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They fell out of the gate in a tumble, as if the world itself had upended them and shaken them loose. The landing tore grooves into the courtyard of the elven sacred ground. Elves on watch, already strung tight by the new sky, flinched hard and rushed forward with weapons raised.
“Who goes there?”
“Demons! Demons have breached the wards!”
“I would prefer you calmed down,” Ketal said, brushing dust from his shoulder.
The panic broke as faces focused and recognized him. A different noise swelled—relief mixed with a kind of giddy fear.
“They’ve returned from Hell! Are you all right?”
“We are not,” Helia answered.
Her face had no color at all. Her hands shook with a child’s tremor, and even sitting upright looked like work. The Tower Master was worse. Bones had splintered and shifted out of shape; his skull did not sit properly on the rest of him. He looked like a skeleton that had forgotten how its pieces fit.
The Tower Master’s life-vessel had been driven to the edge of its capacity and was beginning to fracture. Helia had shattered three holy relics to survive. Only Ketal’s presence had let them walk out at all. If Hell had concentrated even a little more strength upon them, both would...
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