The Silent Shield (Kingfountain #5)(36)

She needed to get the staff from him.

Facing three Wizrs at once would be madness.

Her only hope was to distract Rucrius enough that she could wrench the staff from him. The idea came to her at once: the word of power that could restore life also had other uses . . .

“Nesh-ama,” Trynne breathed softly, invoking the power while her strength was at its fullest. She directed the spell at the tunics of the castle soldiers, each bearing the Raven sigil.

There was an awful croaking noise as the ravens lifted off the fabric, first fluttering flatly and then coming to life, turning into enormous birds. The black plumage and raking claws rushed to the center of the audience hall, the birds’ beaks snapping at the turbans and hair of the three Wizrs of Chandigarl. Trynne used the sudden commotion to rush forward, spinning her blade in the circular pattern she had practiced for years, forming a whirlwind of steel.

Rucrius’s mouth contorted into a snarl of anger. He met her, swinging the staff down at her to interrupt the movement of her blade. She felt the jolt of the staff as it struck her, felt its power bunch up to throw her back across the room, but its magic could not be used against her. Next, the Wizr reversed the blow and tried to strike her stomach with the other end of the staff. She knew the reversal move well and blocked it with her blade. Then, turning in a corkscrew move, she flipped around and kicked him in the face.

Rucrius staggered backward, stunned that she had struck him. A splotch of red appeared on his lip and dribbled down his chin. He touched it, confused, then saw the blood on his fingertip. His dark eyebrows knitted with fury, and he came at her fast and hard, spinning the staff over his head and knocking ravens out of the way as he whirled and struck at her. Again and again. Trynne ducked, dived, and rolled, trying to keep away from the staff. She was immune to its Fountain-enhanced power, but a blow to her skull would still knock her unconscious.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the ravens had started to drop from the air, their bodies suddenly gray and stiff as stone. The Wizrs had overcome their shock and were fighting back.

“Eliac!” one of the Wizrs shouted, a word of power Trynne didn’t know, and a flash of blinding light exploded in the hall.

Trynne couldn’t see.

Rucrius struck his staff against the floor and the entire castle shuddered. The floor heaved and buckled, and chips of rock and stone began to fall from overhead.

“Must I bring this entire palace down to convince you?” Rucrius shouted. “Must innocents perish for your stubbornness, waif? I command you, yield!” The staff struck Trynne’s ribs and she bent double. She hadn’t seen it coming because of the spots dancing in her eyes. “Grab her!” he ordered.

One of the Wizrs seized her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides, making the sword useless. She arched her head back and smashed it into his nose. Pushing her arms out to loosen his grip, she dropped low and elbowed him in the groin. The Wizr collapsed in a heap on the floor, writhing in pain.

“You fool!” Rucrius barked in frustration. He swung the staff down at her and she twisted, feeling the wellspring come to her aid. Rucrius’s staff hit the fallen Wizr, exploding with power and knocking him unconscious.

There were two left.

Trynne lunged at Rucrius, arcing her blade toward his greatest vulnerability, his throat. His eyes widened with fear as he jerked backward, then countered with the staff and caught her on the shoulder with it. He was incredibly quick and skilled. She’d never faced someone who could meet her reflexes. The blow sent her spinning, and she had to roll to prevent the staff from striking her again. As it hit the tiles, they cracked apart. She swept her leg out to trip him and he deftly evaded her before twirling the staff around and bringing it down at her again.

Trynne rolled once more and the staff struck a decorative urn, shattering it. She rushed forward and grabbed for the end of the weapon. Rucrius tried to pull it away, but she managed to close her fingers around it. Raw power raged inside of it—a supply that far outstripped her own. The two of them careened, wrestling for control of the staff. As they lurched, the end of it struck one of the supporting pillars of the room and shattered it.

“Rucrius!” the other Wizr shouted in panic. “She’s an Urdubegis! We must flee!”

Rucrius kicked her leg, swinging the staff around to shake her off, but she would not yield. She brought her knee up into his stomach. His teeth were bared with rage and pain, and his long hair whipped around, slapping her face. He was stronger than her and swung the staff up and over, trying to force her onto her back. Clinging to it, she put her weight on it and kicked him with both feet.

He lost his grip on the staff as he fell backward. Trynne landed on the broken ground on her shoulder—a painful fall—but she had what she needed.

The other Wizr blanched when he saw Trynne holding the staff of power. She sensed him untangling the ley lines hurriedly, and she rolled on her feet and swung the staff around in a full circle, trying to hit his head. The Wizr vanished along the ley line just before the end of the staff made contact with his skull.

It left Rucrius alone to face her. Trynne whirled and brought the staff up behind her, locked against her arm and her shoulder blade, preparing to swing it around to attack him.

“That is mine,” he snarled.

The magic of the staff had revealed the hidden layers of the world around her. She could sense the fissures in the mountain on which the castle stood. Feel the ridges and clefts of stone far beneath it that opened into the harbor of Ploemeur and a vast underground chasm full of the ocean. This was an ancient weapon of destruction, as powerful as any she had ever seen. It was of the Deep Fathoms. In her mind, she felt the rifts in the land beneath the water. She could jar them loose, causing an earthquake.