Page 135 of An Archer's Redemption

Then I heard something behind me.

I chanced a glance over my shoulder as an old man raised his arms.

The massive throne rose from the dais and hurtled toward me. It cast a mighty shadow just as I Traveled to avoid its crushing blow. The chamber echoed with the roar of a mountain’s rage as a thousand pounds of marble slammed into the ancient stone of the dais. Shrapnel burst in every direction.

I Traveled again and reappeared midway down the aisle.

The man in the tunic lunged behind a column as shards of shattered stone pelted everything in sight.

The old man wasn’t so lucky.

So focused on launching the throne, he failed to shield himself when it fell. Pieces of rock sliced into his chest, arms, and face.

He tumbled to the ground and did not move.

“Atikus!”the other man screamed.

The old man lay still.

Chapter 59

Declan

“Everyone around you dies, Declan Rea.”

My head snapped up.

“Yes, I know you, Pretender of Magic. Death is your shadow. It is your cloak,” Irina needled. “First your mother was swallowed by the Well, now your old Mage fell by his own folly. Who is next? Who is left for you to lose?”

Her voice inched closer with every word.

My heart leaped into my throat as anger seared through my mind.

I wanted to squeeze the life out of this woman with my bare hands, watch her struggle for air and fall limp as Atikus just had.

Rage had never felt so intense, so powerful.

It consumed me.

The column behind which I hid shuddered. Stone rent against stone.

She’s going to bring the Temple down!

In a blink, I was behind her, casting my own wave of fire and air, using magic as a bellows to nurture my ire.

Without turning, Irina raised a palm, and a massive wave of water fell from above, extinguishing my flame and dousing us both.

She yanked the column she’d cracked and hurled marble toward me.

Two columns, not one, thousands of pounds each, blasted where I had stood. A crater gouged into the floor where they struck, and a plume of dust and debris rose into the air.

Irina waited, and so did I, for what felt like forever.

There was no sound, no movement, beyond the clattering of falling stone and settling of debris.

Eventually, Irina breathed deeply and wiped her brow, adjusting the crown.

When the point of my dagger tore out the front of her chest, she looked down, confused, as though her laces were in disarray.

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