Chapter 27
As large as the mine was, it didn’t take much time to travel through it on the fast-moving magical wagon.
Twice, Syla sensed a rider or glimpsed movement in the shadows, but the stormers must not have known what to make of them.
They didn’t put themselves in front of the wagon, and they didn’t attack, save for an arrow that shot out of the dark, glancing off the roof of the cab.
Fel promptly fired back, but they couldn’t see into the shadows to know if his quarrel struck.
They’d passed out of the area where lanterns were lit, probably because this level wasn’t being mined anymore.
A scrape on the roof of the cab made Syla jump.
As they’d traveled deeper into the original mine that had been carved out with nothing more than chisels and pickaxes, the ceiling had become significantly lower.
Ahead lay the last of the pillars before a maze of tunnels stretched, the walls carved with elaborate pictures of the gods as well as of favored livestock and stalks of wheat and other grains that had been paramount in the early days of agriculture.
“We’re not going to be able to drive all the way back to the shielder chamber in this.” Syla slowed the wagon down.
“The early miners must have had a lot of time on their hands,” Fel grumbled, eyeing the carvings. “And a lenient foreman.”
“I think some of these were commissioned. The mine was treasured in the early days of the Kingdom since salt was vital and something non-perishable that our ancestors could trade all over the world.” Syla peered into the gloom around them.
A single magic-powered lamp on the front of the wagon allowed them to see in the direction they’d been driving, but darkness obscured everything to the sides—and behind.
The corner of the wagon bumped against a salt pillar, and she stopped it, doubting they could make it deeper into the mine. It wouldn’t have been a good idea to drive straight up to the hidden chamber door regardless. If Lesva hadn’t learned exactly where it was, Syla didn’t want to show her.
Faint thuds started up behind them, from the direction of the lift cage and beyond. Since they echoed from the pillars, Syla would have struggled to guess the exact origins if she hadn’t known. Clanks and rumbles also reverberated through the floor.
“People are going to hear that,” Fel said. “Maybe up above as well as down here.”
“Yes.” When Syla had envisioned her plan, she’d thought they could do the drilling before the stormer army arrived. She’d had no idea that some were already lurking in the area. Some or a lot.
Enemies have arrived, and the battle is engaged, Wreylith spoke into her mind.
Up there? Syla almost said that she’d already found lots of enemies in the mine.
Yes. Some have taken over the boats in the lake and are firing upon your troops coming up the road. Others are in the forest and advancing toward these buildings.
I thought we would have more time. Can you keep them from coming down into the mine?
Certainly. No humans will pass underneath me without notice. Should they attempt to do so, they will not fail to experience the incendiary flames of my wrath.
Dragon wrath is a terrible thing.
Yes.
Syla’s instincts tingled with a warning, and she whispered, “Down.”
Without question, Fel obeyed, pushing her low as he also ducked. An arrow that had been fired with more accuracy than the first sailed through the top of the cab where their heads had been.
“We’ll be easier targets now that we’re stopped.” Fel lifted his crossbow over Syla’s head and fired into the darkness.
A soft clink sounded as his quarrel skipped off something hard. Probably one of the salt pillars.
“I’m not sure we should get out right away.
” Syla glanced toward the route ahead, wanting to check on the chamber but also aware of the witnesses watching them.
“This is decent cover, and we’ve got ammunition.
” She opened Tibby’s bag, revealing a surprising number of the flat, square packages—her explosives.
Fel eyed them. “I’m starting to appreciate that woman.”
“Even though she insults you often?”
“I get insulted by a lot of people, but they don’t give me explosives.” Fel picked up a couple of the packets.
Another arrow arced out of the darkness, sailing over the wagon and clinking off a pillar behind them, chipping away a chunk of salt.
“Stormers are usually more accurate than this.” Fel gave her a significant look. “They may be trying to delay us.”
“If they want to keep us away from the shielder chamber, they could kill us,” Syla said, but she agreed that the stormers seemed to be shooting to keep them busy rather than actively trying to slay them.
“You might be their backup plan for getting in.” Fel pointed at her hand.
“Or… something happened to Lady Abrya.” Syla hoped not, but what if Lesva had accidentally killed her captive?
