Dragonwatch, Book 2: Wrath of the Dragon King

by Brandon Mull

  “I’ll try,” Lockland said.

  The noisy splash of a gong reverberated from elsewhere in the castle. Seth looked at Kendra with wide eyes.

  “Somebody new has arrived,” Lockland said. “This is quite a night. Nobody in decades, and suddenly the arrivals keep coming.”

  “Sounds like just one,” Seth said as the shimmering of the gong faded.

  “We should hurry,” Lomo said. “We may have even more company soon.”

  “Could it be a friend?” Seth asked.

  “I doubt it,” Kendra said. “I don’t know of anybody else on our side who knew about this. Maybe another dragon. Emergency backup.”

  Lomo patted Seth’s shoulder and trotted toward the door. Seth followed.

  “Be careful, Seth,” Kendra said.

  “I’ll try to remember that,” Seth replied with a smile. “Hopefully when I get the key I’ll still know to bring it back here.”

  “Maybe you won’t forget too much,” Kendra said.

  “Does it seem like that kind of castle?” Seth asked.

  Lomo opened the door, but nothing was visible beyond the threshold. The light from the atrium could not penetrate the darkness.

  “Not comforting,” Seth said.

  “In we go,” Lomo replied, stepping forward and vanishing into the blackness.

  Embarrassed that he had let Lomo go first, Seth quickly followed. A slight tingle sparkled across his body as he stepped through the veil of blackness. On the far side he found himself in a fairly large room illuminated by glowing globes. A black rectangle in the wall marked where he had come from, though strangely Seth could not recall what lay on the other side. An enormous pair of bronze doors was centered in the opposite wall, each embossed with a large, bearded face.

  Two men already stood in the room. A handsome man with a dark complexion and an artistically sculpted goatee glanced back at Seth from only a couple of paces away. A wiry, older man, shirtless, with protruding ribs, waited over by the bronze doors. He faced Seth and the goateed stranger with excitement.

  “Tell me what you remember,” the man asked. “Why did you come here?”

  Seth opened his mouth to answer before realizing that he wasn’t sure. He glanced at the man with the goatee, who was scowling in thought.

  “I have no idea,” the goateed man said.

  “Me neither,” Seth replied.

  “You came in together,” the old man prompted. “Seconds apart. Any memory of one another?”

  Seth studied the man with the goatee. Nothing about him seemed remotely familiar.

  “Should I know you?” the man asked.

  “I don’t think we’ve met,” Seth said.

  “I’m Lomo,” the man said. “Of the Fair Folk.”

  “Seth Sorenson,” Seth said. “Of the Sorensons.”

  “And I’m Pietro,” the old man said. “I’m also unsure why I’m here.”

  “YOU ARE HERE TO COMPETE FOR THE TROPHY,” the face in the left door thundered.

  “WE WILL AWAIT ANY OTHER PARTICIPANTS AND BEGIN MOMENTARILY,” the face in the other door said.

  “I’m here for a trophy?” Seth asked. The idea didn’t sound familiar. Then again, nothing else seemed familiar either. He knew who he was. But he couldn’t remember much of his past, any of the people he knew, or what he might be doing here today. Was he alone in the world? As he pondered, he could almost bring up memories of some people. He felt sure he had a family. But faces and names refused to come into focus.

  “Remarkable,” Lomo said. “I feel certain I have a life, but I’m at a loss for specifics.”

  “I get your meaning,” Pietro said. “Same for me. What about you, Seth Sorenson?”

  “Same,” Seth said. “My whole life feels on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t remember details.”

  “I’d be tempted to scoff except I feel the same way,” Lomo said.

  A newcomer emerged from the black rectangle in the wall—a stocky man, well dressed and with a silver glove on one hand. He looked perplexed.

  “Quick,” Lomo said. “Why are you here?”

  The man looked from Lomo to Seth to Pietro. “What happened to me?”

  “You remember yourself,” Seth prompted.

  “I’m Tregain,” the man said. “Otherwise . . . I’m at a loss.”

