The guard shook his head. “Never.”
Wren sighed. He came closer and stepped on the end of the bolt, pushing it deeper into the man’s gut.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! STOP—STOP!”
“Last chance, how many more guards?”
“Four! Four more with the wagon. They’re several hours ahead of you though, you’ll never reach them before they get to Wiltys.”
Wren aimed the mini-crossbow and fired. The guard jolted to the side upon the bolt’s impact and then went still. “You should have stuck with honest soldiering instead of sending kids off to their deaths,” Wren snarled. The assassin quickly recovered his backpack from the woods and then scrounged around, digging among the soldiers’ things for additional supplies. He took their food, stuffing everything he could into a saddlebag that he placed upon one of the horses. Then he mounted another horse and resumed his eastward travel, taking the other two horses along with him.
This time, he kept the pace quick but manageable, switching horses every twenty minutes so that none of them would have to carry his weight the entire time. He only hoped he could reach the others before Driscal had his way with them.
Chapter 20
Two days later, Wren could see the cliffs rising several hundred feet above the forest, the dark, sheer rocks nearly impossible to scale even for the most seasoned climbers. “Wiltys Plateau,” Wren muttered to himself. He slowed his last remaining horse to a trot, allowing the animal to catch its wind. The other two had proven quite useful, but had to be turned loose the night before as they simply couldn’t match this particular horse for stamina.
“We’re on the final stretch now,” Wren told the animal as he patted its neck. He reached for his water flask and a half loaf of bread while the horse continued along the trail Wren had put him on. The last four guards had passed Wren in the night going the opposite direction, so he felt more than safe enough to grab a quick snack to keep his energy levels up for the fight ahead. He poured the cool water into his mouth and then took a good-sized bite of the bread. It wasn’t the most palatable meal he’d ever had, but it would do well enough. After he finished, he put his empty water flask away and then reached into the saddlebag at his right for fresh bandages. His wound was still tender, but it was clean and infection free, which was all Wren really cared about at this point. He put a new poultice onto the wound and bound it in place with new dressing, then he gave the horse a slight nudge to speed it up a tad more.
The hooves clippity-clopped along the hard-packed dirt while Wren scanned the cliffs. There was no sign of an entrance anywhere along the rocky surface, but he knew it was there. As he let the horse carry him along, he heard the faint sound of wings from behind. Wren turned and shook his head when a raven, his raven, swooped down through the branches and let out a mighty caw-caw!
“What are you doing here?” Wren asked. “I thought I sent you home.” The bird flapped onward, soaring past Wren and the horse and took its position scouting ahead. “Stubborn bird,” Wren said. Still, he felt a bit better as he watched his bird take off up through the tree branches and into the open air, circling around and watching out for signs of danger. “Let’s speed this along, shall we?” Wren urged the horse into a quick run, winding around the trees and following the trail until at last they emerged from the forest and out onto the open fields.
Seeing no obstacles between him and the cliffs, Wren thought it best to reach the base of the plateau as quickly as possible rather than risk being spotted in the fields. The horse began panting as it galloped faster across the wind-bent grasses, leaping over a small brook and heading for the cliff base.
The raven crowed triumphantly and swooped down, aiming for the same spot Wren was, as if racing the man there. The black feathers glistened in the sunlight as the bird tilted his wings and dove downward, pulling ahead of Wren by several yards. It crowed once more, as if teasing the man. Wren smirked and tried to urge his horse faster, but it was already galloping as quickly as it could.
Caw-caw! Ca-cawwww!
“Smug little bird,” Wren scoffed.
Thawack!
The raven stopped in midair, and then fell over backward, tumbling to the ground.
Wren frowned and pulled his horse to a quick stop, nearly ending up flying over the horse’s head in the process. What in the world was that? Wren pulled his mini-crossbow and looked up to the cliffs, expecting to find an archer somewhere. Seeing nothing, he scanned the grasses all about, but he still couldn’t find any sign of the attacker.
