The tang of the weirstone’s power was the only thing keeping her upright and functioning, but it tasted flat, coppery and chill compared with Merrick. She was pining for his strength and good sense, and as soon as she could, she was going to drag Raed back to Vermillion to find him. If they survived of course.
With that thought, Sorcha took a step into the corridor and spread her Gauntlets wide before her. She only had a brief instant to take in the people before her. Tangyre was there, her arm guiding a shorter, younger, blonder woman before her, and Sorcha thought Fraine looked very little like her brother. Behind were three more women, but with bone-white hair and skin. In them, the Deacon could feel the flicker of the Wrayth, lying just under their skin like a serpent.
They glanced up, and it was not her imagination, something in their eyes told her they recognized what she was.
If they saw anything about Caoirse in her, she was pleased. Like her mother she would teach them a thing or two about Deacons. She didn’t spare them a word as she darted forward, slipped between Tangyre, who was now reaching for her sword, and Fraine. She made no introductions. Instead she kicked out hard with her left leg, connecting with the younger woman’s knee; she sent her sprawling to the ground with a surprised grunt.
Then Sorcha summoned the rune Deiyant. It blazed like white lightning on her palm as she pushed forward toward the line of women. The power of the Gauntlet filled the confined space of the hallway with a massive explosion of air. Like a geist moving furniture, Sorcha used Deiyant to toss the bodies of all before her. They were chaff in her way. As a Deacon she’d never done such a thing to humans before and wasn’t sure she dare examine too closely how good it felt.
Raed and his crew sprang from the shadows and scooped up the stunned Fraine before anyone could scramble up off the floor. She screamed and kicked furiously, but Raed disarmed her, and there were more of them than one outraged Princess could manage. Sorcha saw the cold light in Raed’s eyes as he grabbed her by the shoulders and jerked her to her feet. He bound her hands before her with sharp efficiency.
Aachon and Sorcha took up the rear while the rest of the crew bundled their captive away with them, back the way they had come, toward the riser.
It seemed like a dangerous apparatus to make their escape, but it was all they had. They would have to trust it since Sorcha could not phase all of them through the walls.
“Nicely done,” Aachon commented as the riser continued its ascent. “We should be able to summon Captain Lepzig with the weirstone to pick us up from the roof.”
“You’re all dead,” Fraine spat, straining against Arriann who had taken stern control of her. “I’ll have the Wrayth slit your throats just like I ordered done to your crew members in Chioma.”
The men and women who heard this glanced at Raed in undisguised shock. This was news to every one of them, including Sorcha. If what the Princess said was true, the Deacon could understand why the Young Pretender would keep it from them at least until they were beyond the nest.
Aachon drew back his hand, as if to slap the Princess stupid, but then at the last moment held his blow. “They died for their captain as we all would. He’s earned our respect over many years. How many can you say would do that for you?” His voice was wracked with choked-back rage. It was the most emotional the Deacon had ever seen him.
Sorcha could understand; broken loyalties and conspiracies had almost destroyed her beloved Order. She touched his shoulder. “She isn’t worth it.”
Raed stepped between his sister and his first mate. “Enough, Fraine. I don’t know what you gave up to the Wrayth, but this isn’t the way to revenge yourself on me—bringing a whole Empire to the very brink of civil war.”
“Brink?” Her smile was chill. “Brother, it has already begun.”
The truthfulness of that statement could not be tested right then, because no sooner were the words out of her mouth than shots rang out above them. Many shots.
Instinctively everyone ducked down, but the bullets were not aimed at the people. They rained down against the top of the riser like hailstones.
Aachon grabbed Sorcha’s hand. “Guards above are trying to shoot out the mechanism for the machine. We have to stop them!”
The Deacon looked at him as if he were mad. She understood the risk, but she had no way of targeting anyone. Her Sight was not that accurate without Merrick and she had more chance of killing them all with a misplaced blast of Pyet, than she did of halting the assault on their transportation.
Apparently the Wrayth had what they needed from Fraine, because they were showing scant regard for her safety. Tangyre must have had no say in the matter either. However, Raed, perhaps out of habit, had covered his sister’s body with his own. Not that it mattered.
For just then, the shots had their intended effect. The riser lurched from side to side like a ball on a string, and the sound of groaning metal filled their ears. The passengers had nowhere to jump to escape, and Sorcha could think of only one mad chance. Spreading herself on the floor she shouted, “Hold on,” to the crew.
It was perhaps an unnecessary piece of advice. The chain above finally snapped under the assault, and the riser began to do quite the opposite; it began to fall like a lead weight back the way they had come. The sensation of her stomach trying to force its way into her throat was a new one to Sorcha, and it was accompanied by a feeling that she was almost without any weight. In other circumstances that might have been enjoyable, but since she knew they were all about to be crushed to death at the bottom of the fortress it took away much of the fun.
She had enough time to glance sideways at Aachon, and scream, “Everything! Now!”
The weirstone flooded her with power and then shattered. It filled the inside of the riser with tiny crystal shards, and the sound of Aachon’s wail of outrage. However, since everyone else was screaming it was lost in the din.
Pressing her Gauntlets down on the floor, Sorcha summoned Aydien, the Rune of Repulsion. Now the riser was filled with screams, broken shards of weirstone and a flood of blue light. The Deacon added her own howl to the mix, just for good measure.
Her eyes blurred as she held on. The rune had never been used for this, that she’d heard, but she could think of nothing else. Everyone screamed as the riser bounced against the sides of the shaft. Its descent seemed relentless and to go on for the longest time.
Then blue fire exploded around them, wiping out—for a moment at least—thought, consciousness and hope. Sorcha felt, rather than heard, the riser shatter all about them. It broke and flew into as many shards as Aachon’s weirstone.
That seemed to be it.
Then reality found her again; found her shaking her head free of weirstone shards, and tossed not too far from the bottom of the shaft. Staggering to her feet, Sorcha yanked off her Gauntlets and tucked them with numb fingers into her belt. There would be no use for them now.
It took another few moments before she found Raed, climbing to his knees. In celebration, she planted a kiss on his lips, while he was still looking around bemused.
“Are we all getting that treatment?” Balis was pulling a dazed-looking Fraine to her feet, a trickle of blood from a cut on his head staining his cheek. The sharp thought that if the young Rossin had died in the accident things might have been easier, passed through Sorcha’s head. Immediately she felt terrible for such callousness.
Aachon climbed out of the shaft, over the remains of the riser. His glove was covered in the dust of the lost weirstone and his expression pained. Still he was moving, and Sorcha took that as a very fine thing.