The Red Sea by Edward W. Robertson Page B

nearest spearmen. They bent double, flying backward. One of the survivors cocked back his spear and hurled it toward the nethermancer. The helmeted man skipped to the side, flicking his sword at the incoming spear and batting it aside.
    The man was already drawing more nether. It flowed to him greedily, hungry to be used. Best to take him out in one stroke. Ideally, one he'd never see coming. Dante moved into the shadow of a weathered stone building. As the man lashed out with his sword, lopping off the head of an outthrust spear, Dante delved into the nether in the clay beneath the sorcerer's feet. Softening it. Preparing to swallow him in it—and then turn it to stone.
    The man halted. Without turning, he pushed both palms toward Dante. Dante yanked his mind from the clay, but before he could refocus his attention, a wave of nether hammered into the side of the building. With a deafening rumble, the upper story gave way.
    In his time, Dante had used the nether to solve any number of impossible problems. Not once, however, had he deployed it to stop a house from falling on him. There was no time to run. As the stones tumbled down around him, he softened the ground beneath him to muck and plunged beneath the surface.
    Mud flowed into his nose. He held his breath tight and returned the ground around him to solid earth. Blocks bashed the surface above him. Encased in hard clay, unable to move, he tried not to panic, forcing himself not to breathe. Within moments, the thuds and vibrations ceased. Once again he softened the earth, then hardened it beneath his feet, pushing himself upward. With a slurp, the top of his head crested the surface. His eyes cleared. His crown bumped against unyielding stone. To prevent himself from inhaling, he blew muck out his nose, then twisted his head to the side, freeing his mouth.
    He stayed put, catching his breath, letting his body adjust to the idea that he was no longer buried alive. Shakily, he wiped viscous clay from his eyes and nose. Light glowed from small gaps in the rubble. He appeared to have half a building on top of him. He heard nothing from the plaza. At first he imagined the stone was muffling the fighting—or perhaps that everyone had turned to gawk in wonder—but then he heard a bird caw from nearby. The skirmish had ended.
    And he had a bad feeling about who remained in the plaza.
    Last he'd seen Blays, the blond man had been charging after the soldiers accosting the woman. If the helmeted man came for him, he'd be defenseless. Dante needed to sink back into the clay and "swim" out the other side of the house.
    Outside, footsteps crunched toward him. Dante went still.
    "Dante?" Blays called. "Come on, Dante. I know your head's hard enough to survive a few tons of rock!"
    "I'm here," Dante said. Sand gritted his mouth. He spat. "Don't touch anything. It's not stable. What's going on out there?"
    "They ran off."
    Stone flowed away from Dante's head. Once he had room to straighten his neck, he went to work on the rocks in front of him, drawing them away as smoothly as water.
    "Ran off?" he said. "Weren't they kicking our asses?"
    "Thoroughly. But they came here for something besides imprinting their sandals on our backsides. Once they got what they came for, they cleared out."
    A shaft of daylight appeared before him. "What were they after?"
    "Not sure. Turns out I've never been here before. You all right in there?"
    Dante finished the cramped tunnel and wormed his way out on his hands and knees. His shirt and trousers were caked with pounds of purple clay.
    Seeing him, Blays burst out laughing. "You look like you lost a fight with a vineyard."
    "Did you see where he went? The sorcerer?"
    "Lost track of him."
    Dante stood, knocking grit and clay from his clothes. "He'd just buried me alive. And you thought it was a good idea to take your eyes off him?"
    "It's surprisingly easy when you're running in the opposite direction."
    "Now that makes a lot more—"
    He cut himself