Disciple of War Disciple of War (Art of the Adept #4) - Michael G. Manning Page 0,139

to question it.

The arm that he had thought was pinned, wasn’t—at least not exactly. There was space on his left side, and by shifting his body that way he was able to move his arm. Will couldn’t be certain, but it seemed that the stone slab that had impacted his force-dome had split in half, forming a small triangular shelter above him after his spell failed. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the odds. He knew he’d been incredibly lucky.

Rolling his head to one side, he addressed a piece of dusty stone that had been lying close to his cheek. “So long as neither of us tell Selene about this, I might survive to a ripe old age.”

The stone didn’t answer.

“That’s the spirit,” said Will encouragingly. “As long as we’re discussing it, you should probably avoid mentioning this to my sister too. She has a bad temper.”

Again, it didn’t reply, but Will could somehow sense its doubt. Not regarding what he’d said, but more about the fact that it could answer at all. It thought he was losing his mind. “Go to hell,” he muttered sourly. “I’ve lived through worse than this. In fact, I’ve even been buried alive before, now that I think about it. That’s why I learned the grave-digging spell.”

He stared stupidly at the stone for a moment, then a sound emerged from his lips. “Ooh!” He struggled to keep from giggling, lest Mister Stone take it as a further sign he wasn’t quite in his right mind. Instead he crooned happily to himself, “By the Mother and her great holy tits, William Cartwright, you are a fucking clever lad!” It was a swear he’d learned years before, from his old army buddy, Dave, but he’d never felt right using it until then.

Smiling, he told the stone, “Wait until I tell Selene about this. She’ll be so proud.”

Thankfully, the stone reminded him that that was precisely what he wasn’t to do.

“Right! She’d kill me,” he agreed. “Don’t tell her about the swearing either. She wouldn’t approve.” He was wasting time.

Starting small, he used the grave-digging spell to excavate a space beneath him while packing the excavated earth into cracks and crevices to the sides and toward his feet. There was a surprising amount of space, and after a few repetitions of the process Will found himself relatively free in a pocket beneath the collapsed building. The volume around him now was approximately enough to hold him two or maybe three times over. It wasn’t ideal for digging, but it was doable.

Continuing to move the earth, he gradually displaced himself deeper and sideways simultaneously. He would have rather gone directly to the side, but he was afraid he might displace the support for the stone above him and be suddenly be crushed if it came down on top of him.

He could dimly hear men yelling aboveground, so Will tuned his hearing to help alleviate his boredom. After a while, he could understand the voices of those close by and one in particular stood out as familiar to him. It was that of Mark Nerrow.

“Over the top, you bastards! Don’t waste your chance!”

In his mind, Will could almost see his father standing heroically on the field as he shouted the words. He’s the kind of leader they would prefer, thought Will. I just hope he remembers to let the Darrowans surrender. From what he could tell, men were clambering over the collapsed gatehouse to enter the city.

Combine that with the fact that they should also be entering from the two tunnels they had dug on either side of the city, and the battle for Maldon might as well be over. The city garrison would have no realistic hope of retaining control once the soldiers of Terabinia were inside the walls.

It worked, he thought smugly. And I didn’t even need to blow myself up, that was just a bonus. He continued making his way through the ground, imagining himself as a wizardly mole.

Above ground, things were growing quieter, but Mark Nerrow remained, interrogating those who had survived the gatehouse disaster. “Where was he? Damn it! Snap out of it! There, or over there? Be specific!” Moments later, he was yelling orders to more men. “We have to move these stones!”

The baron didn’t react well when one of them told him that it was impossible for Will to have survived. “That’s hundreds of tons of stone, Sub-marshal, no one could be alive under that.”

“Shut your damned mouth! I’d know if he