His sword was longer, his arm longer. I parried, barely nudging the tip of his blade to the side. I retreated a tight step, flowing into another guard, then another and another.
Now it was I who had little chance to retaliate. I moved on pure instinct, my muscles remembering, my instincts reacting far quicker than my conscious mind.
But I was tiring and wounded, and adrenaline could not keep the pain at bay forever.
When our blades next locked, I had to yield. My muscles screamed as I disengaged, deflected a wild blow and darted behind a statue. My savior, poised with a pitcher of water on one broad hip, was only saved from a thrust through the throat by the fact that she was, obviously, granite.
I heard a ping, unexpectedly light, as Wake’s blade broke. I would have pressed my advantage, but Wake threw himself at the statue with all the forethought of an enraged bull.
It toppled with athumpandcrackthat made the floor shake and shattered the tiles. I barely made it out of the way in time, blocked a stunted, graceless stab from his broken blade and tripped on a piece of stone. I caught myself on the edge of an ancient sundial, once large enough to park a carriage atop, and fled.
No footsteps followed. Instead, Wake vanished into the shadow of a hallway.
I sprinted on, avoiding shadows where he might reappear and reaching into my pocket for the artifact.
“Rushforth!” Moran’s voice rippled across the chamber.
I ducked behind another lavish façade, hollow with carvings, and watched him stride into the room. He still carried Baffin’s legendary sword.
I was not stupid enough to duel a Starlit mage, let alone expose myself to that deadly blade. My head was pounding now, my breathing ragged.
Surreptitiously, I tucked the blue orb into the intricate façade in front of me. Then I burst out with the last of my strength, sprinting for another set of doors. A skew of time grazed me, tugging at my hair and skirt like a wave of water, then I was free again.
Another exhibit, more glass cabinets, a grand doorway guarded by winged stone statues of mythological beings. I avoided the shadows, few though they now were, and—
I burst into the foyer and skidded to a stop directly in front of Grand General Baffin. He stood in apparently heated conference with Detective Supford who, looking as though he had just received a verbal lashing, still had a gag about his neck like a kerchief and was rubbing rope-raw wrists.
Shock flicked across the Grand General’s expression, but only momentarily. Supford’s own face shifted to something indecipherable, save for the tightness around his eyes that warned he could, or would, not help me now.
A dozen rifles levelled at my chest.
I raised my empty hands.
“Grand General,” I wheezed. “So good to see you. I was just beginning to miss my box.”
Doors of rock
and gates of stone
Keys of gold
and iron bone
Threads of ebony
ever entwined
Eyes that open
on a world divine
INSCRIPTION FROMRIEMONITABLET09,
LANDSDOWNTROVE;
TRANSLATED FROMOLDARASI BYC. C. OGGLECOTHE,
UNIVERSITY OFGREATERLORVA, 1864
