Page 238 of Sword & Shadow
Jarrad motioned to the statue. “That’s Obscura,” he said.
“Like the month?” Rafferty asked.
“Indeed,” Jarrad confirmed. “Or in Wauld’s case, the patron of Night. Many keep statues of the god near their family crypts. He supposedly takes the dead to the moons where they can rest in peace for eternity.”
Deckard eyed the stone cloak, coiling lines of shadow etched into the statue. “A Night Mage, then?”
The final lock clicked in place, and Emmaas opened the door while Isla silently shushed them, then motioned for them to follow at a distance. Cautiously, they stepped down the stone staircase into the heavily shadowed hall below. The flickering firelight cast eerie shapes along the weathered walls. A damp chill permeated the air as they descended below ground.
Isla held her hand out to the side, signaling them to stop as she reached the bottom. Since the ceiling was slanted, Deckard heard more than saw two guards snap to attention. Isla exchanged some words with them, seeming to set them at easejust before simultaneousthunkssounded below. A second later, she summoned them down.
They descended the final steps and met Isla at the arched entryway to the crypt-turned-dungeon. The guards lay sprawled at her feet.
“How’d you do that?” Thom asked.
Isla lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I took the air from their lungs.”
Deckard’s jaw tightened, struggling not to resent how many lives were being taken to buy their freedom.
Rafferty eyed Isla with interest. “Have you ever thought of joining an enterprise of contraband runners?” he asked.
“Not recently,” she replied, then turned to Emmaas. “Braun and Paulson are the only ones left down here. I managed to convince Renaul that they’d do the trick against two viastasis-drugged Mages since the greater threat was the Warrior.”
“She should have drugged the Warrior too,” Jarrad remarked.
Deckard frowned, but it was Evylin who spoke. “If anyone comes near me with that stuff, they’ll lose a limb.”
“Which would be the reason for drugging you, after all.”
“Stop messing with them, Jarrad,” Isla ordered, leading them through the frigid corridors. “And be quiet. We’re almost there.”
“Braun and Paulson, you said?” Jarrad asked in a hushed tone. “Mm. Fire and Water. No problem.”
Rafferty nudged Ethenn beside him. “Sounds like we’ll have an Elemental showdown,” he whispered.
“It won’t be a contest,” Emmaas replied. “Isla chose Braun and Paulson for a reason.”
Rafferty frowned, twirling the knives in his hands. “Did you make this whole escape boring on purpose?”
“Boring is better than dead,” Isla hissed. “Now, shut up.”
The catacombs were larger than Deckard expected. Dozens of dark alcoves lined the walls, torches bracketing them every fewfeet. The dead rested in stone caskets, long-wilted flowers and burned-out candles decorating most of the ledges. Spiderwebs and the skitter of insects caused Deckard’s skin to crawl. Even if the ominous statue of Obscura had not loomed at the entrance, the crypt was chilling in its own right.
As they neared the back of the tombs, iron bars began to enclose the alcoves. The renovations Renaul had mentioned, Deckard presumed. Isla held up her hand to slow them. “Just around the corner,” she mouthed.
With a quick hand signal, Jarrad and Emmaas stepped up to her side. The trio rounded the corner, a Mage on either side of the Warrior. The troop watched as Isla and Jarrad raised their hands, releasing their magic. Wind whipped through the corridor, whirling around the blue-and-red-coated Mages at the end of the hall. The paving stones beneath their feet began to rattle, causing them to lose their balance. A few rocks tore loose from their mortar, pelting the men.
The Mage in blue raised his hands, a jet of water beginning to spout forth. But Emmaas was too fast. With the smoothest flick of his wrists, two small blades flew through the air, embedding squarely in the center of each Mage’s forehead. They dropped unceremoniously to the ground.
Evylin and Ethenn gaped, impressed.
“About bloody time,” a feminine voice called from one of the alcoves.
In side-by-side cells, the prone figures of Auden and Ilain Calder rose to their feet. Their clothing remained rumpled and stained from their time in the prison wagon. Their matted and greasy hair made their malnourished frames appear even more gaunt than usual. But otherwise, they were whole and well.
Ilain’s eyes practically sparkled as she surveyed them. “It’s rank in here,” she said as Isla hurried to unlock their cells.
“That’s probably your own filth, Red,” Jarrad said merrily. He tipped his chin up toward Auden. “How’s it going, genius?”
