Angel of Storms (Millennium's Rule, #2)(80)

Whether the Raen agreed remained to be seen. A part of Tyen didn’t care.

“We are victorious!” Yira yelled, making him jump.

The rebels cheered. Tyen let their thoughts wash over him, full of relief and elation and not a little horror at what they had done. A few had already begun to fear the Raen’s retaliation.

“But we can’t celebrate yet,” Yira continued. “First, what of the injured?”

Five of the group that had been flung about inside their shield were injured, including the unconscious leader. One was dead of a broken neck. A rebel volunteered to take the deceased man to his home world, another said she would care for the leader. Once the rest of the injured were paired with a carer, Yira ordered all to prepare to leave.

“Tyen will take us beyond the void so you can gather magic to travel. After that, scatter. Wait a while if you can, then go to the meeting places and return to the base in small groups. Take care to ensure you are not followed. Once the news of this spreads, the Raen and his allies will be looking for us. Now, into formation.”

Eager to leave, the rebels linked arms. Tyen took them to the next world, as it was safer than searching for the physical edge of the void. The rebels immediately began to vanish. When all had disappeared, Yira took Tyen’s hand and propelled them into the space between.

She brought them in and out of several worlds, keeping to well-used paths, circling and backtracking to confuse anyone who might try to track them. When they arrived in a muddy street on the outskirts of a city, outside a sprawling wooden building he remembered from his days as a student, Tyen groaned.

“Not here,” he complained.

She grinned. “Crowded places are the best places to hide. And we need to celebrate.”

“But the food is terrible.”

“Food’s not what we’re here for.”

She grabbed his arm and pulled him through the open front of the building. Squeezing onto the edge of a bench beside an unconscious man, she gestured to a rickety chair. Tyen pulled it up to the end of the table and sat down.

“So,” Yira said. “It worked.”

“It did,” he agreed.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You read his mind at one point, didn’t you?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Did I?”

“Yes. You knew he was going to attack from below.”

He shrugged, deciding it was better not to deny or confirm it. She rolled her eyes, then looked around.

“It’s a bit quiet, don’t you think? Used to be impossible to get a seat at a table.”

He glanced around the room, avoiding the gaze of a few drunks who felt they were about ready for a good fight, if anyone should start to bug them.

“I’ve definitely seen it busier.”

“This placed used to be full of Liftre students.” Yira sighed. “I suppose the laws against travelling are going to hurt a lot of places like this.” She stood up. “Doesn’t look like they have many staff serving, either. I’ll go get us some drinks.”

The unconscious man began to sag, his head and arms sliding backwards. Getting up, Tyen grabbed the man before he fell, then eased him off the bench and onto the floor. Arranging him on his side so he didn’t drown if he threw up, Tyen straightened and turned to find his seat occupied by a very large woman, whose challenging stare shifted rapidly to frank appraisal.

Tyen sighed and looked for Yira. He found her dodging two tipsy customers staggering across her path, a pair of goblets in each hand. Tyen shook his head. He wasn’t that fond of the local brew, and Yira knew it. But as she saw his expression, hers changed to surprise. She stopped.

And then she fell forward and slammed into the floor.

Stunned, Tyen could only stare for a heartbeat. Then he rushed over to her. The customers around him sidled away, some glaring and wiping at clothing wet from the spilled drinks.

Yira wasn’t moving. He fell to his knees in the mess covering the floor and rolled her over.

She stared up at him, but she did not see him. Her gaze was as vacant as Preketai’s had been, at the end.

He stared back in disbelief, searching for her mind and not finding it.

The room hadn’t quietened when she fell, but now it did. As the silence spread, fear spilled from the surrounding minds. He created a shield of stilled air around himself, then tore his eyes from Yira’s frozen face and sought the source of their terror.

A man stood twenty paces away. Between the stranger and Tyen were empty tables. Patrons continued to edge away.

The stranger’s eyes fixed on Tyen, and they burned with hatred.

Rage exploded within Tyen in reply. He killed her. He killed Yira. Struck her down from behind. Tyen wanted to kill in return. He wanted to break this man as Preketai had been broken. He wanted to burn him to ash as Preketai had burned his servant.

Soot streaked down to darken the room, the stranger at the centre.

The exodus of the other patrons became a panicked scramble for the doors.

Tyen smiled. He reached out, found the edge of the void and stretched further. As he took in more magic than the stranger’s reach had allowed, the stiff muscles in the man’s face loosened in shock. Tyen pushed through the man’s mind block and found a name.

“Keich,” Tyen said. He saw that the man had sent his own underling sorcerer ahead to Preketai’s mansion only to have that man return and report the rebels’ attack. He saw how Keich had traced the rebels’ fresh trail back to their departure point, then chased several from that place, determined to catch and kill as many as he could before their trails faded or someone else’s passing obliterated them. And he’d killed many, before he found the rebel leader and her general.