Or at least the majority of the tunnels, Tearloch acknowledged.
Weeks ago the lower chambers had been nearly destroyed by a series of violent explosions that had had collapsed tunnels and filled caverns with rubble.
Making his way through the unnaturally smooth passageway, Tearloch grimaced. It wasn’t just the evil the pulsed through the air, or thick silence that made him twitchy as hell.
No, it was the sensation he was once again trapped against his will that made his skin crawl.
With an effort he leashed his instinctive urge to charge out of the claustrophobic catacombs and instead forced his feet to carry him to the large cavern where the spirit of Rafael hovered in the center of the stone floor.
He shuddered at the sensation of icy power prickling over him as he stepped past the barrier that the wizard had conjured to protect them from intruders.
If his mind hadn’t been clouded by his growing madness he would’ve been horrified by the spirit’s increasing strength. It was always a delicate balance between a summoner and the summoned, and Sylvermyst were taught from the cradle to keep a careful leash on their spirits.
Otherwise the master could all too easily become the slave.
As it was, he felt more annoyance than anger as Rafael drifted toward him, his skeleton-thin fingers caressing the pendant hung around his neck.
“The mage?” he questioned softly.
Tearloch’s lips flattened. He’d just wasted the past two hours searching the tunnels for Sergei Krakov. It was more than a little irritating that the bastard managed to elude him.
“He’s managed to cloak his presence,” he snapped.
“You are certain he went through the portal with you?” Rafael demanded.
Tearloch scowled. “Of course I’m certain. Do you think I could mistake hauling a grown man through a portal from London to Chicago?”
“Then he no doubt has used his powers to escape.” The wizard dismissed his rival with a sneer. “He always was a coward.”
Tearloch hissed at the arrogant claim. He agreed that Sergei was a spineless fool, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need the mage. His gaze stole toward the bundle of blankets that hid the child in the corner of the cavern.
“He might be a coward, but he told the truth when he claimed that he was the best equipped to resurrect the Dark Lord.” His gaze shifted back to the spirit. “He has prepared far longer than you have.”
Rafael tilted his chin to a haughty angle. “He is unworthy to perform such a holy ceremony. I have warned you from the beginning that—”
“I think you’re forgetting who makes the decisions, wizard,” Tearloch interrupted the increasingly familiar complaint.
Rafael had been whispering that they had no need of Sergei since Tearloch had managed to capture the child along with the mage. It was blatantly obvious he wanted Tearloch to get rid of his magical rival, just as he had wanted him to turn his back on his tribesmen.
He’s isolating you... .
Easily sensing he’d pushed too far, the spirit was offering a deep bow of apology.
“No, Master.”
“Don’t call me that,” Tearloch snarled.
Rafael bent until his hairless head scraped the floor. “As you wish.”
With a growl, Tearloch twirled away from the wizard, shoving his fingers through his hair.
“These tunnels are suffocating me,” he rasped. “I need fresh air.”
“You cannot leave the caves. Do not forget you are being hunted.”
Tearloch jerked back toward the wizard with a fierce glare. At the moment he was hot, frustrated, and in the mood to blame the damned wizard for all his troubles.
“I’m not likely to forget. Not when I’m being buried alive like I’m a damned rock troll.” He shuddered. “Why did you insist we come here?”