Legends of the Lurker Box Set

by Richard H. Stephens

  Reecah frowned.

  “That means right away.”

  She knew what forthwith meant. It was the wizard’s interest that bothered her. First Grimelda and Grimclaw, then Tamra, and now someone she hadn’t met before. It seemed as if everyone knew when and where she would turn up before she did. She staggered as a dark thought crossed her mind.

  Anvil’s reflexes grabbed her by the arm. “What is it, rat?”

  “The wizard. Is he the prince?”

  Anvil’s chiselled features scrunched together. “That’s an odd question. Of course not. High Wizard Devius ain’t related to the king.” His face transformed into contemplation. “Least, I don’t think he is.”

  He looked at the Watch. They shrugged, shaking their heads. Blinking several times he said, “Yer to accompany the Watch to High Wizard Devius’ sanctum.”

  “Now?”

  Anvil’s face darkened. “No. We’re gonna stand here all night and hope the dawn will bring us news as to when. Of course, now, ya silly rodent.”

  He folded his arms. “Get yerself movin’ afore I shove me boot up yer arse.”

  One of the Watchmen held out an arm, indicating she precede him toward the raised gate. “This way, m’lady.”

  She bristled at the term, lady, but now wasn’t a good time to take offense. She slipped back to where Flavian slept and collected her gear. Following the lead men beneath the spiked edge of the raised gate, she espied the river and balked.

  “M’lady?” The first guard asked.

  “I’m not swimming across the river.”

  The guard frowned, looking questioningly at the others. “Nor should you. A launch awaits us at the pier.”

  She followed his extended arm to a large jetty jutting into the bay at the base of the outer wall—the moon glistening off the rolling water around it. Looking closer, the masts of several ships stood out, dark against the water.

  Glad the shadow of the gatehouse masked her humiliation, she threw her head back and said with a touch of arrogance as she strode boldly past him, “Of course, it does. What’re you waiting for?”

  The wind whistled around the stone monolith supporting the high wizard’s sanctum, battering the hillside with such force that it threatened to blow Reecah and her escort from the spiralling ledge rounding its way to Devius’ imposing lair.

  In the darkness, the circular towers of the fortress above appeared larger than Headwater Castle.

  Storm clouds roiled across the bay, blotting out the moon as the small group passed beneath a gaping entrance tunnel in the outer wall and confronted an intricately carved section of stone lining the towering keep. Reecah reached out to run her fingers along the stone but jumped back as the section swung outward without a sound.

  The guards looked around; their nerves reflected in the way they shuffled their feet. The head Watchman who had spoken with Reecah in Anvil’s company muttered, “I hate it when he does that.”

  Reecah looked at him but the guard merely gestured for her to enter.

  Stepping across the threshold, runes engraved all around the inside edges of the stone doorway piqued her curiosity—symbols that appeared more like the words Grimclaw had inscribed in the back of her journal than regular runes.

  She hesitated on a small landing at the base of a flight of stone steps. None of the guards made a move to follow. “Are you not coming?”

  “Heh. In there? Not on your life.”

  She went to step back out but the door swung shut, faster than she would have thought possible for something of its size—especially since none of the guards stood anywhere near it.

  She gasped as the door grated into the wall. Unable to see the nose on her face, muted silence blanketed the air around her. It was like she stood in the middle of nothingness. She probed with her fingers and found the wall—the cold stone providing her a small sense of security. Other than the runes, there was nothing discernible to indicate the edges of the doorway.

  A muted growl chilled the blood in her veins. She spun around and threw her back against where the door should have been, staring into the absolute darkness.

  The growl sounded again. Closer. Something was coming for her. Unsheathing her sword and waggling it in front of her, she noticed a faint glow within her cloak.

  The journal!

  Pulling her diary free, the crimson gemstone illuminated the landing in a bloodred glow. At the edge of her vision, on the lip of a small landing up a short flight of steps, the glowing eyes of a white lioness stared back at her.

  The lion emitted a guttural growl.

