StoneDragon

by Adrian Cross

  Vast walls arched up to a ceiling so high it nearly disappeared in the gloom, wisps of cloud near the top, punctuated by delicate bird shapes, floating in and out of sight, turning peacefully. The floor level was awe-inspiring in a different way, with its glossy stones broken by leviathan-sized sculptures of Ice and Fire. Ice was represented by great crystalline forms, splintering the room’s light into a thousand shards. The images of Fire were smaller but in greater number, crimson blades that thrust up from the floor and flashed in a thousand shades of red, encrusted in gems that looked sharp enough to peel the skin of anyone foolishly brushing up against them.

  Brock’s men looked uneasy. JP didn’t blame them.

  A squad of soldiers walked toward them, led by two figures, the first with snake-like hair and the second in sleek black leather. They headed for Clay and Jonathan.

  JP eased farther toward the fringes, where shadowed doorways marred the interior wall. The inside of the Broken Tower was not guarded the same way as the exterior. He paused near an outgrowth of Fire, its jagged edges hiding him from sight, and watched.

  Rose never slowed until she reached Clay and Jonathan, the latter with his arms still full holding Karen. Rose jammed her crossbow into Jonathan’s side and dragged his sword free of its scabbard. Its blue stone flared and then darkened.

  “Hey!” As Jonathan took a step toward Rose, Snake scooped Karen out of his arms. Jonathan spun, fists clenched. “What’s going on?”

  “Don’t move,” Rose snapped, leveling the crossbow at his face.

  Jonathan’s face flushed, but he stopped moving. Karen lay limply in Snake’s arms, her eyes closed. The Fist turned and walked away.

  “Where are you going?” Jonathan shot Clay an angry look. “These are supposed to be your friends. What are they doing?”

  Clay didn’t say anything, but his face was dark and grim. His gaze drifted back to where JP stood, then away. JP knew what Clay was thinking. He didn’t want Snake to know where the teenager was. JP shifted back so he was almost unseen but didn’t yet move toward the door.

  Two of Rhino’s soldiers, clad in grey uniforms, took hold of the cowboy’s arms. And not lightly. Clay bent backward, off balance. JP felt a flush of anger, but he couldn’t do anything. Even if he took a shot with the pistol, it would trigger a broad battle, and he still wasn’t sure that was the best alternative. They needed to know what Rhino intended first. JP was a more valuable hidden card, for the moment.

  Snake had kept walking and disappeared with Karen through another of the dark interior doors. “What’s going on?” Jonathan shouted, and it took two hefty soldiers to keep him in place. Brock and the dwarves watched, making no move to intervene.

  Rose’s attention had shifted to Clay. “Where’s your roommate?”

  “The Spartans stole him,” Clay said. “What are you doing, Rose?”

  Rose’s head tilted and then swung slowly back and forth. “Rhino told you not to come back.” She looked at Brock. “The dwarves are valued allies. Rhino is waiting to discuss strategy with you, through there.” She gestured.

  Brock glanced at Clay, expressionless, then turned and walked away, his warriors following. Jonathan and Clay were left on their own, surrounded by Rhino’s soldiers.

  Jonathan purpled with rage. “What are you going to do with her!”

  Rose’s expression softened. “Your friend is all right,” she said. “Snake is taking her to our doctor, for treatment. The dwarf girl will be cared for as well, as Rhino agreed.”

  “So why take Karen away from me?” Jonathan snapped. “Why separate us? What are you going to do with her afterward?”

  Rose turned and headed after Snake.

  “Rose,” Clay called, his voice soft but carrying. She stopped, her back to him. “You owe me more than this.”

  She looked back with sad eyes.

  “You should have kept going, Clay.”

  As the soldiers closed in on them, JP turned and let the darkness of the doorway swallow him.

