Maylin's Gate (Book 3) (43 page)

She stepped up beside Brees and reached for her nature magic. Channeling a sliver of energy, she reached out with her mind and probed for any sign of plant life.

In response, a light tickle brushed her consciousness.

Goose bumps flared across her body and her head buzzed. "I feel something."

"What is it?" Jeremy said.

She'd felt the sensation before when greeting trees of the forest, but she dared not speak the words out loud. Not until she knew for certain. "I'm not sure. We need to get closer."

"I sense no elemental traps in this hallway," Brees said. The shaman walked forward taking well-planned steps.

Her heart pounded and her mouth dried. On rubbery legs, she followed Brees down the hallway.

The group walked along the corridor until it disappeared around a corner. Another hallway stretched into the distance. The group continued ahead until they reached a dead end.

"That's it?" Keely said. "We came all this way for a dead end?"

Brees stepped forward and placed an open palm on the smooth marble. The amulet dangling from the shaman's neck glowed silver. A series of strange words drifted from Brees's mouth.

The marble shimmered and a wall of flame appeared.

She gasped and lurched backward struck by the force of heat slamming into her face.

The flames licked outward and shrouded Brees in a fiery orange ball. Inside the fire, Brees's amulet glowed like a red-hot ember.

"Jeremy, can you help him?" She said.

"I already tried," Jeremy said. "The flames ate through my spirit shield."

The flames surrounding Brees grew brighter and the heat more intense.

"He'll burn alive," she said.

Ormond stared at Brees slack-jawed. "That's impossible. No shaman can hold that much energy alone."

Her hands balled into fists and she stopped short of striking the shaman. "Then help him."

Ormond lurched backward as if struck. "Me?"

"Who else?"

Ormond's lips pursed. "You'll have to lower the shield."

"Jeremy?"

The shield surrounding Ormond vanished.

With hand raised and amulet glowing, Ormond waddled toward the flame.

"Wasn't he born to handle situations like this?" Keely said.

She glanced between Keely and the roaring fire. "Every person has a limit. He's only one man."

As if in response, the flames vanished and Brees stood in the hallway unscathed. The amulet around the shaman's neck dimmed. Brees doubled over and pulled in short hard breaths. "It's clear."

Like a fisherman reeling in a catch, a presence tugged on her mind. The heartwood. Could it be real? "We're very near it now."

"It?" Jeremy said.

"The heartwood. I can feel it." Her voice trembled and tears welled in her eyes. "Just as we'd hoped. It's here."

Ormond's eyes widened. "You can't unleash that travesty on the world."

Jeremy stepped forward. Spirit roiled in the knight's outstretched palm. "You watch your mouth."

Ormond's face flushed and the shaman stepped backward. "Keep your dog on a leash."

"Jeremy, leave him," she said.

"Temper your expectations." Brees's jaw clenched shut. "Anything that belongs to the emperor is bound to come with hooks."

She pointed forward. "It's just around the bend."

Brees nodded, strode forward, and froze where the hallway turned.

She followed Brees barely able to breath. Heart pounding, she rounded the corner and gasped.

A room carved in pure crystal opened before her. Soft light, the color of an afternoon sky, spread across a sky-blue crystal ceiling. Dozens of clear crystal barrels filled with a transparent liquid lined one wall. Stacked from floor to ceiling, grain sacks, wooden barrels, and dried herbs lined the far wall. In the corner, a wooden workbench sat cluttered with a variety of odd mechanisms and trinkets. A worn wooden stool sat before the desk. Trace's workshop.

The unmistakable scent of fresh cinnamon filled the cool air. Tucked in behind the workbench, the red hue of a heartwood sapling peeked out above the surface.

She gasped and lumbered ahead on unsteady legs. She reached out, hand trembling, as tears rolled down her cheeks. She could save the forest. Save Ayralen itself.

"Wait," Brees said. "The room might be trapped."

The sapling thrummed inside her head and greeted her like a long-lost kindred spirit. The heartwood tree stood a few feet away beckoning her forward. She stretched out her fingertips to touch it. She laughed and glanced at the group filling the room. "We've done it."

Jeremy eased in behind her and slipped a hand around her waist. "Easy Danielle. You'll get yourself killed rushing in here."

"It's okay Jeremy." She peered into Jeremy's watery eyes and smiled. "The tree's calling for me."

She inched two steps forward, closed her eyes, and opened her mind to the tree.

The others filed in around her and held a silent vigil. Green energy rolled from her skin and surrounded her in an emerald shroud.

The sapling's consciousness buzzed inside her mind. She felt the tree's thrill of discovery. "It's excited to see me."

"Danielle, wait," Keely said stepping forward. "Something here isn't right."

A needle sharp pain pierced the back of her mind and she let loose an agony-filled scream.

The presence pulled on her magic reserves, stripping away energy.

The tree gulped in her energy feeding like a parasite. Its thin branches stretched outward doubling in size. Ripe fist-sized fruit hung heavy on its limbs.

"This can't be," she said voice trembling. She shook her head and screamed.

Jagged, needle-sharp leaves twisted from the tree's branches. Glistening red thorns sprouted along its limbs.

Her insides twisted and pain wracked her body. She dropped to her knees screaming and grabbed her head.

Limbs shot outward wrapping Keely and Arber in a thorny grip.

Spirit magic leaped from Jeremy's outstretched palm. Blue energy splattered against the tree's trunk and bounced away.

A branch raced forward and its limb turned into a liquidy red fist and pounded Jeremy's chest.