  She jumped, pressing harder against the wall. With paws bigger than her hands, the cat appeared to weigh more than she did. Fearing it was about to launch itself at her, she searched the confined stairwell but nothing stood between them.

  She flinched as the lion moved, but it turned to pad up a continuation of the stairwell into the darkness above. Before it rose out of sight, it stopped to look over its shoulder. Swishing its tail back and forth, it growled and disappeared from view.

  The last thing she wanted was to follow the creature. The light from her journal cast the runes behind her in an eerie, crimson relief. Had she not entered, she would never have known a door existed.

  Recalling how the runes of Grimclaw’s passage in her journal closely matched those before her, she wondered whether the high wizard and the dragons were somehow connected. Considering the king’s crusade, that didn’t seem likely.

  Not knowing what else to do, she took a few hesitant steps across the landing and climbed to the spot she had first seen the cat. Shining her gemstone up the stairwell, she was confronted by countless steps spiralling through the close walls of the yellowed stone tower.

  From somewhere above, the muted growl of the cat reached her. Swallowing her reservations, she started up the next flight.

  Her thighs burned by the time she rounded a bend in the endless passageway and confronted a dead end. Searching the walls and the steps below, she positive she hadn’t passed any opening in the walls. She couldn’t help but fret over the cat’s location.

  The wall blocking the head of the stairway instilled her with a memory of her journey into the bowels of the Dragon Temple. The gemstone in her journal had triggered a reaction while she sat helpless on the brink of the schism. She shone the gem’s light all around but nothing happened.

  Digging out the Dragon’s Eye Aunt Grimelda had made her promise to retrieve, she wondered if this was why the old crone had been so insistent on her attaining it? She held it in the palm of her hand, but the stone lay dead to her touch—its facets catching the light from her journal and surrounding her with glittering spots that danced along the walls.

  She held her breath and touched one of the spots, expecting to feel something. Nothing met her probing finger but cold stone. She shook her head at her foolishness. Worried about where the lion had gotten to, she half expected it to materialize behind her. Leaning back to look past the bend in the stairwell, she nearly fell to her death as a low growl sounded from the dead end.

  The cat stood beneath a round topped doorway that opened onto a polished, white marble-floored chamber lined by tall windows. It hadn’t been there a moment before.

  “Do come in, Marinah’s child.” A deep voice beckoned.

  She thought the cat had spoken, but the voice sounded from within the chamber.

  “Don’t worry about the walking furball. Useless as a mute wizard, that one. Even the mice chase it around. Come on, Fleabag, move aside. We haven’t had a Windwalker in…” His voice trailed off.

  Not reassured by the disembodied voice, Reecah remained on the stairs, stunned by his knowledge of her heritage. “Who’re you? I’m supposed to seek the high wizard.”

  “Then you’re in luck. I seem to be home.” The voice sounded closer. “Come on, Fleabag. You brought her here, now go lie down.”

  Fleabag stretched and yawned, taking her time, before sauntering into the chamber.

 
Reecah climbed the last few steps and paused on the threshold of an octagonal room. Tables and benches of all shapes and sizes were illuminated with candles that flickered light upon tomes and scrolls held open with ornate stones. The faint light from the moon hidden behind roiling storm clouds filtered through the southeastern window pane; each section of glass comprising an eighth of the chamber’s perimeter—stretching from floor to ceiling to provide a bird’s eye view of the glassy waters of King’s Bay far below.

  Large, gawdy coloured cushions lay at the base of each window. Fleabag settled onto a red pillow set before the east-facing window.

  “It’ll be a long while before the sun rises, fang face,” Devius chuckled, a wrinkled complexion visible through his white-bearded face.

  A genuine warmth exuded from his pale, blue eyes as he studied Reecah. “Ah, incredible. It’s really true. I was beginning to doubt your existence until recently.”

  Reecah maintained a distance between them.

  Devius’ long, white hair hung around his shoulders as he hobbled toward her with the aid of a gnarled staff, but he stopped when she banged into a table.

