North Star Guide Me Home (55 page)

When the strike came, it was swift and brutal, a force like a thousand hammers on his shields, like a mountain pounding on his back and neck and head. The pressure was immense, the heat … he was roasting alive.

The Akharian mages advanced on him, hidden behind shields so thick they were all but opaque. But the way they moved, the caution with which they drew near …

They were afraid of him.

If he’d had the breath to spare, Rasten would have laughed. They were afraid of him! He’d tricked them once, and now they were anticipating another feint, another dodge.

Well, they’d get a surprise, alright. He had no strength to fight them, and once his shields gave out their attack would crush him like a bug. All he could do was try to hold out … hold out long enough to let little Ricca deal with the Wolf men so that the king could get away.

He could hold on. It was the one useful skill Kell had taught him. He could last until the very end of his strength. They’d have to work for it, and they’d never dare leave him alive behind them, not after seeing for themselves the havoc he could wreak.

When the first of the men died in the room behind him the power came like a breath of life, a snatched gulp of cool, clean air. It was followed by another, and another, sweet rivulets of power that helped push away the relentless heat and the roar of the Akharians’ attack. It gave him room to breathe, let him lift his head from the tuck he’d been forced into as his shield gave way under the blows.

But then it ended, petering out. The men were dead.

It came as a relief. There had been no guarantee that the girl would unlock her powers — she was very young for it. His power hadn’t manifested until he was twice her age. But Cam could slip away now, climb the last few levels and find Sierra. He just had to keep these two occupied a little longer.

Inside his head, Sierra was shouting, raging at him, but Rasten walled her out.
Forgive me, Sirri. I do love you, though I know I haven’t shown it the way a man should. But I have a debt to pay …

Isidro stared at the stones Nirveli had pressed into his hand. ‘What?’ he said. ‘What are these for?’

She gave him an incredulous look. ‘Don’t you know what they are?’ At his blank expression, she threw her hands up with a gesture of frustration. ‘By all the Gods, you’re surrounded by treasures and you have no idea! Here,’ she wrapped both her hands around his, ‘I’ll show you.’

Sierra pressed her palms to her forehead and
screamed
at him.
RASTEN! You son of a bitch! Tigers take you, I know you can hear me!

Her horse danced beneath her, made nervous by the power rippling over her skin, as well as the smoke in the air and the sound of axes thudding into the stout wooden doors. Within the stables, the shouts and cries of the trapped men were faint compared to the crackling of the flames.

The gates of the fortress had been left ajar, just wide enough for a man to slip through. They’d wasted precious moments watching thick black smoke rise behind the walls while Ardamon sent men in to scout it out.

The two Akharians had simply forced the Wolf garrison into the stables and sealed them in there before putting the moss-chinked logs and tarred shingles to the torch.

Did they know she was here? Perhaps they cared more about revenging themselves upon the Wolf Clan than feeding her power. Or maybe they meant to delay her, either in waiting for the flames to reach them, or in making them stop to break the men loose.

There had been no question whether to free them. Ardamon’s men had been kith and kin of the Wolf soldiers not so long ago, and there was a world of difference between facing former allies on a battlefield and letting them be burned alive.

As the door gave way to splinters and the terrified shouts of the trapped men gave way to cries of relief, Sierra squeezed her eyes shut, forbidding herself from thinking of the power she could have raised. Her stomach twisted within her at the thought. She’d watched folk burned alive, she’d felt the echoes of their agony, turned dim by the flush of power that came with it. She never wanted to feel it again … but what if it made the difference in getting Cam out alive or finding his body in the rubble? What if it made the difference in pulling
Rasten
out alive?

The smoke was suffocating her. There was too much to think about, too many questions, not enough answers, and not enough power!
Rasten!
she cried again, pleading with him to answer.

Then, there came a humming in her head, and she smelled the ocean.
Sirri?

Isidro! You have to help me, I can’t reach him! The Akharians have him down and I don’t know where Cam is, I don’t know if he’s alright, and I don’t have enough power to reach him.
She was burning through it, no matter how hard she willed herself to be calm.
What do I do? Help me!

Sirri, slow down, I can barely understand you. Take a deep breath, keep breathing. I have power, Nirveli showed me a way. Can you feed it to him?

I can’t! He’s locked me out! I can’t break through his shields, I never could.

She felt him take a deep breath.
Alright. Hold on, let me try.

