The walls were mostly bare except for tapestries, all of which hid nothing behind them. The art within the Glass Castle had depicted great battles—kings against kings, gods and goddesses at war, but these were something else altogether. They bore the visage of frothy ale, each one in a different style container.
Whitney shook his head.
“C’mon, Aquira. Think,” he said, just as much to himself. “Sora’s distraction won’t keep them away for long,”
There were no other doors in the chambers. Or was there?
He gave thoughtful consideration to the nearly flush drawers. From where he stood, in the center of the room, the dressers looked more like solid blocks of stone. What if there was a door somewhere with similar characteristics?
As if Aquira had read his thoughts, she started circling the room. Whitney watched her, floor to ceiling, inspecting every inch of the place. Finally, above the bed, she hovered in place.
“Find something?”
She puffed.
She was pretty high up. High enough that Whitney couldn’t reach the spot, even standing on the bed.
“What is it?” he asked. She puffed again. “Oh, right. Words. How would a dwarf get up there if I couldn’t?”
Aquira shoved her back legs against the wall. Nothing happened.
“No, not that,” Whitney said.
She did it again.
“It’s not working, Aquira.”
She screeched, swooped down, and hit Whitney on the shoulder, then flew back up and did it again.
“Hey! Watch it… oh!”
In a moment of realization, Whitney reached out and began pushing on the wall, moving his hand with each failed push. His fingertips brushed something—a slight depression in the otherwise perfectly smooth walls. He pressed, and the sound of stone shifting was his reward.
Not only did a door appear next to Aquira, but smaller slots opened in line with one another like a ladder.
“Dwarven engineering,” Whitney said.
He climbed and lifted himself onto the ledge. The passage was short, built for a dwarf. The doorway was dark, and the room inside even darker. It reminded him of Bliss’s lair, just more organized. And no spiders or egg sacs. He hoped.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and pulled his daggers from his belt, one in each hand. Many people had weapons that were special and unique to them, but not Whitney. He couldn’t even remember where he’d gotten these particular blades, and if he lost them, he’d just pick up a couple more.
Putting one foot inside, Whitney peered around the doorframe, and his heart leaped into his throat. He swung his daggers furiously, sparks jettisoning in every direction as the metal struck dwarven armor. He stumbled backward, nearly slipping off the ledge onto the hard bed below. Then, a feeble laugh escaped his lips when he realized it was just that—armor. There was no dwarf inside, just a mannequin holding a flashy set of armor which now looked like it had been through its first skirmish.
“Hold it together, Whitney,” he said under his breath. “You’re acting like this is your first job.”
His first job hadn’t been anything special. Sure, he’d stolen plenty of things in Troborough growing up, but early on, he’d been commissioned by a fence in Westvale to rob a noble. It turned out the nobleman was kind of a big deal. Whitney had been successful, though, and that’s all that mattered.
This, however, might have been the most important job he’d ever taken. This wasn’t about worthless trinkets or priceless gems. This was his chance to prove he wasn’t just the World’s Greatest Thief, but the World’s Savior.
“That has a nice ring to it, huh, Aquira? ‘Whitney Fierstown, Savior of the World.”
Aquira made a noise that sounded far too much like a raspberry to be anything but, and Whitney followed her within.
Feeling the wall, he noted they were in a hallway. The deeper he went, the less light poured in from the room below. His hand touched something—an unlit torch. Snatching it from its holder, he thought to return to the king’s bedroom so he could light it on one of the others. That thought was stolen from him as Aquira blew a swift breath of flame, and the tip caught with a dull roar.
“You are quite the useful little devil,” he said. “Glad I thought of you sneaking to me.”
With a torch lit and held out in front of him, Whitney could see the tunnel for what it was. Utterly unremarkable.
“All right, where are you, oh, Stone of Brikey goodness?” His last word was cut off as a soft click met his ears.
“Shog,” he whispered.
Sure, this wasn’t Whitney’s first job, but he certainly was acting like it was. It truly had been a while in his time. He slowed himself down.
