A boom and a flash of red came from above them. Vorik’s first thought was that Tibby had thrown another of the small explosives, but this was something else. He remembered the red dot as a second boom came from the top of a nearby support pyramid. Smoke filled the air, cracks sounded, and boulder-sized chunks of salt slammed down from above. One landed on Jhiton, knocking him flat. A smaller one clubbed Vorik on the shoulder, and he stumbled backward.
Tibby had set these explosives, not thrown them, placing them where they would bring down the ceiling. Vorik backpedaled as more of it came down, and the support post crumbled. Chunks of salt struck him, a cloud of fine white dust filling the air and hazing the view. That didn’t keep Vorik from seeing mounds and mounds of rock forming. Only his speed and utter fear gave him the wherewithal to escape being buried.
In the end, three explosives blew, and three supports collapsed, bringing a huge portion of the ceiling down to form a mountain where Vorik and Jhiton had been fighting. Where Jhiton had been injured and hadn’t escaped.
Vorik’s gut twisted, and he didn’t want to accept that. He wanted to believe that Jhiton had somehow rolled away from those boulders and that the sword wound hadn’t been as fatal as it had looked, but the truth refused to be pushed aside. Vorik hadn’t intended to, but he’d killed his brother.
As it grew quieter, the cloud of salt hanging in the air, half-shrouding the hills of boulders that blocked the view of Tibby and the wagon, Vorik grew aware of the thuds of the machinery continuing. Whatever that woman was doing, she was still doing it. He couldn’t see all the way up to the dark ceiling—thenewceiling—but could tell she hadn’t collapsed the entire section of the mine. Above the salt was probably solid rock—he’d seen the layers of it as he’d climbed down the shaft. Tibby had only dropped enough of the ceiling to protect herself from enemies as she worked. Enough to make a tomb for Jhiton.
Vorik gripped the hilt of his sword, angry with himself but frustrated with Tibby as well. He started toward the rock piles, intending to climb over them and put a stop to what she was doing, but Wreylith spoke into his mind, making him pause.
Whatever you are doing down there, it is not helping Queen Syla.
I haven’t found her yet.
She is not near you, but another of your people is near her. The rider with the silver scales.
Silver hair. Lesva.
Yes. She threatens Syla at this very moment.The dragon shared imagery with him of a different section of the mine, of old low and narrow tunnels, of carvings and statues.
Trusting there wasn’t much time if Lesva had already found Syla, Vorik ran off to look for her. He might be making a mistake—another one—in leaving Tibby and her machine, but Syla didn’t have time for him to delay. He had to reach her before Lesva finally succeeded in her goal of killing her.
28
Syla could sensethe artifact and see its silver light flowing through the open door of the chamber, so it hadn’t been destroyed yet, but she hurried forward, afraid Lesva was poised in there with a gargoyle-bone blade capable of destroying the shielder.
“Wait.” Fel shuffled his weapons so that he could grip Syla’s shoulder.
Syla didn’twantto wait. She needed to check on Abrya as well as the artifact but agreed that this felt like a trap. And then, she felt the familiar powerful presence of Lesva. Not inside the chamber but behind a statue. The silver-haired rider captain sprang toward them with a sword.
Fel rushed to intercept Lesva, blocking her from reaching Syla.
Though Syla wanted to help, she sensed that the shielder was in danger and, while Fel engaged with Lesva, ran toward the doorway. She forced herself to leave Abrya to check on later and rushed inside, her aunt’s bag gripped in her hand and an explosive drawn to throw.
The shielder chamber, reinforced with magic, was the one place in this low-ceilinged section of the mine where she might getawaywith throwing one, but she would have to be careful not to detonate it near the shielder itself. As sturdy as the artifacts were, she didn’t want to risk it.
A rider in black crouched with a gargoyle-bone blade raised, about to try to destroy the great silver orb mounted similarly to the shielder on Castle Island. Syla almost threw the explosive at him without hesitation, but he was so close to the artifact. Fortunately, he spun toward her instead of striking it. Unfortunately, he rushed toward her in the doorway and swept his blade at her throat.
Syla darted to the side, her new speed rather than any skill allowing her to escape what would have been a killing blow. That speed startled her though, and her shoulder clipped a wall. If not for the strap holding her spectacles on, they would have flown off.
If her enemy was surprised by her unexpected athleticism, he didn’t show it. He simply sprang after her again.
She ran around the shielder and into the chamber but bumped a statue. Afraid she would detonate the explosives by accident, she took a heartbeat to lower the bag to the floor, then spun and threw the remaining booby trap at her pursuer. It caught him in the chest.
As it boomed, white light flashing, Syla half-leaped and half tumbled behind the shielder. She hit the ground hard and rolled to the back wall, stunned for a moment as she stared up at a depiction of the full moon carved into the salt, the eyes of its benevolent god clear in the craters.
Something landed with a wet thud beside her. A portion of the man’s torso.
“Dear gods,” Syla rasped, rolling away, tears stinging her eyes. The atrocities were too much. This wasalltoo much.
Clangs came from right outside the door, and she made herself rise. She sensed that Lesva was out there, and Fel couldn’t defeat her, not alone.
Syla ran around the shielder and toward the door, stepping over body parts while trying not to look too closely at them. She glanced back, remembering the bag she’d left behind, but the dead man’s head had landed on it. Her gorge rose, and she wavered, telling herself she needed to go back and grab the explosives but horrified by the thought of rolling the bloody head aside.
Movement outside the doorway drew her attention. Lesva had turned to face Syla. There wasn’t time to go back for the explosives. She had to keep Lesva from entering the chamber and striking at the shielder.
Syla sprang outside, almost tripping over Abrya, and flung her palm against a flat panel integrated into a carving near the door. Only because she’d visited the mine before did she know it was there. Even as Syla’s palm touched it, activating the door closing mechanism, Lesva ran toward her. She jammed her boot against the door to keep it from shutting.
