It’s too late. Once an Art has been incorporated into the Landscape, the path of a Ravuhn is closed forever. The amount of raw energy required to train both the body and one’s Arts would be too much, anyway. One would have to possess an abnormally large Landscape to balance both out.
- Elusco, Bane of the Sadmora. Dated -46 b.f.
Imira tore Ashnur’s arms away from her shoulders.
“How far away is the entrance to the catacombs?” she asked Yamut.
Yamut’s hand fidgeted with the dagger in its grip. “Too far. By the time we get there, half the garrison will be after us.”
“Help me unlock the prisoners and gather them all near the door. Don’t let any run before my say,” she commanded.
Yamut frowned. “Why, we don’t have enough time to—"
“Do it!” she snapped. Compared to when Silas had first seen her in the hall handing out food, Imira seemed like a different person.
Yamut abruptly got to work. Silas and Zaya followed suit, each one using their Arts to break open the locks and gather the prisoners near the entrance. Silas doubted many of them would be able to make it, but now, Imira had given them a chance. Even if it was a slim one. Silas had a grudging respect for Imira’s decision.
Loud cracking echoed through the hallway, and Silas spared a glance behind him. Imira was on her knees, her body wracked with spasms as her entire body began to morph. Screams of agony tore their way from her throat. Her clothes ripped apart, unable to contain her enlarging body. Her hands formed into claws, her arms and legs growing as the bones cracked and regrew into something different.
Blood oozed as her skin tore open, only to be reknit a heartbeat later. Thick, overlapping scales formed over her entire body. Compared to the few, thin scales the normal Drakhonians had, the deep-purple scales on Imira’s body looked sturdy Silas didn’t think he’d be able to pierce it with his spear.
Letting out a final roar, she sprung up, her long claws ripping straight through the first lock. Her pupils had narrowed into slits that narrowed into slits as she caught Silas watching her.
“Stop wasting time, boy,” she hissed.
Silas nodded hastily and got back to work. He didn’t want to think about how he’d viewed Imira as a good-natured, motherly figure. Maybe Omei hadn’t been lying when he told Nurana that Imira had been behind the attacks in the upper city.
Soon, a small group of ragged prisoners had gathered near the entrance. Amush watched over them, ensuring that none tried to run by themselves. They wouldn’t make it far.
Silas broke another lock, using his enhanced strength to pull open the door. A man looked at him with empty eyes before he realized Silas wasn’t one of the jailors. “Quick, we’ll get you out of here. Move to the other ones.”
Relief washed over the man’s face, his sunken eyes lightening up as if he’d just seen the sun for the first time in years. “Thank you, kind sir.”
He shouldn’t have thanked Silas, not yet. There were simply too many of them. A dozen prisoners had gathered in front of the entrance, speaking to the other in hushed voices as they watched Imira’s form rage from cell to cell.
Silas’ eyes went to Yamut, who worked on a cell near Amush. Dread rose in Silas’ chest. Wasn’t that the cell where…
“Wait!”
The lock clicked open, and Yamut pulled open the door. A hunched figure escaped through, and Yamut cried out in pain. The woman continued straight toward the exit, tattered robes dragging over the stone as she crawled on all fours. She stopped in the doorway, her head turning just a bit too far as she locked eyes with Silas.
The woman smiled, her bloody lips forming a series of hissing sounds that were so low he could have sworn the woman stood right beside him, whispering into his ear. She was gone a heartbeat later.
A shiver went through Silas. Hopefully, he’d never have to see that woman again.
“We’re out of time, one of them escaped,” Yamut shouted. Blood flowed from his right leg.
“Direct them to our entrance of the catacombs,” Imira commanded Yamut. The man frowned but did as she ordered.
The prisoners began to shuffle awkwardly towards the doorway, their unused feet dragging over the steps. It wasn’t fast enough.
Imira barged towards the prisoners, towering above them like a predator viewing its prey. Their heads didn’t even reach up to her chest. This shouldn’t be possible.
Imira pushed a woman near the back with one of her long talons. The woman crumbled to her knees, her arms too slow as she hit her head on one of the stairs. She didn’t get back up. “Go!” Imira roared.
The prisoners ran into the hallway in a mad stumble. Silas frowned. Why had Imira ordered them to go without them? They’d never make it back into the catacombs, now that the guards had been alerted.
“We won’t get there in time, Imira. We need to find another way to access the catacombs.”
“I know,” she growled at Yamut. “What do you think they were for? We’re going to the other cell complex. It should be relatively close to the catacombs, so the walls will likely be thicker. We’ll just have to manage.”
Realization dawned on Yamut’s face. A slight smile formed on his lips as he nodded. “Everybody, follow me. If you see any guards, kill them immediately.”
Yamut led the way back to the guard room, Imira and the rest following close behind her. The two dead guards were now lying on the floor, missing various pieces of equipment. The prisoners had armed themselves with what they could. Yamut was just about to direct them to another, smaller hallway to their left when the sounds of fighting came from far ahead of them. Screams of pain and rage echoed through the corridor as the armed prisoners fought against the incoming guards. So that’s why Imira had freed them. Silas felt sick.
