by Alexey Pehov
About twenty marble slabs right in front of the Doors were lit up in a rough semicircle, forming a kind of platform about twenty yards across. From that point two corridors ran off to the right and left of the Doors. There were little light blue lamps on the high ceilings of the corridors, flooding the entrances with a pale bluish light and filling the corridors with a bluish haze. I didn’t know where the corridors led to—there was no mention of them in the papers from the old Tower of the Order.
But the Nameless One take the mysterious corridors! I certainly wasn’t going to waste any time exploring them. Just at that moment there was nothing in the world apart from those Doors towering up seventeen yards above my head.
I took my glove off one hand and gingerly pressed my palm against the surface of the Doors. They felt warm, as if there was a gentle flame burning somewhere inside them, and at the same time icy cold, as if they’d been carved out of a single block of dark ice. And they were very smooth. I didn’t even try to guess what material they were made from, but it looked very much like black glass. I would have wagered the income from my next hundred Commissions that an entire regiment of giants or an army of magicians of every possible hue could never even have made this barrier tremble.
The elves had created something magnificent, and only someone who possessed the Key could pass this way. (I imagined how furious the orcs must have been when they discovered that the easiest and quickest route to the tombs of their ancestors had been closed off by the elves.)
I stood at one edge of these magnificent Doors, set one hand on their surface, and walked the ten yards from one edge to the other. Nothing at all. An absolutely smooth surface, entirely unbroken, if you didn’t count the elaborate images worked into it by the dark and light elves’ master sculptors, images that told the story of their people’s battles with the Firstborn.
The pictures were incredibly beautiful and the attention to fine detail was astonishing. Here was an elf armed with a s’kash setting his foot on the body of his prostrate enemy. The figures seemed to be alive and I could see every hair, every ring of chain mail, every wrinkle in the corners of the middle-aged elf’s eyes.
And here was a gigantic oak tree. I could see every single leaf, every crevice in the thick bark. Orcs hung from the tree head-down, their eyes filled with absolute terror. Elves stood below them. Many elves. From what I knew of the race of the Secondborn, I’d say the lads were preparing the appalling Green Leaf torture for the orcs.
Of course, all this was very impressive, but the Doors didn’t have what was most important to me—a keyhole that the Key I had brought could fit into. I almost went blind staring at that surface as I walked from one corner to the other, but I didn’t find even the tiniest opening. As if it wasn’t enough that the surrounding gloom and the blue haze of the two corridors were beginning to set my nerves on edge, there was something not quite right about the Doors, too. But I just couldn’t understand exactly what it was that had been bothering me since the moment I walked up to them.
Calm down, Harold, calm down. I had the Key, and it was created to open the Doors. So it must open them, and all I had to do to find the keyhole was exercise my imagination.
I tried coming at the question from every possible angle, but I got nowhere. Maybe it was some kind of elfin joke—to make Doors that didn’t open? But then, why in the name of darkness had they gone to all the trouble of bringing in the dwarves to make the Key? Not just for the fun of it, surely?
But eventually I found the answer. It was concealed in the figures on the Doors, or rather, in one of them. In the lower left corner there was a figure of a tall elf. He was holding his right hand out, palm upward, and it was hollow. The color of the glass made the hollow almost invisible, in fact it was barely even a hollow, just a slight irregularity that was lost among the dozens of figures embossed into the Doors. But the size of the hollow was exactly right for the Key to be set into it.
I pulled the chain with the Key on it out from under my shirt and set the slim, elegant, icy-crystal artifact in the elf’s hand. The crystal flashed with a purple light and for a moment the elf’s entire figure lit up. The transparent Key turned exactly the same color as the Doors and fused into a single whole with them.
And then a glowing purple line ran from the bottom to the top of the huge Doors, right at their very center, and they started slowly opening toward me without a sound. I had to step back so that they wouldn’t catch me. I felt something snap gently in my chest, and I realized that the bonds with which Miralissa had tied the Key to me had broken. Which was hardly surprising: I’d opened the Doors and the bonds were no longer needed. The artifact had done its job.
“The bonds are strong,” the Key purred. “Run!”
Run? But the Doors had only just opened!
“Run away! The smell of the enemy!” the Key whispered in farewell, and fell silent.
The smell of the enemy? What did that mean?
I sniffed the air and caught a faint scent of strawberries. Lafresa!
“Kill him!” a man’s voice barked in the darkness.
Maybe sometimes I’m not all that bright, maybe I’m as dense as a cork, maybe I don’t know how to use a sword, but there’s one thing that can’t be denied—in a really tight spot I think with the speed of lightning and run even faster.
When Count Balistan Pargaid roared his command, I was already far away from the Doors and flying along the corridor on the left as fast as I could go. In the distance someone yelled that I had to be caught, others shouted for me to stop immediately or it would be worse for me. Naturally, I had no intention of stopping. Fortunately, the group that had been waiting for me to open the Doors hadn’t brought any crossbows along, otherwise I would have been dispatched into the light already. There was only one thing they could do now—try to catch up and put a few holes in me. I had one slight advantage over the Master’s jackals—I started running a lot sooner than they did, and running in chain mail with swords is a lot harder than running without them.
