by Randy Nargi
There, huddled on the ground, sobbing his eyes out was one of Gredarl Kar’s guards.
Well, to be more accurate, he looked like a young man dressed up as a guard.
The kid couldn’t have been much older than twelve, and he was a scrawny twelve at that. Not like the twelve-year-olds from Lhawster or Rhodaca. Those kids started growing beards at ten and by twelve they already had kids of their own. A slight exaggeration, but still, this young man had no business being in uniform.
“Don’t kill me!” the boy shrieked.
“Quiet!” Niam said. He lowered the sword. “I’m not going to kill you.”
The kid noticed Niam’s uniform. “Oh my! You’re one of them!” His voice got louder and more shrill. “You’ll kill me for sure!”
“I won’t kill you! Unless you refuse to shut up.”
That caused the kid to cry even more.
“Hey,” Niam said. “What’s your name?”
“My name?”
“Yes, who are you?”
The boy was nearly too terrified to speak. “I’m Med…Med—”
“Your name is Med-Med?”
“No. Sorry. Medgal. My name is Medgal. Please don’t kill me.”
“I told you. I have no intention of killing you, Medgal. Are you really a guard here?”
“Y-y-yes.”
“Are you sure?” Niam really found that hard to believe.
“Uh, yes.”
“Gredarl Kar’s guard, right? I just want to make sure that we’re both talking about the same guards here.”
“Yes. I work for Gredarl Kar. Like my father.”
“Your father is a guard too?”
“Yes. But he might be…dead.”
That caused Medgal to start bawling again.
Niam covered the kid’s mouth. “I thought we agreed that you were going to be quiet, didn’t we? You know, in exchange for me not killing you. Do we still have that bargain?”
“Y-y-es. Sorry. Sorry, don’t kill me. I’m so sorry.”
“Medgal, stop saying sorry.”
“I won’t. I mean I will. Sorry.”
“Tell me. Have you seen any more of my team?”
“What?”
“The folks you were fighting. The intruders? The enemy? Have you seen more of us?”
“Um, yes.”
“Good. Where?”
“What do you mean, where? In here.”
“This is a big place, Medgal. Where in here did you see my team?”
“All over. The great hall. The duck room. Linney’s room. A whole bunch came through the old map room. Why? Are you…lost?”
“Lost?” Niam forced a smile. “Of course not. Lost. That’s ridiculous.”
“Um, then why are you asking?”
“Never mind why. Just tell me when was the last time you saw one of us.”
“I don’t know. A quarter hour ago? But that’s when we were all ordered upstairs, so if your people were down below, we probably wouldn’t have seen them after that.”
“Hold on, lad. What do you mean ‘ordered upstairs?’”
“Ollo—he’s the captain—changed the orders,” Medgal said. “Instead of keeping you all out, we were to pull back to the gallery and hold it at any cost.”
“What’s the gallery?”
“Are you sure you’re not going to kill me?”
Niam said, “Of course not. We had a deal, remember?”
The boy considered for a moment and then continued. "The gallery is a big room all the way upstairs. It's filled with pictures and artwork and stuff like that."
“Is Gredarl Kar there? Is that why you were supposed to go up there?”
“Naw. I saw him downstairs. I think it’s the dark man. I think he’s up there.”
“Morin?”
“I don’t know his name. I only saw him once. He’s very scary.”
“I bet. So he’s up there?”
“I…I think so… Or…”
“Or?”
“Or it could be another mage. There’s so many here now. It could be a mage up there. Someone important.”
Niam asked Medgal to draw him a map to the gallery in the dust on the floor. He had a feeling he knew what was up there. Then he instructed the boy to hide and stay hidden until nightfall.
“Why nightfall?”
“Because this should all be over by then.”
Chapter Forty
JADEN FELT THE BONES OF HIS LEG SHATTER AS HE SMASHED AGAINST A STONE WALL. The giant of a man had tossed him like he was a child’s doll.