Isidro closed his eyes and reached for Rasten. The path was blocked by a sheer wall, as smooth and sheer as wind-polished ice. No matter. They parted before him like ringmail splitting open under a bodkin. It was a question of strength, he realised in a flash of inspiration. Rasten and Sierra were both immensely strong, their power reaching above his by orders of magnitude. Their shields were a fortress, built of massive walls capable of withstanding the pounding of catapults, but the coarse and heavy cords of power they used couldn’t keep out the fine, sharp strands of energy he could form. Was this Kell’s secret? Had he begun as a minor mage, refused entry to the military corps, only to grow dissatisfied with academia when it failed to satisfy his hunger for pain and humiliation?
Not now,
Isidro told himself.
Time to think on that question later.

He pushed through the shields, and found himself pressed against stone, unable to move, struggling to breathe.

He felt Rasten’s surprise.
I-Isidro?

I’ve brought you power,
Isidro said, and relaxed his controls on the store he held. It flooded through him like liquid fire, like lightning collared and tamed.

But what about Sirri? She needs it.

She’s fine for the moment. Take it, Rasten, get on your feet and fight. There are two more Akharian mages between you and her, don’t leave her to face them alone. She needs you, the king needs you.

He felt Rasten draw a deep breath, and then he snatched at the power with a force Isidro couldn’t resist. At once, the pressure eased as his shields pushed the Akharian attack back.
More!
Rasten said.
I need more!

Isidro opened his eyes to find two more stones in his hand. Delphine and Nirveli were prying stones from the Akharian chain and piling them up in front of him, while more soldiers brought in hacked up lengths of it. There were already a dozen stones piled into the basket at his feet.
It’s coming.

Ricca crouched on her heels, her arms wrapped around her head. Marima seemed frozen to the spot, gaping in horror at the slaughter.

The noise from the next chamber was immense still, like the roar of a waterfall mingled with the ravenous crackle of a raging fire. There was heat, too, like the pervasive warmth of a forge. What in the hells was going on back there? Cam had no way to know, and even less of an idea of how he could help.

Sheathing his sword, Cam stepped across the bloody smear that had once been a man, and scooped Ricca up. She tensed against him, lifting her head to regard him with a baleful glare. ‘Hush now,’ he told her, ‘I’m your friend, you remember me, don’t you? And here’s your mama, safe and sound.’

At the sight of Marima, Ricca squirmed in his grip and held her arms out to her. Marima took her automatically, settling the child on her hip.

‘Where did they go?’ Ricca said.

Cam spoke before Marima could find her voice. ‘You chased them away. You did a good job, Ricca, you kept your mama safe, and me too. Thank you.’

As he spoke, Cam circled around the chamber, avoiding the slippery gore until he reached the door through which Rasten had vanished. Here, the heat was even worse, and Cam licked his fingers to touch the iron ring of the latch.

The metal
hissed
, and he flinched back before it could burn. Pulling his sleeve over his hand, he tried the door anyway, but it wouldn’t even rattle in the frame.

Marima edged towards the other door. ‘He said we should go on without him.’

Cam took a step back. ‘So he did.’ He glanced around at them, scowling. Ricca’s eyes were closed, her head lolling on Marima’s shoulder. The child was worn out.
I’m not surprised,
Cam thought.
I’d be ready for a nap, too, if I’d just killed a dozen men in the space of a few moments.

From beyond the wall came a massive, percussive blast, a noise like the earth itself was bursting open, and the room shook, trembling right down to the roots of the earth, threatening to knock Cam off his feet.

He turned to the door again, and bit his lip. He knew from watching Sierra that Rasten wouldn’t have gained much power from the men who’d died, and he was wounded to boot. He couldn’t say what Rasten’s chances were, and Marima and the child were depending on him to get them out.

Cam knotted his hands into fists. ‘Alright,’ he said, ‘follow me.’

He slipped into the stairwell with Marima at his heels. The noise dropped away with another wall between them, and the air here was cooler and more fresh, smelling of sunlight and earth rather than the tingling, clay-like scent of the deep underground.

Cam took one look back at the sealed door, and started up the stairs.

He made it to the next landing before his feet refused to carry him any further. ‘Shit,’ he said.

Marima gave him a wide-eyed look. ‘What’s wrong?’

I can’t leave him behind.

He’d spent years hating Rasten, he’d lain awake at night dreaming of hunting him down, but Rasten had come into an enemy stronghold to find him, had taken a wound fighting for him and was prepared to sacrifice his life. Not only for king and kingdom, but for a pair of innocents.

By the Black Sun,
Cam thought.
Whatever else he may be, he’s my man now, and I have a duty. I won’t leave a man behind if I can help it.
If he died now, what would it achieve? What comfort would it bring to those who’d suffered at his hands?

It might be too late. He could be dead already.
But I have to try.

