The Sunken Tower: The Dragonspire Chronicles Book 5

by James E. Wisher

  They quickly dragged the pair into their room and Brigid closed the door behind them. The whole thing had taken no more than five seconds and not a sound was made. It was easily the cleanest strike so far. Maybe it would lead to good things down the road. Yaz smiled to himself. More likely this would be the high point and it was all downhill from here.

  “Let’s get these two tied up and blindfolded,” Yaz said. “Brigid, please see if you can find any invitations.”

  She set to rummaging through the many bags covering the beds and floor. Yaz found a silk sash and a leather belt that he and Silas used to bind their prisoners, hand and foot. They had to tear strips out of a pillowcase to make blindfolds and gags, but in the end, they had them both trussed up and secure.

  “I found a scroll,” Brigid said.

  She handed Yaz a tooled-leather scroll tube. He popped the end off and shook out a rolled sheet of vellum. A note was printed in flowing script. It had clearly been written by a professional scribe. As good a writer as Yaz was, he could never produce something as fancy as this. It was closer to art than communication.

  “My dear Charles,” Yaz read. “I hope you’ll accept this invitation to come to the christening of my new private arena. We have a special show in store and I’m sure you won’t be disappointed. It would also give us a chance to discuss in person that business matter we have been corresponding about. I hope to see you soon. Signed, Albert Dohrmann.”

  So that’s how he spelled his last name. It also didn’t sound like they were best friends, which was good. In fact, it sounded like they’d never even met.

  “If you two are going undercover,” Silas said. “What does that leave for me to do?”

  “I figured you’d hang out in our room and if things went badly you could cover us with your magic during our escape.” Yaz placed the scroll back in its container and sealed it.

  “Sure, that’s no problem. I’ve got a perfect view of the front of the mansion. Though I think it would be best to remain here. Should anyone come to check on why our prisoners haven’t come downstairs for their party, I can pretend to be Charles and tell him I’m not feeling well.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Yaz said. “I hadn’t even considered that busybody downstairs coming to check on them. We’ve got about four hours before the party. Best use that time to find some clothes that will fit. I’m a good six inches shorter than Charles and I think Brigid is at least that much taller than his wife.”

  “I can sew a little if we need to make adjustments,” Brigid offered.

  In the end no modification of the clothes was necessary. Yaz tucked Charles’s overly long trousers into his own freshly polished boots beside a dagger while Brigid found a dress that fit well aside from showing a little more leg than it should have. Topped off with a gold necklace and ring she could have been a princess.

  Silas said, “You shouldn’t have any trouble blending in with the rich and powerful.”

  “Good, I’d just as soon avoid a fight for as long as possible,” Yaz said. “It’s getting on towards party time. We best get going.”

  Yaz offered Brigid his arm and she threaded her own through it. After a final “good luck” from Silas, they went downstairs and made their way through the now-busy common room. As they headed for the door, more than one gaze followed Brigid. He didn’t blame the men at all. She was an absolute vision in her borrowed black dress.

  It was a blessedly short walk to the Dohrmanns’ mansion. Four carriages were sitting outside, with drivers tending to the horses. Yaz and Brigid strode up six steps to the double doors where a pair of footmen waited.

  The elder of the two asked, “Do you have your invitation, sir?”

  Yaz handed him the scroll tube and after a brief perusal the footman nodded and he and his partner opened the doors. “Please enjoy the gathering, sir.”

  They passed through the doors and into the lap of luxury. Thick carpets covered the floor and dozens of fine paintings hung on the wall. The furniture was all of the finest quality. It was like the Dohrmanns felt the need to show everyone that entered just how rich they were. Yaz didn’t care how rich they were, anyone that took their entertainment from watching slaves kill each other was trash in his mind.

  “What now?” Brigid asked.

  “I need to find the basement door. It will probably be guarded. If you see anything promising let me know.”

  “We’re splitting up?” She didn’t sound thrilled by the prospect.

  “I believe the correct term is mingling.” Yaz grinned. “Be careful.”