He had found himself in a set of upper-storey rooms that he had been through at least once before, wondering how he had been wandering in circles, when Chiran Hemmig and a massive hulk of a guard surprised him by pushing through a set of double doors that he hadn’t noticed.
Normally, he would have been able to race out of a situation like that before his opponent even registered he was there, but the giant had quicker reflexes than a mongoose and moved just as fast.
Before Jaden got two steps away, he had felt a meaty paw on his shoulders and he was spun around directly into the giant’s fist—which smashed into his chest with all the force of a blacksmith’s hammer. His heart seemed to stop and he flew back off his feet and became tangled in the long drapes framing the tall window overlooking the shards below. Then he was plucked from the ground, spun, and flung into the opposite wall, legs first.
“Stop playing with him, Neeth,” Chiran Hemmig said. “Snap his neck and let’s go find your master.”
Jaden almost blacked out from the pain of his broken limb, but he forced himself to concentrate on not dying. As the giant lifted him again, Jaden managed to free one of his stilettos from a sheath on his thigh. He slashed at the man’s neck, but the giant twisted so quickly that Jaden’s attack managed only to glance off the man’s collar bone. And then he felt an immense hand on his own neck—iron-hard fingers crushing his windpipe.
“Hold a second, Neeth. I’ve got an idea,” Chiran Hemmig said. The Imperial Magister was standing by the large window, looking down. “I always wanted to see how sharp those crystals really are. Do you think you can drop him on one?”
“That’s not necessary,” Jaden cried. “We can work something out—”
The giant grunted and all of a sudden Jaden was being dragged through the window. Blood rushed to his head as he dangled over the edge, held aloft by his ankle. Fifty feet below him glittered a row of immense memalin shards.
“No-oooo-oo!” he yelled.
“Looks like you got him lined up just perfect. Go ahead!” Chiran Hemmig said.
And just like that Jaden was tumbling through the air.
But he never made it to the ground.
He fell a couple of dozen feet and then found himself suspended in mid air.
Somewhere above him, Chiran Hemmig cursed, “Damn mages!” and then Jaden slowly drifted away from the towering crystal shards and floated down to the ground. He landed on his good leg and eased himself to the earth, panting like a dog from the pain.
“Over here!” a voice called.
Jaden twisted and saw an old mage he didn’t recognize. The mage was all alone, about a dozen yards away and motioning for Jaden to follow. “Hurry, man!”
“I can’t walk — broken leg.”
The mage nodded and all of a sudden Jaden was floating again—this time across the shorn grass that ringed the fortress. The mage guided him gently to the ground in front of him and Jaden finally recognized him. The mage was Tarist of the Red, one of the Grand Guild Masters and perhaps the second most powerful mage in the Empire.
“Thank you, Grand Guild Master,” Jaden said.
“We need to get you to a healer.”
“The rest of them are still in there.”
“I know. And it’s bad.”
“What do you mean?” Jaden asked.
“Meomannan Quill got it all wrong,” Tarist muttered. “The Tree Heart isn’t what he thought.”
; SILBRA DAL STEPPED OVER THE BODIES IN THE HALLWAY. Some were doldar, some were Gredarl Kar’s guards. She didn’t really care much about either.
This whole escapade was becoming tedious, and she wondered why they were even here. They knew who was behind the attacks on Waterside and Kreed’s Keep. Now it was just a matter of cleaning up the mess.
That’s what actually felt good.
Ever since her trammel had been released by Hirbo Thrang, using her powers was like an incredible new sensation. She was tapping into something she had never felt before. And now she was more alive than ever before.
A part of her been a little fearful to face the battle mages in the courtyard. There were so many and they were so powerful, but once she had let herself go and trusted in her powers, she was unstoppable.
In fact, after that last battle, she hungered for more. So she left Meomannan Quill, the doddering old man, and went looking for another challenge: Morin of Thect. If she could vanquish him, subsume his power, who knows what she could accomplish?
But she had to find him first.