  Seth, Lomo, and Pietro made their introductions and explained they were apparently about to compete for a trophy. The faces on the doors remained silent.

  Seth tried to gauge the unremembered men. Was it possible he knew all of them? None of them? They seemed pleasant enough, but if they were all trying to win the same trophy, they were his competition. Maybe even enemies? Or was it a friendly contest? How could his memory be gone?

  Another man burst through the black rectangle, then doubled over, hands on his knees, panting. He had a beard and long hair and wore some armor, but he carried no weapon. It seemed like he had been running.

  “What’s your name?” Seth asked.

  The man straightened and looked around. “Obregon,” he said in a strong voice.

  “Why are you here?” Lomo asked.

  Obregon folded his arms and brooded before answering. “I have no idea.”

  Once again, introductions were made. Seth kept an eye on the black rectangle, wondering who might come through next. He tried to guess at the stories of the people already in the room. Seth wore a sword, and Lomo was the only other person with a visible weapon, a sword as well. Lomo was so well groomed that he looked less like a real adventurer and more like a guy who played an adventurer in a show. Pietro could have been an old marooned guy from a desert island. Obregon seemed like a warrior, with a face that had probably absorbed a punch or two. Tregain came across as a lord.

  Seth could not guess how he had ended up competing against these men for a trophy. He seemed out of place with a bunch of adults. He didn’t think he was related to any of them, but it was hard to be sure with his memories so unfocused.

  “THE COMPETITION WILL NOW BEGIN,” the face on the left door uttered.

  “THE FIRST THROUGH THE GAUNTLET TO THE TROPHY IS THE VICTOR,” the face on the right door pronounced.

  “ENTER THE GAUNTLET AT YOUR OWN RISK,” the face on the left door warned.

  “SELECT ANY WEAPON OF YOUR CHOOSING,” the face on the right door encouraged.

  “ONLY ONE CAN TAKE HOME THE PRIZE,” the face on the left door intoned.

  “WHEN THE DOORS OPEN, ALL MAY PROCEED,” the face on the right said.

  The bronze doors swung outward.

  Identity

  Seth went through the bronze doors behind Tregain and Obregon. A foyer awaited beyond, the walls lined with weapons and shields; then a wide hallway proceeded onward, ramping steadily upward. Tregain grabbed a shield and a sword, as did Obregon. Lomo drew his sword, and Seth did as well. Pietro selected a knife.

  From the back of the hall marched a group of clay figures, armed with spears, axes, clubs, and swords. A few carried shields. There must have been twenty in all.

  “For glory!” Tregain called, sword held high as he charged up the incline.

  Obregon followed him closely, then Lomo next. Seth brought up the rear beside Pietro. Seth wanted to be first into the gauntlet, but hoped hanging back while the others fought might provide an opportunity to slip ahead.

  Either Tregain, Obregon, and Lomo fought well, or the clay figures fought poorly. The clay warriors proved brittle, shattering when contact was made. Obregon soon discovered that bashing them with his shield was perhaps more effective than hitting them with his sword, and Tregain copied the technique.

  Two of the clay warriors slipped by Tregain, Obregon, and Lomo. One focused on Seth while the other came for Pietro. Seth ducked a clumsy swing from a scimitar and, while down low, slashed his sword through two clay legs, shattering them into bits and fragments. The torso burst apart when it hit the floor. Glancing over, Seth found that Pietro had demolished his clay warrior as well.

 
; The three men in the lead finished off the clay warriors and advanced to where the hallway leveled out. Most of the clay figures had broken apart so completely they might have been smashed pottery. Seth and Pietro followed the others, but Seth worried that he was lagging behind too much.

  Holes riddled the floor, ceiling, and walls of the hallway in this level section. Spikes thrust out from and retracted into the holes at random, threatening to stab anyone attempting to pass. Seth quickly realized the trick was to never line up your body with holes, which was a challenge, with opposing walls to consider as well as the ceiling and floor. There were some resting areas without as many holes, and also some areas so perforated that anyone hoping to pass had to trust a little bit to luck.