  JP nearly died in his first ten steps, alone in the Tower. In the blackness and rough stone of the stairway, he felt a slight shift in a stone stair as his weight came down on it. He jerked his torso, nearly falling backward, and felt the brush of air as a dart puffed past. As he swayed, keeping his weight steady on the stair, his fingers found the hole on the left that the dart had disappeared into. An automatic trap, but one that left no visible clues for future victims. Just a body at the bottom of the stairs. If one had been there previously, it had been dragged away, leaving JP unwarned as to the Broken Tower’s dangers.

  A wave of weakness flowed through JP, and he quickly moved to the next step up, avoiding the risk that the trap would trigger again, despite his guesses as to how it worked.

  And how did he know how the trap worked? It was all familiar. In his years as a puppet of the General, he’d thought of many weapons, defenses, and traps, not all used. To his recollection, he’d never built anything like this Tower, but every brick of it seemed familiar. This is exactly how he would have built a trap to last the ages. Maybe even seeded it with some predators to carry away the bodies and leave invaders even more susceptible to the automated traps.

  A chill danced down his body. Predators? What might he come across?

  He thought of heading back but rejected the idea almost immediately. Below was a cage. Above was danger, possibly even his death, but freedom of action as well. And he owed it to Clay to try.

  He drew a breath and continued up.

  40

  The Tower Cell

  Rhino’s men put Clay and Jonathan into a small dark cell. They didn’t bother with a guard. A single guttering torch was left in the hallway, and it lit the rage in Jonathan’s eyes. He smashed the base of his fist into the stone wall.

  “You were supposed to help her! You told us to come here!”

  Clay felt exhausted. He didn’t remember when he’d had a chance to rest, to simply close his eyes and breathe. Somewhere Bern struggled for her life and Karen faced hostile captors who were probably thinking of her as much as a bargaining chip as anything else. Nausea ate at his stomach, and he felt like falling over. But he kept himself upright. He’d made promises, and he would fulfill them or die trying. Unfortunately, it seemed more and more likely it would be the latter.

  “I’m trying my best.”

  “It’s not good enough! You know they’re going to give her to Horan!”

  “I don’t know that.” But Clay’s words didn’t hold much conviction. The explanation, unfortunately, made sense. Rhino had lost much in fighting the Earth gods, and he had other goals. Surely, he could see the math that suggested giving up what the Earth gods wanted was the cheaper course. Despair burned the back of Clay’s throat. Once again, he might be unable to protect what he’d promised to protect. Once again, he would be betrayed by those he’d trusted.

  It could end differently. If Clay could do anything to make that happen, he would. But he had no words to comfort the young warrior staring at him.

  Jonathan sagged back against the wall. “You delivered her to her death.”

  Clay wrapped his hands around the bars and let his forehead press against the cold, rough metal. He tasted rage and failure but could do nothing about it. Eventually, he slid down against the wall opposite from Jonathan. Clay’s eyes slid closed, and he drifted in and out of consciousness. Sleep clawed at him, trying to drag him deeper into oblivion.

  The sound of uneven steps stirred him back to wakefulness. Clay rose to his feet, his heartbeat picking up. The steps were not the bored tread of a soldier or the quick pad of a messenger. They sounded like someone sick or injured, legs moving awkwardly. He remembered the rumors of the Broken Tower, and the many people who had come to untimely ends within it, and his hands tightened around the bars.

  A shadow appeared. It was slender and swaying, a dark-curled head bent forward.

  “JP?”

  JP’s head swung up, his eyes finding Clay’s. They were wi
de and glazed, as if JP were living somewhere far away and had only drawn back reluctantly. He showed no sign of injury, but something was definitely not quite right. “Clay?”

  “Are you hurt?”

  JP pulled pistol and dagger from his belt and let them drop. “I have to climb.”

  “What? Climb where?”

  “He knew. How did he know?” JP shook his head.

  Frustration bubbled in Clay’s chest. He stretched out a hand but was well clear of where JP stood, and the teenager’s eyes were glazing again, as if his thoughts drifted away. “What are you talking about?”

  “I must climb the Tower.”

  “Why!”

  JP turned away, as if he didn’t hear.