He turned back down the stairs. ‘Stay here,’ he said to Marima. ‘Shout if anyone appears.’

There was a long-handled axe near the chamber where they’d sheltered. Cam hadn’t noticed it on the way out. The soldiers must have brought it in case he’d found a way to barricade the doors. He picked it up, hefting it between his hands, and marched up to the door, now charred at the edges and giving off wisps of smoke.

Cam raised the axe and noticed tendrils of Black Sun’s Fire rippling over the blackened steel and flickering between the nailheads on the door.

The axe bit deep, and by the sixth blow Cam felt it rattle with the impact, and on the tenth it finally broke loose. The door flung open, only to be brought up short by the axe head which was snared on the bronze banding and the heavy, dense wood. Cam set his boot against the wood to wrench it free, sending the door crashing against the wall.

The heat of the chamber was like stepping into an oven. It stung his eyes, drying the sweat on his face.

In the centre of the chamber Rasten was struggling with the Akharians. They’d forced him to his knees, wrapping him with bands of power while Rasten fought back with sheets of rippling flames. Cam’s entrance had provided a distraction, for in that instant, all three of them had turned his way.

One thing Cam knew about mages was that surprise was his best and only weapon. With a roar he charged with the axe raised high, heedless of the heat, the spreading flames of Rasten’s power and the bright white cords of the Akharians’ workings.

Within the space of a heartbeat Cam felt something settle around his shoulders. It was soft, and cool, like a blanket of freezing mist, driving away the oppressive heat. He paid it no mind. In the long trek from the west he’d grown used to Sierra casting shields over him.

The nearest of the Akharians turned to him, white mist condensing around his raised hand. He pulled back as though to fling something at Cam, but Rasten slewed around to face him, lunging forward to knock him off balance.

As his hand made contact, the swelling of the mist abruptly reversed, and the building power drained away. The Akharian froze, his eyes widening with sudden fear.

Cam’s axe fell, aiming for the spot where the man’s neck became his shoulder. The mage tried to cast a shield, and for an instant it covered him, like armour made from light turned solid, but only for an instant before it winked out — and Cam’s axe bit deep, severing his spine and throat in a single stroke. The mage fell in a spray of blood.

Rasten was already turning away from the dying man. The other one threw himself back, breaking off the attack to shore up his shields, covering himself in a veil of light so thick that it was opaque.

It only bought him a few more moments. Even as the mage recoiled, Rasten grabbed for his neck and at his touch that shield, too, began to drain away. Rasten seemed to be at a disadvantage, on his knees and off balance, wounded and gasping for breath. Cam circled around the pair, axe raised for another swing, but before he’d taken more than a few steps, Rasten lashed out with a rope of power and yanked the Akharian’s feet from under him. At once, Rasten was on top of him, with one knee across the man’s throat and a knife in his hand. The mage tried to ward him off, scrabbling with both hands flickering with light and energy as he tried to cast his shield again, panic growing in his eyes as his power refused his call. His hands locked around Rasten’s arm, but Rasten leant against the knife with all his weight, and though the Akharian strained and fought, he couldn’t halt the blade’s descent. There was no sound but the harsh, panting breath of the struggling men, and then a low, wrenching groan as the knife slipped between the mage’s ribs.

It was only when it struck his heart that the mage’s knotted, white-knuckled hands grew slack. Rasten gave the knife one vicious twist, and at last the mage fell still.

Rasten shuffled off the limp corpse in its spreading pool of blood, and sat on his heels, shoulders slumped with weariness, breathing hard. After a moment, barely a moment, he reached for the knife again, trying to pull it from the dead man’s chest, but he hadn’t given himself enough time to recover. His hand, slick with blood, slipped from the leather-wrapped hilt.

Cam dropped the axe, and holding the corpse in place with his foot, wrenched the blade free. Reversing it, he offered the hilt to Rasten. ‘That was quick work with that shield.’

Rasten met his eye only briefly before his gaze slid away, but after a moment he seemed to catch himself and turned back. ‘That wasn’t me, it was Isidro. He … he came to help me.’ He cleaned the blade on the Akharian’s shirt and returned it to its sheath. He tried to stand, but the effort left him staggering until Cam grabbed his shoulder to steady him. The fight had been hard on him — his face and hands were scorched, and his exposed skin was flecked with tiny, fine cuts, as though he’d been caught in a storm of glass shards.

‘Are you steady?’ Cam said. ‘We’re close now, we need to move.’

Rasten shook himself. ‘I can keep going. Lead the way.’

Sirri? They’ve dealt with two of the mages, and they’re up again and moving towards you. Any sign of the others?

