Broken Enchantment (Unbreakable Force Book 3) (11 page)

T
here were three men inside. Two were guards, the third was a man seated at a massive table of buttons, switches and wires. Aaric charged the guards, swinging his saber down to meet the guard’s steel. They sparred back and forth, the remaining guard trying to circle around behind Aaric. Adaryn never gave him the chance. She called her magic and blasted the guard backward so hard he slammed into the far wall. He fell to the floor and didn’t get up again. The guard Aaric was fighting snarled in anger, his brown eyes full of hate. “You’re the one,” he panted. “The inventor who betrayed Ruis. You’re supposed to be in prison!”

Aaric didn’t respond, his brow creased in concentration. The guard was a skilled swordsman, and he wasn’t sure he would get an opening, until, there! The man let his saber lower a fraction. It was all Aaric needed. His lifted his blade at lightning speed, plunging it into the man’s heart. He roughly pulled the sword loose, looking away.

The man sitting at the controls was old, with wispy white hair and watery blue eyes. He shrank away from Aaric, raising his hands in defeat. “Please, don’t hurt me!”

“Get out,” Adaryn snapped, pointing to the door. The man hurried to comply, leaving Adaryn and Aaric alone. The nomad leaned over the table to get a better look at the controls. “I don’t understand how this works.”

“I do.” Aaric walked over to inspect it. “I came here once with my father.” He pointed at a large lever. “This is the important one. Flip it and the energy will no longer be transferred to the braces and from those, to the collars.”

Adaryn nudged him. “Do it, then.”

Aaric swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and nodded. By doing so, he was turning his back on his father’s memory, his reputation, his own people.

But, he thought wryly, was I ever really one of them?

He pulled the lever. The humming slowed, then stopped.

Aaric sighed. “That’s it.” He unslung his glider, arc-bow, and rucksack, piling everything on the floor. He walked over to one of the large windows, overlooking the city. He smashed the glass with the handle of his saber Glittering shards piled at his feet and fell, sparkling in the air, to the city floor far below. He turned to Adaryn, and held out the glider. “It’s time for you to leave.”

Adaryn shook her head. “I’m not leaving you again, Aaric.”

He stepped forward, shoving the gilder in her hands. “You have to. It’s part of the plan. Bran needs to know when to fall back. You need to tell him. I’m going to place some explosives here and set them off with this.” He showed her a small device he had in his pocket. “I’ll do it right as I leave. Don’t worry, I’m going to be fine.”

Adaryn looked torn with indecision. Aaric continued. “Your father is out there, Adaryn. The sooner you retreat, the sooner he can get to safety.”

She nodded. “I will go.” She ran to him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his chest. “Promise me you’ll come back to me.”

Aaric closed his eyes, breathing in the woodsy scent of her hair. He’d never tire of that smell. “I’m going to be fine.” He blinked his eyes furiously. Being apart from Adaryn, in light of all that had happened, pierced him to his core.

He stepped back, memorizing the sight of her. Adaryn’s brilliant blue eyes, her wild hair, her beautiful smile that was quivering with the effort of not crying. Taking the glider, she ran toward the broken window and leapt into the sky. Using the drafts of wind, she glided toward the ground. Aaric fervently hoped she would be all right. If nothing else, at least Kingsley wouldn’t be able to collar her again.

Aaric hurriedly rummaged through his rucksack and placed several explosives throughout the room. They were powerful, strong enough to demolish the entire building. He would have to be on the ground level and running out the door before setting them off. He grinned without humor as he set the last explosive under the chair the older man had been sitting in.

He surveyed the room with a look of satisfaction, then turned to leave, and found himself face to face with Kingsley.

T
he streets were bedlam. It was obvious the Oppressors had not expected an attack from the nomads. Guards, armed with muskets and sabers defended against the nomads fiercely, managing to collar a few of them. Most of the Oppressors ran and hid. Nomad fought nomad with magic, one always wearing a collar, their masters forcing them to fight.

Bran sent magic into the earth, causing the ground to explode under the Oppressors feet, or to give way, burying them under mountains of dirt. His face hurt from the snarl that was perpetually on his face. A bullet embedded itself into a post not a foot away from him. Bran turned and sent a bolt of magic into his attacker, ending his life.