  “If I didn’t know better, I would swear to my ethereal gods that you are Marinah. A more perfect portrait of your mother could not be painted.”

  Reecah let her guard down, mesmerized by the pleasant-faced old man draped in dark blue robes that were festooned with celestial bodies. “You knew my mother?”

  Devius sputtered a short laugh. “Knew her? Not exactly.”

  Reecah frowned.

  He held up a crooked, bony finger. “But, I knew of her, and that’s what’s important.”

  “Then how do you know I look like her?”

  “I saw her on two occasions. Once at High King J’kaar’s coronation, and…” His face lost its cheerfulness. He looked away, as if ashamed. “And at her funeral.”

  Goosebumps shot up Reecah’s neck. “Her funeral? You were in Fishmonger Bay?”

  Devius bit his thin lips, his eyes glassing over. He cleared his throat and shuffled to the far side of the chamber to stand beside Fleabag.

  Reecah stared at him in disbelief, waiting for him to elaborate, but he looked out the window—its surface marked with light rain.

  When he spoke, his voice was barely audible. “I arrived too late to save her.”

  Reecah walked up behind him, wary of the ever-vigilant cat. “I never knew my parents. My father died before I was born. If you were at her funeral, you must know how she died.”

  Devius’ shoulders tensed.

  “You do! Tell me. Please. I need to know.”

  Devius kept staring out the window, the rain splattering the surface as gusts of wind threw it around. Lightning flashed in the distance—disconcerting while standing in the wizard’s chamber high above the bay.

  “My grandmother claimed the dragons killed my parents but I have since been told differently.”

  She could tell by the way he held himself, Devius listened to every word.

  Not sure of the sanity of divulging the information, she had to know. “I spoke with an ancient dragon. Before he was slaughtered by the king’s men. He told me High King J’kaar—Dragonscourge, he referred to him—is responsible for my parents’ death. And that of my uncle, Davit.”

  Devius’ head perked up. “Grimclaw.”

  “Yes. The guardian of the Dragon Temple. He was slain by Prince J’kwaad and his death squad.”

  Devius turned slowly, eyes lowered. He appeared to be fighting back tears.

  “Grimclaw’s loss has shaken the world’s foundation. He will be greatly missed.” He lifted his gaze to stare at her. “It’s up to you to avenge his death.”

  Goosebumps riddled her body. “Me? What can I do against the king and his wizard son? I can’t even get an audience to speak with those responsible for the dragon war.” She shook her head, afraid Devius was deceptively trying to discern her true intentions. “Why would you say that? You’re the high wizard of the realm, so I guess I’ll soon get my audience with His Majesty…In shackles, no doubt.”

  Devius shook his head, his voice taking on a dangerous timbre. “I’m not J’kaar’s lackey. There’s a reason I was sent here to Headwater all those years ago. My stance on the dragon campaign was the last straw.”

  “But…” She didn’t know what to say.

  He lifted his bushy eyebrows. “Why does the king still suffer my existence?”

  “Well, no. Um, actually, yes.”

  “I’m the high wizard for a reason. Let’s just say there would be considerable collateral damage if J’kaar or the upstart, dark heir, were to make a move on me.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. Why do you remain here?”

  “The best way to keep an eye on my enemy is to keep him close. Alas, even my magic has limitations.” His thin lips turned up at the corners, a glint of mischievousness in his eyes. “But, with a Windwalker at my side, who knows what greatness we can achieve?”

  Reecah stepped back, not confident her legs would support her. What was the old conjurer getting at?

  Devius nodded, as if affirming all of the questions whirling through her head. “Besides, who better to train you in the ways of your gift and help you undermine the king?”

  Familial Fracture

  Junior pulled back, hugging the trunk of an ancient willow; its bare branches hanging like skeletal fingers reaching for the ground. The creaking of the lowering portcullis told him he was too late to catch up with Reecah, Flavian, and the others.

  He searched the grounds around the massive fortress for a sheltered spot to shiver away the night. A furtive movement in the deep shadows by the city gate caught his attention.

