by P B Hughes
“Don’t mind us,” said Fish. “You two go on.” He pulled the sword from the guard’s sheath and gave them a wink. “We’ll be just fine.”
With that, Jude stepped out into the shaft, his vines growing thick and sturdy about him. He and Samara began to rise.
“What is your plan now, Miraclist?” Samara asked softly as they crawled through the darkness.
“Improvise.”
As they neared the top of the tower, Jude heard the sound of raised voices, one of which was clearly Oldguard’s.
“I want guards by the balcony, too,” his sharp voice echoed. “If he survives the stairs we need to block any means of escape. He will find that going down is not as easy as coming up.”
“My Lord,” replied the voice of Hector Alvarez. “Please, you must stay behind us. If Jude completes his murderous mission then all will be lost.”
“I told you,” said Marcus, “he’s not coming to kill Oldguard. He’s coming to save me. If you just try to talk to him, I’m sure he’ll—”
“Silence, assassin!” Hector interrupted. “Your lies will end when you dangle from the gallows.”
Jude took a deep breath and looked at Samara, barely able to see her in the darkness. His palms felt slick with anxious sweat. This was it. If he failed, three lives would end in the morning. “Stay behind me. We must be quick.”
He closed his eyes, strategizing. He would use the last mana-crystal, then send a storm of vines through the room, disarming the lot of them. Free Marcus, and then, when the guards were all tied up, he would explain the truth to Oldguard. After that, over the balcony they would go. Ryker would be waiting for them with horses and they would speed away through the city to safety.
Jude stuck his hand inside his cloak and pulled out the mana crystal mana-crystal.
It slipped from his hand.
Jude watched in horror as it disappeared into the darkness, clinking as it ricocheted off the walls.
Chapter 31
The voices above went quiet; the room became a vacuum of silent tension.
Jude’s body and brain felt root-bound, tightening with each cracking sound the mana-crystal made on its way down. Finally, there was a grand smash as it reached the first floor and shattered.
“What was that?” he heard Oldguard ask.
The sound of footsteps headed toward the elevator shaft.
“Now what do we do?” whispered Samara through gritted teeth.
“I don’t have the energy to take them all out,” said Jude. He knew they should retreat, that the probability of their mission’s success had suddenly plummeted into the realm of the impossible. But if they retreated now…it would cost Marcus his life.
No more innocent deaths because of me.
Without thinking, Jude lifted his staff. The vines around him shot him up through the tunnel and tossed him into the hallway, leaving Samara dangling in the shaft.
A guard stood before him, open-mouthed and stunned. Jude slammed the butt of his staff into the guard’s belly, and the cloth flew off the orb. The man crumpled to the ground and Jude ran past him. He waved his staff and a vine from the shaft snapped up behind him. Ahead, the doors lay open to the throne room.
“He’s here!” shouted a soldier. “The assassin—he’s in the hall!”
Jude jumped forward, sliding into the room on his side, avoiding the swing of an axe that would have severed his head from his neck.
“Kill him!” cried Oldguard. “Show no mercy!”
Jude’s vine swished through the air like a whip overhead. There were about twenty red-cloaked guards wearing silver helmets. Ten of them surrounded Oldguard, backing him into the corner with swords drawn. Hector Alvarez stood in front of them, teeth clenched. Six others stood around Marcus, holding chains fastened to shackles around his wrists. The last four guarded the balcony.
Jude sprang to his feet, nimbly dodging another swing from a brutish soldier’s axe that removed a chunk of the marble floor. With a twirl of his staff, Jude’s vine coiled around the hefty weapon and hurled it off the balcony, forcing the soldiers to drop to the floor, out of the way.
Jude turned to Oldguard. His vine coiled sharply over his shoulder like a viper, ready to strike. The guards froze, all eyes on the vine’s head.
“I didn’t want it to be this way,” said Jude. “But you’ve forced my hand.” He thrust his staff at Oldguard—a bluff, but it worked. The guards released Marcus and dashed to their leader’s side.
