Sorcha let another explosion flow through her Gauntlets; this one was louder and seemed to rock the wall. Merrick’s ears rang and through his Center it was like a pulse of light that momentarily blinded him. When he recovered, he feverishly checked; still no sign of the unliving.
“I hope you get my point!” Sorcha yelled from the parapet, her Gauntlets still pulsing with Chityre.
The crowd below muttered, but at least they weren’t screaming.
“You may have a couple of guns,” Sorcha continued, the air around her warm and smelling faintly of almonds, “but you are attacking a Priory full of Active Deacons. How many different ways do you think we have of killing you?” She gestured with one burning Gauntlet.
The night sizzled, warm now despite the wintry chill only minutes before. And just as suddenly, the mood of the crowd also changed, its rage dissipating into the night. A mob, Merrick considered, was an ethereal thing that could turn on a heartbeat, and the unveiled power that Sorcha was displaying was enough of a catalyst.
“We’ll be back,” one last brave soul screamed at them, and then they turned and descended back down the road. Merrick got to his feet, while at his side Sorcha stifled Chityre.
“They’re only retreating,” he observed. “They’ll take some time to get their bravery back, but at some point they will.”
His partner stripped off her Gauntlets with a terribly grim expression. He felt through the Bond that even this empty display had cost her. It had cost him too. It seemed that there wasn’t a rule that couldn’t be broken.
Aulis was still crumpled against the wall, perhaps waiting for someone to help her up. After a second, realizing that no one was going to, she started to get to her feet. “You see now,” she said in a low, angry voice, “what we have had to deal with these last few weeks. Unconscionable.”
No one answered.
It was the Pretender who found his voice first. “I don’t care about your impotent Deacons—my crew are in danger.” Raed’s expression dipped away from rakish, toward deep concern. Merrick could understand; no one could see the harbor clearly from up here.
“The townspeople won’t let you leave the Priory.” It was now Aulis’ turn to grin; a hard, bitter expression. She pointed to the road and it did indeed seem that the mob had retreated only to the bottom of the hill. The Prior gave a short laugh. “It won’t matter to them one little bit that you aren’t a Deacon. You’ve been in here; our taint has rubbed off on you.”
Raed let out a sharp oath, took a half pace and then jerked around. “I will get back to them, you know—whatever it takes.”
Sorcha ran a hand through her hair. “This is an old castle, no doubt with many secrets. No self-respecting lord would let himself be trapped up here.”
The Prior tucked her hands into her long sleeves. She remained silent for a moment, as if she wanted to hold on to something. Finally she let out an annoyed sigh. “There is an underground passage—an escape route that the Felstaads built.”
“That’s all I need.” Raed turned and took the stairs down into the yard once more.
“I will go with him,” Sorcha said bluntly, tucking her Gauntlets away.
Merrick couldn’t believe what his partner was saying. “You can’t!”
Her blue eyes were pools of darkness in the drawing night. “You were the one who made the bargain, Chambers. The Order does not go back on its word.”
“Deacon Faris is right,” Aulis chimed in, apparently having recovered some of her commanding nature. “Much as I dislike your companion, he should not be abandoned to those evil townspeople, or to the unliving.”
Merrick was glad at least to hear something like compassion from his superior. “Well, then, we should get after—”
“Not we.” Sorcha caught his arm before he could follow Raed. “Just me.”
“But we’re partners—we shouldn’t get separated.”
“Would you leave the Prior undefended?” Aulis snapped. “You are the sole Sensitive left!”
“Deacon Faris could run across this geist that attacked you—”
“I will manage on my own Sight. By the sounds of it, even I should be able to See the cursed thing.” Her eyes locked with his, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. She knew she had him beaten.
Merrick’s mouth worked, but the two women pinned him with their stares.
Sorcha gave him a nod. “It won’t take us long to get the Pretender’s crew to safety. Keep your Center wide-open, and you can still reach me.” She clapped him on the shoulder.
She was the senior partner, more experienced than he—this time he would have to trust her instincts. The Priory could not be left blinded. However, Merrick could not let her get the last word. He leaned over the wall and called after Sorcha. “Just remember, Deacon Faris—no Teisyat. Absolutely no Teisyat!”
TEN
Rites of Passage
Deacon Sorcha Faris looked down the ladder that disappeared under the floor. She held the lantern in her right hand while her gaze clouded over. Raed stood to her left and watched with interest. Aulis and a very unhappy-looking Merrick had gone back into the main keep. The distressed lay Brother had lifted the hatchway for them under instruction from his Prior, and was now lurking in the shadows behind them; he too had seen Sorcha’s impressive display.
The clouds faded from her blue eyes as she stood, and she sighed. “It seems clear.” She made to swing herself down the ladder.
Raed caught her elbow, so that her movement turned her around to face him. “I need to know one thing: why exactly are you doing this?”
Her lips crooked in a wry smile. “You saved my life, Captain Rossin, and I believe in repaying all debts.”
Raed knew he was playing with fire, but he said it anyway. “Are you sure that there isn’t any other reason?” His raised eyebrow and broad grin were deliberately goading.
Sorcha favored him with a long look and then sighed. “You do enjoy testing my patience, Captain Rossin. Now, let us go.” She clambered down into the cool tunnel.
He joined her below, and the Brother dropped the hatch above them with a loud clang. Now it was just the two of them, standing in a rough hewn stone chamber lit only by the flickering light. It was cold and slightly damp.
Sorcha handed the lantern to him. “If I am here to protect you, then you’d better carry this.”
And the woman accused him of trying to irritate her. Raed snorted, but took their illumination into his care.
“How long do you think this tunnel is?” he asked, suddenly aware that he’d spent a long time avoiding dry land. Now here he was, surrounded by it.
“Not frightened of enclosed spaces, are you?” Sorcha asked, pulling her dark blue cloak tighter about her against the cold. “If you become hysterical, I may have to slap you.” It was hard to tell if she was serious or not.
“I think you would like that,” he whispered to himself as she peered down the tunnel once more, her clouded eyes indicating the use of her Center.
Sorcha did not laugh. “Considering your . . . problem, I shall go first.” Her voice bounced commandingly off the walls.
Aachon was the only person whom Raed was used to having keep an eye on him, and even that rankled. Still, it was impossible to argue with logic. With a mocking bow, he swept his arm before him. “By all means, my lady.”
She brushed past him in the narrow confines, the faintest scent of jasmine tickling his senses. Did Deacons wear perfume, or was it his own tormented imagination? He’d been a long time at sea, after all.
The tunnel was very tight, and at certain points it ran with water. Raed and Sorcha had to bend low in several portions, and gained a few bruises at tight bends. “Whoever this was built for, was obviously not a tall man,” the Pretender commented with a wince after knocking his head on the ceiling.
“Don’t worry. I can give you a kick if you get stuck,” Sorcha quipped, glancing over her shoulder. In the glow of the lantern he could tell she was definitely smiling.