CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO #2
They stepped into the hall where four guards lay unconscious. “Keep quiet,” Emmaas warned in a whisper, “and to the shadows. There are patrols about.”
Following the Warrior’s lead, they walked carefully through the house.
The lush rugs kept their footsteps silent.
A ticking clock haunted their trek, only the occasional sound of guards muttering or adjusting breaking the silence.
When they reached the main landing where the grand staircases opened up, they had to dash for the far hall, hoping to avoid notice as they passed through the flood of light from the massive entry window.
Nearing their friends’ rooms, Isla moved ahead while the rest of them waited in the shadows. Her silver dress caught the dim lamplight as she approached the guards. They snapped to attention at the sight of her.
“Can we help you, ma’am?” one man asked.
“Yes,” Isla said, her tone flat and emotionless once more. “Lady Renaul requested I bring the pretty one, Thom, to her chambers.”
A huff came from another guard while a few more sniggered. “He’s in that room,” the first guard explained.
“Thank you,” Isla replied, moving toward the middle door. She lifted her hand as if to turn the handle, then flicked her wrist. A gale shot forth, sweeping to the left and right to knock all twelve guards off their feet.
Emmaas and Jarrad hurried down the hall ahead of Deckard and Evylin.
At the other end of the corridor, Emmaas produced hidden blades from his sleeves, slicing into the guards readily.
With a flamboyant air, Jarrad raised his hands, curled them into fists, and then jerked them back.
The wood of the baseboards, molding, and wall detailing sprouted new growth.
Jagged blade-like branches pierced through more of the guards.
At the front of the hall, Evylin sprinted before dropping to her knees, matching the fallen sentries’ height as she slid across the rug.
She struck out with the daggers, slashing through two men before leaping to her feet with impossible grace.
Deckard kept at her side, ready but not daring to use his magic yet.
He wanted to save his strength for whatever disasters might come their way.
With the guards quickly felled, Isla tossed a key to Deckard and then another to Jarrad. “Retrieve the other two,” she instructed, lifting a third key. “I’ll get this one.”
“Wait,” Deckard said, reaching out to stop her. “That’s my brother.”
She put the key in the lock. “You don’t think I can handle him?”
Realizing that she could, Deckard still felt the need to warn her. “He’ll try to kill you.”
“Sounds like fun,” she replied, turning the key with a scrape of the metal lock.
Evylin grabbed Deckard’s arm, pulling him in the direction of the first room.
When they entered, their jaws immediately dropped.
The entire room had been turned over in what looked like a furious search.
Curtains were ripped down, the mattress was flipped over, paintings were torn from the walls, and in the midst of it all, Ethenn sat on the floor.
In his hands, he held a splinter of the bed frame as he used a broken candlestick to whittle its edge to a violent point.
Clearly, his hunt for a weapon was fruitless, so he’d determined to fashion one himself.
At their appearance, Ethenn startled and looked up, dark eyes wide and rimmed with exhaustion. His lips parted in shock. “How’d you get free?” he asked in awe.
Evylin laughed as she hurried over and helped him to his feet. “Come on,” she said. “We’ll show you.”
As they stepped back into the hall, a crash echoed from the next room, followed by a furious string of curses. Deckard sighed and hurried in. Thom stood on the far side of the room, arm reared back, ready to throw another expensive decorative piece Isla’s way.
“Thom!” Deckard called, skidding to a halt.
Freezing, Thom gaped at him. “Jonn?” He lowered his hand and looked at Isla with renewed interest. “You weren’t lying?”
“No,” she said, an amused smile on her lips. “I wasn’t.”
“Sorry,” Thom muttered, then chucked the painted vase in his hand over his shoulder. It shattered on impact with the marble floor.
Back in the hallway, they met Evylin, Ethenn, and Jarrad as Emmaas and Rafferty emerged from the far room. The weasel grinned and kissed Evylin’s cheek when he drew near. “Am I happy to see you,” he said, then his feet backtracked across the floor. “Had to make sure. Wait here.”
“What’s he doing?” Jarrad asked as Rafferty disappeared into his room.
“Retrieving something, I expect,” Deckard said, sharing a smile with Evylin.
Isla frowned. “The orders were to take everything from you upon your arrival.”
“Renaul should get better servants,” he noted.
“Wait a minute—” Thom stepped forward, staring at the Wind Mage. He pointed at her as if struck by sudden clarity. “Renaul called you Isla.”
