Sunset of Lantonne (83 page)

Seconds, minutes, or hours passed—how long, Ilarra could not be sure. All she knew for certain was that the beam of light never wavered or changed. For much of the wait, she let her mind go blank and stared at the light.

Slowly, she felt the nagging of the Turessians growing, and she pushed it aside, trying to stay calm and focused. Each time she did, the insistence of the faint whispers would go for a time, then gradually creep back until she felt as though she were trying to concentrate in the middle of an angry crowd.

A faint tremor caused Ilarra to blink hard and look around in the dark, wondering if it was another symptom of the Turessians trying to get into her head. Seconds later, another rumble made the table vibrate, dismissing any thought of the voices in her mind.

Ilarra got up from the table and lay down on the floor, putting her ear to the stones. Almost immediately, another boom shook the room. In the stones, she heard a crackling impact she could not help thinking sounded like a boulder shattering.

Suddenly, the door to the dining hall clicked and swung open, filling the room with light and clearly outlining Ilarra where she lay on the floor.

Ilarra looked up, knowing she must look truly foolish sprawled on the ground. When she did, she saw two of the blood guard, followed by Therec, all of whom were staring at her in confusion. Behind them, there appeared to be several dozen people, not all wearing servants’ garb.

Cradled in Therec’s arms, the staff Ilarra had come for drew her full attention briefly.

“Arrest her and get these people in here,” Therec told the guards. “Fit as many inside as you can, then seal the room. They’ll be safer here. The girl should be taken up to the old magister rooms and locked in somewhere until things settle down.”

The two soldiers drew swords and began advancing on Ilarra. Unlike those at the entryways to the keep, these men moved with caution, splitting up as they approached. They knew how to fight a wizard and were taking no chances with her. She could attack one, but the other would strike before she could recover.

Ilarra sat up, then stood, smoothing her dress as she waited for the men to get closer.

“Go with them, Ilarra,” said Therec firmly. “If you ever cared about Lantonne, you need to do as I say. Even if you want this city to fall for some perverse reason, I would see you held safely until this is over.”

The soldiers flanked Ilarra, but she kept her eyes on Therec. Men with swords were a fairly insignificant threat, she reminded herself. She let magic flow into her, infusing her entire body with its tingling warmth. She might not be at full strength, but Ilarra felt stronger than she had in a long time.

“Give me the staff and I will leave without hurting anyone,” she told Therec, letting the magic she had taken control of form into crackles of lightning between her fingertips.

“No!” the man screamed at her, his calm shattered. So sudden was the change that came over him, the soldiers near Ilarra stopped and stared at Therec as he pulled the staff to his chest protectively. “Why do all of you keep asking that? This belongs to me…to my people!”

Apparently realizing how he sounded, Therec looked around furtively, then backed into the crowd of people behind him. “Kill her if she won’t yield!” With one more glance at Ilarra, Therec turned and ran through the group of people, disappearing behind them before she could do anything.

“Let the magic go,” warned the soldier on Ilarra’s left. “We’re going to bind your hands and gag you, but we will not hurt you if you go peacefully. This is for everyone’s safety.”

“And if I don’t let you take me?” she asked, smiling at the man. She continued to let the lightning arc and pop between her fingers.

“There are two of us and we’re too close to get us both,” the other soldier said, inching closer. “Give it up, girl. No one wants this.”

Ilarra thought over her options. At full strength, she could have taken them both without risk, but she could not be certain how fast she could cast spells or even if they would work. There was simply no time to argue or risk letting Therec get farther away, limiting her choices to one unpleasant decision.

Flinging her left hand toward the soldier on that side, Ilarra released the lightning she had kept readied, burning the man and making him convulse as he collapsed. She tried to turn and do the same to the other man, but as she moved, pain flared through her chest and she could not move.

Ilarra looked down and saw the soldier had driven his sword cleanly through her chest and out her back, the blade sliding smoothly between her ribs. She could not breathe, the agony incredible as she choked and mouthed words she had no breath to utter. Blood filled her mouth as she coughed shallowly and she fell to her knees, the soldier holding firm, not letting the sword slip at all.

“I’m sorry, girl, you gave me no choice,” the soldier told her.

With a sharp twist of his weapon, the man opened up the wound in her chest, and Ilarra shook as he pulled it free. The pain faded almost immediately, leaving her feeling cold and numb. She only barely realized she had fallen onto her side, staring unblinkingly at the boots of the man that had killed her.

Ilarra felt the singular moment of death racing toward her, then it was gone. The pain went away completely and suddenly she could breathe again. Warmth filled her body, followed by the rush of magic she had called to her hands without realizing it. She was standing again, though she could not remember getting up.

Blurs of flame and lightning etched themselves onto the back of Ilarra’s eyes as she walked, unable to make sense of what was happening. Ever so slowly, the numbness faded and she stopped herself. During those moments she could not remember, Ilarra had gotten herself back into the hallway outside the dining room. She stood about twenty feet outside the doors, confused and dazed. There were no shouts and no one trying to stop her.

Ilarra wanted to go after Therec, but something made her turn around to see what had happened. As much as she knew she did not want to look, she could not allow herself to go on without understanding.