  “Wait! The Tower is dangerous. Stay here! Give me the pistol. Let me help.”

  JP walked away, unarmed and alone.

  “Come back!” Clay shouted.

  The slender figure disappeared.

  “Damn!” Clay slammed a fist against the bars, again and again.

  A low chuckle echoed through the hallway.

  Clay froze. He hadn’t seen anyone approach. “Who’s there?”

  “You have a talent for making enemies, cowboy,” Brock said. “Even, apparently, of friends.”

  Clay made the figure out then, not ten feet away, his squat shape draped in shadow. Despite their experience under the Emporium, the dwarf’s ability to come that close unnoticed shocked Clay.

  Anger flared. It had been a long night. “Well, at least that’s something I don’t have to worry about with you, isn’t it?”

  Brock’s eyes flashed with sudden anger. “Don’t be stupid. If I really were an enemy, I’d have left you in Candiman’s pen. Or killed you myself. We may not be friends, but we’re not enemies, not yet, unless you choose to make it so—and that would be a mistake.”

  The words hit Clay’s system like a shock. They were true. He’d let his dislike color his perspective. Clay inclined his head. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It hasn’t been an easy night.”

  Surprise washed over Brock’s face at the apology, but then he shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He kicked Clay’s pistol and dagger over, the weapons clanging against the bars. “Come on. Bernetta wants you.”

  The dwarf hadn’t offered him a key, and Clay didn’t feel like asking for any more help. He slid the dagger into the sheath at his back and aimed the pistol at the lock. A splat and a sizzle and the cell door swung open.

  Clay stepped out and then looked at Jonathan. “Are you coming?”

  Karen’s bodyguard looked at Clay with contemptuous eyes, then turned and walked down the hallway in the opposite way.

  “Come on,” Brock said impatiently.

  Clay would have to do it on his own. Oh well. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to it.

  He followed Brock through the curving corridors. Crimson light spilled out of perforations in the wall and cast long shadows as they walked, sliding in front and behind as they passed.

  “How is she?” Clay asked.

  Brock’s face hardened. “Did a blood sucker bite her?”

  A pain that had never fully left reared up again, tightening Clay’s throat. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “There were spiders, but I don’t know if they were infected.”

  Brock’s eyes blazed. “Just so you know, if she Turns, I consider it the same as dying. I will kill you, just as I promised.”

  Despair swamped Clay. If Bern Turned. The pure bright light of her soul would be sullied, just as Raol’s had been. If that happened, and Brock and his dwarves came after Clay in retribution, would he even fight? He didn’t know—and, in honesty, it might not matter if he did. The Family was a tough crew.

  Brock held out a hand. “Here.”

  They had stopped by a simple wood doorway. A dwarf stood guard on either side, axes at the ready. They watched Clay suspiciously.

  Brock put a hand on the door. “Bern wants me to stay out here.” He growled. “But I will be listening. At the first sign something is going wrong, I’m coming in to slice your throat. So watch yourself.”

  He pushed the door all the way open.

  Clay stepped through.

  The room was simple, stone, and sparsely furnished. A single bed dominated it, lit by a spill of crimson light from a narrow window. Furs and blankets layered the bed. From within them, almost lost, a small pale face watched Clay with eyes large, dark, and fever-bright.

  Bern.

  “Why did you leave me?” she whispered.

  41

  Dark Wings

  JP found more traps. Once he knew to look for them, they were obvious. Where that hallway curved, it was intended to call attention away from the inner stones. Where that doorway beckoned, it was meant to speed the travelers’ steps, offering a deceptively easy approach. The Tower was the cunning of JP’s mind laid bare. So he knew instinctively what to watch for, to the point that his thoughts drifted.

  He didn’t build the Broken Tower. He knew it, as much as he knew anything. Yet he must have. It sounded crazy, but he’d known its lines the first time he’d set eyes on it. The same way a painter knew his own work, or a singer. He’d never built it and yet he had. The fact that he didn’t remember it didn’t change what he knew deep in his chest.

