She raised her head to look up at the Hall. Swirls of coal-colored smoke were drifting upwards, carrying with them the stench of burning.
She knew she ought to move, but she was too spent to be able to do anything about it. She could do nothing to subdue the fires, either. She was not an Elemental mage. She could not command water at all, and it would take more than the little energy she had left to even try.
If she did not move, the Imperial mages would find her. She was still needed inside. Using the last of her strength, she made her way, half walking, half-crawling across the open space until she reached the Wards. This time, they let her in, the writhing snakes apparently satisfied that she was one of them.
She tried to remember the location of the secret entrance, but she could not focus enough to retrieve Darcy’s instructions. Since French mages were in the front, she stumbled towards the Postern at the back.
And slammed right into Darcy.
***
AS SOON AS THE ROPEsnapped, the sphere started moving, much more quickly than Darcy had expected. The Elemental mages were now using a different method to transport it. Much like they moved the smaller fireballs, they were using a Slingshot spell.
Darcy had gambled and lost. But he would fight to the last. Gathering all his strength, every last part of it, he prepared to launch an Ice spell. He would trap the fireball in a block of ice and hold it there. Even if it fell – and chances were that it would – it would not cause as much harm as a burning fireball. It was a painstaking spell. He would have to form the ice and wrap it around the fireball quickly enough for it not to melt ahead of time. At best it was a stopgap measure to try and reduce the damage.
Suddenly, he felt Elizabeth’s magic burst outwards and upwards to envelop the sphere. The sphere bucked and resisted but could not escape. Her spell held fast as the fire was deprived of the air it needed to sustain it. Then the fire broke through. He held his breath, struggling against despair, trying to think of the next step.
Incredibly, the sphere broke apart. He stared in wonder as it disintegrated into a shower of fire.
Darcy sank down into the soft earth just as the warning bells started to ring inside Founder’s Hall. All his energy was spent, but his heart was swelling fit to burst with pride at his remarkable wife. She had saved the Hall.
Then a burning fragment hurtled towards him. He managed to roll out of the way in the nick of time, grunting as his arm was jarred against a rock. The fragment landed exactly where he had been a few seconds ago. The charred odor of burning grass filled his nostrils and he began to cough as smoke seeped into his lungs.
Then he heard the crunch of an object striking not too far away from him, followed by a cry. He roused himself from his stupor. Elizabeth? Had someone attacked her? He could sense her magic close by. Darcy forced himself to get up, to try and reach her. The hoarse words that followed undoubtedly belonged to a man, and they were not in English. It was one of the attackers.
Darcy did not stop to think. The words to the Restraining spell sprung to his lips. He waited to make sure it had taken shape, then started running, casting it in the direction of the figure lying on the ground. He had to stop the mage from renewing his attack.
When he reached him, the man was barely conscious. Darcy could not tell whether it was because his strength had been used up by his magic, or if he had suffered a blow. There was blood on the man’s head.
He checked that the Restraining spell was working before he approached any closer. He needed to get the Imperial mage to the Hall while he was unconscious so he could be restrained, but how on earth was Darcy going to drag him there? If Darcy left for help, the other mages might rescue him. The closest way into the Hall was through the secret tunnel, but Darcy was not about to disclose its existence.
As he stood there, looking down at the mage and trying to get his admittedly muddled brain to think of a solution, somebody slammed into him and knocked him to the ground.
“Darcy? Thank heavens! I am so sorry! I did not mean to—” She broke off as she spotted the mage in the uniform of the French Imperial Mages.
She had turned up at the perfect moment. Clever Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth. We need to get inside before they launch the next attack. And you have to help me take him inside.”
She nodded. “How do you want me to do it?”
“I suppose you can take his legs. They are probably lighter.”
It did not take long to discover that Elizabeth was not much help. She was barely able to walk herself. The mage was a dead weight, and they could barely lift him off the ground. In the end they half rolled him, half dragged him to the postern.
The soldiers keeping watch outside the small entrance recognized Darcy immediately. Two of them came to take hold of the prisoner and carry him up to the gate.
“We need to get him inside.”
Elizabeth slumped down onto the cobble stones and began to laugh weakly. Darcy ignored her. She was lightheaded. Understandably so, after she had expended so much energy on stopping the sphere. He would assist her once he had seen the French prisoner safely in the hands of someone more qualified to deal with him.
But when he ordered the guards to open the gate and carry the prisoner through, they simply looked at each other and shook their heads, their eyes fixed on the French uniform.
“Sorry, sir. We cannot allow a French mage inside Founder’s Hall.”
“By whose authority?”
“Well, sir. It stands to reason.”
