

           
Don't die,
he called out. I
've come for you, just as I said I would.

           
I won't let you die.

            Chapter 21

           
Rhys felt himself being roughly dragged from the haze of pain in
which he lingered. Someone was shaking him by the shoulders. He wanted to cry out, tell them to stop.
For the love of the Maker, you're hurting me!
All he could do, however, was weakly groan. "Rhys! You have to get up!" The voice was Cole's. It felt so far away . . . like he was looking down at himself lying there in the darkness, but none of this had any relation to
him
. It wasn't real. Just some dream he couldn't quite wake up from.

            "Rhys!"

            He reluctantly opened his eyes. The reality that greeted him was sharp and unrelenting, a knot of agony that burned in his stomach and spread its tendrils into the rest of his body. He wanted to retreat from it, back into the darkness, but the insistent shaking wouldn't let him. "Cole," he mumbled, "stop, I'm awake . . ."

            Cole looked relieved. He began unlocking Rhys's manacles, and as Rhys slowly came to his senses he realized something was wrong. There was shouting outside his cell. Doors slamming and people running. Voices filled with urgency. Off in the distance, an explosion sounded.

            That made him sit up. Was the tower under attack? "Wait, what's going on?" he asked. "What have you done? I hope you didn't . . ."

            The cuffs fell from his wrists and landed on the floor with a dull thud. Rhys hadn't realized how heavy they were, but now that they were off it was a blessed relief. "We came to rescue you," Cole said, as if it were the simplest matter in the world. He looked Rhys straight in the eyes. "Can you stand? I'll carry you if you can't."

            Rhys doubted Cole was strong enough, but he didn't doubt the young man would try. Still, that wasn't what made him hesitate. He watched Cole now, the way he moved, the worry in his expression, and wondered if there was something there he hadn't seen before. The words of the Lord Seeker came rushing back.

            What if it was true? What if it was
all tr
ue? "Cole, I . . . need to tell you something." He spoke the words before he had time to think them through.

            Cole didn't question him, or suggest that now wasn't the best time. He merely nodded and sat back, waiting for Rhys to continue.

            What could he say? He had no more evidence than the Lord Seeker did, a man who had every reason to manipulate the truth in his favor. The Lord Seeker never met Cole, never looked him in the eyes. He hadn't been in the Fade and witnessed the kind of pain that made the young man what he was today. Cole was real. Rhys knew it in his bones.

            Why, then, did he feel so guilty? Slowly he lowered his gaze. "Never mind."

            Cole helped him to his feet, and together they walked out into the hallway. It wasn't easy; each step was agony, a jolt that made his guts feel like they would fall out. He tried holding his stomach tightly, but it was no use. Sweat poured down his brow, and he shook uncontrollably.

            "I . . . I can't," he grunted.

            "It's just a little farther," Cole urged him.

            Rhys tried to summon mana to heal himself. He closed his eyes and concentrated, but the pain was simply too great. It was a white blaze he just couldn't fight his way past, and trying only made it worse. He doubled over, the light- headedness threatening to make him swoon.

            Someone else ran up to them, carrying a glowlamp. It was Adrian. Rhys had never been so happy to see someone in his life. He thought for certain she'd been killed in the great hall— if anyone was the sort to go down fighting, after all, it was her. From the bruise on her face, it seemed it wasn't for lack of trying.

            Adrian skidded to a halt. "What's the matter with him?" she asked Cole. "Why won't he heal himself?"

            "He's too hurt."

            Adrian scowled. "A thousand potions in this tower, and nobody thought to bring one?" She lifted his chin up and studied his face. He gritted his teeth, feeling like he would burn up and yet freeze at the same time. "I'm sorry, Rhys," she said, her irritation dissolving into obvious worry. He must look worse than he felt. "You know I don't have healing spells, and I can't spare the time to find someone who does."

            "Are . . .
you
okay?" he asked her weakly.

            The question took her by surprise. She seemed disconcerted, almost suspicious. It was odd, though he couldn't quite place his finger on why. He'd known Adrian for so long, but now he was reminded of the last time they'd spoken in his chambers. Perhaps the friend he'd known was gone forever, now. That made him sad.

            "I'm fine," she said. "Try to get out safely, Rhys."