He’d encountered traps like this before. The plate in the floor would trigger some kind of defense, be it arrows, boiling pitch raining down from above, spikes jutting out from the walls or some other horrible method of death. The trap wouldn’t spring until Whitney removed his foot. The trick would be finding the source of the defense before moving.
“Aquira, I need your eyes.”
One thing no one would have accounted for was a wyvern accompanying a would-be thief.
“Just like in the bedroom. Check the walls. If you see anything strange, anything at all, let me know.”
A short while later, Whitney heard her screech from the darkness ahead.
“Find something?” he called.
She responded in what he assumed to be the affirmative.
“I can’t see you.” He leaned forward with the torch as far as he felt comfortable doing, wincing the whole time.
He heard wings flapping, then Aquira appeared in the cone of light emanating from the torch. She stole the torch from his hands with her teeth and returned to her former position.
Now, Whitney could see what she saw. He’d been right. Arrows or something like them would shoot out of four holes situated in a diamond shape in the wall on the opposite end of the hall. They were positioned knee-to-waist-high—which Whitney realized was chest and head height for a dwarf.
“Keep the light there,” he instructed Aquira.
Gauging the exact placement of the holes was difficult. It was also taking a big chance that Whitney could move fast enough even if he knew precisely where the arrows would strike.
“Okay, Aquira. See that hole in front of you?”
She moved a bit to the left.
“Yes. That one. I want you to hold the torch in front of that hole. Make sure your legs are out of the way. Do you understand?”
She puffed.
“I’m going to dive to my right. If I press up against the wall, and you block that one, I should be safe.”
Even hearing his own words struck a bit of terror into his heart. What if there was another grouping of arrows that would shoot from the other direction? What if something got Aquira?
No, she looked all over. If that’s all she found, that was all there is.
“You ready?” he asked.
She puffed.
After a deep breath, Whitney looked down at the plate below his boot. He whispered something. He wasn’t even sure what. It wasn’t a prayer, but it was as close as he’d get.
“On the count of three, okay?”
Here goes nothing.
“One. Two. Three!”
He threw himself to the right with every bit of strength he could muster. With the torch so far away, he couldn’t tell how close he was to the wall, but it didn’t matter, he needed to get low and far, fast. As soon as his foot left the trigger switch, he heard a loud ka-thunk followed by Aquira’s alarmed cry, then felt air rush past him as the three remaining arrows blew by, one just barely scratching his left leg.
“Aquira!” he shouted, rushing to his feet.
Ahead, the torch lay on the ground, fire still burning, but there was no sign of the wyvern.
“Aquira!” he shouted again, rising. He started toward the torch, then thought better of it. If there was another trap an
d Aquira was injured, he’d likely find himself in Elsewhere permanently. He decided to crawl, feeling every inch of the floor as he went, searching for even the slightest imperfections in the dwarven-carved stone.
He reached the torch without a problem. A giant spear protruded from its base, just as it was meant to do. Crawling further, he found Aquira lying just outside its circle of light. She was breathing and close to the wall, eyes open but twitching.
Whitney cradled her. “You okay, girl? Did you hit your head?”
She blinked her two sets of eyelids, obviously recovering from the shock. He also noticed that it wasn’t an arrow that’d been shot, but a miniature spear. The force of it must have been enough to blow her back into the wall. It was far bigger than the arrows he’d expected, and Whitney was thankful she’d held on long enough to keep the missile from eviscerating him.
“That-a-girl,” Whitney whispered. “That’s it. You’re okay.”
He held her close and rose. She breathed softly against his chest, her frills opening and closing along with her shallow breaths. Anything worth booby-trapping was worth stealing—in most cases, at least. In this one, Whitney hoped it would be the Brike Stone.
He gathered himself and started off again. At the end of the hall, where the arrow holes were, the tunnel turned to the right. Light poured out through an opening about forty meters or so down. He had to guess they’d left the dwarf head throne room and were now in the heart of the mountain.
