Violet Sorengale (73:11)
This is the Cosmo magazine part. Merrin, protect Sawyer, rhiannon orders. Cat. Help whoever you can. Let's go. Guess I'll just stay here. Sawyer calls after us, muttering a swear word as we take off, sprinting between the rows of infirmary beds. We're the first to make it to the doors where Winifred holds the wailing infantry cadet by his upper arms. Violet, don't go out there. She starts. Lock the doors. I shout as we run through. Like that's gonna stop them. Riddick challenges as we enter the tunnel, then all three of us get to a halt at the site before us. The blankets on every overflow bed down the hallway had been thrown back, revealing desiccated bodies. My stomach plummets. How did this happen so fast? Oh shit. Riddick draws another dagger at my right as two more riders sprint through the infirmary doors behind us, both from second wing. I reach for Zaden and find his shields not only up but impenetrable. Frustrating, but fine. I'm perfectly capable of fighting on my own. And I have Re or I have Riddick and Ri with me. You do not have a conduit, taran reminds me, which means I can't pinpoint lightning strikes, especially not indoors. I've always been far more accurate with daggers than my own power. Warn whoever's riders guard the wardstone. Already done, he replies. Check the bridge. Rhiannon commands the two from second wing, and they take off toward the riders quadrant. Bring their bodies outside once you're done killing them so we can roast them for fun, and Darne suggests, not right now. I calm my breath and concentrate, eyes open. Rhiannon says, her voice as steady as her hand as she pulls an alloy hilted dagger and moves to my left, lets go. Then we move as one, quiet and quick as we make our way down the hall. I keep my eyes forward as Ri and Riddick check left and right respectively, and their silence tells me all I need to know there are no survivors. We follow the curve of the tunnel, passing the last cot, and a scribe flies out of the stairwell ahead, his robes billowing behind him as he runs toward us at full speed. I flip the dagger in my hand and pinch it by the tip, my heart starting to beat double time. Which way did they go? Re asks the cadet. The scribe's head falls back, revealing red rimmed eyes with spiderweb veins at his temples. Nope, definitely not a cadet. He reaches beneath his robes, but I've already flicked my wrist by the time he grabs the pommel of a sword. My dagger lodges in the left side of his chest and his eyes bulge in shock as he falls gracelessly to the tunnel floor. His body shrivels in the span of a heartbeat. Damn. Sometimes I forget how good you are at that, Re whispers, scanning our surroundings as we move forward. How did you know? Riddick asks in the same hushed tone, quickly kicking the husk of a body over and retrieving my blade. The scribe would have run toward the Archives. I take the blade back and wrap my hand around the hilt. Thanks. The alloy's hum of power is a little dimmer but still there, hopefully capable of another killing blow. How many of them had Imogen and I seen on our walk to the infirmary without even realizing that's how they fed without notice their dress describes. Two figures in cream robes approach from the opposite side of the tunnel, mage lights shining on their first year rank, and I prepare to throw again. Drop the hoods, Re orders. They both startle and the cadet on the right lowers her hood quickly, but there's a slight tremble in her counterpart's hands as she complies, her wide blue eyes locked on the body at my feet. Is that she whispers, and her friend wraps an arm around her swaying frame. Yes. I lower my blade, noting that neither of them carry red in their eyes or at their temples. Get back to the archives and warn the others. The women turn and run. Up or down? Riddick asks, facing the steps. Someone shouts beneath us. Down. Rhea and I say simultaneously. Great. Riddick rolls his neck down the stairwell to the torture chamber, where an untold number of freshly felled dark wielders wait. Good times. He takes the lead, switching his dagger to his left hand and lifting his right in preparation to wield as Riannon steps in behind me. We edge down the stairs rapidly, keeping our backs to the stone wall, and I send up a silent thanks to Aaron Norris for building Basgaya with stone stairs instead of wooden ones, with the potential to creak or burn. Pay attention to the present, not the past, taryn lectures. Metal clangs beneath us, the pitch varying from the ting of colliding blades to the ear grating rasp of steel scraping against stone. But it's the maniacal laughter mixed with grunts of pain that has me hurrying faster, has power rising, crackling along my skin. Control it, Taryn orders shields up to block him, knowing he can still push through if he wants. Stop playing with your kill and help us get this door open, someone demands from below. If they want a cell door open, they're definitely not on our side. They've come for Jack. How many guards are on Barlow? Riddick whispers as we near the turn in the staircase that will expose us to whomever waits beneath two. Rhiannon's answer is quickly muffled by the sound of a low and painful scream. Make that one, I reply, readying my hand to throw. The antechamber of the brig comes into view and my gaze flies over the all too familiar space, taking quick stock of our situation. Two dark wielders just inscribe robes yank at the unmoving door handle to Jack's cell while a female pulls her ruby hilted sword across the neck of a second year lieutenant who's been pinned to the thick table with daggers in through his hands, and a fourth stands at the edge of the shadows. Her long silver braid swings free from her hood as her attention whips in our direction and her eerie red gaze jumps to mine and widens slightly under a faded tattoo on her forehead. My blood chills when a smirk tilts her mouth, distorting the red veins at her temples, and then she disappears.
