Much too hot, Braiden thought. And what happened when you combined fire with rock? Magma, wasn’t it? The stuff that volcanoes were filled with?
“Back in the old days of the burrowfolk,” Warren said, panting for breath, “I heard that it was the custom to shear one’s fur in times of warmer weather. Of course, that had more to do with when the burrowfolk actually lived above ground. I couldn’t imagine how I’d look. Sure, it must feel so much cooler on the skin. But what’s a hare without his hair?”
Braiden chuckled weakly, reaching for his rucksack to find his flask. As he reached over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of the infuriatingly unruffled Elder Bahul, who hadn’t slowed at all in his step, and, in fact, appeared completely unperturbed by the slowly growing heat.
Braiden licked his lips and allowed himself a small mouthful of cool water from his flask. Not nearly enough to sustain him or slake his thirst.
Gods, if only they’d had more time. He might have considered preparing more for the trip down by stitching cooling moongrass enchantments into a new set of accessories to help them stave off the heat. But there had been no time to prepare, much less sit down to stitch and weave when they knew that their friend was in danger.
“I know we’ve only been walking for a few hours,” Augustin said, “but if there are no objections, I propose we rest for a spell.”
“A capital idea,” Elyssandra blurted out, almost as if she’d been waiting for someone else to suggest it. She reached for herhairpins again. “Perhaps I can set down the cottage, and we can have a nice little rest.”
Braiden dragged the back of his arm against his damp upper lip. Yes, surely they could spare an hour to get their energy back. There was no way to go and rescue Bones if they themselves were reduced to piles of bones.
But before Elyssandra could even pull the hair comb free from her hair, a loud roaring came from behind them.
Braiden froze. It wasn’t the stomping of some great rockwalker, no shuddering in the earthen tunnel around them. But what did rush down the tunnel was a sensation of almost stifling heat. And what was that orange glow coming from far behind them?
“Look out,” Warren said, straightening up, fighting against his exhaustion. “It’s one of those firewalkers come to harass us again.”
Braiden crooked his fingers, steeling himself to conjure another smothering blanket. Several hells — he’d made that joke about the squirts to himself earlier, but he really should have asked Mother Magda for a couple just to see how they would work against the elementals.
But something nagging at the back of Braiden’s brain told him that this wasn’t just another stray firewalker. For one thing, an elemental’s fireball would have soared clear through the passage. It was a missile, after all, as speedy and relentless as a fired arrow or a launched cannonball.
A wide gout of fire flooded the end of the passage, then receded again.
“What was that?” Elyssandra cried out. “I can’t send my hairpins down that way. They’ll be destroyed.”
“I’m not sure what it is,” Augustin said. “Perhaps a different manifestation of the elementals. Either way, our only choices are to stand our ground or run deeper down the dungeon.”
Warren twirled his quarterstaff in much the same way as he had before, the wood whirring into a blur before him. Braiden thought that the steady breath of wind it produced was quite nice and cooling.
“Then we stand our ground,” Warren said. “It’s going to take more than a pair of measly firewalkers to — ”
He fell silent once the gout of fire cleared, making the source of the flame clearly evident even from where they were standing. It was a brass cube, spinning menacingly in mid-air.
“It’s a messenger,” Elyssandra hissed.
“Or is itthemessenger?” Braiden said. “The same one that the demon sent after us?”
“One and the same,” the cube droned in its menacing monotone. “Did you miss me? I’m certainly not going to miss you, once I’ve reduced you to ashes.”
Augustin turned to the others with a wild look in his eyes. Quietly, he said, “I suggest we run.”
Braiden hung on to his rucksack and took off like a bolt. He remembered well how quickly the messenger could zing through the air, how it had, in fact, ricocheted merrily around the shop at high speed and with sheer destructive force.
It had also demonstrated its ability to superheat its body — but to actually launch flame out of thin air? Where was the fire even coming from? Perhaps a slit or an opening of some kind? Braiden was too busy running to keep himself unroasted and uncooked to check.
Curse that demon Valefour and whatever it was he wanted from them, and curse the brass messenger, too. Several hells, this thing was like a fireball and a cannonball, all in one.
But shouldn’t it have caught up to them by now?
Hugging his rucksack to his chest, Braiden risked a glance. The cube was advancing far more slowly than Braiden knew it to be capable of. But why?
Even Augustin wasn’t moving as quickly to get out of range, a similar quizzical expression creasing his eyes and forehead. They exchanged a look, shrugged, then both stopped to face their attacker.
Elder Bahul sprinted silently past them, the contents of his chest rattling and clinking as he jogged at a steady and annoyingly comfortable pace. His retreating footsteps and clattering treasure chest echoed temptingly down the passage behind them.
