In the middle levels of Boura Fell, the walls trembled. Choking dust filled the hallways, and chunks of raw sel’dor ore fell from the rapidly disintegrating ceilings as Ellysetta’s rescuers raced through the bottommost corridors, breaking down cell doors and herding released prisoners towards the Fey waiting to usher them towards the exit through the Well of Souls.

A section of the roof caved in over Gaelen’s head, and only Bel’s diving lunge saved the former dahl’reisen from being flattened like a journeycake.

“You’re welcome.” Bel grinned, gave Gaelen’s lean cheek a slap and hopped to his feet. “We’ve got to find those women and go, kem’jeto,” he added as he extended a helping hand to his friend. “This place is coming down around our ears.”

“Guess we’d best hurry then.”

Bel signaled to the Fey behind them. “You six, take that hallway down there.” He pointed several tairen lengths down the hall, where a shadowy corridor headed off from the one they were in. “The rest of you come with Gaelen and me to clear the end of this corridor.”

Gaelen was already running towards the end of the hall, leaping chunks of debris like a pronghorn bounding over fallen trees in the forest. “If we’re not back in ten chimes, go on without us,” he called over his shoulder.

“Ten more chimes, and we’ll none of us make it out alive,” Bel muttered when he caught up with Gaelen.

White teeth flashed a sel’dor-dust-coated face. “Care to make a wager on that?”

Bel laughed in spite of himself. “Ninnywit.” They had reached the offshooting hallway. A glance down the sconcelit corridor revealed only two doors. “You take those. I’ll take the doors on the right and work my way back around to you.”

Gaelen sped down the corridor. The first door was heavily warded, but one at the end of the short hallway was not. If there had ever been any guards, they had already fled their posts. He flung open the unwarded door and stopped dead in his tracks, shocked by the bright, sunlit beauty of the room. An unexpected paradise in the heart of darkness. More astounding still was the group of weeping, naked women huddled beneath the rocking “sun” suspended from the ceiling painted to look like a sky overhead. The ground beneath his feet was carpeted with small, fragrant white flowers, the blooms’ six starry petals shaped like tender bells. Most of the flowers had been crushed by booted feet, but they were still fragrant and still valiantly, stubbornly, clinging to life.

Amarynth. The Fey flower of life, which bloomed only in the steps of a Fey woman carrying an unborn child.

Amarynth. An abundance of it, blooming here in this evil place.

His eyes narrowed at the sight of two blue-robed Primages and several umagi trying to force dozens of women into an open portal to the Well of Souls.

«Fey!» he cried on the path the warriors had forged amongst themselves. «Ti’Gaelen! There are fellanas here!» Red Fey’cha flew in a lightning-swift strike. The umagi dropped like stones, freeing the women who ran, weeping, towards the knot of fellow captives.

Mage Fire blasted towards him. He dodged to one side, flinging up a swift five-fold weave to meet the lethal Fire and launching half a dozen more Fey’cha in rapid succession. One Primage caught a glancing blow on his upper arm. A look of dismay flashed across his face. A moment later, convulsions racked his body and he collapsed, dead before he hit the floor. The other Mage shot more Mage Fire Gaelen’s way and made a threatening move towards the women, but when he saw the reinforcements running into the chamber, he spun around and leapt into the Well of Souls instead. The doorway closed behind him, and Gaelen’s last volley of Fey’cha spun harmlessly through the now-empty stretch of air to bury themselves in the trunks of a small grove of trees.

The warriors gathered around the women, Earth masters spinning swiftly to cover them in warm robes. There were thirty or more women in the strange chamber, mostly Celierians, but a dozen or more bore a visible glow of magic in their skins. At least half of the women—including most of the luminous ones—were with child.

Two women, in particular, made the Fey send up prayers of thanks to the gods, while the dahl’reisen among them backed swiftly away. Shei’dalins, pale and dull-eyed, shackled in sel’dor. Two of the three who’d been captured at the battle of Teleon in the fall.

“Nicolene-falla,” one of them murmured as Gaelen wrapped a cloak around her shoulders. “They took her.”

“Into the Well?” Gaelen asked quickly. Nicolene vol Oros was one of the Fading Lands’ most powerful healers, captured along with these two shei’dalins, in the battle of Teleon.

“Nei, away somewhere else in this place. She would not obey, even to save herself, and they took her away. What they did to her…” The shei’dalin’s voice trailed off and her pale face went even paler. “We felt her pain.”

«Vel Jelani!» Gaelen relayed the information quickly. «Nicolene vol Oros is here in this fortress.»

«Understood. I haven’t found her yet.»

“What about Lady Darramon?” Gaelen asked the shei’dalins. The fragile Great Lady Basha Darramon had been captured with these women at Teleon.

The shei’dalin shook her head. “Dead.”

The ceiling overhead cracked. A massive chunk of rock plummeted from the roof of the cavern and landed in the small lake at the chamber’s center with a great splash. Beams of light, far brighter than the false sun that had lit the room, shone through the gaping hole overhead.