Detect magic had proven useless. Between the remaining enemy battle mages and their own forces, there was no way to determine who was who. So she had decided to explore the keep, dispatching any enemy forces she encountered along the way.
A cool breeze blew down the hallway and Silbra Dal smelled something odd. It was almost like the smell of honeysuckle. It was a strong odor. Sickly sweet. A window was probably open nearby.
She passed through an anteroom and then found herself in what appeared to be an immense ballroom decorated with gilded relief sculptures of mythological creatures on each wall. Three ornate arched doorways filled each side of the room, floor to ceiling windows stretched along one wall, and the ceiling was a series of massive frescoes depicting strange landscapes and unearthly vistas.
Silbra Dal recalled that Etthar Calain had told the group that this fortress originally belonged to a powerful mage. It was probably he who collected the macabre artwork that adorned this ballroom—although it was odd to think of a mage hosting large social gatherings.
She wondered what it might be like to live here, in such an immense manor. It must be nice to surround yourself with finery and to be waited upon by an army of servants. Although she imagined it could be lonely if you didn’t have someone to share it with.
A noise behind one of the doors interrupted her reverie. She became instantly alert and readied a magic bolt spell.
The door opened and a bloody man staggered into the room. He was tall and heavy-set, almost bloated-looking. One of Gredarl Kar’s guards, certainly, but unarmed.
“Help me,” he croaked. “Help—”
And then the man exploded.
Blood and viscera showered Silbra Dal.
She jerked back, trying to wipe the ichor from her face. She heard someone laugh and when her vision cleared she saw a horrific sight.
Raggur Nil, the battle mage, stood where the guard had been. He was gaunt and covered in blood. Strips of flesh hung on him like a cloak. It was almost as if he was wearing the flesh of the guard, almost as if…Raggur Nil had been inside the guard.
He reached down for something at his waist and there was a blur of movement. Before Silbra Dal could loose her spell, something shot out and wrapped around her neck. It was cold and wet and froze her flesh with intense pain. And then she was yanked off her feet towards Raggur Nil.
She clawed at her neck, but couldn’t free herself. And the noose—or whatever it was—was tightening, choking the life from her. She tried to calm herself and cast a sunder spell to break the weapon strangling her, but there was nothing there. No magic. Something was blocking her.
Raggur Nil laughed again and stalked over and Silbra Dal could see that it was a whip he had struck her with, a black and silver metallic whip. And now he was using it to choke her to death.
“You think you are powerful, girl? You think you can wield the forbidden spells?” He jerked the whip tighter. “You are weak. An insignificant speck—”
Her vision began to dim. But she had one last realization. The silver in the whip…it must be relorcan. That’s what was blocking her magic.
“My master will feast upon your blood. He will draw sustenance from your flesh.”
If the relorcan was blocking her magic, it must also be blocking his. That meant there was no magic behind the attack.
With her last bit of strength, Silbra Dal wrapped her hands around the whip and yanked with all her might.
It caught Raggur Nil by surprise. The whip snaked out of his bloody hands.
Silbra Dal flailed and scrambled away, clawing at the coils around her neck.
The battle mage roared in anger. "Not so fast, bitch!" He leaped at her.
But Silbra Dal managed to fling the whip away as if she were dislodging a viper. And at the same time, she cast toberst which activated just as Raggur Nil was about to tackle her. The air around her exploded into a sphere of force and Raggur Nil was catapulted across the ballroom, smashing into the gilded sculptures on the far wall.
Silbra Dal didn’t hesitate for even a fraction of a second. Lightning shot from her hands and arced across the room into Raggur Nil stunned body. He convulsed in pain as the bolts grew thicker and more powerful, hitting him again and again. Soon the smell of burning flesh permeated the air, but Silbra Dal did not relent. She stacked another spell on top of the lightning which created an intense heat that burned inside Raggur Nil. The awhyll spell caused his blood to literally boil his internal organs. He gasped and screamed in unimaginable pain, but Silbra Dal just focused on increasing the intensity of her spells until all that was left of Raggur Nil was a steaming pile of bloody guts and bones.
