The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [16]
The others began moving toward the gates, following after Tarus and the guards, and Beltan pulled at Travis's arm. He was saying something, though Travis couldn't make out the knight's words over the ringing in his ears. The sound of the explosion must have deafened him, along with the crash of the wreckage. Only now his hearing was returning, and when Beltan spoke again Travis barely made out his shouted words.
“I've got to go with Tarus to see what happened. Do you want to stay out here?”
Travis shook his head. “I'm coming with you.”
So was everyone else. Travis found himself next to Grace as they jogged beneath the raised portcullis, through a tunnel, and into the castle's lower bailey. Lords, ladies, peasants, and merchants alike stood frozen in the midst of their comings and goings, staring at the column of smoke and dust that rose into the sky where a tower had stood moments ago.
“What's happening, Grace?” Travis said, trying not to shout even though it was hard to hear his own words.
“I don't know.” Tira's arms seemed welded around her neck. “As far as I know, castles don't just blow up. What could cause that kind of explosion?”
“Grain?” Travis said, trying to think over the ringing in his ears. “Back when I was a kid in Illinois, a silo exploded at the farm down the road. The grain dust hanging on the air was so thick it was combustible. A spark from a frayed wire set it off.” Except the fallen spire had been the tower of the castle's runespeakers, not a grain tower. And he doubted there had been any electrical wiring inside.
Grace's face was pale, determined. “It doesn't matter what caused it. There could be people injured. I've got to go see.” Gently, deliberately, she set Tira on the ground. “Stay close to Melia.”
Travis gripped her arm. “It could be dangerous. There could still be falling stones.”
Before Grace could protest, a stooped figure limped across the bailey toward them, white hair fluttering. “Your Majesty! You must come quickly! There's been—”
“I know, Lord Farvel,” Boreas growled. “I have eyes—I saw the tower fall. Do you know anything about it?”
“No, Your Majesty. I've sent guards to investigate.”
“As have I, and Sir Tarus is with them. We will get to the bottom of this.” The king turned toward Beltan. “Nephew, I want you and Sir Durge to see if—”
The king's words were lost as another explosion sundered air and stone. The concussion was instantaneous, slapping Travis to the ground next to Grace. The sky went dark, then sharp fragments of stone began falling in a deadly hail. Before he could scramble to his feet, a crushing weight landed on top of him.
At first he thought it was a rock, pressing the life out of him. Then he groped, feeling hard muscles, and realized it was Durge. The Embarran had thrown his body over Travis and Grace, protecting them from the falling stone.
Travis clenched his jaw, waiting for the second explosion. Hadn't there been two when the runespeakers' spire fell? However, the second report never came. The sound of thunder rolled away; the ping of falling stones slowed and ceased. For an awful moment there was silence. Then a new sound rose on the air all around: wails of pain and confusion.
Travis couldn't breathe. Durge wasn't a rock, but he was every bit as solid as one.
“Durge,” Grace said. “Off.”
The knight scrambled up, then reached down to help Grace stand; her riding gown was caked with mud. She searched around, looking for Tira, but the girl was safe, clinging to Melia's skirt. Travis staggered to his feet. He might have fallen back down, but strong hands gripped him.
“Are you injured?” Vani said, her gold eyes holding him as surely as her hands. Her black leathers were spotless, as if she had simply dodged the falling debris.
“I'm fine. What about everyone else?”
Travis turned. One of the blocky guard towers that stood above the castle gate tilted at an odd angle. A hole