Running around a corner, Bran saw an odd scene unfolding. A nomad slave was on his hands and knees, head down. An Oppressor stood over him.

“Get up,” the Oppressor shouted. “Get up, Bertram, and protect my family, curse you!”

The nomad shook his head, breathing heavily. He was covered in sweat. The collar around his neck crackled and hummed. “I will not,” he panted. “I cannot harm my people.”

“You can and you will,” the Oppressor shouted. “I command you, Bertram. Now.”

At the moment Bran stepped forward to aid the fallen magic user, the collar shuddered. Bertram cried out, and the collar went silent. The Oppressor gasped, pushing a switch on his brace. Nothing happened. His eyes grew in alarm and he took a step back.

Bertram put a shaking hand to his throat, wonder in his gaze as he stood to face his master. “You have no power,” he said.

The Oppressor cringed away from him. “Bertram, protect my family.” It sounded more like a plea than an order.

Bertram shook his head. “I need to protect my own.” Turning his back to the man, his eyes met Bran’s for a moment. Bran didn’t recognize the nomad, so he must’ve been from a different clan. Bertram recognized another nomad, however, and nodded his head in acknowledgment before he ran down the street and around a corner

“Bran!” Adaryn came running from the opposite direction, not even glancing in the direction of the Oppressor who scuttled into a nearby shop. “Aaric did it. He shut down the Tower.” She flung a hand in the direction of the northern gates. “He’s setting up explosives as we speak. You need to get the slaves out.”

“Right.” Bran ran down the street, where Bertram had run. “To me!” he roared. “To me! Nomads, to the forests!”

Slaves everywhere were beginning to realize they were free. They ran everywhere, laughing, crying, some took part in the fighting, others simply ran. A woman, tears running down her cheeks, ran toward the gates, a young child in her arms. Both wore collars.

“To the forests!” Others took up the call, running toward the gates, some torching buildings with their magic as they ran.

Adaryn tugged on Bran’s arm. “I’m going back for Aaric.”

“No,” Bran motioned in the direction of the gates. “I’ll find him and make sure he gets out.” He turned and ran in the opposite direction, toward the Tower, Adaryn trailing him. “Go find your father,” he yelled. “You’re in danger here.”

“No!” Adaryn shouted back. “I need Aaric.”

Bran didn’t waste time trying to persuade her. She’d made her decision.

Together they ran through the crowded streets, to the heart of Ruis.

“
W
here is Adaryn?” The light in Kingsley’s eyes bordered on madness. He took a threatening step toward Aaric. Several men stood behind him, but Aaric’s eyes were locked on the furious magistrate. Kingsley held a gun, and pointed it in a hand shaking with rage at Aaric’s heart.

“Where is she? Curse you for a fool, Aaric.” He took another step forward, causing Aaric to instinctively take a step back before he could catch himself. But Adaryn was safe from Kingsley, and that was all that mattered to him. He sneered at the magistrate.

“She’s gone, Kingsley. You’ll never see her again.” It felt good to throw Kingsley’s past words back at him.

“You could have had it all, Aaric.” Kingsley talked as if Aaric hadn’t spoken. “You had your father’s money, your growing reputation, and you threw it all away, and for what? A slave.”

“Not a slave.” Aaric’s voice went cold with anger. “A girl, Kingsley. A woman. A human. Someone with value, with a soul. She should’ve never been subjected to such humiliation, and I pray that the heavens will forgive my wrongdoing. Adaryn was never meant to be enslaved.”

“She’s mine.” The rage in Kingsley gaze was white-hot, his face twisted. “I will get her back, and destroy her for her disgraceful behavior. She’s a rover, Aaric!”

Out of the corner of his eye, someone stirred. Aaric’s eyes flicked over to her for a fraction of a second. A young woman with long, fiery red hair, looking submissively at the floor. Ember. So she’d come, too.

“You know the Tower’s energy has been shut down, Ember,” Aaric said, keeping his eyes on Kingsley. “And I’ve set explosives all over this room.” He lifted the controller. “You need to go before I set it off. Kingsley can no longer stop you.”