Breathing hard, Silbra Dal tried to force the air back into her lungs. She rolled her shoulders, then slowly turned her head. Her neck and jaw throbbed in pain, and she felt like she was going to vomit, but at least she was alive.
She looked down at what was left of Raggur Nil and was startled to see that the blood had seeped into the floor and was now fading into nothingness.
What kind of place is this?
Chapter Forty-One
“THIS IS THE EIGHTH STAIRCASE WE’VE CLIMBED,” ANNOUNCED FARAMIR BOLDFIST, AS THEY TRUDGED UP TO ANOTHER LANDING.
“I know,” Bander said.
“But this fortress only has three floors.”
“Four if you count the towers, but I understand what you are saying.”
“Then what in Dynark’s name is going on?”
“That I don’t know.” Bander raised his hand. “Let’s catch our breaths.”
Bryn Eresthar peered down the corridor. “It looks familiar, but not exactly the same as the other hallways we passed. See? That bench is different. It has red fabric.”
Bander walked over to see for himself. Bryn Eresthar was correct. The corridor was very close to one two floors down. It had the same carpet, the same artwork, even the same water spot on the plaster near the ceiling. But the damn bench was different. Again, he wished they had a mage here to help decipher what was going on. It was clearly a magical phenomenon, but what exactly? And how were they supposed to get around it?
Wegg said, “We can’t keep climbing stairs all day. What if we were to go back down?”
“I have a better idea,” Bryn Eresthar said. He borrowed the werris from Bander and hacked at the staircase’s handrail, splintering a big chunk out of the wood. “Let’s see if we encounter this again.”
They continued up for three more flights but didn't see the damaged handrail. The corridor, however, was identical to the previous corridor, except for the water spot on the plaster. It was gone.
“Let’s see if we can find another way up,” Bander said.
He led them away from the staircase and down the corridor. As they went, they peeked into various bedrooms, dressing rooms, and antechambers. Most everything was draped in sheets of cloth and covered with a thick layer of dust.
A few times t
hey looked through a window to try to orient themselves and it appeared that they were on the second floor of the south side of the fortress, but that didn’t make sense since the keep ran the other direction.
“We could die in this maze,” Wegg said.
“It is sort of a maze, it is,” Faramir Boldfist said.
“No one is dying here,” Bander said.
“This is interesting,” Bryn Eresthar said from across the hall. He was looking down a narrow corridor which intersected the main hallway.
Bander walked over. He saw that the walls, floor, and ceiling of the corridor were covered with what looked to be thick moss or bushy grass. Whatever it was, it was moving. Undulating. Slowly advancing towards them.
“This can’t be good,” Bryn Eresthar said.
Bander shook his head. “Reminds me of that shrine. Where was it? Ambalu?”
“No, that was with the quicksand and the slime. You’re thinking of the Dome of Ubron.”
“Yes, you’re right. The slime spores.”
“Spores?” Faramir Boldfist asked.
“Yes,” Bryn Eresthar said. “We’d best keep our distance.” He took a torch from the wall. “If I recall, the slime was highly susceptible to fire.”
“Don’t,” Bander warned. “This whole place could go up in flames.”
“I’m just seeing if it has a reaction.” Bryn Eresthar crouched down and moved the torch closer to the undulating green mass. As the flame drew closer, it recoiled.
“Just as I thought,” Bryn Eresthar said.
“Let’s go back to the stairs. We’ll try Wegg’s suggestion and head down.”
They retraced their steps to the wide staircase and this time circled down. But after traveling down six flights of stairs, they knew that they were still caught in whatever magical trap that had ensnared them.
“It’s not mind control,” Bander said.
“How do you know?” Bryn Eresthar asked. “This seems like the handiwork of the Witches.”
“Not likely,” Bander said. “Their mind control could create this effect among any one of us, but not all of us. Not like this.”