* * * * *
While Graham was staring at it from a distance, Elryia was seeing it up close. It was amazing in a sick, evil way. Unlike most castles, Kaldus only had three walls; the back was flush against the rocks strewn about the land. Though these were larger, almost like those of a mountain, forming a backboard for the castle. There were two walls on each end built directly out of the rocks, roving forward into rounded towers, both flat with Kremis archers occupying the top. Each tower connected another wall that made up the smooth, nearly windowless face of the castle.
Elryia’s eyes drew along the front wall and up to the top edge. She saw that it was fitted with large iron spikes of varying sizes, aiming up towards the sky; below those, angling towards the ground, were massive iron hooks that curved out from the wall—like dark claws creeping over the top of the wall. They stuck at least three feet out and were positioned very close together; Elryia imagined that if anyone actually tried to scale this wall, they would have a very, very hard time.
The castle had no road leading up to it, no long draw bridge or gaping mouth; it had just one tiny door—ten feet wide—with a little piece of land before it. The rest of the castle was surrounded by a massive moat, the water almost as black as the stones that made up Kaldus. It was murky and bleak, winding all the way around the castle—even under the spiky mountain Kaldus was built against. It was a long way from the edge of the shore they were standing on and entirely clear, nothing to protect someone who opted a frontal invasion and again she sighed, wondering how anyone would get passed.
Elryia couldn’t see much beyond the walls, only one high tower with a tiny window—a light flickering in it—and what seemed to be the shadow of a man staring out at them. The rest was just black stonewalls, spiked towers, and the only true way in: a tiny door guarded by two Kremises.
Elryia could hear Merial let her breath out behind her and Gort grumbled sarcastically, “Homely,”
But it was Jeralyle that pushed forward, urged on by curiosity. “How do they get an army out of something like that?”
Elryia scoffed, “Idimus doesn’t keep it here. Very few people actually reside here except for the King, Kalinies, Rhimaldez, and several guards. This place isn’t a kingdom, it solely exists to protect a paranoid, power-hungry King from anyone who would seek to rob him of his throne.”
“I imagine it’s almost impossible to penetrate.”
Elryia turned her face in an uncomfortable manner and muttered an obvious inkling, “It’s even harder to get out of…” She was thankful that he hadn’t heard her.
Drogan stopped for the first time since they began, and though they knew it wouldn’t last long each found peace in the respite. The sun was peering through the mountains, the very edge of the radiance grazing the tops of their heads. Despite the bleak, barren, emptiness they had all felt when first seeing the castle, the sun rejuvenated them slightly; showering their cold bones and weary bodies with much needed warmth, and perhaps even a bit of hope.
They waited anxiously as a large raft made its way across the moat, pushing from the shoreline of the castle towards them at an agonizingly slow pace. As it grew nearer they could see a good-sized man standing on the flat craft using a large stick to manipulate and turn it in the water until it thudded against the shore a few feet from them. Behind them, the dozen or so soldiers gathered and fanned out, each with an eager hand on their weapon—waiting for one to attempt a foolish escape. When the raft finally settled, they all made a move to lead the companions onto it, but Kalinies held them with a brief wave of his hand. “Canvas the area first. When it’s clear, return and protect the King.” The lead soldier bowed and withdrew, followed by his regiment. One by one they turned and split from their tight formation to begin surveying the dark, dismal land around them.
On that, Drogan snorted and tugged on the chains again, practically yanking them on to the platform, Elryia giving one glance back towards Kalinies. Once he had sent his falcon off, he had made it a point to stay behind the group. He never took his eyes off Elryia, waiting for—or perhaps daring—her to move. He had stalked about the entire journey, watching, making sure they didn’t speak or plot—and even now, at the sanctity of his home, he was guarding them.
The boatman pushed the stick against the shore and gave a hard shove, trying to push them in the opposite direction—the weight giving him a much harder time than it did coming over. Drogan snorted and almost knocked the man right into the water as he took the stick and began guiding the raft with little effort.
Elryia, as well as Jeralyle, kept an eye on Kalinies who now was muttering and waving his hands towards the land in front of him. From the ground—inches in front of him—rose a thick black fog. It seeped from the dirt, twisted and pulled, stretching out only a foot off the ground where it pooled and flattened. Kalinies raised his leg to step on. And much to Jeralyle’s surprise, he stayed there. With another disc formed and another stride taken he was completely off of the ground. He continued the quiet muttering and waving as he moved along, using the black mist as stepping-stones to keep himself well above the water.