  It felt like he was in a mirrored maze, full of dark reflections. He was a reflection of someone else. The Tower was a reflection of his thoughts. Made in the future perhaps? Or by another clone? But the maze drew him on, teasing him with the promise of answers. So he continued to climb, into the dark silence.

  He suddenly realized it was quieter and darker. Something had changed. His pulse picked up. What had he missed?

  A cold breeze slipped over him from the blackness ahead, stronger than it had before. The faint light had diminished, and the rumble of air through ventilation channels stopped, as if the Tower had been wounded. He looked up.

  Above him, the stones of the ceiling had been ripped away, exposing a darker blackness. A hole. But something else as well. The blackness seemed to swell and drop toward him.

  JP flinched back, overbalanced. Before he could fall backward, a cruel grip seized him around the neck. Cold dark fingers. They jerked him up into the air, through the hole in the ceiling, and beyond. JP flew upward through pitch blackness, as if shot out of a propulsion tube. Every few seconds, the air crashed around him. Wings, he realized, snapping down.

  Something laughed near his ear, high and wavering.

  Above and below him, the sound echoed, and icy fear encased JP, until he could barely think. Whatever had him wasn’t alone.

  He continued hurtling up, at tremendous speed through a tight space.

  JP squeezed his eyes shut, but it was so dark, he could barely tell the difference. The pressure around his neck was too tight, and his lungs burned from lack of oxygen, despite the rush of air against his face. He clawed at the pinions around his neck with clumsy fingers, uselessly.

  As the darkness within blended with the darkness without, he wondered if anyone would even know he was gone…

  42

  Exorcism Goes Bad

  Bern’s heart ached when she saw Clay. He stood framed in the doorway, tall, lean, and expressionless, except for his eyes, which betrayed the compassion in his soul. He wanted to be hard. He was hard. But that didn’t mean he didn’t care. She saw she hurt him in that moment, and selfishly, she was glad.

  “Why did you leave me?” she whispered. “What did I do wrong?”

  He flinched.

  In the silence that followed, her flash of anger turned inward. She closed her eyes. Why did she care so much what Clay thought? He was tall, dark, and mysterious, true, but since she had known him, he’d been chasing someone else. Karen. A blonde beauty, needful and in distress. The only hint he might feel more for Bern was when he’d stared at her in the cave. But she’d been naked and he wounded almost to death. He might not even remember that incident, for all she knew. Or have cared, other than being
embarrassed for her.

  She felt heat rising in her cheeks, and suddenly, she didn’t want him there anymore, even after asking Brock to bring the man.

  “Forget it. Just go.”

  A rasp came from Clay’s lips, making her open her eyes. When she did, she saw a vulnerability in his face that she didn’t expect.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I—”

  “She said out,” Brock grunted and stepped into the room.

  “Wait,” Bern said. But then a wash of cold and weakness hit her so she had to lay her head back down. She could feel sweat on her forehead. “I want to hear.”

  “Nothing. You didn’t do anything wrong. I was trying to protect you. I needed to protect you. I couldn’t handle it if you got hurt. I…” His voice trailed off. His gaze held a dark intensity, his eyes unfocused slightly, as if seeing a darkness that wasn’t there. “I couldn’t.”

  He’d said he was sorry. Bern desperately wanted to talk to him, but she’d needed to hear that first. He had to admit he was wrong and that his mistake had hurt her, and he had. She sagged back against the sheets, the strength draining from her limbs.

  “Go,” she said.

  Clay turned.

  “Not you. Him.”

  “What?” Brock burst out. “Me? How can you…”

  Anger flared, and she tried to rise. Pain radiated from her chest, dragging her back down, and the room fogged for a few seconds.

  When it swam back into focus, Brock was gone and Clay sat at her side, a hand on her arm. A swell of warmth rose in her chest, for a moment driving back the pain and cold. She felt angry at herself for it.

  “I am not a little girl,” she said, biting off the words. “It’s not your job to protect me.”