  Jaxon!

  What was his brother doing skulking around the walls of a fortress on the edge of King’s Bay? As soon as the question formed in his mind, he knew the answer. On more than one occasion he had suspected someone of following their group through the King’s Wood.

  He shook his head. The little bastard was in the employ of Prince J’kwaad. That he knew, but to be caught sneaking around, spying on Anvil’s group didn’t make sense, unless…

  He swallowed. The dark heir was aware of Reecah. If Tamra had sensed the special traits that made her a Windwalker, there was a good chance the wizard prince had also.

  Junior’s teeth rattled as the deepening cold chilled him to the bone. He needed to move, but he dared not lose sight of Jaxon.

  The night darkened; the air cooling off even more as the moon moved across the sky. Searching the grounds for signs of others who might have accompanied Jaxon, the ratcheting of the great chains hoisting the portcullis drew his attention to the gatehouse.

  Jaxon was difficult to see in the shadows, but he hadn’t moved. He had his back pressed against the wall. Curious that he deemed it necessary to remain hidden if he were in the employ of Prince J’kwaad.

  Several armed men strode after a tall woman in a dark cloak, her back burdened with a bow, quiver, and quarterstaff. Her identity wasn’t readily apparent from where Junior sheltered behind the willow, but there was no doubt in his mind it was Reecah.

  The Watch had no sooner left the gatehouse than the portcullis lowered and thumped into place; its spikes meshing with the ground. Jaxon’s shadow slipped across the face of the gate, following the procession down a steep hill to the piers.

  Making sure no one else was around, Junior scurried to the base of the wall and followed his brother down the embankment.

  With Reecah in their midst, the Watch clomped along the length of the second pier to where a large rowboat waited. Junior lost sight of Jaxon, but movement beneath a gangplank halfway up the dock gave his brother away.

  In the muted moonlight, the rowboat slipped across the mouth of the Dragon Rush toward the far shoreline.

  Jaxon stepped free of the gangplank and ran to the end of the dock, swerving from one side to the other, peering over the edge. He stared after the receding boat before making a beeline to a small sk
iff tied off behind a large brig.

  Chainmail chinking as he ran, Junior sprinted down the dock, his boots announcing his passage.

  Fumbling with the rope securing the small launch, Jaxon froze.

  “Going somewhere, Jaxon?”

  Clad in the prince’s livery, Jaxon rose to meet him. Shock crossed his face but for a moment before it was replaced by that despicable sneer of his. “From this time forth, you will address me as Lord Jaxon.”

  Junior laughed, eyeing the kink in Jaxon’s nose—a result of Reecah’s boot. “Father isn’t dead yet. As long as I’m alive, you’ll never be the lord of anything except arrogance.”

  “Prince J’kwaad would disagree. I no longer require our familial background. I’m a Lord by J’kwaad’s decree. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve royal business to attend.”

  The sound of Junior’s sword sliding free of its sheath surprised him almost as much as it did Jaxon.

  “You dare draw steel on your brother?”

  “Brother by virtue of birth. The bond ends there.”

  “I’ll have you in irons.”

  Junior motioned with his sword for Jaxon to start walking toward the fortress. “By all means. As long as you leave that launch alone, I care little what you do.”

  Jaxon’s gaze fell on the recently departed boat as it tied off on the far side of the river. He turned a dark glare on Junior. “You know what your problem is?”

  Junior wouldn’t dignify him with an answer.

  “You’re a witch lover. Always have been. Ever since Reeky inquired about joining the hunt. I saw it in your eyes. I thought you were infatuated with her body. Who could blame you? A young man would be foolish not to be, but I never thought her capable of bewitching you.”

  Junior swallowed. Jaxon knew him well.

  “Turning your back on your kin for the sake of a witch. Disgraceful.”

  “You know what’s disgraceful?” Junior blurted, not waiting for Jaxon to respond. “You working for the dark heir. Spying on a helpless woman. Accusing her of things you know nothing about. You’re just like your father.”