As they turned the corner, maniacal laughter reached Silas’ ears, and without having heard it before, he knew it belonged to the eyeless woman. Someone screamed, and the unmistakable sound of a blade penetrating flesh filled the hallway. Silas did his best to drown it out. There was nothing he could do for them. They would have died in the cells, sooner or later, anyway. At least that was what Silas told himself to not try to help break the prisoners free.
Imira had to crouch to fit her new form into the hallway, her claws nearly scratching over the beige sand floor. Silas moved to follow her but stopped as he saw Ashnur staring into the hallway behind them, frozen like a statue.
“They’re being butchered, all of them,” he whispered over the faint sounds of the dying. “She just sent them to their deaths. We could have saved them, we could have…” Ashnur trailed off.
“Ashnur.” Silas pulled on Ashnur’s arm, but he didn’t move.
“We need to do something, Silas!” Ashnur’s frantic eyes bulged as he stared at Silas. “We can’t just let all of them die, it’s our fault they…”
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Silas lightly slapped Ashnur’s cheek. “It’s too late, Ashnur. We can’t save them. If we don’t leave now, we’re never going to make it out.”
Silas wanted nothing more than to run towards the screaming and help the people escape, but knew it to be a fool’s thought. With how fast their pace was, Silas doubted any of the prisoners would be able to keep up. They would just drag all of them down. Silas hated having that thought.
Looking up at Ashnur with more resolution than he felt, Silas pushed Ashnur forward. “Go. I’ll have your back.”
Ashnur tore his eyes away from the hallway, the screaming already dying out. He nodded. “Thank you, Silas.”
Apart from the vile taste that leaving the prisoners to their fate had left in Silas’ mouth, Ashnur’s misplaced gratitude only served to further Silas’ guilt.
If it weren’t for the constant reassurance from Gnarly, Silas would have lost it long ago. The woman whom Imira had shoved was either bleeding out near the cells or already dead. Considering the screams from the other prisoners, she might have gotten the better bargain.
Imira abruptly stopped. She held one claw to her scaly mouth, motioning them to be silent. Yamut went ahead, darkness cloaking his form. He was back a moment later.
“There is a junction ahead. If we take a right turn, we should be able to reach a storage room where the walls are thin enough so Zaya can force an entry back to the catacombs. If we’re lucky, we won’t encounter any guards. But if we do, make it quick, and don’t hesitate. They won’t, either. And by the Gods, do not make any noise. Sound travels far in these corridors,” he spoke, his voice just above a whisper.
Silas pulled out an arrow, knocked it on the string, and nodded at Yamut. He could consider the morality of his actions later. For now, they needed to get out of here.
The corridor opened up. An old, abandoned table stood near the back wall, with two knocked-over chairs lying on the ground. They were made of sandstone, just like in the tavern. Bits and pieces of broken stone littered the floor, some of the chairs missing a leg or two. A stairway went straight upwards, and another hallway wound back to the left.
Yamut stood in the middle of the room, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he stared at the right wall. Had they taken a wrong turn? Everyone looked at him expectantly. His hand clenched around the dagger in his grip. Coming to a decision, he motioned for them to go up the staircase.
“Ah!” Ashnur cried out.
Silas’ eyes widened in alarm as he turned. That had been loud. A trickle of red collected on Ashnur’s knee as he pushed himself back up. Yamut’s visage contorted in fury, and he took a step towards Ashnur.
A claw settled on his shoulder. Yamut stopped and looked up at Imira.
“Move,” she ordered him, the words low.
Muffled footsteps came from the hallway to their left. Yamut threw a glance into the corridor, tore himself from Imira’s grip, and went up the stairs. They took the stairs two at a time, stumbling into a spacious room with a large dining table in its middle. Four guards sat with their backs turned to them, playing cards. Their laughter abruptly stopped.
Two of them were dead before they managed to stand up. The others shouted in alarm as they faced the intruders. One burly guard fumbled with the saber dangling from her hip, her shaking fingers slipping over the latch of the scabbard. Silas’ arrow buried itself inches deep into her skull. Her legs collapsed under her, and she promptly sagged back onto the bench, her hands reaching and failing to grasp the arrow sticking out of her head.
Imira’s claw ripped straight through the remaining guard’s neck. His head fell backwards and exposed his open throat, the muscles contracting in a vain attempt to suck in more air. The man’s mouth continued to move, forming silent words as he fumbled at the space where his throat used to be. The whole fight lasted barely a moment, but the noise they made had been unmistakable.
Shouts echoed from down the staircase. More came from their left, approaching rapidly. “This way!” Yamut dashed into the right corridor, abandoning any pretense of being silent.
The corridor was longer than it should have been. By the time they reached the next room, Ashnur and Nurana were panting heavily. To their right, an entrance led to a room full of crates, barrels, and racks with weapons and equipment. Compared to the rest of the cell complex’s beige sandstone, the back wall of the storage room was made of huge, black bricks.
“Get to work, girl. Now!”
Zaya strode into the room and started pulling out the bricks with her Art. Imira stood by her side, breathing liquid fire into the cracks of the old stones. Steady thumps filled the silence as brick by brick was loosened out and fell to the floor.