“There also might be only one archer.”
She looked sharply at him. She hadn’t sensed the bonded rider for a while. Had most of the stormers run ahead to beat the wagon to the chamber?
No sooner had the thought occurred than four shadowy figures appeared in the darkness. Three men and one woman, all wearing fur-trimmed Storm Guard chainmail, ran toward the wagon. They’d put away their bows and drawn swords.
Fel raised his crossbow to shoot. Syla grabbed one of the explosives and eased out of the cab so she had room to throw it, careful to avoid the support pillars.
These stormers weren’t as fast as Jhiton, the last person she’d thrown explosives at, but they knew to avoid them.
One warrior ducked and kept coming, and the other three ran or rolled to the sides.
Two sprang behind pillars for cover as an explosive struck down, blowing up with a great boom.
The other two were knocked down by the shockwave.
Syla also felt it and staggered back, bumping into the wagon.
Fel remained rock steady and fired another quarrel.
It slammed into a man’s shoulder. The female stormer was already down, rolling and grabbing her side.
Before Fel could reload or Syla grab a second explosive, one of the men who’d run behind the pillar came out on the other side and charged at her.
She jumped back into the cab, thinking she might drive the wagon away and escape the stormers—or use it as a weapon to try to run them over.
But he was on her before she could start it again.
He stabbed at her with his sword, and she dodged, surprised by her speed. She easily evaded the blow, then kicked the man in the chest to knock him back. He went flying, as startled by her strength as she was.
Before he could recover, she flattened her palm to the control panel and put the wagon into reverse, backing away from Fel, who’d jumped out on the other side and was wielding his mace against a stormer who’d reached him.
The man she’d kicked recovered quickly and leaped into the cab before Syla could get far enough away. Lunging, he grabbed her with one hand as he swung his sword with the other. But it caught on the frame with a loud clank.
As he shifted, maneuvering to turn his sweeping blow into a stab, Syla called upon her power.
Her moon-mark flared silver as a tendril of magic extended into him, then wrapped around his trachea.
As the tendril tightened, she leaned back and raised her leg to kick him again.
If he hadn’t been startled—and scared—with his eyes bulging as he reached for his throat, she wouldn’t have gotten the best of him, but she caught him off balance, and he tumbled out of the cab.
She shifted the levers and backed the wagon away from her foe. Since they were no longer touching, her magic didn’t remain in him, and he jumped to his feet, his airway returning to normal. She shifted the wagon’s direction and drove straight at him.
As he crouched to spring aside, Syla pulled another explosive from the bag. He was fast enough to escape being run over, but she hurled Tibby’s weapon after him.
Distracted by dodging the wagon, he didn’t see it in time to escape. It exploded, light flashing, and he screamed as he was hurled across the mine. When Syla glimpsed limbs torn off and flying free, she looked away, her stomach churning. It would have been kinder to kill him with her magic.
“I don’t want to kill anyone,” she said with frustration, but her feelings didn’t keep her from driving toward Fel to make sure he would survive his encounter.
One of the stormers he’d shot lay still—probably dead—but the man with the shoulder wound rose and ran toward Fel with a sword. Syla steered right, putting him in her sights.
Like the other stormer, he was agile enough to time a leap to escape being hit.
And, as soon as the wagon passed, he jumped toward Syla in the cab.
She ducked low, pulling her foot from the acceleration pedal, but there wasn’t room to dodge.
He slammed into her, knocking her onto her side, his weight crushing down on her.
Metal rasped as he drew a dagger, but she once again summoned her power, the magic eager to spring forth.
Silver light bathed the cab and his face as he lowered the dagger toward her throat.
She struck first, tendrils of power tightening around his heart and his trachea.
This enemy seemed to expect her attack and didn’t stop.
His dagger continued its inexorable descent toward her throat.
Terrified, she squeezed his heart with all her power.
The dagger grazed her skin but didn’t cut deep, and she got a hand up to knock it aside as the man tipped off her, grabbing his chest.
“Syla!” Fel blurted, leaping into the cab and grabbing the stormer. He hurled the man outside and to the ground, but their enemy was dead before he landed. Fel raised his mace as he faced the stormer but must have seen the man’s eyes frozen open in death.