The shield knight let loose a hard grunt. Jeremy staggered backward and smashed into a barrel. The knight's mouth widened as if gasping for a breath that wouldn't come. A moment later, Jeremy's eyes closed.

She writhed on the ground, her body locked in seizure. Unchecked energy flowed from her body into the tree.

The tree's limbs pierced a crystal barrel and drained its liquid contents. The overpowering stench of cinnamon filled the air. The heartwood's trunk groaned before doubling in size and towering a dozen feet over the group.

Ormond turned to run when a thorny limb circled the shaman's neck and yanked. Blood poured from Ormond's open mouth. The tree pulled the writhing shaman across the floor. "No." Ormond's word came out in a strained gurgle.

The tree trunk opened. Like a nest of vipers, hundreds of bright-red thorns glistened inside.

With a last scream of desperation, Ormond disappeared inside the trunk. The opening slammed shut and the screaming stopped.

Outside the room, Brees stood frozen, staring slack-jawed.

Her gaze locked on Brees. "Help me," she said in a whimper. "I'm dying."

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Mistros

"I think we're here." Ronan wiped away the perspiration beading on his forehead. He leaned against a makeshift walking stick and squinted toward the horizon. Three days of hard travel from the sansan camp and his feet screamed for mercy.

Tongue flickering, General Demos scanned the horizon. "This place.... It feels wrong."

"The sansan told us we'd reach the ruins after three days. This is the third day." He pointed toward a withered leafless tree on the horizon. "See the acacia tree? Look to its right. I see the edge of an old building or structure of some kind."

General Demos nodded. "I see it. I also taste death. The sansan are right to avoid this place."

"Do you have a better idea?" he said. "We're wasting time out here, and we can't move forward until I remove whatever is blocking my magic. This place is our last hope."

"I understand," General Demos said. "But, this place takes life. It will take yours and mine too."

"We’ll have to make sure that doesn’t happen," he said. "Come on." He strode ahead.

Brown ankle-high grass whisked at his boots.

His ears perked, but he heard nothing except for his and the general's stride. Not the chirping of crickets or the hum of cicadas. The savanna beneath the twilight sky sounded dead.

The sansan guides warned him, but he'd not taken their words literally. How could miles of grassland be empty of all life? At least they hadn't feared another animal attack, and the faceless man had kept away. For that, he was grateful.

He didn't need General Demos's warning to feel ill at ease. His skin crawled and his instincts told him to turn and leave, but he had nowhere left to go.

After fifteen minutes of walking they reached the ruins. A crumbling pyramid peeked out above the dead grass. A silent soldier basking in the early evening sunlight.

Behind him, General Demos paused and gazed on the temple. The general's eyes narrowed.

"What's wrong?"

"We should make camp here," General Demos said. "As night falls, whatever haunts these ruins will hold more power. We will find relative safety on the plains."

The idea of traipsing through haunted ruins at night made his stomach spin. "That's the best idea I've heard all day."

General Demos's gaze lingered on the temple.

He nodded toward the nearby acacia tree. "I'll see about collecting some firewood."

General Demos nodded without meeting his gaze.

The general appeared shaken. The idea left him feeling unsettled. He slipped free his leather pack, eased it onto the grass, and headed for the nearby acacia tree.

A blur flashed in the corner of his eye.

His flesh prickled and he whirled toward the presence. Nothing. His own imagination fueled by the wrongness of this place. He inhaled a steadying breath and turned again toward the acacia.

A figure clad in black stood motionless beneath the leafless limbs. Shadows left the figure's face shrouded from view.

He froze not daring to move a muscle and held his breath. Waves of fear flashed behind his eyes and he struggled against the instinct to run.

A hand gripped his shoulder and he whirled, reaching for his blade.

General Demos stood motionless holding a lit torch. Welcoming fire chased away the nearby shadows while inky smoke curled into the air.

Tongue flickering, the general's gaze drifted from the acacia tree to his. "Perhaps we should keep moving."

He spun around to face the figure.

Empty space appeared where he’d seen the faceless man.

He whirled and faced General Demos. "Did you see him?"

"I did."

"Why didn't he attack us? There's nothing here to stop him," he said.

"Perhaps this place lies outside his reach?"

His shoulders sagged. "I think you're right. We should move on," he said in a low throaty tone.

General Demos handed him his leather pack. The general turned and slid through the grass before rounding the ruined temple.

His nerves calmed and he followed leaning into the walking stick.

Waist high grass rustled around General Demos while the men trudged deeper into the ruins.

Nine stone pyramids dotted the high grass ahead. At the ruin's center, a stone pyramid rose higher than those surrounding it.

General Demos studied the structure from bottom to top before nodding. "Yes. That's it."

"What do you mean?"

"I wasn't sure at first," General Demos said. "But, now I am. Well... I'm as sure as any man can be." The general's arm spread outward. "This place. I've studied it."

"Studied it?"

"A sect of ancient baerinese once inhabited this place." The general gestured toward the crumbling pyramids. "Six structures stand in the outer triangle, and three more in the inner. All guarding the central temple."

"Guarding?"

"The ancients found strength in the symbol. They believed it protected them from evil."

He surveyed the line of temples, "Each side looks..."

"Symmetrical?" General Demos said.

"Yes. Even after centuries of neglect."

"I've seen drawings, but this is something else," General Demos said.

"What's the central spire used for?"

"Rituals. Sacrifices. These people prayed to an angry God."

His stomach sank. "That explains the feeling of dread."