The horse nickered and then started stepping backward.
“No, wrong way,” Wren said. Just then he caught sight of his bird. The crumpled body lay upon the ground, wings outstretched and head crushed, but no arrow. The bird started moving toward Wren, sliding along the field as if pushed by some unseen source.
The horse whinnied and reared up, kicking its front hooves as if fending off a wild predator. The steed dropped to all fours, turned and started to gallop away, but Wren could feel in his gut that something was wrong. He tried to pull back on the reins, but the horse shook its head, tugging back at the bit in its mouth. Unable to control the animal, Wren removed his backpack and leaned down toward the ground. Just as the bag touched the grasses, he let go, letting the backpack tumble to a stop. A second later he kicked one leg over the horse and dropped off, somersaulting to absorb the impact. Wren sat up and looked at the horse.
K-snap!
The horse’s neck jerked to the right and its body crashed to a halt as if an unseen wall had been erected of invisible stone after they had passed through the field the first time. Wren slowly stood up, watching the horse’s body. A moment later, the large corpse jerked and slid across the dirt, moving back toward Wren.
The assassin turned and saw that his bird was still sliding toward him as well.
Wren wasn’t sure what kind of magic was at play, but he knew he had to reach his backpack. He darted for the bag as the invisible walls continued to advance on him. As his fingers fumbled around for the mage’s key, he scanned the field and only now realized that the grass was being squished flat to the ground as the walls passed. He gripped the mage’s key and brought it up from the backpack and aimed in the direction of his bird.
“No magical barriers are going to stop me,” Wren snarled.
Nothing happened.
He looked down at the wand and inspected the crystal and shaft. Everything looked to be in order, so why wasn’t it working? Wren watched in disgust as his raven’s dead body flipped over a small rock in its path and continued being shoved toward him. From behind, he could hear the horse being shoved along the ground as well. If he didn’t figure this out quickly, things were going to end very badly.
He pulled out the crystal Mortimer had given him and waved the wand over it. This time the mage’s key glowed as it worked its magic. The compass opened as it had before and revealed the needle floating in the pool of mercury.
“It still works,” Wren said. He looked up to the horse carcass. The wall was still about three yards away. “Maybe I’m not close enough,” Wren said. He jumped up and ran to where his bird was being pushed along. He held the mage’s key out toward the wall and waited. As his bird came closer, the wand began to glow. A moment later, the bird was still. Wren moved forward, holding his left hand out the way someone might while searching for a wall in a darkened room. His fingers found the invisible surface. The wall had stopped, but it was still very solid.
The assassin turned around and frowned when he saw the horse’s body still tumbling and rolling awkwardly toward him. He moved to stop the wall before it reached his backpack, then he put the bag on his back and went back to where his bird was.
“Sorry I don’t have the time to give you a burial,” he told his companion as he knelt down beside it. “Thanks for looking out for me one last time. Crashing into the wall might have been fatal for me as well.” He stood up then and held the compass in his left hand and the mage’s key in h
is right. “Now, let me out of here,” he said. The mage’s key began to glow, but so did the needle in the compass. Wren followed along where the needle pointed until at last the mage’s key created an opening in the invisible barrier and set him free. The assassin ran across the rest of the field, following the needle to a point at the base of the cliff that looked as solid as any other rock he had ever seen. He waved the mage’s key over the rock and it disappeared, allowing him to pass into a tunnel inside the base of the plateau itself. He went several yards into the tunnel and then stopped to grab the blue bottle Lady Ashlyn had given him. He poured nearly half of the remaining liquid over him and his equipment, and then resumed infiltrating the wizard’s lair once he was invisible.
The tunnel itself was lit with glowing crystals set into the rough-hewn walls and smooth ceiling, illuminating the path better than a series of torches would have. Wren guessed that the crystals were likely enchanted to give off light so that visitors could hold audience with Driscal.