Jude sent the vine to Marcus, knocking the guards from their feet as it went. The vine wrapped around Marcus’ ankle and jerked him to the floor. Jude clambered backward, Marcus sliding after him.
“Don’t just stand there,” Oldguard shouted. “Stop them!”
The guards left his side, barreling toward Jude and the sliding Marcus. Jude turned and ran to the open shaft. The guard on the floor reached out to grab him, but Jude gave him a swift kick in the side of the head, knocking him against the wall.
Jude dove headfirst into the shaft, Marcus behind him.
“What was that?” Samara shrieked as Jude fell past her. “You left me here—what do think you’re—”
Jude’s vines shot off from the wall and twisted around his body. For a moment, he held them all suspended in the shaft.
“Blasted fool!” Marcus sputtered. “I told you to get out of this city. Now we’ll both be killed.”
“That’s the thanks I get for saving your hide?” said Jude.
Jude felt his strength fail. The vines went slack and they dropped. He quickly regained focus; the vines on the wall whipped out and caught them, one flight above the jail room.
“What’s wrong with you?” asked Samara, frantically.
“I-I’m losing energy.”
“Then toss us back into the jail room—hurry!”
Just as he was about to send them through the open doors, two heads popped out of the opening—guards, torches in hand. Jude gritted his teeth and looked to his right. There was another wooden door right in front of them.
“Open it,” cried Samara. “We’ll jump out the window.”
“Right,” Jude replied. He could feel his body start to shake. “Brace yourselves.”
Jude swung them all back, and then forward. He slammed feet first against the doors with all his weight. The flimsy doors burst open, and the three of them rolled inside across the cold floor. Samara was instantly on her feet.
“All right, you clumsy fool,” she spat, grabbing Jude by his shoulder. “No more leaving me, got it?”
Marcus, staggered to his feet next to Jude, his wrists still in chains. “I take it you couldn’t get things resolved diplomatically, then,” he said. He nodded to Samara. “Who is she?”
Samara answered. “I’m a friend of the Empire. That’s all you need to know.”
Marcus looked simultaneously relieved and annoyed. “And where were you when we first got into this mess? I’ll have you know that I—” he froze, blinking into the darkness ahead. “Did you see that?”
“See what?” asked Samara.
Jude looked about this new room. It was almost entirely dark, lit only by pale light falling in from an open window. Pillars rose to the ceiling, making the space look eerily like a forest.
“I saw something move,” said Marcus. “There, in the shadows.”
“I didn’t see anything,” said Samara. “Come on, let’s get to that window.”
“We can’t yet,” said Jude, dizzy and exhausted.
“What do you mean, we can’t?”
“I’m out of power. That mana-crystal—that was supposed to replenish my supply. I need to rest.”
“Then what are we supposed to do, let you take a nap?”
“No,” Jude replied. “Just let me—”
There was a whir and a clatter in the darkness. Jude heard the sound of a gurgling growl.
The sheleg, he thought. How could I have forgotten? “Samara,” he said, rising to his knees, “it’s the creature.”
>
“The creature?”
“The queen’s pet. You’ll have to fight it off. I’m useless for now.”
“Fight it?” she said, her voice breaking. “Fight what? I can’t even see it.”
“Just buy us some time. Maybe I’ll gain enough power to get us out the window. But if I use too much energy now, I’ll pass out.”
Jude heard the slice of Samara’s blade as she freed it from its sheath.
“And what about you, Cadet?” she asked. “Are you going to help?”
Marcus held up his shackles. “Can you remove these?”
And then Jude saw it pass across the pale light from the window—a grotesque creature, hunched against the floor. It looked humanoid—a slender body with long, spindly arms and thin, wild hair. It crawled away on oversized hands, its fingers tapered to bladelike points, clicking across the stone.
“Okay,” said Samara, “I saw it that time.”
