other’s arms. Dust and stone rained down as snow and ice flooded around them. “Max power!” George rasped.
Warnings echoed through his mind as George fell backward and pulled
Se’and down.
The next thing he knew, he was coughing, and had the oddest
feeling that the woman beside her wasn’t Se’and, but Cle’or.
“Je’orj, thank the Lords you’re all right!” Fri’il shouted beside him. He shook his head. What was he thinking?
Se’and slapped him, “Don’t ever do that again!”
“Huh?”
“I don’t know, but whatever it was, don’t do it again,” she shook her head, and nearly fell over into the stream of water flowing past them. She pulled off her soaked livery.
“Staff, scan! I want to know what’s happened.”
The staff’s glow flickered as it obeyed and replied, :Scanning… There is no sign of the creature. Temperature is returning to normal.:
They heard a falc’s cry, rose and headed back toward the center of the tomb, only to find the place collapsed, open to the now clear blue sky.
“Raven?” George muttered and mentally reached.
‘!’ She sent.
“Is everyone all right?”
‘Coming!’
“No, we’ll come to you,” he muttered even as he saw the pale falc with her black crest settle on the rim of the breached earth above them. “This place is not safe.”
Se’and looked about them, “The orb. It’s gone.”
He nodded, seeing that most of the marble pedestal had been destroyed as well. :George, it appears to have used its enchantment to unbind the elemental.:
“I know,” he answered.
Se’and whispered, seeing the strewn jewels amid the melting snow, “Should we take any of it?”
“Leave it… We have disturbed this place enough,” he said, lending her a hand as they climbed up and out of the vault. As she drew herself up Se’and never wondered about the exquisitely woven anklet she now wore – or how her money pouch weighed significantly more.
If Prophecies Were Horses
Chapter 7
W ith the orb destroyed, the awareness it suppressed awoke. Reality shifted around it. The black liveried Cathartans were here as prophesied. It watched the group gather and leave the Barrows – without the object they must have.
Its options were limited. The tomb’s secret had not been plumbed. However, the prophecy would be fulfilled. It would find a way to pass on its charge to the one foretold. The Carthartans were just a step in a lengthy ladder, after all.
The Prophecy must be fulfilled – or the once Demon’s wrath would one day erase humanity from the very face of this world and worse. Oh, much worse.
The awareness focused on one of the painted images in the hidden tomb far below the burial mound. It settled about the elf who was shown shaking hands with a dismounted man in a dark cloak, who bore an intricately decorated sword in a scabbard. The hilt suddenly gleamed, then the sword faded back of the picture – as did one thing more.
Raven flew above the Barrow, its enchantment not hindering her in helping them recover most of the surviving horses. However, once they all left the central barrows, they found themselves inexplicably outside the Barrows altogether, and on an ancient paved road.
Cle’or had never felt so tired. Balfour rode double with her, his arms around her waist. She allowed herself to lie back against him, though she hated herself for her weakness. She felt so strange and fingered her intricately crafted anklet. She had been afraid she might have lost it in the struggle when… when she’d fought beside Lord Je’orj? What was she thinking? She’d never been inside the barrow. She didn’t even own an
anklet!
She shook her head and touched the money pouch at her side, thinking it felt a bit heavier. But that was ridiculous, too.
“Je’orj, we cannot go on as we have,” Balfour averred as he slowed his mount