The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [233]
Travis threw himself around another landing. “Just hang in there. You'll be able to play the video in a minute. Sage Carson is going to activate the panel.”
“Say again, Travis? There was too much interference. It sounded like you said Carson is going to activate the screen.”
“That is what I said.”
It seemed insanity to believe Carson would help them; if that video aired, it would be the end of Duratek as well as the preacher's funding. The doors of his precious cathedral would close forever. Then again, if Travis's hunch was right, there wasn't going to be a cathedral at all soon. Besides, Travis couldn't shake the feeling that Carson was really going to do it.
The end will come soon enough. . . .
Sometimes even a wicked man wanted absolution when his time drew near.
“Travis, what's going on?” It was Deirdre's voice buzzing from the radio now. “What do you mean Carson is going to activate the panel?”
“Just trust me on this one.” He pounded down another flight of steps. “I don't have time to explain.”
There was a pause, then Deirdre's voice came again, a sharp edge to her words now. “Where are you, Travis? What are you doing?”
“You'll know when I do it. Just air that video as soon as you can, and when it's done, pull the fire alarms. You've got to evacuate everybody from the cathedral as fast as you can.”
Before Deirdre could reply, he switched off the radio and shoved it back in his pocket. He hit one last landing and skidded to a halt. This was the level with the laboratory where he had found Jay and Marty. There was a door to his left; that was the one he and Jace had used to enter the stairwell. Another door was closed before him. Through a small glass window he could see more stairs going down. The light on the card reader next to the door glowed red.
Travis laid his left hand on the card reader, and his right hand slipped into his pocket and opened the box. There was no use fearing the wraithlings now; they were already coming for him.
“Urath,” he said. A rushing noise filled his head, and the light on the card reader changed from red to green. Travis hunched his shoulders, waiting for an alarm to sound, but none did. With a push, the door opened; he started through.
“Hold it right there.”
Travis went stiff, then turned around. The sound of magic had deafened him for a moment; he hadn't heard the door behind him open. A guard stood in the doorway; the gun in his hands was leveled at Travis's chest.
“Don't move,” he said.
Travis knew he could speak Dur to yank the gun out of the guard's hands, but then what? The man's eyes were stern but not dead. Travis couldn't be sure—not after Marty—but he didn't think this man was one of them. The rune of iron wouldn't stop him.
Then speak Krond, Travis, Jack's voice said in his mind. Fire will do the trick.
No, he had made a vow. An ironheart was one thing; it was already dead. But Travis would not speak runes against a living man, even one who pointed a gun at him. He clamped the iron box shut in his pocket.
The sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor behind the guard. More were coming.
You must speak the rune, Travis. Reaching the gate is more important than one man's life. And he serves the enemy.
“Take your hand out of your pocket,” the guard said. “Do it slowly.”
Travis's fingertips brushed the box; all he had to do was open it again, to speak the word. Krond.
The man tightened his grip on the gun. “I said take your hand out of your pocket.”
Now, Travis. Do it!
Travis opened his mouth to speak.
A gunshot ripped apart the air.
The guard cried out, and the gun clattered to the floor. He fell back through the door, sprawling to the tiles, and clutched his knee, moaning. Blood oozed from between his fingers.
Travis looked up. A figure darted