Leaves of Flame (66 page)

All it needed was a push.

Drawing a deep breath, exhaling slowly, Quotl closed his eyes.

Then he reached out and
shoved
.

Stone cracked, the sound louder than anything Quotl had ever heard before, shuddering in his chest and making him gasp, eyes snapping open. Gaezels and horses alike stumbled in a panic, veering away from the sound. Those fighting on the slope paused, stunned.

Then the northern cliff face above the slide gave way, slipping and falling as a single, solid wall of stone. It avalanched into the Wraith army, burying it as the base of the
stone face struck and it began tilting outwards. Everything in its path—­orannian, Alvritshai, terren, gruen, and a host of luckless dwarren—­turned and ran. The wall of stone slammed into the landslide, vibrations setting off another avalanche down the slope, taking a significant chunk of the Wraith army with it and blocking the mouth of the slide with rubble. Beyond, the earth’s trembling unsettled the plinth of stone enough that it began to topple, dust and debris rising in a choking cloud to obscure its last moments from sight. Dwarren swarmed from the mouth of the slide, gaezels out of control.

When the stone settled, Quotl turned to Azuka. The shaman looked shocked, his eyes awed, but tainted with fear. Any chance Quotl had of allowing the Archon to take responsibility faded. He could see it in Azuka’s eyes. “The warren,” Quotl said.

He pulled his gaezel about and streaked toward the distant warren entrance. The dwarren on all sides abandoned the Break, all of the clans heading west. As the sun sank into the horizon, Quotl caught sight of the Cochen and the Archon, the two surrounded by the mixed clans, and relief coursed through him. The Archon could order the warren’s mouth collapsed as soon as they arrived, Silver Grass already headed toward the two smaller entrances north and south with orders to seal them before rejoining the gathered clans underground. The Wraith army could not be allowed to reach the Sacred Waters and the Summer Tree. The dwarren had done what they could at the Break.

Now it was up to the Shadowed One.

E
RAETH GLANCED TOWARD SIOBHAEN, who nodded, and then, as if they’d planned it, both sheathed their swords and pulled the bows the forest had gifted them from their backs. Feet planted at the supple wood’s base, the two Alvritshai strung them in the space of a breath, Eraeth turning toward Colin, face taut and grim.

“You take care of Walter. We’ll deal with the sukrael.”

Neither waited for an answer, sprinting away from their location at the Source in two different directions, both reaching for the strange arrows the forest had left as they ran. Colin couldn’t remember how many arrows each carried, but he hoped there were enough to kill all of the Shadows that surrounded them. He counted at least fifty, perhaps as many as a hundred.

“Use the bows as staffs when you run out of arrows,” he shouted, brandishing his own staff. At the top of the steps, Walter drew a sword. “And remember that the sukrael perish if you can throw them over water.”

He caught Siobhaen’s first shot out of the corner of his eye, the shaft catching one of the Shadows and nailing it to the stone wall behind. Its supple, glistening blackness tinged with gold writhed and tattered as if it were cloth caught in a tempest­

And then Walter moved, slowing time, his form blurring. But Colin had been waiting for it. He reached out and seized time as well, used it to find Walter, the flows disturbed by Walter’s presence, by his manipulations. Colin focused on the disruption and raced across the stone steps to meet his old tormentor from Portstown. Images of the abuse he’d suffered under Walter’s hand flared across his mind—­the beatings in the streets of the fledgling town, the humiliation of the penance locks, and his sly smile when both had thought Colin would hang at the gallows in the town square. All of it came rushing back as if it had happened yesterday, instead of decades ago. He’d allowed his hatred to seethe inside of him, unquenched and unsatisfied for so long. That hatred had driven him to halt Walter’s awakening of the Wells, had taken him to battle against the other Wraiths and Shadows when they attacked the Alvritshai and dwarren afterward, had finally motivated him to create the Seasonal Trees to halt their destruction.

But all of that had been defensive. His hatred had not been sated. He wanted Walter dead, wanted revenge for the deaths of his parents, for the death of Karen and all of the others who had set out in that wagon train onto the eastern plains, driven there by Walter’s father because of what Walter had done.

He let all of the frustration and rage that had accumulated over the span of nearly two hundred years out in a roar as he closed on Walter, the Wraith charging toward him with a twisted smile on his face. Raising his staff diagonally overhead, he brought it down with all of his strength.

It cracked into Walter’s blade, the staff vibrating in Colin’s hand as Walter lurched left under the force of the impact, but it didn’t break. Without pause, Colin pulled back, shifted his grip, and swung the other end toward Walter’s feet, but the Wraith danced back out of range, sword snicking in toward Colin’s fingers. Colin hissed and pushed forward,
aiming for Walter’s hands and arms now, trying to knock the sword from his grasp, but Walter was too quick, slipping back and forth through time, slowing and speeding up, just enough to remain out of reach. Colin matched his pace, keeping them in synch, the effort causing sweat to break out on his face and slick down his back. They shifted up and down the steps, circling the Source, its blue pulse deepening as dusk began to descend.

Around them, the battle between the Shadows and Eraeth and Siobhaen proceeded in juttering spurts as the two humans danced with time, but Colin couldn’t watch, didn’t have the time or energy to spare. The two Alvritshai were on their own. Walter’s actions were too quick, his strikes too sudden. Colin couldn’t afford to look away.

