CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO #4
Isla spoke up from the back. “When I learned of Renaul’s plan to send Caustin and his men to capture you, I hired Emmaas as our new stablemaster. We’ve been planning ever since.”
Rafferty eyed Jarrad. “Do you work here too?”
“Nah,” the Terrae Mage said. “It would have been too boring.”
“Couldn’t find a job you’d be good at?” Ilain asked.
Emmaas cut off Jarrad’s reply. “Thirty seconds,” he said.
Silence fell in the passageway. Cramped and anxious, the air grew stifling.
The barest muffled conversation could be heard from the guards patrolling outside.
Rafferty adjusted behind Deckard, pushing him forward into Evylin.
She glanced over her shoulder at him, then smirked, leaning back into his chest.
All at once, a rumble shook the floor beneath their feet. A loud crack ripped through the air. The guards began yelling in panic outside their passageway. Struggling to maintain their footing within the small space, the Alliance members and Ephrians stumbled into one another.
Ethenn bumped into Ilain, and she set her hand on his shoulder. “Steady on, darling,” she said, grinning at his wide-eyed expression. “It’s only a bomb.”
“What the hell is a bomb?” Thom asked.
Rafferty’s silver eyes twinkled in the darkness. “It’s proof we’re on the right side,” he said with glee.
Frantic footfalls and gruff orders rumbled from the entry. The guards were distracted, thrown off by the explosion. Yet, Emmaas kept the door closed.
“What are we waiting for?” Deckard asked.
Emmaas held up a hand, eyes locked on his pocket watch. His lips moved slowly, counting. Seven, six, five . . .
Deckard wondered what he was counting down to just as another sharp, crumbling crack reverberated through the building.
This one was closer, sending a wave of sound slamming into Deckard’s chest. He tightened his grip on Evylin.
The only reason any of them remained upright was due to their tight quarters, the walls physically holding them up.
Before the explosion’s cacophony fully died out, Emmaas flung the door open. He darted into the entry, the hidden blades back in his hands. They flashed in the moonlight as he sliced down two guards. “Go,” he ordered.
Piling out of the passageway, their party sprinted for the front door. Or what should have been the front door. Now, it was simply a gaping hole.
Jarrad took the lead, guiding them. Any guards left alive after the explosion lay on the ground in wounded heaps.
Their path to the stables was almost completely clear, and Deckard realized as they ran that the first bomb was a distraction.
It had drawn many of the guards away, leaving only a handful for them to fight.
However, after the explosion, those few men were ready. They raised their weapons and charged, calling out for backup. Without time to stop and fight, Deckard flexed his hand, summoning his magic.
Jarrad was already on it. He thrust his hands toward a group of guards. The ground immediately gave way, tearing out from under them and swallowing them whole.
Deckard’s crystalline shadows swept through the rest. The black shards glittered in the night as they ripped through the guards’ chests, clearing the path to the stables.
“What kind of Mage did you say you were?” Jarrad asked in awe.
“I didn’t,” Deckard said, the magic fading away into the night.
They reached the stables, Emmaas on their heels.
The door was already open, bright light glowing within.
Ten horses waited as promised. They mounted up quickly, the horses pounding the ground, ready to run.
Deckard did one last sweep to ensure they were all there—Evylin, Thom, Ethenn, Rafferty, Ilain, Auden, Isla, Jarrad, and Emmaas. Then they galloped out of the stable.
The cold night air stung their eyes as they darted down the pebbled path.
The gates of Renaul’s estate loomed ahead of them, open and unsecured.
Deckard’s heart thudded with relief. These Alliance members had thought of it all.
They were going to make it. They would live to return to Ephria and stop Blount, putting an end to the Centurial War.
Tearing through the darkness, Deckard glanced back at Renaul’s mansion.
Stone tumbled across the ground, the front of the beautiful edifice now in shambles.
A fire raged somewhere at the back of the building.
An orange glow reflected off the windows as the diminishing figures of the guards worked to extinguish it.
Where was the noblewoman amid this destruction?
Did she realize yet that they’d made their escape?
The thought brought a damning realization to Deckard.
He’d been blinded by hope and Evylin’s love.
This wasn’t a success. This was a consolation.
They were leaving behind three Relics. That meant Blount now had four while they had two.
After their struggles in the Wind and Time Keeps, Deckard wondered if they could hope to survive the final two in Ephria.
Their escape wasn’t without cost. They might have made it out of Renaul’s clutches with their lives, but Deckard wondered if it would be the death of them yet.