Kingsley barked a harsh laugh. “She won’t leave me. She’s a shadow of her former self, Aaric. She has no will of her own left.”

Aaric let his mind drift back to Adaryn. His dear spitfire Adaryn. There was only one way to keep her safe from Kingsley. He’d never see her again, but it was a small price to pay. His life for hers. He lifted the small controller, and smiled sadly at Kingsley.

“Ruis will adapt without slaves, the nomads will be free, and Adaryn will be safe, but not until you’re gone. I had hoped to see her one last time—” Ember’s head snapped up to stare at him “—but sacrifices must be made.”

Aaric took a deep breath—goodbye, Adaryn—and flipped the small switch on the device.

He saw a flash of red, and the Tower was ripped apart.

I
froze mid-stride, horrified at the nightmare that unfolded before me. The Tower exploded, brick and stone flying everywhere. Fire blossomed, consuming the twisted, skeletal structure that was standing, until that too, started to collapse.

Bran had halted as well, his eyes wide with shock. We were standing several hundred yards away, far away enough to be clear of the falling debris, but close enough to see no one had escaped.

Aaric.

“No!” The word ripped out of me in a shriek, and I ran forward.

Bran tried to hold me back—“It’s too dangerous!”—but when he grabbed me by the arm, I summoned the magic, throwing up a barrier between us. He staggered backward and I continued my sprint toward the collapsed structure.

“Aaric!” I screamed, scrambling over burnt and twisted debris, not caring I was getting scratched and burned. I had to find him. He had to be safe. I found nothing.

The remaining portions of the Tower shuddered and groaned. I drew on the magic, feeling my strength weaken as I did so. I still hadn’t recovered from my ordeal. I didn’t care. I used the magic to blast rock and brick, searching.

There. Aaric’s body, huddled under some smoking timbers. I ran over to move them, and my magic shivered and winked out. I was too exhausted. Unsuccessfully, I tried to move the timbers with my bare hands, my fingers pierced with rough, wooden splinters. Then Bran was there, heaving them off Aaric’s body. I knelt down and gently wrapped my arms around him, my body shaking with sobs. What happened? Why didn’t he get out? Something must have gone terribly wrong.

“You said you’d come back to me,” I hiccuped through my tears. Grief threatened to swallow me whole. “You said you’d be fine. Why, Aaric?”

My heart skipped a beat when I felt arms go around me. I looked intently at his face through my tears. Aaric’s eyes fluttered open, and he smiled weakly. “I am fine, Adaryn. I—” he coughed hoarsely, “—I just need to rest. I’m very tired.”

“You’re all right?” I pulled away from the embrace in my shock. “Why didn’t you get out?” I would have smacked him if I wasn’t so relieved by his survival.

Aaric grimaced. “Kingsley.”

My breathing quickened as I surveyed the wreckage. Was he still alive too?

“He didn’t make it, Adaryn,” Aaric said softly. “No one in the Tower did.”

“How did you?” It was unfathomable that someone could have survived.

Aaric coughed again. Bran crouched down and handed me a canteen of water. I carefully held it to Aaric’s lips. He tried to drink, but coughed and spluttered worse than before. He pushed it away.

“It was Ember,” he said softly. “She protected me with her magic.” His eyes clouded, thinking back. “I don’t know how she did it, but the magic surrounded me when the explosions went off.”

“A Protective Circle,” Bran spoke up. “She wove air around you and sealed it with fire.” There was admiration in his voice. “That was quick thinking on her part.”

“But she didn’t weave, as you say, around herself as well.” Puzzlement showed through his exhaustion. There were smudges of soot on his nose and forehead.

“It’s particularly draining on one’s magic,” Bran explained. “She probably only had enough strength to use it on you.”

Aaric looked aghast. “Why didn’t she save herself?” He let his head fall back wearily, guilt on his face.

Bran shrugged helplessly. He didn’t know the answer. A memory flickered in my mind. Myself, laying on the floor, locked away in Kingsley’s house. Ember, crouched over me. I hope that I may someday earn your forgiveness. . .

I lay my head on Aaric’s chest, tears trickling down my face. Goodbye, Ember.