“Three layers, or more,” Zaya grunted. “Need more time.”
Yamut fidgeted with his daggers, peeking into the hallway they had come from. “We don’t have more time, girl! Hurry up, or we’re all going to die!”
Imira growled at Yamut. “Shut up, and guard the entrance.”
Silas watched the exchange warily. Seeing Imira’s new form, he didn’t trust her for one second not to abandon them if it meant getting out of there.
Nurana laid a hand on Ashnur’s knee, healing the small wound. Steps came from the corridor.
“Defend the entrance, boy,” Yamut snapped at Silas.
Silas was already watching it, one arrow in his hand. “And what will you do?”
“I’ll kill any who come too close. Just shoot a few arrows and buy us some time. You can do that, right?”
Silas sneered at the man. What a coward. Of course Yamut wanted Silas to step into view of the corridor so he would attract the attention of the approaching guards. Silas said nothing. He might not be at his best right now, but his enhanced body and reflexes were still the same. He didn’t need a cowardly assassin to take the brunt of the attacks for him.
Arrow nocked on the string, Silas watched the hallway. The Taint in his Landscape surged in anticipation, and he took a breath as he suppressed it again. If some of the guards were also Artists, normal arrows were unlikely to be enough. He needed something more.
“I help,” Gnarly communicated as he reached out to him.
The first figure turned the corner as it ran into the corridor. Silas could barely make out the guard’s face from the distance. Drawing his bow, Silas guided his Art of Wood into the arrow to reinforce the projectile. A few sparks of violet lightning accompanied it, but it held, for now. Gnarly’s Art of Growth accompanied Silas’ own to suffuse the arrow, the untamed power of the Taint merging with the green energy from Gnarly. The two thin tendrils of energy coiled around the arrow like grasping vines, coalescing to cover the tip with a thin, almost black sheen.
More guards stormed the hallway, but Silas kept his attention on infusing the arrow with energy, wary to not break the connection. There would be no second attempt. He had to make his shot count. The first one began to slow his run as he saw Silas with a drawn bow, shouting at someone behind him.
“What are you doing, boy? Shoot already!” Yamut shouted at him from the side. Another figure pushed the front guard to the back. She was a small woman, and Silas immediately knew she was an Artist. The arrow began to vibrate from the pent-up energy. Kneeling down, the woman held both palms outward, and a guard threw a torch in front of her. It was now or never.
Silas let go of the string.
The arrow catapulted forward with unprecedented force, surprising Silas even though he’d prepared himself for the drawback. The torch roared, its small flame blossoming into a blazing furnace that headed towards his arrow, filling the entire hallway with a roiling wave of flame.
Gnarly’s energy surged, and the arrow grew into a massive javelin as it met the fire. Silas had his trepidations about shooting a wooden arrow against an Artist of Fire, but he needn’t have worried. The moment the javelin impacted the flames, violet tendrils lapped out of its black tip, sucking in the offending flames.
Silas saw the panicked eyes of the enemy Artist a heartbeat before his javelin passed an inch above her head. The guards behind her weren’t so lucky. The sheer force of the javelin threw the first guard back like a ragdoll, blasting through his midsection and impaling two more before finally stopping. Silas stared at the result for a moment. He’d worried that the Taint’s influence would cause the energies to become unstable, but the Taint had simply merged with his Arts.
“Gods above, boy. I didn’t know you were an Artist.” Yamut threw a dagger at the still crouching fire Artist, forcing her to take cover behind the other guards.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
Silas risked a glance behind him. A small gap in the stone wall led into the darkness. They had almost made it. The Fire Artist, presumably their captain, whipped the guards into a frenzy as she ordered them to run down the corridor. They would be upon them in a matter of moments. Two hefted heavy crossbows took aim at Silas. If he could connect to the weapons, he could disable—too late. Two bolts cut through the air, and time slowed to a crawl.
Reaching out with his Magesense, he connected to the bolts in midair and drew upon his Art of Wood as he pushed one palm forward.
The bolts cluttered to the ground a mere foot in front of him. That had been too close. For a brief moment, he thought what Tom would say if he saw him now.
“Be open!” Zaya yelled from the back. A short hole had been dug from the square bricks, barely large enough for a person to fit through. Imira continued to smash her shoulder against it, the stone crumbling a bit more each time.
Zaya was the first to disappear through the hole. Everyone followed, leaving only Yamut and Silas to guard the entrance. Yamut threw a glance at Silas before dashing after Nurana. A lance of fire shot from the back of the corridor, but Silas angled his chest to dodge it. The Fire Artist looked at him with fury in her eyes as she ordered her guards to run faster.
Silas turned to follow after Yamut, stopping only for a moment as he looked through the hole. The Matriarch’s head stood perhaps six feet in front of him. The statue barely reached up the the hole Zaya had created, some thirty feet high. Yamut was using the Matriarch’s scales as holds to climb down, the rest of them having already made it. Silas looked at the ground below him. Gods, that was high. All would be fine if he reached the head. There was an ear the size of his forearm he would be able to hold on to. Shouts echoed from behind him.
Silas jumped.