I hurtled along the endless corridor flooded with blue light, praying to Sagot for an intersection so that I could confuse the chase. But it was just my luck, there wasn’t a single branch off the corridor—its walls just moved farther apart, its ceiling rose even higher, and every second blue lamp went out.
That made the place even gloomier—the murk was so thick, it felt like I was running through a phantom world, wallowing in a syrupy bluish haze. The blue light made everything that was happening seem unreal.
Whoo-osh … Whoo-oosh … Whoo-oosh …
The lights on the ceiling were blurred spots rushing past above my head. The floor was laid with slabs of white marble with gold veins, just like in the Hall of the Doors, but fortunately it didn’t glow. On the other hand, I could hear the tramping feet and menacing roars of my pursuers very clearly. The idiots still hadn’t realized that yelling your head off in places like Hrad Spein can be bad for your health. I had a good lead, so I could afford to look round to see what my chances of surviving today’s race looked like.
The thick blue haze filled the corridor, so I could only see about a hundred paces. But I’d opened up a much bigger lead than that, so there was nothing in my field of vision yet. There was no time to think things over—Balistan Pargaid’s dogs would be there at any moment, and then only a miracle would save me.
There were broad decorative friezes running along the walls of the corridor, with stone gargoyles, each twice the height of a man, grinning down at me. The sculptor had created a set of brutes who were absolutely identical—they all had heads in the form of human skulls and unnaturally long hands with three fingers. The gargoyles were leaning over the corridor, looking for all the world as if one of them would come to life and jump down. I suddenly had an idea that just might work.
I leapt up onto the frieze, flung one leg over a gargoyle’s thigh, heaved myself up, grabbed the statue’s neck, and hid between its back and the wall of the corridor.
A m
agnificent spot. In the first place, the men chasing me were not likely to look up. In the second place, they couldn’t see me, and, in the third place, I had a fine view of everything.
For a second I thought the gargoyle’s stone back trembled slightly. It was absolute nonsense, of course—in that blue murk you could imagine seeing anything. I took the crossbow out from behind my back and waited for my guests.
After about ten long, but far from tedious seconds my pursuers appeared. Count Balistan Pargaid had sent four soldiers after me and these lads didn’t look any different from the other two who had got lost in the maze of the second level. Just as I expected, the lads didn’t even bother to look round. They were putting all their energy into yelling and waving their swords about. The four of them ran past my hiding place, howling triumphantly, and disappeared into the blue haze. Well, I thought I’d sit there for a while and wait until they got tired of running and then clear off.
How brilliantly Lafresa had fooled me! But it was my own fault for underestimating a dangerous enemy. After all, I knew how important she was to the Master’s intrigues, and you’d be hard put to find another sorceress to match her anywhere. No wonder the woman had managed to find the way to the Doors and avoid the traps and also prepare a pleasant welcome for me. I couldn’t imagine how she’d guessed I would reach the Doors, too, but the Master’s servant had certainly made the right decision.
Without the Key, Lafresa wasn’t able to open the Doors, so the only thing she could do was wait until the blockhead who was bound to the artifact opened them for her. I’d done exactly what she expected, and then Balistan Pargaid’s men had swung into action, thirsting for my blood. Yes, there was a faint scent of strawberries in the air near the Doors, that was what had been bothering me, but I hadn’t taken any notice, and if not for the magical Key …
A long, appalling howl of pain and terror rang down the corridor and I hiccupped in surprise. A hesitant moment of silence, and then another choking scream. And another. The hair on my head stirred and stood up on end. I pressed myself against the gargoyle’s back as hard as I could and tried to dissolve into thin air.
“Save me, Sagra! Save me, Sagra! A-a-agh! Save me, Sagra!”
A man came dashing out of the haze, screaming—one out of the four who had just been chasing me.
The man tossed his sword away and went dashing back toward the Hall of the Doors, calling on Sagra to help him. As usually happens, the goddess of war didn’t heed his call. But someone else did. A gargoyle on the wall opposite me turned its head toward the soldier’s howls.
At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me in the strange light, but then the fingers on the long hands moved, the shoulders twitched, and, just as the man was running past the gargoyle, the stone monster leapt down nimbly off the frieze, landing on the man with all its weight.
Crunch!
The lad never even knew what hit him. The monster picked the body up by the legs with its long hands, swung hard, and smacked the dead man’s head against the frieze. There was a sound like a nut cracking and a dark spot appeared on the stone. The gargoyle went back to its usual place and froze in the same position as before, suddenly transformed into lifeless stone again. As if the terrible scene I had just witnessed had never even happened.
I tried to calm my wildly pounding heart, but that was more than I could manage. May Sagot save me, I couldn’t take my eyes off the monster that had just killed a man! But the beast was absolutely still now; it gave no signs of life at all.
Ah, but you won’t fool me like that anymore!
The back of the gargoyle I was hiding behind trembled slightly again. But no, I imagined it.… Or did I? I stopped breathing. The head on the stone neck slowly started moving.…
I jumped down and ran as hard as I could for the Hall of the Doors, and somewhere behind me there was a gargoyle awakening from a long sleep. Of course, I hadn’t bothered to wait for the unpleasant moment when the stone monster would be fully awake. I just ran for it before it could grab me.