  Seth paused where the holes began, watching the other men dodging, ducking, and jumping. A spike from the wall grazed Obregon’s shoulder. One from the floor tore Tregain’s pants.

  Pietro sprang nimbly forward, moving with more grace and control than the younger men, dancing from one foot to the other, twisting, hopping, and sliding. Seth did not relish being in last place, so he rushed forward as well. He soon discovered there was a quick hiss of air right before a spike emerged, and he tried to use that as insurance against getting skewered.

  Seth followed the route Pietro was taking, a student imitating the master. He checked the holes himself as well, but he consistently found the old man’s path to be about as good as the patterns of holes allowed. Though Seth had a few close calls, he made it to the far side of the many holes untouched.

  The hall elbowed, and Seth found Tregain, Obregon, and Lomo once again battling clay soldiers, even more than before. With a rumble, the walls of the corridor began closing together.

  Seth and Pietro charged forward. Seth dodged the downswing of an ax and pulverized the attacker with a blow to the chest. Obregon, Tregain, and Lomo fought their way past where the walls were closing, leaving six clay soldiers behind. By retreating strategically, Seth tried to isolate them and take them one at a time. The clay fighters seemed to reach back before every swing, giving him time to anticipate and either counter or dodge. With weapons whistling nearby, Seth dispatched one after another, smashing four of the six. Pietro dodged and slashed, taking care of the other two, but receiving a lance through his thigh.

  The hallway was now less than half the width than it had been when Seth had started, and it kept getting narrower every moment. Seth still had a good way to go before passing the closing walls, and a quick glance back showed him that Pietro was on the floor. The old man tugged the weapon out of his thigh and tried to stand, but his leg buckled and he collapsed. Pietro tried to rise again and fell again, slipping on his own blood.

  Seth paused, the walls grinding ever closer together. A big squish was coming for anything caught between them.

  Tregain and Lomo looked back from beyond the moving walls. Obregon was already running ahead. After a moment, both men turned and chased Obregon.

  Seth ran to Pietro.

  “Go,” Pietro said. “It’s too late for me. There is serious damage to the muscles and tendons.”

  Seth regarded the walls. They would collide shortly. He couldn’t let the old man get mashed. “I’ll drag you.”

  “We won’t make it,” Pietro said.

  He was right. Seth was sure he could still sprint past the moving walls, but not while dragging somebody. But he might be able to get Pietro clear if he went back toward the start, which was closer.

  Speed would be everything. Seth doubted he could carry the older man fast enough, so he hooked him under his arms and started pulling, dragging the injured man behind him, the lean, shirtless body inadvertently sweeping up clay fragments. With the hallway tightening, Seth saw he had a chance but knew it would be close. The only sure thing would be leaving Pietro behind, but Seth refused to let that be an option.

  Legs churning, muscles burning, Seth watched the walls close in until he could have reached out and touched them in either direction. With a final burst of effort, Seth made it past the narrowing hall, and a few steps later had dragged Pietro clear. The walls ground together with a crunch of clay fragments and then became still. Since the moving walls stretched from the floor to the ceiling, there was now no way to proceed.

  “Thank you,” Pietro said, panting.

  “You’re welcome,” Seth replied, gasping for air.

  “You won’t win the trophy,” Pietro said.

  “I couldn’t leave you,” Seth said.

  “Why not?” Pietro asked.

  “There was a chance I could save you.”

  Pietro reached into the pocket of his pants and produced a jade key. “And I saved this for you. There is indeed a trophy at the end of the gauntlet, but it doesn’t matter. The Key of Forgetting is the reason you all came here. Go, I’ll be all right.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Pietro stood, smirked, took a spinning jump into the air, and landed as a dwarf. He winked, clapped his hands, and vanished.

  Seth was baffled by what he had just seen. The old man was clearly magical. Some kind of shape-shifter? Holding the key tightly, Seth turned back toward the start of the gauntlet. He found that no spikes issued from the holes anymore, but he kept a wary eye on them until he had crossed that area. He ran down the incline and out through the bronze doors, then charged into the black rectangle in the wall.

