Page 8 of Sword & Shadow
The lowest, ominous rumble rolled out from the Chamber in response.
Evylin went to raise her blade, but it knocked against something. “Careful,” Deckard whispered, causing her to blanch.
“We have to spread out,” she suggested quietly. “If that thing is about to attack, we can’t fight all bunched up on this dais.”
“Whyhasn’tit attacked yet?” Rafferty asked louder than Evylin would like. “Not that I’m complaining. It just seems to be its job.”
As though offended by the suggestion of its lax security, a sudden thundering ricocheted through the room. Heavy impacts shook the floor, vibrating into Evylin’s feet. Whatever the Guardian was, wherever it was coming from, its hesitation was over.
“Move!” Deckard commanded, eliciting an instant flurry of movement from the troop.
The plan was in motion—the Calders would get the Relic, and the Ephrians would defend. However, they hadn’t accounted for doing it all in the dark. She heard the shuffle of her troop moving into defensive positions just before Thom collided with Ilain.
“Now is not the time, darling,” she quipped through gritted teeth.
The Guardian’s hammering steps were almost upon them, and from what Evylin could tell, none of them were any more prepared to defend the Calders than before.
As Evylin shifted to take up the front line, she ran straight into something very hard andveryimmovable. It hit her justabove the hips, causing her to heave a grunt as she put out a hand to steady herself. Her palm fell on an unstable object that shifted under her touch. A sharp tingle sparked up her arm. The object slipped across the smooth surface beneath it, a flash of amethyst light filling her vision.
As Evylin realized what had happened, the object flew off the pedestal, and she rolled her eyes at the darkness. “I found the Relic,” she called.
The roar of the Guardian—a guttural, almost growl-like sound—preceded the blind attacks of Deckard and Rafferty.
“Wonderful,” Auden replied, several steps to her left. “Give it to me.”
Evylin grimaced. “It’s on the floor.”
Before the Mage could respond, the ground under Evylin shook with even greater fury. The Guardian rammed into the dais, and all of them as a result. Thrown back, Evylin reached out to catch herself. Her sword clattered to the marble floor. Chaos erupted around her as they scrambled away from the beast’s attack.
Senses still fuzzy from being sightless, Evylin closed her eyes. She had to stop fighting the darkness. When they went through the Day Keep and the Shades burst into blinding flashes of light, she could only rely on senses other than sight. Night was the mirror of Day. If it worked there, it would work here too.
Absorbing the harried sounds of her teammates around her, the cool marble beneath her hands, and the crisp scent of night, Evylin embraced it. All that Night was, she took into herself.
Terror. Panic. Pain.
Stillness. Rest. Security.
That was the dichotomy of Night. It was horrifying. It was restoring. And Evylin felt it down to her bones.
In the split second it took to tap into her powers, the Guardian—whatever it was—began its second assault. Evylinsensed it raise its giant feet, and she rolled away on instinct. The ground trembled as its feet crashed back down, and she was immensely grateful for her magically heightened speed. Someone else hadn’t been so lucky.
One of the men cried out as something snapped.
Fearing it was Deckard, her eyes flew open. But now, Evylin found herself not wholly encompassed by the dark purple of night. She could see the rough shape of the Night Chamber, columned and towering. The marble took on color, a rich amethyst stone with veins of silver and gold like shooting stars. The shape of the pedestal was several feet from her now, and a hulking, monstrous figure hovered over it.
Evylin blanched, the Guardian taking form. A hound the size of her family’s home in Whickam Village whipped its ginormous head back and forth, snapping and snarling at her comrades. Its deep fur looked like a shadow, veins of violet woven through its coat. Vibrant purple eyes beamed down at them, vicious and calculating.
It was a bloodwolf. A creature of myth that haunted children’s nightmares, no matter their imaginary status. Said to hunt the souls of the damned, the wolves were demons of hell that bled in and out of the shadows. They survived not on flesh, but on blood, sucking it from the veins of their prey.
Ethenn let loose arrow after arrow, striking true yet failing to pierce the Guardian’s impossibly thick hide. Deckard was on his feet, assuaging her fear of his injury, hacking at the beast’s trunk-like legs. Rafferty chopped at its hindquarters while Auden was on his hands and knees searching for the Relic. Ilain pulled Thom to safety off the dais, his leg a misshapen mess.
As her Warrior magic kicked in, Evylin’s mind stilled. Noise reverberated off the walls, helping form the shapes even more. She reached for her sword and rose to her feet. All her senses leaped to the forefront, ready for battle.
Evylin struck out with her sword, dragging it along the side of the Guardian’s body. The blade merely swept past its furred hide, failing to penetrate. She slashed again, to no avail. Yet, at the same time, one of Ethenn’s arrows finally embedded, and the Guardian released a fierce wail.
Evylin remembered how difficult it had been to damage the Day dragon. The Guardians were too well-armored for basic attacks. You had to strike hard and with pointed aim.
Sheathing her sword, Evylin reached for the long-bladed dagger on her belt and pressed closer to the bloodwolf. She sprinted under its belly, slicing up with her dagger. The blade did nothing.
