The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [233]
He looked at Grace, but there was no more time for words. And maybe it was better this way, going beneath the city to face the demon—one monster to another. Better that than choosing between two people, both of whom deserved so much better than he.
Travis moved to the artifact. He reached into his pocket, felt the smooth surface of Sinfathisar. Despite the dread in his chest, he found himself grinning. Whether he lived or died, at least he was trying to do something good. Whatever fate would make of him in the end, that had to count for something.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Melia stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Do be careful, dear.”
Aryn clutched the bright blue fabric of her dress. “But he can’t go alone. We have to watch … that is, someone has to go with him.”
Lirith shot the young baroness a sharp look.
“I will be going with him,” Sareth said. “I am the only one of us who has been to the demon’s cavern before. Which means I must open the gate.”
Grace stepped toward the gate. “Well, we’ve been through this much together, Travis. Don’t think you’re going to get rid of me now.”
Her words pierced his heart like knives. This was ridiculous. It was too dangerous; they might never come back. And she was the queen of a lost kingdom. There was absolutely no way she could go.
Then again, if she was a queen, who was he to question her?
“Oh, Grace …” he said, and it was enough.
“Things are going to be bleak and perilous below,” Durge rumbled. “I imagine there’s no hope of any of you coming back. But never let it be said it was not because you didn’t have a sword with you.”
The knight moved to the artifact.
“Well, Grace,” Lirith said crisply, “it is unseemly for you to be the only lady amid this brutish gaggle of men. I shall accompany you, for propriety’s sake.”
The witch cast a glance at Aryn, then moved to stand next to Durge.
Falken crossed his arms and glared. “Is everybody going beneath the city?”
“No,” Melia said. “Just those who need to, I think. If they will be so kind as to remain with us, Beltan and Vani will help me with any sorcerers who might somehow get past Ephesian’s soldiers. And you, Falken, can keep watch over Lady Aryn in such an event.”
Beltan’s face was hard. He gripped the curved Mournish sword strapped at his hip. “No sorcerers will get past me, Melia.”
“They will not get past either of us,” Vani said, folding her arms across her black-leather jacket.
The assassin gazed at Beltan. The knight returned her gaze, then after a moment he nodded.
Travis looked at Grace, Lirith, and Durge. None of them had to come with him. They should stay up here. All the same, he was glad for them.
“Thanks,” he said. It was utterly inadequate, but it was all he could manage.
Aryn let out a gasp. “Something is coming. No, somethings—I can feel them.”
“Scirathi,” Vani said.
Beltan drew his sword, and Falken moved closer to the baroness.
“The sorcerers have heeded the rumors,” Melia said. “You had best hurry.”
Sareth knelt, touched the small stone prism, and turned it so its sides aligned with those of the artifact. There was a crackling sound, like distant lightning. The air parted, and it was there: a jagged oval of darkness, edged by blue fire.
Travis felt a hand grip his. Grace. He squeezed back. Durge and Lirith moved close.
“Think of nothing as we pass through,” Sareth said. “You must let me envision the cavern. And we must keep close together no matter what. Do you understand?”
They nodded.
“May the gods go with you, dears,” Melia said.
Travis cast one last glance at Vani and Beltan, but neither of them was looking at him.
“Now!” Sareth said.
And in a tight knot, Travis, Grace, Lirith, and Durge followed after the Mournish man, into the crackling circle of the gate.
77.
It was hot beneath Tarras.
The stifling air of the tunnel wrapped itself around Travis like black blankets, rendering breath an exhausting labor. Sareth held a small lantern, although