The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [144]
The guard stopped. “There's no point in resisting. The world is changing. A new order comes, and those who resist it will not survive.”
“Neither will you,” Travis said through clenched teeth.
The guard raised big hands and lunged for him. Travis was faster.
“Dur!”
He directed the full force of the rune not at the man's gun, but at the center of his chest. The guard stopped. A shudder passed through his body, and he lifted up onto his toes, as if something was pulling him from above. His eyes bulged, and a dark trickle of blood oozed from the corner of his mouth.
“Help me . . . Master,” he choked. “I don't want . . . to die.”
“Too late,” Travis said. “You're already dead.”
He made a fist of his left hand, closing his fingers around empty air, then pulled back. At the same moment the thing burst from the guard's chest: a dark lump of metal. It thudded to the pavement and rolled to a stop. The guard stared forward with empty eyes. Then he toppled facefirst, a corpse long before he hit the pavement.
Sound and motion. Travis looked up. A door opened in the side of the building. Several shadowy forms rushed out. In the distance, the wail of sirens approached. So someone had made a phone call after all.
However, it wasn't guards or police officers he feared now. Blue-white light spilled from the mouth of a nearby alley, and a metallic whine rose on the air. Renewed dread pumped energy into Travis's legs. He turned and ran from the parking lot.
“Alth,” he whispered, speaking one last rune before closing the box, and shadows gathered around him, cloaking him in darkness as he vanished into the night.
35.
“This is perilous, sister,” Lirith whispered as the two witches moved as quietly as they could down the corridor. “I do not know why I agreed to this.”
“Because you know as I do we have no other choice,” Aryn whispered back. She did not spin the words across the Weirding; it was too dangerous to speak that way with so many witches about the castle.
Lirith clutched Aryn's gown, holding her back. “If Liendra or one of her spies sees us here—”
“Then we tell them the truth,” Aryn said, trying to sound confident. “We tell them we're going to Queen Ivalaine to try to convince her to help us.”
“To help us, yes—against Liendra.”
“We'll just leave that last little bit out.”
Lirith gave her a dark look. “And don't you think Liendra has ways of getting the truth out of us?”
“Maybe. But if she has the power to pick apart our minds, why hasn't she done so already? Liendra has a hold over the Witches—but I don't think it's as strong as she would like us to believe. We weren't the only ones who joined with the Pattern reluctantly. She has to play her cards carefully.”
“As do we,” Lirith said. However, she let go of Aryn's gown, and the two women continued down the corridor.
The last two days had been the longest of Aryn's life. Liendra had vowed to watch them closely, and the golden-haired witch had not lied. It seemed at every turn she was there, or one of the young witches who followed her every command as if it were the word of Sia herself.
Except they've shunned the name of Sia, just as they've banned the crones from their covens.
And that was the one thing that gave Aryn hope. Without the older witches and their wisdom, Liendra and her minions were bound to make mistakes. At least, Aryn had to hope so.
That Liendra plotted something to prevent the Warriors of Vathris from marching north to Gravenfist Keep was a given. Even King Boreas seemed certain of that fact. However, exactly what Liendra planned was a mystery—one they had to solve if they were to have any of hope of stopping her. And they had to stop her. Grace was depending on them.
Aryn longed desperately to reach out with the Touch, to fling her consciousness over the intervening leagues and speak to Grace. She didn't dare, of course, and not just because of all the witches in the castle. The Pale King's pylons had been awakened at the command of their master, and their magic