The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (58 page)

Staring at Sabine, he asked, “What could have happened to make her so sad?”

Sabine frowned and shook her head.

“I don’t want to know the answer to that.”

Dropping his gaze back to the necklace, he asked, “What do we do for her?” He wanted to rush out of the enclave right now.

“Do?” repeated Sabine. “They’re too far west for us to
do
anything. Kenders was planning to go to my home in the grasslands. And that was weeks ago.”

“But something has happened,” protested Jak. “She might need help.”

Sabine gave him a gentle smile and said, “She’s safe and unhurt, Jak. And Tobias is with her.”

Preoccupied, Jak murmured, “Khin, too.”

Sabine’s eyes rose.

“So he is gone as well, then?”

Jak’s heart climbed into his throat. Glancing up and down the hall, he mumbled, “I was not supposed to tell anyone that.”

Sabine fixed him with a mock-hurtful look.

“What’s the matter, Jak? Don’t you trust me?”

Smiling at her, Jak said, “Of course I do.”

Her expression shifted, growing playful.

“Good.”

Suddenly aware that he was mere inches from Sabine, he released the necklace and took a quick step back. She reached up as if to stop him, stopped short, and dropped her arm to her side. For a few quiet moments, the pair gazed at one another in silence. Then, with a reluctant sigh, Sabine began to speak in a soft, tentative voice.

“Jak, there’s something I need to—”

A deep, chest-thudding boom filled the hallway. The floor quivered under Jak’s boots, the stone walls rattled, dropping dust and bits of mortar to the ground. A nearby torch fell from its metal jacket, crashing to the floor. Jak shot one arm out to brace against the wall and the other to help steady Sabine.

As the rumble faded, Sabine looked up at him and asked, “What was that?” Her eyes were clear and calm, absent any panic.

Jak shook his head, eyeing the walls around them.

“I don’t—”

A second, weaker boom shook the ground and walls again. Another torch fell to the ground. Looking up and down the hall, Jak frowned. The passageway around them suddenly felt like a tomb.

“We should move.”

“You’re right.”

Jak turned, leading them through the halls, heading back to the open courtyard. Cries of alarm echoed through the maze of cold stone ways.

“Jak, I need to get Helene.”

Without slowing, Jak glanced back.

“Where is she?”

“In the mages’ hall, at her studies.”

“We’ll cut across the courtyard. It’s fastest.”

As they turned a corner, Sabine asked, “Do you think the enclave is under attack?” Again, her tone was free of panic.

Doing his best to match her composure, Jak replied evenly, “I don’t know.” The thought had crossed his mind. “I hope not.”

Their defenses were weak presently. Thirty soldiers were on the Sapphire, and with Kenders, Khin, Broedi, Tobias, and Nundle all gone, the enclave’s best mages were absent. Over two dozen Shadow Mane mages resided here, but none was as talented as those that were gone.

As they rushed down the hall, Sabine warned, “I sense Strands of Fire.”

Surprised, Jak glanced back at Sabine and asked, “Are you sure?” When she nodded, Jak grimaced and faced forward, mumbling, “Oh, Hells.”

If Sabine could sense the magic, a very large number were in use.

As they neared the hall leading to the courtyard, Jak smelled smoke. Rounding the corner, he saw the double doors at the end of the hall standing wide-open, flakes of still-falling snow drifting inside with the wind. A handful of people stood at the doors, staring outside into the white courtyard. As Jak and Sabine ran up, one of the men turned around to stare at them, his eyes wide.

Recognizing the man one of the kitchen servants, Jak shouted, “Gregor! What’s going on?”

Gregor’s gaze flicked to Sabine, worry in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated.

Nearly at the door, Jak demanded, “Gregor! What is it?”

Pulling his gaze from Sabine, Gregor said, “There was an explosion.” He turned, pointing across the courtyard.

They reached the open doorway an instant later and skidded to a stop. Jak stared outside, gaping at the scene before him.

“Bless the Gods…”

On the far side of the yard, a massive plume of black smoke billowed into the air, rising from a section of the northeastern wall. The lower level was missing, chunks of rock dropping from the battlements that still spanned the hole. Dozens of Shadow Mane soldiers were rushing toward the breech.

