The Gates of Memory, стр. 95
Her emotions were too complex to sort through, so she pushed them away. More important tasks demanded her full attention.
Alena dressed and stepped out of the tent, surprised to see she was the last one awake. Jace sharpened his sword while Toren examined every stone in the pouch that rode at his hip. No words passed between the men, but Alena didn’t notice any tension, either. She focused on the bond between her and Jace, curious what she might find.
She felt his concern, as she often did. But the bond between them radiated a warmth that made her smile.
She joined them, reassured by the presence of both men.
For a moment, all felt right in the world.
That moment ended too soon. Suddenly, Alena felt as though she was going to throw up. Beside her, Toren turned pale, and Sheren collapsed from where she’d been standing off to the side. Alena’s mind, acting more on instinct than conscious choice, dropped into a soulwalk.
Alena appeared in a flat space, empty as far as the eye could see.
She spun around, swearing.
She knew this place.
The last time she had been here, Lolani troops had been lined up, prepared to walk through the gate and invade the empire.
Alena kept turning, and both Toren and Sheren appeared next to her.
She hadn’t thought this possible.
Then she was there, terrible in her beauty, a spear in her hand. Her arm snapped forward, a smooth motion Alena barely caught. Alena’s mind, still in shock, couldn’t defend. The spear stabbed into her stomach and pinned her to the ground below.
Her vision flashed red as the agony of the wound overwhelmed any conscious thought. Somewhere, far away, she heard Toren shout.
The queen’s cackle, though, rattled her bones. “This will be the least of your pain.”
Alena felt something about the environment shift, and a hand yanked her head up by her hair. Her eyes opened through no effort of her own and she saw Toren pinned to a wall by several spears, his face a mask of unrelenting agony.
The queen let Alena’s head drop, then she spun, rose her heel up high, and drove it down onto Alena’s chest. Her body slid down the spear until it smashed against the ground.
Alena gasped and coughed up blood.
This isn’t real.
Knowing that, though, and believing it, were two different things.
The queen walked over to Toren, hips swaying with each step, every movement exaggerated for effect. A knife appeared in her hand, one whose lines were as familiar to Alena as those on her palm.
The knife her father had made for her.
The queen stabbed it into Toren’s leg, then pulled it free and repeated it with the other leg.
An arrow struck the queen in the back, but the point of it bounced off her as though she was stone. Both the queen and Alena turned to see Sheren holding a bow.
The queen shook her head. “Witness now the weakness of your people.”
A dozen arrows fell from the sky. Sheren brought her arms up to protect herself, but the arrows stuck into her like a pincushion. She fell, joining the other soulwalkers in their distress.
The Falari’s attack might not have damaged the queen, but it distracted the woman’s attention long enough for Alena to find some focus. Fighting against the agony, she imagined herself whole and healthy, holding her father’s knife at the queen’s back.
The image wavered, both due to her struggles to focus and the resistance of the queen’s own will. But Alena opened up the connection to her gatestone, flooding her with a burst of power she desperately needed. She fought for a moment longer, then found herself standing behind the queen, knife in hand.
Before the queen could react, Alena thrust the knife between her ribs, right where the heart should be. If she could counter this ambush and kill the queen here, their troubles would be over.
The knife stabbed into the queen, but slowed to a crawl well before the tip reached the heart. The queen’s skin was as hard as steel.
Alena recognized the sensations for what they were. Her will and strength battled against those of the queen.
The queen screamed, spinning around with inhuman speed. Alena held onto the knife as the queen wrenched her body away, throwing Alena off balance.
The queen attacked again, but Alena’s wits had returned. She vanished and reappeared behind the queen, stabbing at the same place.
Unfortunately, Alena’s technique was easily duplicated by the queen, who vanished as Alena stabbed through empty air. For a handful of heartbeats both combatants disappeared and reappeared, attacks missing by the narrowest of margins. Sometimes they moved only a pace. Sometimes they vanished only to reappear hundreds of paces away. Distance didn’t matter, not here.
The queen ended the chase, deflecting Alena’s stab with a parry instead of a dodge. The two fought at the speed of imagination, but here the queen’s fighting skill and greater strength overpowered Alena.
Alena vanished before the queen’s sword cut her, then reappeared before Toren and Sheren. With a focused effort she freed them from their torment. They fell to their knees, not in pain but in shock, their minds fighting to remain balanced.
The queen approached the trio at a leisurely pace, her confidence absolute. Alena attempted a few attacks, manifesting spears and arrows and launching them at the queen. None came close to harming her.
Her friends were more a liability than a help. Their surprise was absolute, and by the time they found their balance this would be over. Until then, the queen could attack them at a whim.
The queen stopped short of the group. “No one has cut me in lifetimes,” she said. She almost sounded respectful.
Alena couldn’t have heard her right, but something in the queen’s attitude seemed different. The few times they’d fought, Alena had felt only malice and anger. This growing regard from her enemy unsettled her almost more than the initial attack.
A wave of power