  Kendra withdrew down a hall beside Lockland, about a dozen golden figures coming their way at the speed an ordinary person would walk. The movements of the statues were not fast, but they were no longer terribly slow, either. Kendra knew there was no way to dodge forward through so many.

  She held the Banishment Rod, having taken it from the atrium. She and Lockland had retreated farther away as the golden statues began to show up. Unfortunately, removing the rod from the socket had not hidden the black door.

  “This way,” Lockland said, guiding her around a corner. Kendra suspected that without his knowledge of the castle’s twists and turns, the golden figures would have already apprehended her.

  They rounded another corner to find eight golden statues coming down the hall. “They’re getting faster,” Kendra said.

  “From now until sunrise, it only gets worse,” Lockland said. “Change of plans. Follow me.”

  She stayed right behind him, but before long another group of golden statues cut them off. They doubled back to find yet another group closing in.

  “We’re in trouble,” Lockland said. “I didn’t want to get too far from the atrium. I wanted to work around them and keep a way back open. And now we might be sunk.”

  “What do you mean?” Kendra asked.

  “They’re making a coordinated effort to cut off all escape routes,” Lockland said. “Earlier we might have tried splitting up. That will no longer help much. One last chance.”

  He went through a door into an empty room. It connected to another vacant room. And another. They came out into a hall with a dead end in one direction and a bunch of golden statues coming from the other way. Doubling back, they found golden statues striding through the rooms they had just crossed.

  “What do we do?” Kendra asked, trying not to let panic take over.

  “Create what space we can,” Lockland said. He led Kendra back out into the hall, and they ran to the dead end. At least twenty golden statues advanced toward them.

  “They can’t change you while you wear the glove,” Lockland said. “But they can grab you. Turn me to platinum.”

  “No,” Kendra said.

  “Hurry, or they’ll turn me to gold and I’ll be working against you,” Lockland said. “Turn me to platinum, tell me to protect you, then follow me. Once I make an opening, move as fast as you can. Don’t let them take hold of you. There is still a chance you can slip through without getting apprehended.”

  With the nearest of the golden statues less than ten paces away, Kendra took Lockland by the hand with her gloved hand. Platinum spread quickly down his arm and across him until h
e was entirely transformed.

  “Protect me,” she said, feeling terrible for changing him and worried that it would all be for nothing.

  The platinum statue of Lockland walked toward the golden statues, moving no quicker than they did. He locked hands with the first statue he met, twisting her aside, and jostled into some others. Kendra dashed into the narrow gap he made. The golden figures crowded together, hemming her in. The Banishment Rod was wrested from her grip. And then metallic hands closed around her wrists and ankles, holding her firmly.

  Key of Forgetting in hand, Seth stepped into the atrium to find Celebrant waiting with at least forty golden statues. Down one hallway, golden statues were fending off silver ones. A couple of the golden figures held Kendra between them. She still wore the platinum glove. Celebrant held the Banishment Rod.

  Seth’s memories returned in a flood. He recalled not just what had happened inside the gauntlet but all his old memories as well. He tried to subtly slip the key into a pocket.

  Humbuggle appeared just a few feet in front of him. “Well done, lad,” the dwarf said. “I’m surprised you have come so far so fast. One last rhyme before the end.”

  “Do not interfere with my advantage, dwarf,” Celebrant said.

  Humbuggle raised both hands. “I don’t play favorites. I’m here with information. You should want it as much as they do.”

  “Go on,” Celebrant said.

  Humbuggle cleared his throat and straightened his vest, then recited:

  The power of the Wizenstone

  Was never meant for man to own

  A single door impedes your way

  Where golden crest shines in the day

  The prize beyond compare is near

  You still have reason left to fear

  If you should choose to turn the key

  The price is your identity

  “My identity?” Seth asked.

  “Key of Forgetting,” Humbuggle said. “Steep price for a big prize. Good luck!” The dwarf clapped his hands and vanished.

  “You have the key,” Celebrant said, glowering at Seth.