Shoving him aside, Sabine rushed past him, sprinting into courtyard and toward the ruined wall. Jak stared after her, briefly wondering where she was going. Then it hit him. The smoking hole in the wall was where the mages’ hall was, where Helene was.

Bursting from the doorway, Jak dashed across the courtyard, his long strides kicking up snow. He easily passed Sabine—she was struggling with her dress in the drifts—all the while staring at the hole ahead of him. Men and women were stumbling from the smoking breach, helped along by people arriving on the scene.

Upon reaching the wall, he halted and peered up, judging the gap in the wall to be twenty feet tall. The battlements above were still together, but sagging. Staring into the hole and through the smoke, he could see light from the other side shining through. Any wood he saw was on fire, from exposed rafters to the shards of blown-apart furniture littering the ground. He saw at least a half-dozen people with bloody injuries or raw, burnt skin. A man was sitting on the ground, cradling his arm, screaming.

Jak scanned the area, looking for the tiny form of Helene. She was the only child taking lessons. She should be easy to spot, yet he did not see her. As Sabine rushed up beside him and stopped, he asked without looking at her, “You’re sure she was here?”

“Yes,” answered Sabine, still amazingly calm. “She had a lesson with Marick this morning. I was on my way to get her when I came across you.”

Jak felt a sharp pang of guilt. Had he and Sabine not talked, Helene would have been safely gone from here when this had happened.

He took a few steps closer toward the hole, eyeing the drooping battlements.

“That’s not going to stay up much—”

“Gamin!”

Sabine sprinted past him, pulling Jak’s attention from the wall and to the redheaded mage. Gamin was stumbling about the snow, blood pouring from large gash by his left temple, covering his face and robes. Sabine rushed over, grabbed the man’s arms and started talking to him. Jak followed.

Gamin Pargette was a big, strong fellow, but right now, it looked as if a gentle breeze could knock him down. His eyes were glazed over, his jaw slack. A jagged shard of wood stuck out of the cut on his head.

As Jak arrived, Sabine said, “He can’t remember where Helene was.”

Jak shook his head. In his current state, they would be lucky if Gamin could remember his name.

“Sabine, he needs a healer now, before—”

He stopped suddenly, turned around, and stared into the smoke pouring from the wall. Somehow, he knew with absolute conviction that Helene was inside and that he needed to move now if he was going to save her. Without wasting another moment, he sprinted toward the crumbling opening, unbuckling his belt and dropping it and the attached scabbard to the ground.

Behind him, Sabine cried out, “Jak!”

He ignored her and leapt into the smoke.

The acrid haze clung to his throat like wet mud to boots. Coughing uncontrollably, he stuck his nose into the crook of his arm, trying to filter out the worst of the smoke and pushed through the cloud. Blinking back tears, he climbed up a rubble pile and slid down the other side, moving into what had been the mages’ hall.

He stopped in place, marveling at the sheer destruction around him. Anything that could burn was in flames. Shattered ebonwood beams. Broken tables and benches. Shredded tapestries, books, parchments. He wondered how anyone had survived this.

Wood cracked and stone creaked, protesting at the weight of the battlements overhead. He glanced up, praying the broken stone would remain in place a little while longer. Dropping his gaze back down, he spun in a circle.

“Helene!”

Over and over, he shouted the girl’s name.

“Helene!”

Stumbling through the ruined room, he noted snowflakes drifting down, mingling with the smoke. Some holes must extend all the way through the battlements.

His foot caught on something, nearly tripping him. Glancing down through tear-soaked eyes, he saw the left side of a man’s face, the skin charred black and hair burnt off. The man’s eye was open and lifeless.

Knowing what the result would be, Jak nonetheless bent over and pressed his hand to the man’s chest, searching for a heartbeat. As he expected, there was none.

“Maeana guide you.”

The groan of wood bending drew his attention upward just as a large chunk of stone tumbled down, thudding to the ground but a dozen paces from where he crouched. He needed to hurry.

Suddenly, he knew—somehow—that Helene was behind him. He was certain of it.

Whipping his head around, he stared through the smoke. Near an overturned, smoldering table lay what appeared to be a tan, crumbled-up sack. A sack with raven-black hair.