  “After all we’ve been through, I hardly think a roomful of rich people is going to be much of a threat.”

  “The biggest threat is the one you underestimate, or so my father always said. The only danger that matters is the one you’re facing at the moment.”

  She kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

  He watched her go for a moment then began his own search. The ballroom where the guests had gathered was filled with hors-d’oeuvre-covered tables and servants in black-and-white uniforms wandering about with goblets of wine on silver trays. The guests were chatting or snacking as their preference dictated. If he had been a bandit, this would’ve been a perfect place to rob. There was enough gold and gems dripping off these people to let a man live comfortably for the rest of his life.

  Yaz collected a cup of wine from a passing servant and began his journey around the room. No one approached him as he walked, though he did collect a few curious stares. Probably wondering who the stranger was. The rich and powerful tended to be an insular group, at least in the books he’d read.

  He tried to guess which was Dohrmann but had no way of telling one spectacularly dressed man from another. As long as no one bothered him, he didn’t really care who they were. All that mattered was finding the dragonriders and getting them out of here. Preferably with a minimum of bloodshed.

  When Yaz had surveyed the entire ballroom and found no closed doors, he made his way to an exit opposite the front door. No one said a word as he sauntered down the marble-tiled passage like he owned the place. He rounded a corner and spotted the massive form of a guard dressed like a page in servants’ black and white. The bruiser stood in front of a closed door with his arms crossed and a deep scowl on his face.

  Yaz went over to him. “Are the fighters down there? I wanted to take a look before I placed my bets.”

  “Sorry, sir. No one’s allowed through here. You’ll have to return to the party.”

  Yaz looked around then said, “Come on. If you give me a glimpse, I’ll cut you in for ten percent of my winnings. That’s plenty of gold, I promise.”

  The guard shook his head. “You’d best get back.”

  He didn’t add “or else,” but it was implied.

  Yaz shrugged. “Your loss.”

  He turned and strolled back the way he came. This wasn’t the time to act. But now that he knew where the dragonriders were being held, the time would come soon enough.

  He’d just barely entered the ballroom when Brigid came hurrying up to him. “Where have you been? I’ve been fending off grabby old men for the past fifteen minutes and not finding anything.”

  “I found the basement entrance. I’ll sneak back once—”

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” a hale, red-headed man said. “My name is Albert Dohrmann. Most of you know me and some of you don’t. New friends or old, I welcome you to my home. The games are about to begin. Please come this way.”

  Everyone streamed down a passage away from the basement entrance. Yaz figured he’d let two matches go by before making his move. Hopefully, all the riders would win.

  Chapter 10

  Dohrmann’s private arena was built as a reverse of the big arena in the center of the city. It consisted of a sand-bottomed pit about twenty feet deep with iron portcullises on opposite sides to allow the gladiators to enter. The seating was far more comfortable than the cheap seats of the public arena, that was
certain. Yaz settled into an overstuffed leather chair that offered a good view of the sands but was close to the aisle so when he left, he wouldn’t have to slip past anyone.

  Brigid sat in a matching chair beside him and rested her hand on his. Yaz smiled. This might have been a nice evening if they were seeing a play or something instead of the potential death of people he’d known most of his life.

  Three seats to their right, Dohrmann sat on a virtual throne. The gold-inlayed, mahogany chair was encrusted with gems. Two beautiful servants stood at his elbows. One held a tray with wine and the other a selection of snacks. His wife reclined on a couch to his right. They were quite a pair that was for sure.

  “Let the games begin!” Dohrmann shouted.

  A moment later the portcullis to the right clanked up and Burke emerged dressed in nothing but a breechclout painted to look like it was covered in scales. The short sword they’d given him looked like a toy in his hand. Partially faded bruises and scars covered his body. Didn’t look like he’d had an easy time of it.

  When he’d moved to the center of the arena, the second portcullis raised and a beast that resembled a scale-covered grizzly bear lumbered out. It roared, baring three-inch fangs. When it was clear of the opening, both portcullises slammed down into place.

