And the sword plunged down into Cullen’s chest.
44
Eira screamed with agony. With fear. And, yet, despite her rage, there was still no power.
A burst of fire immolated the Pillar. Noelle rushed over. Cullen was limp on top of Eira, the sword unraveling into threads of light that floated away from Cullen’s body and vanished into the umbra of the under coliseum.
“Cullen, Cullen!” Eira shouted. “Alyss!”
Alyss was there in an instant. But she wasn’t alone. Lavette was there, too. Varren was at her side, knuckles white as he clutched Lavette’s hand.
“What happened?” Lavette demanded, brow furrowed, eyes panicked.
“I…I…” Her magic hadn’t worked. She’d tried and it hadn’t come when she’d called. Something as simple as a shield—one of the most basic things Eira knew how to make—wouldn’t form. “Alyss,” she said weakly.
Alyss was immediately in cleric mode. Her hands were on Cullen. She was using her power to try and stabilize him—mend what she could. Eira knew she was. But she couldn’t feel a thing. The thrumming of Alyss’s power was gone, invisible to Eira’s senses.
What had happened to her?
“Take them and go ahead,” Graff said to Ducot as he cradled Sorrah in his arms.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“I’m not leaving Sorrah.” Graff held onto his limp and lifeless teammate with a vise-like grip.
“She’s gone. Luca’s gone, too. Don’t die here with them!” Ducot snapped. His face was twisted into a monstrous mask of hurt and rage. Eira wondered if, in his teammates, Ducot saw the people Ulvarth’s Swords of Light had killed years ago on the day he got his scars. “You have to—”
“I can buy you time, all of you,” Graff insisted. “You survived Ulvarth before, you have to survive again.”
“We need to get him better clerical supplies,” Alyss said, summoning Eira’s attention back to Cullen. He looked as lifeless as Sorrah did. But if Alyss still thought there was hope then so would Eira. “I can barely get him stable here, but it won’t be for long.”
“I know where to go.” Eira stood. The world swayed, her vision tunneled, and bile tickled the back of her throat. There were distant echoes of footsteps reverberating toward them. More Pillars were on their way. “Ducot, can you get us to the docks?”
“I can, but…” Ducot still hesitated.
With one hand and a pulse of magic, Graff summoned a tunnel ahead of them that connected to another hall. With a different pulse the tunnel they were in closed around them.
“I’ll keep them at bay as long as I can; you get them out of here. They can’t make it without your magic to bore them a tunnel, not with her busy healing him,” Graff said to Ducot, giving a nod in Alyss’s direction.
“I hate you.” Ducot pulled his friend close, giving him a tight embrace.
“Frustrating you until the very end. What else would you expect?” Magic pulsed at their left. Graff pulled away and raised a hand. The wall wavered, fighting between two morphi—trapped in neither what it was nor what it could be. “Go, quickly!”
Ducot led the way. Eira, Alyss, Noelle, Varren and Lavette all worked to help carry Cullen, taking turns as needed. They broke away from time to time, fending off Pillars that sprang from all sides. The once orderly halls of the coliseum had been reduced to an endless maze of blood and blades that had no end. They would be picked off one by one, relentlessly, by a seemingly infinite number of Pillars.
Just when her despair peaked, sunlight hit Eira’s face. They raced into an open area that arced around the coliseum. Spectators ran and screamed. One woman was cut down where she stood by a Pillar who turned on Eira next. A flash of Lightspinning collapsed on his throat and, with a gurgle of blood, he died instantly.
“Eira!”
“Olivin?” Eira blinked.
He rushed over. Blood and dust covered the better part of him, much as it did her. “Have you seen Yonlin?”
She shook her head, choking on words.
Olivin cursed, looking around frantically.
“I’m sure he made it out,” Eira said weakly, not quite believing herself. “We’re going somewhere to get supplies, come—”