Kalinies could have just as easily fit onto the raft, and ridden with the rest of them, but within him once more arose the need to show off, and for no other reason than Elryia.
Though he knew not why, she held an undeniable, unadulterated rage towards him. Her eyes had not softened, nor been removed from him their entire journey. Her hands had not shifted out from the fists they formed, nor her teeth relaxed their clinch. Yet with all that boiling on the surface, she had not acted upon it. Despite the obvious vengeful desire, she held for the sake of her companions. Such an act took strength; discipline. Two aspects sought by any wizard.
Yet it was not only that. Had it been, Kalinies would not have cast such a difficult spell. Nor, would be frightened of her.
But something else lingered below the surface. Something dangerous about her. In his long life, Kalinies had bound countless wizards in the same runed cuffs he placed on her. And not one of any showed even a hint of power after. They were useless, except her. The binds seemed to have little effect. Her power radiated and pulsed, so dominantly it took every ounce of focus he had to maintain his spell and keep himself out of the water.
He wondered what Idimus had planned for her, yet he hoped he would not leave her alive for too long. Her stare alone seemed as though it would set his soul to stone, and continued the entire trip over. It was only when the raft slammed into the bank in front of the castle that she broke her concentration on him. Her body jerked forward again as Drogan tugged on the chain and led them past the guards and through the door, both of the Kremises bowing slowly to him on his entrance.
They were led into a dark corridor filled with thick, rancid smelling air that left them all struggling for breath. The stones had been built in a very low, narrow arch. It was easy for some and rather difficult for others to pass through. There was little light, only a few torches burned throughout the hallway, but the black walls drowned out the small bit of illumination that they cast. Everyone surveyed as their eyes adjusted, but the environment failed to change as they went through the hallway, only scratches here and there towards the ceiling, more than likely caused by their clumsy, horned captor. His deviated breathing and snorting was echoing through the empty tunnel—pounding in their ears and drowning out the sound of water dripping on the cold stones.
Merial turned her wrists, wishing she wasn’t locked down. Had she not been, she surely would have buried her face in her fiancé’s chest and hidden away from the sight. She would have coward from the feeling of being cold, tired, and scared. Yet she could not, she could only look forward, constantly expecting a scream to pierce through the dark cavern as she stared at the opening filled with a faint light that flickered at the end. Not sure what lay beyond it, she felt as though the walls were closing in. Despite how fatigued she was, she prayed that they would go faster. In seeing the discomfort emblazoned on her face, Jeralyle strugg
led against his confines, reached back as best he could to place his hand on hers. When Merial looked up to see the gentle smile on the Mage’s face, she finally had a reason to give one of her own.
As the corridor ended, it broke into a wide-open, empty room; twenty feet wide on all sides, the walls made of the same obsidian as the tunnels. The area was just as bleak, lacking definition and decoration. The only objects that stood out were thick sturdy pillars—six total—that were on either side of them. Along the top and bolted to the edge, four torches stuck out; lit but giving off no more light than the corridor had. Against the walls, between the pillars, large, metal-framed oak doors stretched across to the other side. On the opposite end, they could see only one exit, what looked like another small, constricted passageway—like the one they’d just left.
Everyone gave a communal sight, jerking to attention when they stopped abruptly.
A dozen castle guards exited out of the doors to stand in front of the far tunnel, donned in red tunics with black belts and sashes, each with swords held ready before them. Drogan almost went around them but a booming, albeit gentle-seeming voice stopped him in his tracks. “I’ll take them from here.” The Kremises then moved in order to make way for the Captain of the Guard, Rhimaldez.
And again, Jeralyle was in awe. He was just as Elryia had described him. Rhimaldez being even taller than Drogan, wide arms connected to an even wider chest, covered with pure white fur. Atop his head were two massive, circular horns that arched down and formed next to his long maw and black nose above ebony lips. While Drogan had the look more accustomed to a wild animal, Rhimaldez actually looked civilized. His attire consisted of a red button up shirt and black vest that V-shaped across his abdomen. The straight, squared edges of the bottom draped an inch over his brown leather pants and black, cross-laced boots went the same length over his knees. Wide brown eyes surveyed each one of the companions slowly before Drogan blocked his advance with a snort. “I have not been given any orders to hand them over to you.”
