“Mattox!”
He shook his head. Had he heard her call out his name? Or had it been his imagination?
“Caralas!”
The shadow of a figure moved against the tree line. He blinked, trying to see more clearly, but the air was filled with flying debris: tents, logs, supplies, bedrolls. Loose spears and swords slashed and clashed within the maelstrom. He managed to duck a scimitar, when something dug deep into his left thigh. It burned like nothing he’d ever suffered before, and filled his body with searing agony.
Mattox cried out and stumbled. He almost fell, when he felt himself being lifted up. His feet raised above his head, until the blood began rushing into his head. There was no way of telling which way he was going, and he feared being slammed headfirst onto the ground. He was being tossed and juggled like he was no more than an errant leaf, unable to steady himself or get his bearings. He clawed uselessly at anything he could grab to prevent himself from being swallowed up by the deadly black naydo bearing down on him.
A tree flashed by. Another appeared, as if magic. Lunging for it, he managed to get grip on a limb and hung on. Throwing his other arm forward, he was able to snag it with his other hand. His legs wouldn’t obey him. It was all he could do to maintain a vise-like hold on the branch as the wind tore at him, raking his face with invisible claws.
He heard what sounded like lightning. The explosion was so close, he was nearly deafened. Bits of leaves, dirt, wood slivers, and grass pounded his face, trying to blind him. Shaking his head, he flipped his hair out of his face long enough to catch sight of the compound, and he stared in horror as rooftops lifted into the sky and disappeared inside the windy behemoth. Tower Twelve was gone. And as he watched, the logs comprising that portion of the wall where the doorway was located collapsed one after the other like a row of dominoes.
Someone screamed. A body, arms and legs flailing, zipped past him and was impaled on a nearby branch. The next instant, that tree was hauled out of the ground, roots and all, and sent sailing.
His fingers were growing numb. His arms ached, and he could no longer see what was in front of him. Something struck him, nearly dislodging his frail hold. Gritting his teeth, he fought to keep his grip and hoped this nightmare would soon be over.
He never saw what slammed into him. Even if he had, he would have had no chance to avoid being struck. All he knew was that he was losing his hold on the limb, and then his body was flooded with hot, debilitating pain.
The rest—
18
Loss
“Mattox!” Atty screamed and jumped to her feet.
Yulen half-turned to bar her from racing down the corridor, throwing open the dungeon door, and running out into that monster gale. He caught her around the waist and held on, knowing how strong she was. They’d never fought each other before. Not in earnest. But he knew she could easily best him by squirming out of his grasp if their struggle lasted any length of time.
“Atty,no!”
“He’s hurt! He’s…” She gasped for breath as she attempted to pry his fingers from where they clutched her tunic and belt. “I have to go to him! I have to help him! He needs our help!”
“It’s too dangerous! He’ll be okay! Atty, don’t—”
She shrieked, then collapsed onto the dirt floor as her voice broke into sobs. Reaching out, she wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck, her body shaking uncontrollably. Terrified, Yulen buried his face in her hair.
“Atty, what’s wrong?What’s wrong?”
“Mattox.” She choked, unable to say more, but her terror froze him in fear. He couldn’t bring himself to ask the question sitting horrifyingly between them. Instead, he drew her into his arms and held her as close to his heart as possible.
The door rattled as the wind howled on the other side and pounded on the wood, demanding to be let inside where they were huddled. Every so often, they heard the sound of something hitting the iron-reinforced portal. Distantly, the bell in the square continued to clang a warning.
“M-Mom?”
Yulen glanced over his shoulder to find Mistelle standing a few feet away. Tears streamed down her face. Behind her, Lucien looked like he was about to collapse.
Atty raised her face. “I c-can’t feel him any longer. I can’t…feel him.”
“Nooo!” Mistelle dropped to her knees, her hands raised in fists.
“Mom, please try again. Please look again!” Lucien pleaded.
Yulen felt his wife center herself. He silently prayed as she tried to connect with their son, but he quickly realized her efforts would be useless.
“Yul?” Her voice was weak, low, sad.
“We’ll find him, my love,” he promised. “We’ll send a squad out to search for him.”