Behind Ilarra, the hall was burned black anywhere blood did not coat the walls and floor. Nearly two-dozen people lay in mangled heaps, many clearly killed by magic while others appeared to have been ripped apart. Men, women, and children that she had seen in the keep during her previous visits lay dead or dying, all staring in horror at her. Beyond those bodies, a pile of gore surrounded by shredded chainmail was all that remained of the soldier who had stabbed her.

Ilarra lifted her hands and saw they were covered with blood up to her elbows. She had killed them all. Twenty people torn limb from limb and she could not even remember doing it. It was what she had long feared as a possibility, but she had never thought it could come on her so quickly. The Turessians either had managed to control her, or she was becoming like them without realizing it.

Unable to walk away, Ilarra looked at the carnage in dumbfounded shock. She knew every second she wasted, Therec got farther away, slimming any chances of getting the staff out of the city in time, but her muscles would not work. She could only stare at the remains of a child—elven, from what she could tell of the broken body—and wonder if this was how all the Turessians serving Dorralt had started, horrified at their actions, and with each new murder, further desensitized until they willingly followed him.

Sliding down the wall until she was sitting, Ilarra gagged at the scent of the dead bodies. She doubled over and began retching, unable to control the reaction as her body tried to purge not just the smell, but the anguish over what she had done. Eventually, the vomiting came to an end, and Ilarra knelt there a little longer, gasping for breath and trying not to look at what she had done. She crawled away from the bodies, unable to motivate herself to stand and knowing she did not have the strength to get up and run just yet.

She had scarcely gone ten feet before another group rounded the corner and stopped a little ways in front of Ilarra. Though she did not look up, what she could see of their feet let her know that there were at least two soldiers leading the others, who were likely more servants or commoners.

“How many got into the keep?” asked one of the soldiers, running to Ilarra’s side. He knelt beside her, trying to help her up, adding, “We were told that the dining hall would be secure for the civilians trapped in the keep. I hadn’t heard that the walls were even breached yet…”

The man froze, holding Ilarra’s elbow. She followed his gaze and saw that he was staring at her blood-soaked hands and the bits of gore that still clinging to her fingers. With his free hand, the man began slowly reaching for his sword, still in its sheath.

Ilarra gathered her strength, knowing if she did nothing, she would end up killing these people as well. She had to get away fast, and that meant using magic that might not answer her call. If she could not flee, there was no telling what she might do.

“I’m sorry,” Ilarra said softly, then sat up as fast as she could, releasing a burst of magic toward the soldier to fling him backwards.

With a grunt, the soldier tumbled away from Ilarra, crashing into the other soldier and several of the civilians. Screams erupted in the group, and the commoners began scattering, trying to get away from Ilarra and trampling each other in the process.

Ilarra stood up and forced herself to run before the soldiers could recover. Like so many things since her change had begun, simply believing she could or should be able to run again was more than enough. She soon raced through the keep faster than she had ever run in her life.

Once Ilarra had gotten sufficiently far from the soldiers, she stopped at the first staircase she found, trying to decide where to go. Therec was the only thing that mattered, but she had no idea where he had gone. He could be anywhere in the keep, especially now that he knew she was after him.

Another rumble through the floor startled Ilarra. She had almost forgotten the previous smaller tremors, but this one shook the entire keep and knocked a painting off the wall nearby. Distantly, she heard glass or pottery shattering as other items fell elsewhere.

Ilarra thought over what the soldiers had said and realized they were under attack, likely by the Turessians she had seen earlier. The few undead she had seen had no means to attack a walled city, making her wonder what had happened while she had been in the dining hall. She wanted a better idea of what was going on before she continued searching the keep. Clearly, something more than a few thousand zombies was attacking now.

Much like the magical knowledge that had come unbidden early on, Ilarra abruptly knew the entire layout of the keep. That horrified her, as it meant a Turessian had infiltrated the place and might even still be in the building. Time was short, assuming she was not already too late.

Ilarra “remembered” a balcony about four floors up that had been built for the king to watch sunrises on one side of the tower and sunsets on the other. That would be an ideal location to see the state of the city, and she set off for the stairs that would take her most directly toward it.

The route up through the keep was slow going, as Ilarra had to stop every few minutes to avoid groups of soldiers running from one location to another. The whole place was on high alert, and not a single servant was out in the halls. Whatever was going on, those who could not fight were clearly being taken to safer locations to wait it out…places like the dining hall.

Ilarra bit down the rising guilt and forced herself to keep going. The deaths she had caused would be insignificant compared with what would happen to the whole city if she did not complete her mission quickly. Even if she was too late, she knew deep down the staff had to be destroyed. Anything Dorralt wanted that badly had to be taken from him.

Finally, Ilarra reached the ninth floor of the keep and cautiously approached the nearest entrance to the small balcony ringing the tower. Her borrowed memories told her the doors should have been locked, but she found them open and groups of soldiers standing on the balcony as wind blew into the keep. On that wind, she could smell something burning.

Ilarra inched toward the balcony door, trying not to let the soldiers outside see her, but also trying to get a better view of the city beyond.

The soldiers were all waiting, each carrying bows with a large pile of arrows at their feet. No one out there was speaking; they watched the horizon grimly, their weapons ready but not drawn.