The Coriddian Admiral (Shrouded King Book 2) by Sandell Wall

Author:Sandell Wall [Wall, Sandell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2020-07-13T22:00:00+00:00

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Lacrael’s feet hit the gun deck running. The brig was next to the powder magazine. If the magazine blew before Lacrael could reach it, Brant would be vaporized. Black smoke billowed up from below. Dead and dying sailors lay scattered on the bloody deck. Feeble hands reached up toward Lacrael as she dashed by. Kaiser was nowhere to be seen.

“I can’t help you, I can’t help you,” Lacrael repeated over and over as she left friends to die. Tears were streaming down her cheeks now. Her debt to Brant made his life paramount. She must save him above all others.

The stairs down to the third deck almost did Lacrael in—smoke filled her lungs and blocked her vision. She found her way down by gripping the guide rail. When she cleared the last step, Lacrael fell to her hands and knees, hacking and coughing. Mercifully, on this side of the ship, the gaping holes that had been blasted in the hull were venting much of the black fumes.

Lacrael pulled herself to her feet. The devastation on this deck was horrible. Entire rooms had been obliterated by the point-blank fusillade. Lacrael forced herself not to see the mangled bodies and disembodied limbs scattered through the wreckage. Everywhere she looked, the shattered wood was slick with blood.

Brant was one level lower, on the very bottom of the ship. Lacrael descended the last landing and found herself face-to-face with an inferno. Left unchecked, the fire was devouring the Golden Dawn from within. Lacrael felt the terrible heat, but it did not hurt her. The problem was the smoke.

Issuing a silent plea to her dead grandfather that this would work, Lacrael raised her hands and added her own fire to the blaze. The force of the power flowing from her palms drove the conflagration back and cleared enough space in front of her that Lacrael could breathe.

She fought fire with fire. Lacrael moved down the long hallway in the underbelly of the ship towards where Brant was held. Within a few steps, flames surrounded Lacrael on all sides. She walked in the heart of the cataclysm.

Brant’s cell reared out of the smoke sooner than Lacrael had expected. She checked the fire shooting from her fingertips lest she be the one to incinerate him. Relief flooded through Lacrael when she found Brant still alive. He was lying on the floor to keep himself below the smoke. In another minute or two, his prison would be consumed.

Lacrael grasped the already hot iron lock—it melted it into liquid between her fingers. The door swung open, and she rushed in to kneel beside Brant. His terrified eyes found hers.

“Come on,” Lacrael said. “I can push the fire back with my own.”

Before Brant could reply, an explosion rocked the ship. The powder magazine, separated from the brig by a single wooden bulkhead, had started to detonate.

Brant rose to his knees, never breaking eye contact with Lacrael. She raised a hand and caressed his cheek. In Brant’s fear, in his imploring look for salvation, Lacrael saw something of the old Brant that she missed so much.

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