archer’s wrist. “Go after them. Don’t let them say a word to anyone.”
The archer stood paralyzed by the horror of the spectacle. It took a shout to send him staggering away.
Tabor Jan took hold of the grudger’s remaining hand and winced at his desperate grip. “What happened?”
“Came through the floor,” Dokkens groaned, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling.
“What came through?”
“Branches. Or roots. So fast we couldn’t…” The man gestured toward the crack. “The smell. Do you remember?”
Tabor Jan’s nostrils flared, and a long-sealed door in the back of his memory opened. “The abyss beneath the Underkeep.” He looked at the crack again. He could not bring himself to ask any more questions. “The rumors are true. But the rumors spoke only of some terror in the Cragavar. Has it come so far?”
“The quake,” Dokkens whispered. “If this thing caused the quake, it’s coming through. Could be anywhere.”
Tabor Jan stood up. “The quake.” Pieces were fitting together in his mind to reveal an unexpected trouble.
In the distance someone sounded a horn, sonorous and urgent. An alarm. Tabor Jan looked to the second archer, who nodded and flew from the cave as if he’d been waiting for an excuse.
Tabor Jan was alone with Dokkens. There was no one here to guard the cave. But he was captain of the guard, and this horn was a summons he could not refuse.
He shouted in surprise as a hand grasped his shoulder. “You’d better answer that summons,” said Scharr ben Fray. “What are you doing here?” Tabor Jan looked past the mage. “Is Cal-raven with you?”
“He’s far from here. It’s for the best. I’m here to help.” Scharr ben Fray moved forward, put his hands to the wall, and melted shut that bloodied break. Then he turned and put his hand on Dokkens’ forehead. “Go, Captain. Get the people out, and arm them with torches. I’ll do what I can for this one.”
Another urgent horn blast spun Tabor Jan around and drew him out so that quickly he was running along the ledge, afraid of so much more than the open space alongside him.
He followed the shouts to the armory, where Brevolo readied an arrow and her sister Bryndei held a torch. Before them great tendrils like roots were thrashing, powerful as the tails of oceandragons. Limbs bashed at piles of armor, denting shields, crushing breastplates, bending and snapping spears. The break in the ground from which they lashed cracked and expanded under the pressure of their advance. From within that pile of empty, battered armor came a shrill scream.
“Who’s there?” he cried.
“Cortie!” said Brevolo in a voice unlike any he’d heard. “We’ve been trying to get to her. Tabor Jan, what in the name of Har-baron’s host are we fighting?”
Bryndei lunged and waved her torch, and the tendrils jerked back like spider legs.
The ground rumbled. New lines spread like veins through the stone.
Brevolo fired arrows into one of the writhing roots. But another slithered across it, snapping the shafts as casually as one might brush off biting flies. Only fire sent the branches recoiling.
The ground’s become Abascar’s enemy again. We’ve got to get out in the open
.
As three soldiers ran up to him, Tabor Jan shouted, “More torches!
Fast!”
He heard a gasp, and he turned just in time to see Bryndei caught by the ankle. She dropped her torch. One of the tendrils snatched a shield and smashed it down on the flame to crush out the light.
In darkness the clamor intensified. Tabor Jan called for Brevolo. Brevolo called for her sister. Bryndei screamed.
The shield came free of the torch, and in its failing glimmer he saw Cortie, unconscious, limp as a rag doll, suspended in the coils of a root. Bryndei was nowhere to be seen. And then the light went out again.
5
A S ECOND E XODUS
L ike shards of stained glass, scraps of Auralia’s weaving glimmered, reflecting light that had no discernible source. Beside a blue
The archer stood paralyzed by the horror of the spectacle. It took a shout to send him staggering away.
Tabor Jan took hold of the grudger’s remaining hand and winced at his desperate grip. “What happened?”
“Came through the floor,” Dokkens groaned, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling.
“What came through?”
“Branches. Or roots. So fast we couldn’t…” The man gestured toward the crack. “The smell. Do you remember?”
Tabor Jan’s nostrils flared, and a long-sealed door in the back of his memory opened. “The abyss beneath the Underkeep.” He looked at the crack again. He could not bring himself to ask any more questions. “The rumors are true. But the rumors spoke only of some terror in the Cragavar. Has it come so far?”
“The quake,” Dokkens whispered. “If this thing caused the quake, it’s coming through. Could be anywhere.”
Tabor Jan stood up. “The quake.” Pieces were fitting together in his mind to reveal an unexpected trouble.
In the distance someone sounded a horn, sonorous and urgent. An alarm. Tabor Jan looked to the second archer, who nodded and flew from the cave as if he’d been waiting for an excuse.
Tabor Jan was alone with Dokkens. There was no one here to guard the cave. But he was captain of the guard, and this horn was a summons he could not refuse.
He shouted in surprise as a hand grasped his shoulder. “You’d better answer that summons,” said Scharr ben Fray. “What are you doing here?” Tabor Jan looked past the mage. “Is Cal-raven with you?”
“He’s far from here. It’s for the best. I’m here to help.” Scharr ben Fray moved forward, put his hands to the wall, and melted shut that bloodied break. Then he turned and put his hand on Dokkens’ forehead. “Go, Captain. Get the people out, and arm them with torches. I’ll do what I can for this one.”
Another urgent horn blast spun Tabor Jan around and drew him out so that quickly he was running along the ledge, afraid of so much more than the open space alongside him.
He followed the shouts to the armory, where Brevolo readied an arrow and her sister Bryndei held a torch. Before them great tendrils like roots were thrashing, powerful as the tails of oceandragons. Limbs bashed at piles of armor, denting shields, crushing breastplates, bending and snapping spears. The break in the ground from which they lashed cracked and expanded under the pressure of their advance. From within that pile of empty, battered armor came a shrill scream.
“Who’s there?” he cried.
“Cortie!” said Brevolo in a voice unlike any he’d heard. “We’ve been trying to get to her. Tabor Jan, what in the name of Har-baron’s host are we fighting?”
Bryndei lunged and waved her torch, and the tendrils jerked back like spider legs.
The ground rumbled. New lines spread like veins through the stone.
Brevolo fired arrows into one of the writhing roots. But another slithered across it, snapping the shafts as casually as one might brush off biting flies. Only fire sent the branches recoiling.
The ground’s become Abascar’s enemy again. We’ve got to get out in the open
.
As three soldiers ran up to him, Tabor Jan shouted, “More torches!
Fast!”
He heard a gasp, and he turned just in time to see Bryndei caught by the ankle. She dropped her torch. One of the tendrils snatched a shield and smashed it down on the flame to crush out the light.
In darkness the clamor intensified. Tabor Jan called for Brevolo. Brevolo called for her sister. Bryndei screamed.
The shield came free of the torch, and in its failing glimmer he saw Cortie, unconscious, limp as a rag doll, suspended in the coils of a root. Bryndei was nowhere to be seen. And then the light went out again.
5
A S ECOND E XODUS
L ike shards of stained glass, scraps of Auralia’s weaving glimmered, reflecting light that had no discernible source. Beside a blue
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