and doubling him over. The tiefling stumbled forward, gripping his stomach and baring his teeth as he drew closer.
The ceiling between them buckled with another impact, but Ohriman kept moving. Seeing the Breath so near again,
Bastun allowed himself a brief moment of hope and gambled on an idea. Straining, he focused his spell on a heavy stone. Lifting it into the air, he sent it flying in a wide circle, slamming into Ohriman's back. The tiefling fell just before the crack in the ceiling gave way.
Amidst the chaos of noise, Bastun noted the loudest of the stones' grumblings yet. The entire structure shook, and it seemed only a few scant breaths remained before they were buried. Crashing to the ground, Ohriman's grunt of pain was lost as a shower of stones thundered into the chamber. Dislodged from the tiefling's grip, the Breath clattered to the floor near Bastun's feet. Scooping it up quickly, Bastun backed away as Ohriman leaped to his feet. With the last of his spell, Bastun closed the door to the weapons room and leaned against it. Hearing the latch click, he stood resolutely as Ohriman closed the distance, sword flashing barely a stride away. Bastun held his breath and reached back to brush the door handle.
The trap sprung as quickly as before.
Freezing cold burst around him, showering Ohriman in shards of ice and bone-chilling wind. Cuts split the tiefling's face, and he raised his hands against the spell, dropping his sword and slipping to the ground where the magical cold formed thick ice around his legs. The mysterious fever burned across Bastun's flesh, painful but protecting him against the ward's icy breath.
Pushing the door open, he ducked inside the room as the ceiling buckled with a final groan of weakening rock. Ohriman fought to free himself, frozen to the floor as the tower gave in to collapse.
The old metal door slammed shut, and Bastun pressed himself against it, keeping as close to its frame as possible. Tons of stone thundered down in the central chamber, crashing against the door and rattling his teeth. Weapons shook from the walls, clanging to the floor. Cracks appeared to either side of him and he shoved the Breath into his belt.
Reaching into his pouches he retrieved a pinch of sparkling dust. Whispering the spell quickly, he felt his skin harden and grow thick. A gray discoloration spread over his hands and arms, giving them the look of iron.
The entire room shook, and he prayed to the Three as the stone above him split. Debris bounced off his shoulders and arms, the spell protecting him for now, but he hoped the magic would not have to contend with much more.
The back of the room collapsed in a cloud of dust and the door broke from its frame, leaning against the ruin outside. Stones and rock fell for what seemed like forever, until the light from his axe-staff was all but completely obscured. An image (lashed through his mind-himself lying buried for years in rubble, clinging to the Breath as he was dug free. Screams hid behind the chaos of destruction and, thinking of the spirits, he feared he might actually witness his own exhumation.
The rumbling faded, walls groaning as the structure adjusted to the collapse.
Laying against the door, he stared up into a new darkness. The chamber outside was gone, the weapons room half-buried, leaving him in a small space filled with dust and rock. He listened to each creak and pop in the settling stone, waiting to be crushed at any moment. His shoulder suddenly ached, the wound remembered after the chaos.
Afraid to move, he endured the pain a little longer, resting his aching body, and took slow breaths as the dust settled, waiting to see if the Shield would bury him as it buried all its secrets.
Chapter Thirteen
What did you do to her?' 'What had to be done.'
Thaena's head hurt. Noises seemed too bright and, as she tried to open her eyes, light seemed too loud. Duras was a blur, leaning over her, holding her shoulders. She heard his voice, knew his touch. Her relief was bittersweet as she remembered where they were.
'She's coming around,' she heard Anilya's voice from somewhere to her left.
'Thaena,' Duras said, 'can you hear me?'
She coughed. Her throat was dry and aching from the cold. Duras pulled her up slowly. Her head swam, as if she were still swaying and turning in the fangs of a giant skull. He held her in a sitting position as she waited for the nausea to subside. His grip was strong, fierce, and warm.
'You are welcome, Rashemi,' Anilya said before turning away.
'Duras,' Thaena croaked, then cleared her voice. 'What did she do?'
'I don't know,' he said, bringing a waterskin to her lips. 'It doesn't matter now. You're fine. The bleeding has stopped.'
She ran a hand along her thigh where the bone-beast had bitten her. Fearing her leg would be gone, she was surprised to find smooth skin, clean and whole, albeit a little numb. She drank more of the water and held her arm out to Duras, who carefully raised her to her feet. Finding her balance, she felt refreshed. Her leg had no pain. In fact her entire body, once aching and bruised, seemed restored.
Looking around she found the chamber empty and quiet. Only the faint sound of the wind outside and her own breathing disturbed the silence. Bones lay scattered around the floor as before, but now they were broken and splintered beyond what time had done to them. Raising her eyes to the high balcony, she felt the heavy silence. There were no arrows to fall or archers to loose them. All were gone and swallowed by shadows.
'We are trapped here?' she asked, afraid of his answer.
'We checked the rest of the tower,' he said, his voice low and bordering on grim. 'Every floor below this one has collapsed.'
'I feared as much.' She looked back toward the hallway at the top of the stairs, remembering the woman who had died, sacrificing her body to keep them in this tower.
'But the Creel are defeated,' Duras said.
'It doesn't matter,' she said, her voice feeling stronger. 'They were going to die anyway. They came here for that purpose.'
'I don't understand.' Duras took his hands from her shoulders, turning her around to face him.
'I watched a woman, back there,' she said, pointing to the hallway. 'She gave herself to keep us here. She destroyed herself for whatever cause these Nar have come for.'
Duras didn't answer, merely stared at her, trying to understand.
'This wasn't just a trap, Duras. It was… a sacrifice.' 'Then it was a meaningless sacrifice,' he said. 'We're still alive.'
Thaena looked away and crossed her arms. She couldn't help but feel that more could have been done. It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest returning to Rashemen, getting help from the hathrans, and returning with a larger force, but she couldn't say it. She loathed to return in defeat-a vremyonni exile escaped and a wychlaren post lost to the Nar. The Creel could be given no quarter, no time to finish what they had planned.
'You're right,' she said. 'We are still alive, still here, and we must make something of that-at any cost.'
'Any cost?' Duras said, though she could see something else in his eyes and his bearing. He looked over her shoulder, and she turned to see Anilya above them on the stairway, looking out the eastern window.
'We will not suffer wolves at our gates, Duras. We will do what we must for Rashemen.'
'This isn't Rashemen,' he replied. 'Just an old castle.'
'You know what I mean,' she said.
'And you know what I mean.' His voice rose sharply, then softened. 'You're starting to sound like her.'
Lowering her head, Thaena did not reply. He spoke truly, and she could not deny that truth. There was something in the durthan that she respected and at the same time feared. She saw something of the same growing in herself, an anger that could only be sated in her enemies' blood. Looking around, she saw naught but bones on the floor and flickering torches on the walls. She had no monstrous shadows on which to blame her emotions, and though her old self loathed the feeling she could not deny its usefulness.
'Where are-the others?' she asked.