“Helene!”

Springing up, Jak left the dead man and rushed through the wrecked room, dashing around debris. A fat, wooden beam slipped from above and crashed to the floor, showering him with orange embers. Flicking them from his hair, he reached the tiny form of Helene and dropped to a knee.

“Khanos be with her.”

After his quick plea to the God of Life, he stretched out a hand to check her. Gripping her shoulder, he rolled her on her back, revealing her small face. Her eyelids fluttered but remained closed. But at least she was alive.

“Oh, thank the Gods…”

Jak was stunned to discover that she appeared whole and uninjured, miraculously untouched by the blast. He did not understand how that was possible, but now was not the time to question the girl’s luck.

Picking her up from the cold stone, he made to move away when something caught his eye. He stopped and stared straight down at the floor. He stood at the center of a perfect ring of gray stone. Starting a couple of paces away, black char radiated outward in every direction. Jak spun in a quick circle, realizing that everything in the room had been thrown back, away from this very spot.

His heart felt as if it stopped. He peered down at the untouched face of Helene. A lost snowflake drifted past, landed on her cheek, and melted.

“Gods, no…”

The deep rumble of stone breaking shook him from his harsh realization.

Turning around, he sprinted back to where he had entered the hall, smoke swirling all around him, chunks of stone falling from above, and fires burning on every side.

The rumbling grew louder. The wall was collapsing.

Spotting the light of day ahead, beckoning him, he rushed forward, leaping over the burning husk of an oak table. Peering outside, through the smoke cloud, he saw people rushing about, screaming and pointing at the wall, at the battlements, at him. Lady Vivienne stood two dozen paces from the breach, her gaze fixed on the wall.

Something hard and heavy struck his head. He fell, losing Helene in the process. Slamming into the ground, his eyelids fluttered shut. Dark tendrils of unconsciousness tugged at him.

He lay there a moment, the stone floor cold against his cheek. Cracking open his eyes, he found little globs of light dancing before him. The world was oddly silent.

Forcing himself on his hands and knees, he spotted Helene several paces away. Crawling over to her, he hefted her tiny body in his arms, and ordered himself to stand. Spotting the bright, snow-covered courtyard less than a dozen paces away, he staggered forward, wobbling and weaving. He could not see out of his left eye. Licking his lips, he tasted blood.

He tottered into the snowy yard, lost his balance, and collapsed again, but managed to not fall atop Helene. He could hear a faint ringing in his ears now, accompanied by distant screams and cracking stone. The ground was vibrating.

Someone grabbed his arm and started dragging him through the snow. The wet, cold stuff plowed its way down the front of his shirt.

“No…I need to get Helene…”

He tried to stop himself, struggling and kicking his legs.

“Helene. I need to—”

A man shouted, “Blast it, Jak! Hold still!”

Opening his right eye—he had not been aware he had shut it—he lifted his head and peered up into the face of Commander Aiden. The soldier looked worried.

Jak mumbled, “Helene is…she’s…I dropped…”

He was having trouble getting the words from his mind and past his lips. His tongue felt thick and heavy.

“She’s fine, son. Sabine has her.”

Relieved, Jak closed his eye, suddenly very tired.

“Jak?”

He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep.

“Jak! Don’t you—”

The blackness overtook him.

Nelnora pulled her gaze from the scene within the shimmering display and glanced at the trio of figures standing on the circular dais with her. She wished, not for the first time, that she had some idea what they were thinking. They at least appeared interested in what they were watching. A good start, she supposed. Pressing her lips together, she stared back to the window.

A handful of people knelt in the snow, surrounding the young man and tending to the large gash on his head. The black-haired woman stood nearby, embracing her sister in her arms, anxiously looking on. Dozens of people wandered about the yard, meandering through the smoke and dust of the collapsed wall.

The figure furthest from Nelnora spoke, his rich, deep voice filling the white marble chamber.

“Will he live?”

Glancing up, Nelnora stared in Ketus’ direction but had a difficult time making out the God’s face. The cloak covering his head and body shifted and twisted, taking on the shades and pattern of the wall behind him. She frowned, wondering why he felt the need to hide here.