Mierin: переводы

→A weave thumped against the room, a ripple in the earth, and the strained roof finally gave out. Earth poured down atop them, and all went black.

→Androl yelled, and he neared the top of that wall in his mind. He was almost there! He could—

→Sweat dripped down the sides of Androl’s face. He gritted his teeth, his face going red, eyes opening wide. Smoke poured through the doorway, making Emarin cough as Nalaam Healed Jonneth.

→The doorway erupted, and Jonneth fell back, arm burned. The ground trembled; the walls started to break apart.

→Pevara jumped in front of the doorway, releasing a weave, then knelt down beside Androl. He stared ahead, not seeing, face a mask of concentration. She could feel determination and frustration pulsing through the bond. She took his hand.

→“Bah,” Nalaam set Logain down beside the wall. “I’ve been in tighter spots before!” He joined the others at the doorway, flinging weaves down the corridor. Blasts shook the side walls, and dirt rained down from the roof above.

→“We cannot stand here,” Logain said. “Androl. A gateway.”

→Jonneth knelt down beside her, bow out. “Light, that’s Taim’s voice!”

→A voice called orders distantly, echoing in the tunnels.

→“Whoever it is, they’re strong,” Pevara said.

→She heard shouts, but something deflected the fire. Immediately, a shield tried to slam between her and the Source. She fought it off, barely, and ducked to the side, breathing deeply.

→Pevara didn’t wait for the debris to settle; she wove Fire and released a column of destruction down the corridor beyond. She knew she was facing Darkfriends, or worse. The Three Oaths did not hinder her here.

→“Back!” Androl shouted, stepping to the side of the door—against the earthen wall. The door exploded in a weave of fire and destruction.

→Logain tried to stand on his own, then sagged again. His face grew determined, but Pevara felt Androl’s disappointment. Logain had been given forkroot; either that, or he was simply too tired to channel. Not surprising. Pevara had seen women in better shape than this who were too worn out to embrace the Source.

→“Someone found the guards,” Emarin said. “My Lord Logain, can you fight?”

→Yells, muffled by the door and the dirt walls, sounded outside in the hallway.

→He coughed, then rose to his knees with Nalaam’s help. Androl knelt immediately, but not in reverence. He looked Logain in the eyes as Emarin gave the Asha’man leader his flask for a drink.

→The others hurried to join him, and Androl picked the door’s lock with a surprisingly adept hand. They pulled open the cell door, and Logain rolled out with a groan. He looked horrible, covered in grime. Once, that curling dark hair and strong face might have made him handsome. He looked as weak as a beggar.

→“Prepare yourselves,” Androl whispered, then shoved open the thick wooden door. Beyond, they found a line of crude cells built into the earthen wall—each one little more than a roofed cubbyhole burrowed into the earth with a door set in the opening. Pevara peeked in one, which was empty. The cubby didn’t have enough room for a man to stand up inside, and the room was unlit. Being locked in those cells would mean being trapped in blackness, squeezed into a space like a grave.

→“Light!” Nalaam said. “Androl! He’s in here. It’s Logain!”