For a single, fleeting moment, there was only triumph. The oppressive hum of the well was gone, replaced by the clean, wild roar of the untethered storm. I had done it. I had faced the ocean's fury and won.
Then the exhaustion hit me like a physical blow, a debt collector demanding immediate payment for the power I had spent. My limbs felt heavy as lead, my head swam, and the adrenaline that had fueled my climb evaporated, leaving only a deep, aching cold.
The rhythmic flashes from Port Draconis were a stark reminder that there was no time for rest. They were coming.
The descent was a nightmare. Climbing up had been an act of focused, desperate will. Climbing down was a controlled fall, my muscles screaming in protest, my grip clumsy with fatigue. The whispers of the grit in the rock were harder to hear now, my concentration frayed. More than once, my foot slipped on the slick stone, sending my heart lurching into my throat before I found a new, precarious hold.
By the time I stumbled back onto the dark, churning beach, I was running on fumes. The dance with the waves was even more treacherous now. My timing was off, my harmonies weak. A particularly vicious wave caught me off guard, knocking me from my feet and sending me tumbling through the violent surf. I swallowed a mouthful of saltwater, my lungs burning, the undertow dragging me out. For a terrifying second, I thought it was the end.
But my feet found purchase on one of my own hastily made sandbars. I scrambled upright, sputtering and disoriented, and lunged for the relative safety of the rocks near the sea cave.
I collapsed through the entrance, a sodden, shivering wreck, and Kael was there to catch me, his face a mask of relief and urgent worry.
"You did it," he breathed, wrapping a dry, woolen cloak around my shoulders. "I saw the energy release. The entire coastline felt it."
"The alarm," I gasped, my teeth chattering too hard to form proper words.
"I saw that too," he said, his expression grim. He helped me to my feet. "They will send a skiff, likely with a storm-warden aboard—a Magi who can temporarily calm the seas. They will be here within the hour."
We looked at our own small, battered boat, now seeming impossibly fragile. "We can't go back the way we came," I said.
"No," Kael agreed, his gaze fixed on the churning sea outside the cave. "And we cannot outrun them on the water. Our only chance is the coastline. The maps showed a series of interconnected caves and passages about a mile north of here. If we can reach them before they land a patrol, we might be able to lose them in the cliffs."
It was a sliver of a chance, and it was all we had.
We left the relative shelter of the cave, stepping back out into the teeth of the gale. We didn't dare climb the cliffs, where we would be exposed. Instead, we began a treacherous scramble along the base, hopping from one slick, wave-battered rock to another. The sea spray was blinding, the footing perilous.
We had been moving for perhaps twenty minutes, our progress painfully slow, when a new light cut through the grey gloom of the storm. It was a single, piercingly bright searchlight, sweeping across the waves from the direction of Port Draconis. Their skiff was already on its way.
The light swept past us, momentarily illuminating the spray and the black rocks, then continued its arc. It would be back.
"Faster!" Kael urged, pulling me along.
We were no longer just running from a storm. We were running from the storm's masters. The hunt had begun again.