“I think I’d rather face the guards,” said Marcus, shrinking backward.
Samara pulled a short cylinder wrapped tightly in brown paper from her cloak. She placed the tip on a wall and struck it hard against the rough surface as if it were a match. There was a sizzling sound as the end sparkled with light.
A flare, Jude thought.
A banshee-like scream filled the room, so shrill it brought the lot of them to their knees. Jude dropped his staff and covered his ears. He could see the fiend somehow crawling across the ceiling, its eyes like two glowing moons.
I have to fight, Jude thought, or we’re dead. He tried to stand but fell to the floor.
The creature dropped down in front of them, and in the light of the flare, Jude could finally see its horrid, mutated face. Its thin mouth ran from ear to ear, needle-like fangs bared, and it had no nose at all—just flat bone. In a blink, the creature rose up on its legs and sprang at Samara.
The girl was quick, leaping to the side as the creature’s claws slashed through the air. She made a move to stab it, but the sheleg blocked her blow with its hand and let out another shriek, yellow spittle flying into her face.
And then it was gone—shrinking back into the shadows.
Samara turned and looked at Jude with terror in her eyes. “What kind of monster is that thing?” she said. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
“I don’t know,” said Jude, clutching his head. “I’ve never read a word about it.”
“I need a weapon,” said Marcus, turning wildly this way and that, searching the darkness. “Anything—anything will do.”
There was a whir to Jude’s right. The clatter of claws. Hissing breath. No, it was to his left—no, behind him!
A shadow fell over Samara, and Jude watched in horror as the sheleg entered the light. It flew through the air with its arms and legs spread wide. He let out a shout to warn her, but it was too late. Together, Samara and the sheleg tumbled to the ground and rolled into a pillar.
There was a blur beside Jude. Marcus lurched forward. The cadet threw his shoulder into the side of the sheleg and knocked it off of Samara.
The creature turned its rage to Marcus and slashed at him, raking its claws across his chest. Marcus let out a cry and fell onto his back. The creature pounced on him and screeched in his face, its mouth stretching abnormally wide. It struck at him with its claws, but Marcus blocked the blow using the chain of his handcuffs.
I have to help them, Jude thought. I have to. Even it if kills me.
Samara swung her blade at the sheleg; the creature deflected the attack.
“Use the darkness,” said a still, small voice inside the depths of his mind. “Just this once. Go on, save your friends.”
No—I won’t. There has to be another way. He reached for his staff, but his arm went limp.
“Use the darkness or your friends will die.”
I…I won’t.
Jude felt the Nosfertu stir inside of him. All he had to do was let it flow and he knew he would have the strength to kill the beast—to save all of their lives and get them out of the tower.
Just this once, he told himself.
Jude took hold of his staff. He felt the darkness swell, and power like he had never known surged through his veins. He jumped to his feet, and commanded the vines inside of the shaft to attack the wicked creature. His fatigue vanished—he felt as if he could lift a mountain; sprint across the world without rest; wage war against an entire army. The Nosfertu did his bidding, amplifying every bit of his primal power. Black fog swirled around the orb of his staff, flashing with green light like an unnatural thunderhead. He watched the world in slow motion—the sheleg raised its clawed hand to deliver a killing blow to Marcus’ neck. Vines swarmed out from the shaft behind Jude, twisting forward. But they did not look like his normal vines. They transformed as they moved, turning from green to black, thorns ripping through the plant’s once-smooth flesh. The creature froze, spotting the attack. It did not have time to react—the vines snapped around its arms and legs and pulled it into the air, screaming and flailing.
When the vines touched the creature’s body Jude could sense its strength. It was powerful, certainly. Far more powerful than any mortal man. But it was so weak compared to him. All he had to do was give the command and it would be ripped to shreds.
And he would. The Nosfertu demanded it.
