CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO #3
The final lock clicked in place, and Emmaas opened the door while Isla silently shushed them, then motioned for them to follow at a distance.
Cautiously, they stepped down the stone staircase into the heavily shadowed hall below.
The flickering firelight cast eerie shapes along the weathered walls.
A damp chill permeated the air as they descended below ground.
Isla held her hand out to the side, signaling them to stop as she reached the bottom.
Since the ceiling was slanted, Deckard heard more than saw two guards snap to attention.
Isla exchanged some words with them, seeming to set them at ease just before simultaneous thunks sounded below. A second later, she summoned them down.
They descended the final steps and met Isla at the arched entryway to the crypt-turned-dungeon. The guards lay sprawled at her feet.
“How’d you do that?” Thom asked.
Isla lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I took the air from their lungs.”
Deckard’s jaw tightened, struggling not to resent how many lives were being taken to buy their freedom.
Rafferty eyed Isla with interest. “Have you ever thought of joining an enterprise of contraband runners?” he asked.
“Not recently,” she replied, then turned to Emmaas. “Braun and Paulson are the only ones left down here. I managed to convince Renaul that they’d do the trick against two viastasis-drugged Mages since the greater threat was the Warrior.”
“She should have drugged the Warrior too,” Jarrad remarked.
Deckard frowned, but it was Evylin who spoke. “If anyone comes near me with that stuff, they’ll lose a limb.”
“Which would be the reason for drugging you, after all.”
“Stop messing with them, Jarrad,” Isla ordered, leading them through the frigid corridors. “And be quiet. We’re almost there.”
“Braun and Paulson, you said?” Jarrad asked in a hushed tone. “Mm. Fire and Water. No problem.”
Rafferty nudged Ethenn beside him. “Sounds like we’ll have an Elemental showdown,” he whispered.
“It won’t be a contest,” Emmaas replied. “Isla chose Braun and Paulson for a reason.”
Rafferty frowned, twirling the knives in his hands. “Did you make this whole escape boring on purpose?”
“Boring is better than dead,” Isla hissed. “Now, shut up.”
The catacombs were larger than Deckard expected.
Dozens of dark alcoves lined the walls, torches bracketing them every few feet.
The dead rested in stone caskets, long-wilted flowers and burned-out candles decorating most of the ledges.
Spiderwebs and the skitter of insects caused Deckard’s skin to crawl.
Even if the ominous statue of Obscura had not loomed at the entrance, the crypt was chilling in its own right.
As they neared the back of the tombs, iron bars began to enclose the alcoves. The renovations Renaul had mentioned, Deckard presumed. Isla held up her hand to slow them. “Just around the corner,” she mouthed.
With a quick hand signal, Jarrad and Emmaas stepped up to her side.
The trio rounded the corner, a Mage on either side of the Warrior.
The troop watched as Isla and Jarrad raised their hands, releasing their magic.
Wind whipped through the corridor, whirling around the blue-and-red-coated Mages at the end of the hall.
The paving stones beneath their feet began to rattle, causing them to lose their balance.
A few rocks tore loose from their mortar, pelting the men.
The Mage in blue raised his hands, a jet of water beginning to spout forth. But Emmaas was too fast. With the smoothest flick of his wrists, two small blades flew through the air, embedding squarely in the center of each Mage’s forehead. They dropped unceremoniously to the ground.
Evylin and Ethenn gaped, impressed.
“About bloody time,” a feminine voice called from one of the alcoves.
In side-by-side cells, the prone figures of Auden and Ilain Calder rose to their feet.
Their clothing remained rumpled and stained from their time in the prison wagon.
Their matted and greasy hair made their malnourished frames appear even more gaunt than usual.
But otherwise, they were whole and well.
Ilain’s eyes practically sparkled as she surveyed them. “It’s rank in here,” she said as Isla hurried to unlock their cells.
“That’s probably your own filth, Red,” Jarrad said merrily. He tipped his chin up toward Auden. “How’s it going, genius?”
“It’s not ideal,” Auden said, his tone grim despite his smile as Isla approached. “Hello, Ise.”
Isla patted his cheek like only a big sister could, then she tugged Ilain close for a fierce hug. She drew back, waving a hand in front of her nose. “Heavens above, you weren’t joking about the smell.”
“Tell me you can do something about it,” Ilain pleaded.