Still taking it slow, Whitney pushed forward. Aquira seemed to have almost fully recovered physically, but still seemed quite shaken.
When he reached the next room, it became immediately apparent that the light was less from the torches and more from their reflections on countless amounts of gold. The first room, which made Whitney think King Lorgit to be the richest man alive, was absolutely destitute compared to this.
Aquira chirped.
“Glad you’re feeling better.”
High stacks of golden bullions were stacked a dozen meters tall all around him. For the briefest of moments, Whitney worried that if even one of the towers toppled, it would crush him beneath the weight. Then, he thought that dying under a pile of gold might be preferable to whatever Nesilia had planned.
Whitney whistled. “Would you look at all this? We could liberate every man, woman, and child in the Panping Ghetto. Then again, there’s probably no Panping Ghetto left in Winde Port.”
A low growl emanated through the room, making the words catch in Whitney’s throat. Then, he heard the sound of shifting coins, and two glowing orbs appeared in the darkness between two columns of ingots. It moved toward him, slowly. The growl came again, and Whitney took a step back.
“Who—wh—what’s there?” he stammered.
The response was a sharp bark. He’d heard a sound like that before with Torsten the first day they’d met.
Dire wolf.
Amazingly, that day, setting off to battle with the world’s most evil warlock and a vile Spider Queen were fun times compared to the woes of this day.
“Easy, boy… Easy,” he said. “We’re friends…”
The further into the room Whitney went, the less he could see, like something was sucking all the light from the room. However, the orbs that were its eyes grew larger. Then, suddenly, it broke through the darkness and was fully visible in all it’s vicious, slobbering glory.
Aquira rose, but she faltered in the air and slammed down on the floor, flopping around like a fish out of water. Poor girl was still dazed from the spear trap. Whitney bent and scooped her up.
The wolf broke into a run. The coins beneath its feet were tossed around like dust on the Glass Road.
“Shog…”
He squeezed the dagger in his free hand, then realized it’d be useless. But those spears that had just about skewered him wouldn’t. He turned to run, and just then heard a metallic snap and clank. The dire wolf was yanked backward to the ground.
“You’re chained up,” Whitney said, his voice quavering. “Yes, you are. Oh, what a good little boy.” Though his voice was gaining a bit of strength, his knees were still wobbling. He laughed. “You’re chained up!”
The wolf stood and snapped at him again, but Whitney waved the torch, and it retreated slightly.
Relieved, Whitney gave his weak knees a break and collapsed to the floor. “Gods and yigging monsters, Aquira, I thought we were dead.” He laughed again, then said, “Okay. I need your help again.” He stroked her back. “You feeling up to it?”
She nodded and puffed, then turned and growled back at the dire wolf who, although chained, looked like he was ready to spill their guts to the floor.
“We need a plan.”
Whitney looked around at a room similar to the first. In addition to the towering stacks of gold bars, piles of trinkets cascaded over the sides of chests. But one thing was different. The only reason to chain up a wolf was to protect something, and Whitney now saw what it guarded.
“The Brike Stone,” he whispered.
He followed the chain to a ring that was connected to a podium of sorts. Darkness engulfed the area like a plague. Even so, the stone was far larger than Whitney had expected—the size of his fist or greater. Unlike the stories Tum Tum had apparently heard, the blood-red stone emanated no light of its own. It was just a dull, dead thing that seemed to absorb all the light around it—the petrified heart of a dragon if the stories were to be believed.
“It’s frightened of the fire,” Whitney told Aquira. “You know what to do, right?”
Without another word, Aquira hopped down to the ground. She was half the massive dire wolf’s height, but with her wings expanded, she cut quite the intimidating figure. Especially as she blew flames in a wide plume. The dire wolf leaped back but returned immediately to snarl after the fire dissipated.