He hissed as Walter’s sword cut a smooth line across the back of his hand, blood welling even as Walter smirked, spun the blade in his grip, and brought it sharply across Colin’s exposed throat. Colin seized time as he lurched back with a gasp, the blade slowing a moment, giving Colin a fraction of a second longer before Walter compensated, the sword tip passing within a finger’s breadth of his neck, so close he felt its passage beneath his chin. He swallowed down the bitter taste of fear, stepped back, and tripped over a massive slab of the crystal debris that littered the floor, his back slamming to its surface with enough force his breath gushed from his lungs.

Walter shouted in triumph, leaping up onto the surface as Colin choked on air. Sword raised, the Wraith brought it down two-­handed, attempting to plunge it into Colin’s chest, but Colin rolled. The tip of Walter’s blade caught the back of his shirt, the edge slicing a thin line down Colin’s shoulders that
burned
, but Colin didn’t stop moving. He tore free, the tip of the blade skittering across the crystal’s face, nicking Colin again in the side as it jerked in Walter’s
hand before he drew it back. Colin swore, heard Walter laugh, the sound reverberating through the chamber—­

And then he rolled over the edge of the crystal slab.

He hit the stone floor, felt grit, stone, and smaller crystal shards cut into his side, but flung out his arm to halt himself. His legs swung out over empty space and he sucked in a shaky breath. They’d somehow circled back down to the Source, the gaping, lipless mouth of the Well yawning to one side. His momentum and the weight of his legs nearly pulled him farther into the pit, but he jerked back, scrambling up onto the lip. He had a moment to catch his breath, leaning on one elbow, and then he heard Walter’s feet grinding into the grit behind him.

He shoved himself up into a seated position, free hand slapping into the wood of his staff. He twisted and drove it hard into Walter’s stomach. At the same time, he seized some of the Source’s power—­a power he could feel escalating toward its peak—­and sent it through the wooden shaft.

Walter screamed and reeled back, hitting the same slab that Colin had stumbled over. Satisfaction surged through Colin as the smug expression on Walter’s face contorted into a snarl of pain and hatred as he wheeled and fell. His sword clanged into the slab, jarred from his hand, and returned to real time, caught in mid-­bounce. Walter swore and dragged himself to the far side of the crystal. His movements were slower, the clothing where Colin’s staff had hit him in the chest scorched.

“You weren’t expecting that, were you?” Colin climbed to his feet. He winced as he pulled himself upright with his staff, the blood from the cut on his hand trickling down his arm. The slice across his back stung with sweat. He grinned. “I’ve learned a few tricks since we last fought, there on the Escarpment.”

Walter glared, pushing himself up into a low crouch. One
hand went to his chest, near the burn mark, hand cupped strangely.

Then he smiled. “So have I.”

He thrust his hand forward, palm out. Colin tensed, saw a ripple on the air like a heat wave—­

Then something slammed into his chest and flung him backward. He crashed to the floor, scrabbled for purchase, then felt himself slipping over the edge of the Well again. His free hand grabbed at the lip. The fingers of his other were crushed between staff and stone. His entire body slid over and dangled against the edge of the Well, held only by the arm holding the staff and his fingers. He tried to swing his legs up to the lip, gasping with the effort, failed and pulled himself up to his chest instead, keeping himself stable, the lip underneath both armpits. He glanced down, the Lifeblood pulsing with bluish light not far beneath. It was nearing the point where it would be full. If it awakened completely, he wasn’t certain he could reverse the process.

He was running out of time.

He snapped his attention back toward Walter, the Wraith coming toward him with hand cupped to his chest again. Walter paused long enough to return to real time and retrieve his sword, body stilling unnaturally for a single short breath, then continued toward him, a malicious smile touching his lips.

Colin clenched his teeth and heaved himself up and out of the Well.

Siobhaen drew and fired as she ran, the bowstring a consistent twang in her ears, setting the wood in her hand humming. The sukrael streaked down from the sides of the chamber, like black cloth blowing on a wind. Her first three arrows took out four of the Shadows, snagging in their silky folds and carrying them to the surrounding walls where
they were pinned to the stone, the third hitting two of them as they converged on her. A shiver of surprise ran through her that the arrows didn’t shatter against the stone, but punched through it as if it were wood. She smiled in cold satisfaction when the sukrael began to writhe and tatter beneath the shafts as if being torn to shreds by a tempest.

To one side, she caught Shaeveran and the other Wraith blurring in and out of focus as they fought, their figures jumping from step to step, vanishing and appearing again twenty paces distant, sword and staff thrusting and lunging back and forth, until the disjointed fight began to make her head ache. Sounds of the fight intruded as well, oddly distorted as a grunt or shout began before fading or cutting off sharply as they disappeared.

She shoved their battle aside and focused on the Shadows with grim determination. She reached, pulled, and fired one last arrow, the creatures getting too close, then swung the bow in a sweep across her body. She felt the wood catch in their forms, the bow jerking in her hands as those closest were caught, but she solidified her stance and flung them out over the emptiness of the Well at her back. They fell into the pit, a high-­pitched keening piercing through Siobhaen’s head, but she didn’t watch to see if they died. She dodged left and sprinted around the Well, trying to put some distance between her and the others.

As she ran, she felt a surge of power from the Source, the light throbbing like a heartbeat, the power within pushing against her skin. Beneath that massive force, she felt another power, recognized it as Aielan’s Light, the white fire burning deep within the earth here. She reached for it unconsciously as she ran, drew it into her body as she had done at the Well in the White Wastes. But there the pool of white fire hadn’t been as strong. She had been forced to dig deep, to root herself in ritual learned as an acolyte at the Sanctuary in Caercaern. It hadn’t come easily, and she’d
only been able to draw upon it enough to create the wall of fire that had protected them from the Wraith and the sukrael that had attacked them.