Bound By Darkness (Guardians of Eternity #8)(63)

Moving as swiftly as he dared considering he was surrounded by enemies, Ariyal headed deep into the earth, barely noticing the too-smooth surface of the tunnels or the growing stench of evil that tainted the musty air.

He had only a few minutes to accomplish what he’d come to do and try to make a clean getaway.

In and out.

No problem.

He chanted the words beneath his breath as he used the images the ghost had shared to find his way through the confusion of passageways and abandoned caverns. The scent of Sylvermyst thickened, but instead of following the rich aroma of herbs, he darted into a narrow cave directly above them.

The ghost had been commendably thorough in his investigation of the caverns. Which was why Ariyal knew that half a dozen Sylvermyst were frantically working to clear a tunnel.

The question he wanted answered was ... why?

Tearloch might have tumbled into madness, but the wizard remained coldly cunning. He wouldn’t waste that sort of man power unless it was essential to returning the Dark Lord.

Which meant that Ariyal needed to halt whatever they were doing just in case Jaelyn failed.

He crushed the surge of fear that threatened to distract him, kneeling on the floor next to the large crack that ran the length of the cave. Whatever had destroyed the tunnel beneath him had left this floor split nearly in two. A wrong step and it would collapse.

As he hoped, he could easily hear the sound of his tribesmen as they struggled to remove the rocks that blocked their path.

For several excruciating minutes there was nothing but the sound of stone scraping against stone. He wasn’t concerned about the fact his presence was already seeping through the passageways. He wanted to attract attention so they didn’t realize the baby was missing. But he wasn’t any closer to discovering why his tribesmen were burrowing through the rubble.

Then, as if some kindly deity had decided to have mercy on his black soul, the sound of voices at last drifted through the air.

“Why aren’t you working?” a male voice roughly demanded.

“I’m a soldier not a damned mole,” another male responded, his tone edged with disgust. “If the wizard wants to clear out the tunnel then why doesn’t he do it himself ?”

Ariyal easily recognized the two Sylvermyst as Elwin and Toras. Not surprising. Both had lost their females to Morgana’s jealousy. They had never hidden their bitterness, or the fact they held Ariyal to blame for the death of their mates.

“Keep your voice down,” Elwin rasped.

“Or what?”

Ariyal could sense the man’s shudder. “I don’t think either of us wants to find out.”

Toras gave a growl of frustration. “When Tearloch promised the return of the Dark Lord he didn’t mention the fact we would have to dig out an altar that was buried beneath a ton of rocks. Or that we’d have to take our orders from a specter who should have been left to rot in hell.”

Ariyal’s lips twisted.

There was a mutiny brewing.

Did Tearloch know how close he was to losing his few tribesmen?

“The sooner we uncover the altar the sooner the wizard can complete the resurrection and the sooner he can be banished,” Elwin muttered.

“Always assuming that Tearloch hasn’t lost complete control,” Toras pointed out with a bleak resignation.

“Shit. Just get back to work.”

The voices faded and Ariyal sat back on his heels.

Altar?

It made sense.

Those who worshiped the Dark Lord often used altars to make their sacrifices. The blood was a conduit that allowed them to thin the walls that separated them from their evil master.

Obviously Rafael needed his altar to complete the ceremony.

That was all the information Ariyal needed.

Tossing aside his bow, he shoved his fingers into the crack. The rock scraped off his skin, but he ignored the blood that threatened to make his grip slippery and yanked with all his strength.

He wasn’t a troll who could tunnel through rock with his brute strength, but the floor was already unstable and the exact pressure in the weakest spot was enough to make the stone buckle beneath his feet.

Snatching up his bow, Ariyal darted toward the outer tunnel, leaping across the gaping chasm that abruptly appeared as the collapse picked up speed at an alarming rate. Bloody hell. He had expected a minor cave-in, not a landslide.

He sent up a brief prayer that his brothers would manage to find safety. Whatever their sins, he hoped that they could eventually put the past behind them and be reunited as a tribe. There were too few of them to allow petty resentments to separate them.

Then all thoughts of his brothers were forgotten as he at last reached solid ground and sought a passageway that would lead him up and out of the caverns.

Following the faint scent of fresh air, he was desperate to leave behind the choking cloud of dust that billowed through the tunnels. Obviously too desperate, since he was unprepared when Tearloch abruptly darted from a side tunnel to block his path.

“Tearloch,” he growled, skidding to a reluctant halt at the sight of his tribesman.

Good ... gods.

The younger Sylvermyst looked like shit.

His hair was tangled and hung limply down his back, his skin was a strange, grayish hue, and there were bruises beneath his eyes that revealed he hadn’t slept in far too long.

Obviously the effort to keep control of Rafael was taking its toll on him.