Whoo-oosh … Whoo-oosh … Whoo-oosh …
The little blue lamps turned into long blurred streaks. I was running in the opposite direction now. Darkness take Lafresa and Balistan Pargaid and his men! I’d break through one way or another! In the Hall of the Doors at least I had some kind of chance, with just a little bit of luck and the factor of surprise, but if I ran the other way, I was a dead certainty for the light. And another foolish idea came to mind, too—if I could just get to the Doors, the gargoyle could easily turn his precious attention to one of Pargaid’s men and forget about me.
The rasping of stone talons rang along the corridor. There was something big and very unfriendly chasing me. I stepped up the pace to avoid ending up in its stony embrace.
A gargoyle standing ahead of me stretched and clambered down off the frieze, but I had already gone flying past before this latest animated spawn of darkness could gather its wits. The end of the corridor was close now, but my way was blocked by a third stone monster, standing straight ahead of me, with blazing blue coals for eyes. To stop now would have been quite unforgivably stupid, so I dropped to the floor like a stone and slid across the marble slabs on my stomach, skidding between the ugly beast’s legs. I don’t think it even realized what was happening.
I jumped up and ran for it, and heard a terrible crash behind me as the monster who was chasing me smashed straight into his friend—the one I had slid under so smartly.
The glowing floor in front of the Doors. The dark depths of the hall. And nobody there. Just as I thought: Balistan Pargaid hadn’t bothered to wait for his men to finish me off. He’d gone on to the third level, since a certain idiot had kindly opened the Doors for him.
I heard a stifled wail of frustration from the corridor and turned round.
Several statues that had come to life were standing on the threshold between the corridor and the Hall of Doors. They stared at me in helpless fury for a second, then turned and tramped away.
I grunted in relief and tried to catch my breath. No wonder the dead guardsman’s book had said that blue light brought death.
Kli-Kli had warned me; in fact, he had often made fun of me, saying that if I survived the Palaces of Bone, my best memories would be of running. First from one beast. Then from another. And another.
I missed the moment when the Doors started to close. It happened without a sound, and when I did look at the magical gates, they had already moved a quarter of the way together.
I certainly couldn’t hang around any longer. I went dashing toward the barrier, feverishly trying to spot the figure of the elf in whose hand I had left the Key. The Doors carried on implacably closing.
Darkness! I needed the Key! Egrassa would tear my head off if I came back without the elfin relic!
Darkness! Darkness! Darkness! Darkness! May a demon of the abyss eat my brains!
The elf’s hand was absolutely empty! That infernal Lafresa had taken the artifact!
But this was no time to hurl curses at the heavens—there was only a narrow gap left between the Doors, and I had to make a dash for it. Otherwise I’d have to gnaw a hole through the Doors with my teeth.
I made it.
The danger of being crushed by the closing Doors sharpened my wits and I slipped through and out the other side like a cork out of a bottle of sparkling wine.
The gates came together soundlessly behind me, putting an end to any chance of going back. Now I would have to take the Key from Lafresa (which was unlikely) or make my way through the abyss of horror and find another way out (which was even less likely). There was only one way I could go now—forward. And I had to keep on going in the hope that some kind soul would deal with the witch and take the Key off her body.
I leaned back against the smooth black surface and gazed into darkness. Right in front of the Doors there was still a faint glimmer of light, but beyond that …
Thirty paces away I couldn’t see a thing. Just dense, velvety darkness
. I was standing on a faintly lit granite platform that was slightly wider than the Doors and about fifteen paces across.
The entire platform was littered with bones. On the left and the right the floor merged into the walls of a cave that receded into impenetrable gloom. I couldn’t see any ceiling, it was too high, monstrously high, and completely invisible without any bright light. The platform broke off at jagged edges with an empty void beyond. It looked as if the Doors had released me into some unbelievably huge natural cave that the builders of Hrad Spein had discovered many thousands of years before.
The third level was a lot lower than the spot where I was standing, and the way to it ran across a stone bridge that began at the magical doors and ended somewhere out there. I had to walk through the cave across the bridge.
Not a very encouraging prospect, especially bearing in mind that the bridge was only four paces wide and it didn’t have railings. And if I was careless enough to fall off, I could keep on falling until I died of hunger.
An untimely fit of curiosity made me pick up something that used to be someone’s arm bone and toss it into the abyss. I immediately regretted this fleeting impulse—who knew what creatures I might disturb? But even though I regretted it, I didn’t forget to count; at least I could find out how deep this bottomless cave really was. I gave up at ninety-three, realizing that I wouldn’t hear anything anyway, even if the bone landed. It was already too far away for the sound to reach my ears.
It was more than fifteen minutes since the Doors had closed. I had to get moving and for the time being abandon all thoughts about how I would get back out.
All I was doing right now was just spinning things out, trying to put off setting foot on that bridge. I would have bet a gold piece that it was longer than an ogre’s life, but I couldn’t see any supports underneath it. What was holding all that weight up? What magic had transformed the stone into a path?