Page 17 of The Dragonrider and the Void
“Help me or you’ll die,” she insisted.
He smiled and said, “Actually, I think I’ll take my chances.”
6
CRUMBLING DOWN
The rimeshade spun but she was too late. Steel flashed in the glowing light as a Morsythian struck. More of the elite fighting orcs flooded in behind him. Frost coalesced as Lady Sanj’s icy blade formed in her hands. Before she could defend herself from the attacks, however, a white hawk flew through the crowded hallway of rebel soldiers.
Venrick’s shock at seeing Cheyanne’s attack bird a split second before its talons raked at the rimeshade’s face forced a conclusion. This was Haven’s Edge, the town Cheyanne had planned to lead her troop of Morsythians to on their next mission. They must’ve come in after him under the cover of the storm and forced their way into the chambers under the collapsing building.
Cheyanne,Venrick thought, his hope skyrocketing as the elf rushed in among the Morsythians. She held a bow in one hand. Her eyes were glossed over as warged into her hawk.
In ducking away from the hawk, Lady Sanj avoided the swinging blade of a Morsythian as well. She palmed the blue orc’s chest, instantly freezing the hulking Morsythian into a statue of ice.
The ground shook and stones shifted loose from mortar as the scales continued to emerge. The more the building shook, the more glass containers filled with distilled magical energy rattled off the shelves and shattered on the heaving floor. Each time a jar broke, it returned draconic energy to the veins of the awakening dragon.
“The foundation can’t hold!” Lady Sanj shouted, her tattoos blazing so brightly that they seemed to burn. “The entire building is going to collapse…”
An arrow struck her shoulder, the tip gleaming with something that caused her tattoos to flicker. She staggered, her frost sputtering. Cheyanne emerged from among the Morsythians, another brismil-tipped arrow already nocked.
“Cheyanne, why didn’t you tell me this was your mission?” Venrick said.
“I tried to, but you wouldn’t budge. There isn’t time to discuss. Now go get Yarla,” Cheyanne commanded, not taking her eyes off the rimeshade. “I’ll handle this creature.”
Venrick didn’t hesitate. He broke through the door at the back of the cellar, following lines of blackness now glowing with blue and green light. A tunnel opened, leading elsewhere beneath the town. Venrick let his instincts guide him away from Lady Sanj.
He passed through more cellars, their shelves also lined with the jars, all glowing with the light of syphoned magic. When he reached what seemed to be a central chamber beneath the heart of the town, Venrick slowed. Ice grew thick around the stoney arch of an entryway. Lines of crystalized rimeshade corruption, now pulsing with reabsorbed magic, coalesced here. They drew his eyes to the figure that hung in the center of the room.
Yarla dangled from the ceiling, suspended with chains clasped around her arms and crusted over with rime ice. The darkness that filled her veins was spreading, turning her skindeathly pale. The rimeshade’s corruption curled around her legs, connecting her with those coalescing on the floor under her.
“Yarla!” Venrick rushed forward, but a barrier of solid cold stopped him. A frigid energy had formed a ward around the elf. He noticed the same symbols etched on the floor of the chamber that he’d seen tattooed on Lady Sanj’s skin.
Yarla’s eyes fluttered open. “Ven... rick?” she said, in a weak voice. Despite the effects of the magic, her eyes showed a flash of recognition. Then fear. “Behind?—”
He spun, his blade rising to meet the swing of an axe. A snarling green, battle-scarred orc with yellowed tusks growled as their blades rang out from the impact. Two more Nordraven orcs emerged from the tunnel, weapons at the ready.
Above them, the ceiling groaned from another shift of the dragon beneath Haven’s Edge. Time wasn’t on his side. At most, Venrick had minutes to free Yarla before the whole town crumbled down into the network of cellars.
Venrick adjusted his grip on his sword. He needed to rely on the steel and his skill to beat three orcs, down the barrier of rimeshade energy, and escape with Yarla. Behind him, the elf’s life was quickly ebbing away.
The first orc charged again, axe sweeping in a deadly arc. Venrick slipped aside, letting the weapon’s momentum carry his attacker forward. Venrick’s sword flashed, finding the gap between armor plates. The orc roared, more in rage than pain.
The other two pressed in, trying to pin him up against the magical barrier. Venrick ducked under a swinging blade, feeling it whistle overhead. He’d trained for this, fighting multiple opponents in close quarters.
“The barrier,” Yarla called in a moment of lucidity. “It’s connected to the floor. The patterns?—”
She broke off in a gasp as the darkness connecting her to the rimeshade corruption shuddered. Her face grew gaunt as moreof her life force was drawn away, feeding into the dragon that was now drinking in any and all power tied to the rimeshade corruption.
Venrick feinted left, then spun right, his blade catching torchlight. One of the orcs fell back, clutching his bleeding arm. But the largest of them pressed forward, forcing Venrick to step back. His back hit the magical barrier, its icy cold burning through his clothes and biting into his skin.
The ceiling cracked wider. Dust and fragments of stone rained down. The whole chamber shook.
“It’s collapsing!” a familiar voice shouted from the corridor. Cheyanne was calling to her troop of Morsythians. “We need to move!”
The enemy orc grinned at Venrick, raising his weapon for a killing blow. This was the moment Venrick had been waiting for. Instead of dodging, he dropped and rolled forward, under the orc’s guard. His sword found the back of the creature’s knee. The orc cried out as he tipped into the solid barrier of magic. Venrick sprung up, forcing the orc’s body deeper into the frosty ward barrier. The orc’s skin crystalized with ice as the charged runes pushed rimeshade energy up from the carvings in the floor. This upward flow of power split around the orc, creating an opening in the same way an object thrust into a stream diverts the water around it. Venrick planted his foot on the fallen orc’s back and launched through the opening. With his sword aimed, he came down directly onto the overlapping veins of corruption.
His blade pierced the point where the veins converged. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the symbols on the floor flared brilliantly. The winter barrier around Yarla and the icy chains holding her up shattered.
