Exhausted, Syla wanted to slump against the door as Lesva and Vorik battled, but she knelt by Abrya instead. She was so still that Syla touched her throat, afraid Lesva had killed the lady after forcing her to open the door, but her heart was beating. Abrya didn’t stir at the touch, however, and Syla worried she would be trampled by the combatants.
As they’d once done on a cliff in the rain, Lesva and Vorik fought, gargoyle-bone blades a blur as they clashed. The combatants threw in kicks as they danced about, dodging and lunging, mesmerizing. Before, Vorik had seemed the stronger fighter, but he’d also hesitated, not committed to killing the woman who’d once been his lover. Would he hesitate again? He knew Lesva was doing what his people wanted, and he… he was probably disobeying orders again.
“I love you too, Vorik,” Syla called, in case it mattered, in case it would make him believe his sacrifice—hisbetrayal—was worth it.
He glanced at her but only for a second. Grunting and snarling, Lesva attacked him with unrelenting fury.
Movement to the side made Syla look away. Fel was pushing himself into a sitting position, looking blearily around for his weapons. Blood ran from the side of his head and a split lip. The tip of his ear was missing, but that didn’t keep him from detecting a new threat, and he turned, squinting into the gloom.
Two men in Storm Guard uniforms were creeping down the tunnel toward them.
Syla circled the combatants and rushed to Fel’s side, afraid she would need to protect him. Along the way, she glimpsed his mace and grabbed it.
“Captain Vorik!” a man cried in dismay.
“He’s attacking Lesva,” the other blurted. “Did he turn traitor?”
Vorik didn’t respond, though a flash of pain that had nothing to do with wounds or the battle crossed his face. This time, his betrayal would have witnesses. He probably wouldn’t be able to return to his people.
Syla crouched and pressed Fel’s mace into his hand. Vorik had made his choice, and she had to hope he won. Otherwise, she and Fel would be in trouble.
Lesva glanced at the men, one cradling a crossbow in his arms as they approached, and she snarled, “Shoot him!”
“That’s not allowed by the rules of the duel to which you challenged me,” Vorik said, a little breathless but calm.
“It’s allowed to killtraitors,” Lesva panted. “Senzok, shoot him!”
“I can’t get off a clear shot, Captain,” the crossbowman called and glanced at his comrade. They’d stopped twenty paces down the tunnel, and neither looked like he wanted to rush forward and attack Vorik.
His fellow soldier pointed at Syla, and their expressions firmed. They would have no trouble attackingher.
From Fel’s side, she rose to her feet, hands spread, wishing she hadn’t lost the remaining explosives.
A gasp came from behind her, then a thump. Syla risked glancing back as Fel struggled to rise beside her, to defend her once more. Lesva had fallen, disarmed, her hand clasped to her gut and blood streaming between her fingers.
Those fingers twitched, and she groaned, so she wasn’t dead, and Syla hated to worry about her coming after her again in the future, but… she couldn’t blame Vorik for not slaying one of his own people. Nor could she stomach the idea of slipping over there and finishing her off. She could barely handle that she’d killed people in self-defense. Besides, she doubted Vorik would allow her to walk over there with the magical equivalent of a dagger in her hand. Nor did she think the two stormers who’d arrived would allow that.
Looking as exhausted as Syla felt, Vorik walked toward her, though his focus was on the two stormers. The man with the crossbow had it pointed at Syla but watched Vorik warily, not looking like he knew if he should shift his aim or not.
Vorik drew even with Syla, standing at her side, his sword lowered. Only then did Syla notice that it had grown quiet. The drill was no longer banging away in the distance, nor did she hear the hammer blows that she’d caught earlier.
Unease crept into her. Had stormers followed the drill noise back to Tibby and found her? And stopped her?
Or…
Vorik cocked his head, as if he heard something. More stormers coming?
No, it was water that flowed down the passageway toward them, curling around the legs of the two men and then reaching Syla and the others.
Confusion furrowed Vorik’s brow. “What’s happening?”
“We need to get out of here.” Syla remembered her aunt saying it would take a while for the mine to fill, but panic and claustrophobia made her voice tight with fear when she added, “Now.”
Vorik didn’t know where the cold water curling about his ankles had come from, but, even if he hadn’t seen the worry in Syla’s round eyes, he would have guessed the threat that it represented.
“What happened?” Tems, one of the two stormers who’d arrived, waved at the water.
“It’s from the lake.” Syla helped Fel to his feet, wrapping an arm around his waist to support him, but she looked to the unconscious lady with distress twisting her face.