Not yet.

He was still in the Akharian camp, with Nirveli and Delphine piling stones into bushels and a small knot of scouts and officers crowding around a map nearby.

By the Black Sun, Sirri, don’t go hunting them, not in your condition. Lay a trap and let them come to you.

If they get away —

Then we’ll track them down later. There can’t be many of them left, and they’re a long way from home. We can afford to take our time.

A scant handful of mages can cause an awful lot of havoc
, Sierra said.
Just look at the damage we did.

To be fair, that was mostly you
, Isidro said.
And none of the Slavers have anything like your talent for destruction. What’s going on?

She opened her eyes to let him see the charred remains of the stables. A fire sparked by mages cared little for snow and ice still clinging to the shingles. The whole of the roof had been alight before Sierra smothered the flames to spare the beasts trapped inside.

And now Ardamon faced off against Hespero in the middle of the courtyard. Ardamon had his sword drawn, while Hespero had only a makeshift staff, an old stable broom with the head snapped off, which he’d snatched up as his men spilled out to escape the flames. The garrison trapped in the burning barn outnumbered her small party rather more than two-to-one.

With her attention on the fight underground, Sierra had ignored the squabble playing out in front of her, but now she could afford to see to this matter. With Isidro watching through her eyes, she swung down from her horse and strode towards the brothers, Ardamon’s men stepping aside to let her through.

She walked right up to Hespero. He saw her coming, but he didn’t keep his eyes on her, giving most of his attention to Ardamon and the sword in his hand.

Even if he had recognised her as the greater threat, it wouldn’t have done any good. Sierra gathered power into a crackling sphere of lightning in her palm and hurled it at him. It struck him full in the chest and drove him to the ground, bursting into a tangle of jagged strands that set him writhing and convulsing on the filthy cobblestones.

The moment he fell, Sierra turned her attention to the men arrayed behind him. ‘Drop your weapons!’ she roared.

Inside her head, she felt Isidro reach for another pair of stones. The jolt as they dissolved into pure power, pouring through his veins like molten fire, made her heart feel like it would burst from her chest.

The men did not obey. Some of them looked to their commander, still convulsing on the cobbles. A handful started towards her, weapons raised.

Sierra flung them back, hurling them across the courtyard. It brought her a surge of power, a flash of pain that swept through her, followed by a riding, golden tide of warmth. There would be some broken bones to bind once this was done.

Ardamon came to stand by her side. ‘Floren,’ he said. ‘You, Grallic and Tarro, stay here and watch them. Shoot any man who moves.’

Floren gave him a sharp salute. ‘Yessir.’

‘And one of you bind my brother’s hands before he wakes. You know he won’t stay down, and I’d rather let Cam and Mira deal with the traitorous wretch.’ He gave Sierra a crisp nod. ‘What now, my lady?’

Cam and Rasten reached the stairwell as a tremor rippled through the stone. It began as a shudder, as though the earth itself was shivering, but in the space of a heartbeat it grew to a convulsion. From somewhere below them came a roar of sound, a deep and angry rumble.

The violence of it set them stumbling — Cam caught himself with a hand on the wall, but Rasten, still reeling from the fight, was too slow to do the same. He staggered, stumbling into the slick pool of blood from the men they’d killed before.

His boot skidded and he fell, tumbling down the sharp-edged stairs, thrown down by the trembling earth. The fall knocked the breath from him and struck his head against the stone with a stinging scrape along his scalp. When he landed, for a moment he was aware of nothing but pain and the teeth-rattling shaking of the narrow world around him.

He tried to move, tried to push himself up, but the fall had rattled his skull and struck his nerves numb. His muscles wouldn’t obey his command.

There was power all around him … with his wits too scrambled to think in words, the cords and nodes of power scattered through the fort seemed to snap into focus to his weary mind. There was a node of power in each of the twisting spiral stairs, and several others besides. They had been dormant, but now each of those knots of power unfolded like a sprouting seed, and sent thick tendrils of energy questing into the very bones of the fortress. Then, like a fungus that rots out the heart of a tree, they were tearing the structure apart.

It had to be the mage, the last of the three who’d followed him in. If he’d been waiting by the hidden entrance, guarding their retreat, he would have been within striking distance of the weapons they’d left behind as surety. If he’d felt the other two die, he could have moved to set them off. The Akharians couldn’t win at this point, and the survivor must know it — so he was doing everything he could to be sure Cam and his kin didn’t survive either.

A pair of hands seized Rasten under the shoulders and heaved him up. ‘Come on!’ Cam bellowed over the roar of splintering stone and falling rock. ‘Move!’