The Protector and the Peacemaker

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

(Sarah)

The tension in the mines was thick enough to cut with a knife, and Sarah began to notice things she hadn't seen before as she was being led through the tunnels a second time. The Mythics that lived there wore grim expressions. Porter may not have been able to detect the scent, having a human nose, but to her the bitter scent of fear was almost overpowering.

Many of the mine's inhabitants were wearing armor. Helmets, shields, and breastplates adorned their bodies, but the metal was rusted and looked like it would crumble to pieces after one good strike. One little fae boy they passed, not even thirteen years old, was being fitted with a suit of armor so heavy that he could barely move.

As they continued through the tunnels, they went through a chamber filled with furnaces and blacksmith equipment, where various Mythics were busy pounding metal into swords, spears, and axes. Their movements were slow and clumsy, and she heard Droma make a strange sound in his throat, as if he wanted to reprimand them for their shoddy craftsmanship.

At the moment, though, Sarah couldn't bring herself to care about any of this. Arch-Mythic Rayalga had said that her parents would be ashamed of her— if they were still alive. That, more than anything else, had hammered home the fact that her parents must have been killed in the Slayers' attack on Jellaska Kob Lertan. Her mother, who had always known exactly what to say to make her feel better as a child. Her father, who had always looked at her with undisguised pride, as if just being her father was the greatest thing he had ever accomplished. Could they really be gone? If anyone would know that they were dead, it would, without a shadow of a doubt, be the Arch-Mythic.

Sarah felt her knees grow weak, and they buckled underneath her. The guards took no notice, and proceeded to drag her the rest of the way. Her head fell, not even caring to see where they were taking her now, and she hung limply in their hands.

After a few more minutes, the guards halted. There came a loud groan as an old, rusty door opened in front of her, and suddenly she was thrown forward. She landed hard on her side and rolled a bit before coming to rest. Her friends soon followed, being piled in a heap all around her. She dimly registered that all of their bonds had been cut, leaving them free to move their hands. She looked up just in time to see the green skinned man give them one last smug look, and then slam the heavy iron door shut, leaving them in darkness.

"Hey!" Porter shouted in dismay, scrambling to his feet. "Rayalga said he was banishing us! You have to let us go!"

"Don't bother, Porter," Azkular said from across the cell, miserably. "The Arch-Mythic has gone mad. There's no logic or reason to his actions now."

"No!" Joseph protested, getting to his hooves. His eyes were wild with fright. "No, he hasn't gone mad. There has to be a reason he threw you all in here!"

"You're in here too, if you haven't noticed," Ozzie retorted, bitterly.

Joseph shook his head. "A mistake, that's all. I'm innocent. You're the ones who need to be in here!"

Sarah tried to ignore them as visions of her parents continued to flash in front of her eyes. Sobs tore at her throat, but she doubted the others were paying enough attention to hear them. For the first time in three days, she shifted back to her sphinx form. It wasn't much, but the feeling of being in her real body was a small comfort.

"What do we do?" Porter asked, turning away from the door, giving up hope that the guards would come back to let them out. "We can't just stay in here."

"You're right," Faska agreed, getting up to stand with Porter. "We'll have to break out."

Droma joined them as well, and ran his hand over the door.