Elle slowed as she neared it, not wanting to run headlong into the bubbling mud and the dangers growing there. As she crossed the threshold, she ducked to the left, to where a pair of copper boats were beached on the stone apron. Next to them, a rack held an entire outfit of leather, made to cover a gardener. She ignored it all and dropped to a knee before a row of stone-corked jars, each a foot tall. Earlier, she had thought they were primitive canteens, clay water jugs.
But they’re not—hopefullythey’re not.
She slid one closer, struggled with its stone cork, but she had no better luck than she had with the amphora pot. She grumbled and resorted to Omryn’s technique. She grabbed a rock and smashed the neck off the jug in one swing. The cork and the top of the jug bounced and rattled into the mud. Some of the container’s contents—a blue-green oil—splashed out.
She sniffed at it, appreciating the wintergreen scent. “This sure as hell isn’t water.”
Anna joined her. “Will this help Jason?”
“Only one way to find out.”
Elle grabbed a fresh jug, shook it to make sure it was full, and passedit to Anna. She considered giving the nun a second jar, but her thin limbs struggled with just the one.
Frustrated and scared, Elle hauled a new one for herself, while cradling the open jar under her other arm.
I can carry two.
She didn’t want to be frugal. Jason was deep into his affliction. She didn’t know how much antidote he might require at this point. Unfortunately, the ancients had never carved a formulary of dosages into a wall.
They should have.
“Let’s go.” Elle stood up, hefting her two jugs.
They set off again, moving slower with their burden. Each laden pot weighed more than thirty pounds. Elle’s heart pounded with urgency. She pictured Jason’s limbs quaking, while blurring his features with young Fadd’s.
We can’t lose him, too.
She considered abandoning the jar she had broken into, to lighten her load, so they could move faster. But she hugged it tighter, knowing Jason would not likely last another lap back to the garden if she needed more. She planned on bathing his entire body in this elixir and forcing as much down his throat as she could without drowning him.
I need every drop.
They half-trotted, half-plodded their way up the tunnel.
As they rounded a curve toward the exit, hushed voices echoed back to them. She flinched, fearing she was already too late and that Harper and Omryn had come to tell them as much. Then shouting erupted, followed by rifle fire, and heavy blasts of a shotgun.
Someone found the others.
Elle paused, but Anna continued ahead, plainly intent on delivering the antidote even if it meant getting caught. Already committed at this point, Elle followed. She couldn’t let Anna go alone.
They passed around the curve, and lights shone brightly at the end, illuminating two men in body armor. The newcomers stared toward the magnetite chamber. Elle had no trouble identifying the two, especially the giant.
Anna recognized them, too. “Sychkin...”
The vehemence she poured into each syllable of the archpriest’s name was palpable. This was the man who had killed her brother, Igor. Maybe not directly, but he was definitely as much to blame as the one who had pulled the trigger.
Unfortunately, that anger was not just tangible to Elle.
Yerik turned toward the tunnel. He either heard Anna or spotted their arrival. His scarred features hardened, and he swung a huge pistol toward them.
Elle dropped a jug. Before it crashed to the floor, she grabbed for her holstered sidearm with her free hand. Still, her reaction was too slow.
Another was not.
Anna held forth her yellow flare gun and fired at the pair. In her fury, the nun’s aim was poor. The flare struck the floor, ricocheted off a wall, and bounced into the next chamber with a flare of crimson fire.
Still, it proved enough.
Yerik bellowed, covering his face, already gnarled by an old burn. Panicked, unnerved by the flare’s fire, he tumbled backward. He snatched at Sychkin for help, but it was no use. Gravity had hold of his massive frame.