Emmaas stepped up then, offering a canvas sack. “Best we can offer,” he said.
“Oh, Major Caarney,” Ilain rolled onto the balls of her feet and kissed his cheek, “I could almost marry you.”
Ethenn shifted uncomfortably beside Deckard as Emmaas chucked Ilain on the chin. “No, thank you, darling,” the Warrior said playfully.
Without any further preamble, Ilain and Auden began to disrobe.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Thom exclaimed, whirling around.
Deckard quite agreed. He, Ethenn, and Evylin immediately followed suit. The Alliance members turned away more casually. Deckard snatched Rafferty by the collar and forced him to turn around as well.
“What’s the plan?” Auden asked as they dressed.
Emmaas gave the summary. “We’re down to—” He glanced at the metal disk again. Deckard could see it better now, realizing it was a pocket watch. A rare and expensive trinket, due to its intricate workmanship. “Eleven minutes.”
“And it took us twelve to get here,” Jarrad noted. “Splendid.”
“We’ll just have to move fast then,” Ilain said, appearing at their side. For the first time since their acquaintance, she wore trousers with a man’s shirt tucked into the waist, both in dark gray. Auden’s outfit matched.
As they began to jog back through the crypt’s corridors, Thom let out a low, teasing whistle. “Why, milady,” he said, giving Ilain a scan. “You should wear trousers more often. Ouch!” He shook out his hand from where a flame had flared up and scorched him.
Ilain seared him with her glare. “If you want to retain possession of your lashes, you’ll keep your eyes off my ass,” she threatened, then looked pointedly at Rafferty and Jarrad. “That goes for all of you.”
“What about Loxley?” Rafferty asked.
Ilain shrugged. “He can look all he likes.”
Ethenn’s entire face went bright red. Despite his embarrassment, he managed to speak steadily. “I’m glad you’re both safe.”
“Same to all of you,” Auden said. “We’re sorry we couldn’t prepare you for Isla’s presence. I’m sure you’ve been greatly worried.”
“How exactly are you two lucid?” Thom asked. “I thought that drug took hours to wear off.”
“It does,” Isla said. “Which is why I faked their final dosage when they arrived. The viastasis should have worn off at least four hours ago.”
Ilain let out a dramatic sigh as they exited the crypt. “And let me tell you, four hours of listening to those two waxing poetic about Renaul’s fine larder when you haven’t had a bite to eat in days is the severest form of torture.”
“Aw, buck up, kiddo,” Jarrad said as they entered the small courtyard. “We’ll have a grand feast when we get home.”
While Deckard thought it surprising that Jarrad, who looked no older than Thom, would call Ilain “kiddo” when she was in her forties, he realized he had no way of knowing the man’s true age.
Or any of the Alliance members’ ages, for that matter, since the magic they wielded tended to prolong the aging process considerably.
They passed the statue of Obscura and returned to the dark halls of Renaul’s home. “Seven minutes,” Emmaas whispered as Isla took the lead once more.
Back in the servants’ passages, Auden asked for their exit strategy.
“Front door,” Emmaas said simply, clearly too focused to reply in full sentences.
Deckard’s brow pinched together. “Won’t that be the most heavily guarded?”
“We don’t have time for discussion,” Isla said. “Faster now.”
They wound and twisted through the halls and passages, going out of their way to bypass numerous patrols. “Won’t someone have found the guards we left outside our rooms by now?” Ethenn asked.
“That’s part of the plan, kid,” Jarrad replied, then shoved him into a back corridor. “Emmaas?”
“Two minutes.”
“Excellent.”
“Exactly what are we counting down to?” Thom asked.
“Our exit strategy,” Jarrad said with a cheery lilt.
At the back of the group, Isla shut the door, closing them into a servant’s stairwell near the front of the house. “Down,” she instructed.
The ten of them wound to the bottom floor, Emmaas now in the lead.
He stepped to the entry door, holding up a hand.
Cautiously, he opened the door to allow a slit of light through.
Deckard peered past him to see roughly a dozen guards patrolling the entryway, spears and swords at the ready.
Then Emmaas shut the door without a sound.
The Warrior turned back to the large party, his voice faint as he whispered, “When we get outside, head straight for the stables.” He looked pointedly at the Calders and Ephrians. “I made sure your horses were prepared. Saddles and all.”
“How?” Evylin asked.