The aggressive manner prompted each of the guards to twitch and make a move to intercept; but Rhimaldez idly raised his hand up and they remained still. His other came forward slowly and eyes sharpened on Drogan as the ram held his palm open, waiting for the chain.
Drogan snarled and sharpened his gaze right back, unwilling to yield. Kalinies had since entered behind them, but he didn’t utter a word on who was right or wrong. He did not want to worry about El and her companions any longer, and would be happy to let Rhimaldez take over. Drogan was stubborn, a part intensified by his animal instincts, so when he got his mind set on something, it was best to let him handle it—best to let him stare it out with Rhimaldez. Kalinies held very little regard for either of them, but allowing Drogan independence in his decision kept him loyal.
Rhimaldez’ stoicism remained; the rest of his features held. There he stood, not reaching for the chain seeming instead to be waiting for something. The longer this went on, the more Drogan snorted and protested. Eventually the Minotaur lost patience and shoved the chain into the Captain’s hand, turning around growling and muttering under his breath. He bent towards Gnert and growled at him, finding at least some comfort—and a bit of an ego boost—when the Gnome cowered and tried unsuccessfully to run away and hide.
Rhimaldez attention fell on Elryia, chain in hand, “Come with me,” was all he said as each of the Kremises walked onward, regimented and methodically until they were standing next to the group. Rhimaldez draped the chain over his shoulder, turned back at everyone with part of his mouth covered by a huge horn as he spoke. “Let’s move,” he marched on and Elryia wondered if he was speaking to them or to his guards. He walked at a slow pace and rather than a violent yank, like she’d been dealing with all night, she felt a gentle tug—not hard enough to hurt, but only enough to remind her that she needed to follow.
The next tunnel was just as dark as the previous, but much wider and higher than the entryway, allowing the Kremises to walk along the sides of the group. This one twisted and turned however, several times the corridor broke into separate parts and they chose one path and then another. “Someone could very easily get lost in here…” Jeralyle remarked quietly to Elryia.
Rhimaldez turned his head back and Elryia could swear she heard him chuckle when he said, “That’s the point…”
None of them—not even Gnert with his honed mind and thirst for complexity—could remember how they entered. Darkness was abundant as were turns, making it impossible to find their way out and relinquishing any hope of escape. Elryia counted at least five different corridors they had gone through, and she could only hang her head low, knowing that the deeper in they got, the longer it would take Graham to find them—if he even could.
They finally entered their last destination: a room much like the one they first met Rhimaldez in; very tall and incredibly wide, a complete opposite to the corridor they were just in. However, instead of another archway across the room, there only lay empty shackles. On either side of the room, rather than dozens of huge oak doors, there were two large steel cages.
Rhimaldez dropped the chain as soon as he led the group to one side, his guards moving to the other, standing attentive and awaiting orders. The Captain reached up and tugged on the cell, a loud shriek as old hinges stressed and stone scraped against metal resounded through the room—causing many faces among the group to wince.
One by one, starting at the back, Rhimaldez disconnected the shackles from the chain, directing the newly mobile prisoner into the cell. Carsis, Gnert, Gort, Lanyan, Jeralyle, Merial and finally Elryia. She stopped in front of the Captain and met his eyes. Again, as when she first saw him, something endearing and compassionate shone behind his eyes. She was curious about it, but she worried of keeping him waiting, so she only bowed cordially and ran a gentle hand across his own once he had removed her from the chains.
He bowed in return and tried his best to hide his grinning maw, especially when he turned to face the guards on the other side of the room. “I am to inform Idimus of their arrival, report only to me if anything changes,” he ordered, his voice deep and commanding. Each guard bowed solemnly, their stares unwavering from the companions.
“Now what?” Gort muttered quietly to El.
Elryia sighed, twisting and turning her hands within the confining shackles, “I don’t know.” But she did. She would wait, either for Graham or for Idimus; their savior or their executioner. She had no other choice. She was bound as were the others. They had taken all their weapons and removed anything that Lanyan could have used as a lock pick. Their one hope rest on a man only Elryia knew about and could not help when her thoughts wandered to him, praying—hoping he was not far away.
In A Time Of Darkness Page 16