Jude let out a shout of triumph as he slammed the end of his staff against the stone floor. The thorny vines, like two great hands, pulled the creature apart as if it were nothing but a leaf. Blood, as black as oil, splattered all about the room.
For a moment, all Jude could do was bask in the glory of the feeling—the raw, unadulterated power. He was one of the supreme beings of Orsidia. He had tasted the Nosfertu’s strength back in the arena when he touched the Isilia Stone, but it was nothing like this. I could tear this tower down right now, Jude thought, watching the thorns creep across the ceiling and floor. His vines twisted around one of the pillars and yanked it apart by its middle. Yes, it is all too easy! He pulled another down and then another.
“Jude!” Samara was standing in front of him, shouting. Her black hair was wild about her face. “What are you doing? You’ll crush us all! We have to get out of here.”
And then Jude remembered. They had to get to the window—they had to get out of this city. They had rescued Marcus. He lowered his staff. In a rush, the immense power left him and his sanity returned. He looked around the room, panting, stunned by the destruction he had caused. For a reason he could not explain, his strength had returned in full. The primal energy was his to use at will.
“Quickly!” said Samara, grasping his arm. “The guards are coming—I hear them!”
Jude nodded, dashing past her to the window. He reached into his pouch and tossed a fistful of seeds outside. “You need to trust me,” he said, glancing back at his companions.
Samara took a step back. “After that freakish behavior? We don’t trust you a bit!”
Jude climbed up onto the windowsill. “You must jump after me. My vines will catch you.”
“Not the thorny ones, I hope,” said Marcus.
Jude gritted his teeth. He wasn’t sure why his vines had transformed, but her knew he had to control them or they could wound his friends. “There won’t be thorns. Now follow me.”
Jude leapt out the window. Reluctantly, Samara and Marcus followed.
Chapter 32
Whispers flooded the goblins’ cave: “Gorbikna—Gorbikna—Gorbikna. Gorbikna has returned.” Many goblins began to bow, and soon the whole room was full of chants.
“Slaughter the cheefee!” cried Chief Korophant, jumping to his feet. “Tonight, we feast!”
The goblins made a horrendous racket, wild with delight at the mention of food. They jumped up from the ground with hoots and shrieks; shoving, biting, and climbing over each other to prepare the great table and butcher their cheefee. In the common speech that meant flesh of all kinds, Gregory remembered.
“No, no cheefee,” pre
ssed Gregory, feeling entirely flustered. “We have questions and I intend to have them answered—oomph!”
They were quickly surrounded by the unruly throng and herded out of the throne room into the maze of tunnels. For the first time in his life, Gregory wasn’t hungry. The only thing he cared about was asking their questions. Once answered, they could leave this place—this underworld painted crimson and black.
Gregory gave up and tried to keep pace with the hunchbacks. They weaved from sweltering hot rooms and into piercing cold halls, all the while the pounding of feet and shrill laughter made Gregory’s eardrums throb. It was clear that the honeycomb of tunnels had been crudely hollowed for function rather than form, with their jagged ceilings and coarse walls. Only the floors were smooth, beaten down by centuries of footfalls. But this was the way of the goblin. They had no use for things of beauty. They did, however, take savage delight in creating objects for nasty purposes—instruments of torture designed to bludgeon, skewer, and saw. There was nothing a goblin loved more than watching a slow and agonizing death. They passed several rooms with monstrous machines and crudely fashioned tools, still dripping with blood from their latest victims. Gregory tried to keep his eyes focused on the goblin in front of him.
Complete the mission, he told himself. Soon we’ll be away from these fiends.
When the shaman attacked them he thought it was all over. For as long as he could remember—for as long as history told—nothing could rival the power of the Miraclists. Now, this new and foreign shadow energy the shaman possessed seemed to put their power to shame. But something had rescued them—that shadowy, smoky, beastly looking monstrosity. In spite of its appearance, Gregory felt it was almost angelic in nature. Maybe there are angels made of darkness, he thought.