  That must have been the signal because Burke charged the monster. He dodged a swipe from its claws and countered with a slash that opened a foot-long gash in its side. The shallow wound bled but didn’t otherwise seem to bother the beast. It did reveal that the scales were glued on to what was basically a shaved bear.

  Why would anyone go to the trouble of shaving a bear and gluing fake scales to it? The other guests were cheering and laughing as the bear chased Burke around the arena. When it got close, Burke ran straight for the wall, ran two strides up it, spun, and drove his sword down into the bear’s neck, severing its spine and killing it instantly.

  He rolled off the carcass and tossed his sword away. The crowd cheered and his doorway opened up again. Burke walked back through it, a sneer of contempt twisting his face.

  “That was impressive,” Brigid said.

  “Burke might be a shitheel, but he always could fight,” Yaz whispered.

  The next match was between Blain, one of the older riders, and a hulking slave that made Burke look small. While Blain’s opponent might have been bigger, he lacked skill. The rider killed him in a matter of seconds using nothing but a dagger.

  “I must say, Albert, these dragonriders you rented certainly live up to their reputations,” said one of the guests on the opposite side of the arena. “Are you planning to have them fight anything that’ll pose a real challenge?”

  Dohrmann laughed. “Just you wait. This is just the opening act. It gets better from here.”

  That was Yaz’s signal. He stood up and stepped toward the exit.

  “Where are you going, my new friend?” Dohrmann asked.

  “The water closet,” Yaz said. “I fear I overindulged on your fine wine earlier.”

  Dohrmann laughed again. “The finest vintage. Had it shipped in all the way from the south of Rend. We’ll hold the next match for five minutes.”

  Yaz nodded his thanks and hurried out like a man in desperate need. Five minutes was going to be cutting it close.

  As soon as he was out of sight he broke into a trot. The route back to the basement entrance was simple enough. Before leaving the now-empty ballroom, Yaz pulled his hidden dagger and hid it with a reverse grip along his forearm. Now he just had to hope they didn’t add any more guards while he was gone.

  Using his best impression of a drunk, Yaz staggered down the hall toward the basement. The same guard was still there and the look of disgust with which he eyed Yaz would have done an angry housewife proud.

  “Hey!” Yaz shouted. “I gotta piss. Out of the way.”

  “Sir, the water closet’s back the way you came.” The guard seemed uncertain whether to be angry or amused.

  “What’s wrong with this one?” Yaz kept moving closer.

  The guard shook his head and no doubt questioned his life choices. “This isn’t a water closet. Remember, you were here earlier.”

  Yaz was nose to chest with him now. “Do I know you?”

  He tightened his grip on the dagger.

  The guard reached with a massive hand and placed it on Yaz’s shoulder. “You need—”

  He didn’t get another word out as Yaz stabbed him under his outstretched arm, severing the large artery beyond. The guard stared stupidly for a moment as the life gushed out then he collapsed.

  There was nowhere to hide the body in the open hallway, so he left it where it lay. The basement door was mercifully unlocked and behind waited a dark staircase. Just enough light came from deeper in the basement to allow Yaz to see to descend.

  He inched his way down until he could see a second guard standing with his back to the entrance. The guard had a sword hanging at his side but didn’t appear overly nervous. Mustering every ounce of stealth he could, Yaz snuck up behind the man. This one was actually dressed like a guard though without armor. Beyond him were ten cages on wheels along with an elaborate pulley system to move them in place in front of the arena entrance.

  It was quite a setup. If he’d had more time, Yaz would have enjoyed studying it.

  He burned a full minute of his precious supply, but finally reached the guard. The man was too tall for Yaz to cut his throat. Instead he stabbed him in the kidney.

  The guard gasped in pain and arched his back.

  Yaz kicked him in the back of the knee and when he collapsed stabbed him in the side of the neck. He quickly searched the body and found a heavy iron key. He took it and went to the nearest cage.