Walking a circle around the wolf, keeping it at bay with his lit torch, Whitney split the beast’s focus. It didn’t know whether to watch him or Aquira. Confused is exactly how Whitney wanted the creature. He could have Aquira enkindle it, but if that melted the chains before the beast died, they were done for.
Every time the wolf got close, Whitney waved the torch, and it hopped back. Then Aquira blew a small wisp of flame in its direction, and it leaped the other way. It bent low, hackles up, scared.
Whitney was nearing the podium, which held the Brike Stone. Suddenly, his flame was snuffed out like magic. He swore, threw the dead torch to the ground, but dared not take his eyes off the dire wolf. It showed yellow teeth, thick saliva on black gums, and darted for Whitney. Aquira roared and shot a focused line of fire that nipped the wolf’s tail. It spun around, giving Whitney the opening he needed.
Turning his back, he was at the mercy of the dire wolf. Mercy he didn’t believe the creature would have should it spin to find him stealing the very thing it was meant to protect.
The chain pulled taut, slightly shaking the podium. Behind him, he could hear the sound of jaws snapping and wings flapping. He reached out slowly, letting his fingertips graze the cold hard Brike Stone. Upon its icy touch, he felt like his very soul was coming undone. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and clenched it tight. Then, he drew it to himself. He couldn’t breathe. Immediately, he regretted it. The ground shook, the walls clattered, and before he knew it, the dire wolf was back on him.
Darkness now surrounded Whitney despite Aquira’s attempts to give light. For so long, he’d said he had a plan for the day he would perish, and in a vault full of someone else’s gold, being torn to shreds by an overgrown dog wasn’t it. But if the last six years taught Whitney anything, it was that you don’t always get what you want.
You can damn well try to, though, he thought.
He lowered the Brike Stone into his cloak pocket and spun. The feeling vanished, and Aquira’s flames returned just in time to turn the wolf’s attention once more.
Whitney ran, barely dodging the beast’s razor-sharp fangs. Aquira flew above, raining flames down be
tween them to keep it at bay without risking melting the chains.
Calculating the distance, Whitney guessed he was almost to the place where the chain would snap tight, and he’d be safe from the wolf. When he got there, however, he heard a slight strain and then the distinct sound of dozens of metal shards flying in every direction. The chain had snapped... into pieces.
Whitney turned, knowing he had no choice and no defense. He put his hands up in a weak attempt to slow the attack, but it wasn’t necessary. As the dire wolf dove for Whitney, one of the golden towers toppled over and crushed the thing, eliciting a sharp yelp.
He looked up to see Aquira hovering above it all, a mischievous grin on her snout, if that were possible.
“Wha-ha,” Whitney laughed. “Ha. Wha… Ha!” He had no words, just a series of vaguely happy sounds. There was no time to celebrate. The ground still shook, and with or without Aquira’s help, the other towers were just as likely to come crashing down. He ran, avoiding the newly-created mound of gold, and Aquira swooped in beside him.
One after another, the towers clattered to the ground. The sound was loud and incessant, and Whitney could hardly think. When he saw the opening to the tunnel, he went to dive but pulled back just in time when he saw a glint of gold in his peripheral. A second later, the shaking stopped, and a pile of gold ingots blocked the entrance into the treasure room.
Just like that, he was stuck.
He tried to sift through the gold bars, but they were heavy, and there were a lot of them—at this rate, it would take him well into the night. By then, King Lorgit might have figured out Sora’s involvement in the fire. He might already have.
“Shog in a barrel,” Whitney swore. He turned back to the room, now more like a mountain of gold.
Aquira made a clicking noise and moved in front of him. He watched her throat inflate, and a plume of flame shone in her mouth. He pulled her back by the tail. She snapped and nearly took his hand with it.
“Hey! You melt that in a room this small, you’ll turn us into soup with it,” he explained.
She backed away, hanging her head in shame.
“How could they even get all this in here through that hole in his bedroom?” Whitney said aloud. “There has to be another way out.”
The Nesilia's War Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set: Books 4-6) Page 134