She blinked, then cocked her head, confused. “That’s my name, yes.”
Thom’s mouth dropped open. “You’re married to Ilain’s brother, Vayden?”
A small smile came to her lips. “So they did tell you about me,” Isla said.
While the rest of them processed the revelation of her identity, Rafferty returned. “Here you go,” he said, the Wind Relic dangling from his fist. “Safe and sound, just as I said.”
“That isn’t exactly what you said,” Deckard replied, then stepped back, motioning for him to hand it to the hunter among them. “Ethenn.”
Isla, Emmaas, and Jarrad watched in shock as the necklace shifted to a bow in Ethenn’s grasp.
“You have a Relic?” Isla gasped.
“It turns into a weapon?” Emmaas asked, a certain measure of awe in his voice.
Evylin passed her knives to Rafferty, and Deckard slipped the Night Relic from around his neck to hand it to her. “We have two, actually,” she said as it beamed and morphed into a sword.
“What now?” Thom asked, one of the guards’ swords in his hand.
“We’re getting the Calders and the Relics, right?” Ethenn said.
Emmaas held up a hand, beckoning them to follow him down the hall. “First,” he said, “we need to get moving. We’re on a tight schedule, and we’ve only got another . . .” He paused, glancing down at a small metal trinket in his hand. “Twenty-three minutes.”
“That doesn’t give us much time, baldy,” Jarrad quipped as Isla opened a hidden door at the end of the hall.
Emmaas held the door open as Isla slipped inside. “Through the servant’s passage,” he instructed, then turned to Evylin and Ethenn. “As impressive as those are, you can put them away. We’re going for stealth and speed. If we get into any skirmishes, we won’t be making it out.”
Evylin and Ethenn did as he suggested, slipping the Relics around their necks, the weapons easily transformed back into pendant form with a mere thought and flick of their wrists.
Then, one by one, they slipped into the dimly lit staircase, following Isla’s bright skirts and confident strides.
“As Emmaas said, we’re on a tight timeline,” she said in a low voice, “and we cannot recover the Relics. However, we can save Ilain and Auden. We’ve planned your escape down to the minute—”
“And we’re running four minutes behind,” Jarrad added helpfully.
Isla ignored his interruption. “Once we retrieve them, we’ll head straight for the exit. We’ll make a break for the stables, where Emmaas has your horses prepared. Then we’ll escort you to the Alliance.”
“To the Alliance?” Evylin repeated at Deckard’s side. “Here in Wauld?”
“For the time being,” she confirmed. “After this defeat, you’ll need to regroup.”
Deckard wanted to ask what she meant by “regroup” but figured that was a conversation for after their escape. They wound through the narrow back staircases and halls of the servants’ passage, only intermittent oil lamps lighting their way.
Eventually, Isla led them back into the main house.
With such a large group, Deckard knew it would be difficult to move through it unseen.
However, it appeared that Isla was right; they had everything planned out.
She knew the precise timing of every patrol and the location of every guard.
They slipped through the house like wraiths, invisible and silent.
The ivy that had once shriveled around his heart regrew.
Hope watered it, trusting that they would escape.
Moreover, the knowledge that, at last, he had Evylin’s love nurtured its growth.
What had seemed impossible at the start of the night now gave him life.
They would make it to freedom, and she would stay with him forever.
They passed through a door and out into a small courtyard.
Finely tended hedges and flowering trellises filled the square garden.
In the center, a statue of a hooded and cloaked figure stood sentry, its hands held out, with purple flames burning in lamps above its palms. Deckard had never seen colored flame like that before, and he studied the figure as they entered the space.
At the back of the garden, Isla stopped in front of a large wooden door with half a dozen locks encased in the stone wall. As she began the task of unlocking it, Deckard eyed the sculpture, wondering what or who it was meant to be.
“Obscura,” Jarrad said, coming to stand beside him.
Deckard furrowed his brow. “Pardon?”
Jarrad motioned to the statue. “That’s Obscura,” he said.
“Like the month?” Rafferty asked.
“Indeed,” Jarrad confirmed. “Or in Wauld’s case, the patron of Night. Many keep statues of the god near their family crypts. He supposedly takes the dead to the moons where they can rest in peace for eternity.”
Deckard eyed the stone cloak, coiling lines of shadow etched into the statue. “A Night Mage, then?”