  “Calvin? Are you okay?”

  “Yaz!”

  “Quiet,” Yaz hissed and fit the key into the lock. “I don’t have much time. Are you all in good enough shape to fight your way out of here?”

  “Damn right.” The lock clicked and Yaz winced at the screech of metal on metal. Calvin hurried out and clapped him on the back. “Thanks, lad.”

  “I have to get back and find my companion. Can you let everyone out? I’m afraid I don’t have weapons for you all.”

  “Ha! We hardly need them to deal with some soft merchants and their guards. You go on and do what you have to. We’ll meet up outside and share stories. I suspect we have a lot of catching up to do.”

  They grasped each other’s wrists and shook like warriors. It was the first time any of the men of the village had offered him that respect.

  “Good luck.” Yaz retraced his steps. According to the clock in his head, he had less than a minute to make it back to the arena. If he ran, he just might make it.

  Yaz rounded the corner into the ballroom and skidded to a stop. In the center of the room facing him, all the guests had gathered behind a semicircle of a dozen guards, these in leather armor and armed with swords. Dohrmann had Brigid by the neck, the gold rings on his fingers digging into her skin. Yaz stared at them and they stared back.

  His mind raced. How could anyone have known what he did? None of the guards escaped and he hadn’t made much noise. What had he missed?

  Before he could figure it out Dohrmann said, “I assume you have a weapon. Throw it away.”

  When Yaz didn’t instantly comply he added, “Throw it away or I’ll break your lady friend’s pretty neck.”

  Yaz slowly reached down and pulled his dagger out of his boot.

  “Don’t do it!” Brigid said.

  Dohrmann shook her silent. “Do it, now!”

  Yaz tossed the dagger aside. If Dohrmann thought that was his only weapon so much the better.

  “Good. I don’t know what you two thieves thought you were doing, sneaking into my house, but I know what all my guests look like and you two aren’t among them.”

  Yaz called to the power of the black door. It came slowly, but it came. If he could just keep Dohrmann talking for a few more seconds.


  “If you knew we weren’t guests, why didn’t you capture us when we first arrived?” Power gathered in his hands, but he kept any black tendrils from showing. He wasn’t just picking locks. Yaz needed way more power than he’d ever called to free Brigid.

  Dohrmann loosed his booming laugh. “There was never any danger of you stealing anything from me and I was curious to see how you’d make your move. Running to the jakes wasn’t exactly creative. And leaving her behind was stupider yet, though I guess you couldn’t exactly take her with you. What, did you plan to pocket a few things and walk out when the fight was over no one the wiser?”

  “Something like that.” Yaz had as much power as he could hide. It was now or never. “Tell you what. Let her go and I’ll let you live.”

  Dohrmann’s eyes shut when he laughed. Yaz loosed his gathered power, focusing it on the hand around Brigid’s throat. A black stream of energy ripped his flesh away from his bones.

  Dohrmann screamed and thrust Brigid away from him.

  She ran to Yaz. “I’m sorry. They took me by surprise.”

  He waved off her apology. “Don’t worry. Grab my dagger, please.”

  Dohrmann clenched the wrist above his shredded hand. “What are you, some kind of wizard?”

  “Some kind, yeah. How about you let us go and we forget all about this?” Yaz needed to keep him talking until Calvin got all the dragonriders free.

  “I don’t think so. Especially after what you did to my hand. Wizard or not, I doubt you can take all my guards on your own.”

  “He’s not on his own.” Brigid handed Yaz his dagger and raised her fists.

  Dohrmann laughed despite the obvious pain from his injury. “Forgive me. What was I thinking? With such a powerful ally clearly we’re doomed.”

  The basement door crashed open behind them and Yaz grinned. “You’re right about that. See, I didn’t come here to steal from you. I came to rescue some old friends of mine.”

  The dragonriders came rushing around the corner. They came to a halt behind Yaz and Brigid. Only two of them were armed, but having ten big, strong, skilled warriors at his back made Yaz feel a whole lot better.