Wren frowned as he thought about it and turned around. If Lady Ashlynn was to meet with Driscal, then how was she going to get beyond the field? For that matter, how had the guards gotten past the field? Had the wizard only put up the defenses after they departed, as an extra security measure against Wren, or had the others been given some sort of charm that allowed them to pass unharmed?
Whatever it was, it wasn’t worth considering for long at this point. Rescuing the others and killing Driscal was all that mattered now.
He moved methodically through the tunnel, his eyes scanning the walls, floor, and ceiling for traps. He avoided a few tripwires and pressure plates and dispelled two more magical barriers before the tunnel opened up into a large cavern. Wren paused before going in, curious as to why there would be such a large chamber. He didn’t see any traps or guards, but surely there had to be a reason for the chamber’s existence. The walls here were smooth, and the ceiling was held up by four pillars, so either it had been expanded by human hands, or the chamber had been entirely created by miners.
Something wasn’t right.
Wren bent down and grabbed a rock half the size of his fist. The assassin tossed it out a third of the way through the chamber and watched it strike the floor and then bounce a few times. The center of the floor then split in the middle and fell away like a massive trap door. Wren’s eyes shot open wide as something with pink, thorny tentacles slammed out where the rock had bounced and then dragged the stone into the gaping hole without so much as a snarl. The floor then creaked and squeaked as the panels rose back into place and closed together well enough that Wren couldn’t relocate the seam in the middle despite having just seen it open.
“Clever,” he muttered to himself.
He knelt down and looked at the surface of the floor for a moment, and then smiled when he saw boot prints in the dust along the left side, skirting around the outer wall. If that path was safe enough for a group of guards to get the five teens through this chamber, then it should be good enough for Wren as well.
Wren kept close to the outer wall, stepping softly while glancing back to the center of the chamber several times. Eventually he made it through the chamber and into the other tunnel. This one went only a short distance and then ended with a spiral staircase that went up all the way through to the top.
When the assassin finally reached the landing after nearly one thousand steps, he picked the lock to open the solid iron door and stepped out onto the plateau. He quickly closed the door behind him and then looked to see Driscal’s tower, standing only twenty yards ahead of him. It was built with stone and plaster, much like Wren had imagined it in his mind. It stood maybe five or six stories tall with a conical roof at the top.
The assassin circled around to the door at the bottom of the tower and found that Gorban’s key opened it easily. Once inside, he pulled out the mage’s key and dispelled two invisible barriers, as well as one magical wall that glowed a bright green. He followed a narrow hallway until he came to a room on his right. First he dispelled the magical wards, and then he picked the metal lock and found himself staring into a kind of dungeon.
There were no torture devices as one might expect, but rather a cramped cell with a single cot inside. Sitting on the bed and leaning into each other were Sarta and Knell. Liden and the other boys were lying upon the floor, apparently asleep.
“Knell, Sarta,” Wren called out as he entered the room and closed the door behind himself. “Are you awake?”
Sarta turned and looked around, frowning and then glancing back to Knell.
“I heard it too,” Knell said with a nod.
“It’s me, Wren,” the assassin said. He took the key ring from a hook on the wall and started toward the cell door.
“What in the name of Harlin’s Beard is this?” Sarta shrieked. “The keys! They’re floating!”
“Quiet down,” Wren cautioned. “We don’t want to get caught now.”
“How do we know it’s really you?” Knell said, her eyes fixing on the keys.
“I’ll give you some advice,” Wren said. “Find yourself a goal in life that will make you happy, and then don’t let anyone or anything take it away from you.”
“Wren!” Knell said as she jumped up from the cot and began kicking the others. “Wake up, we’re getting out of here!”
Wren smiled and jangled the keys as he found the right one and opened the door. “However, if you are to stay true to yourself in the pursuit of that goal, then you can’t sell your soul. Your principles are what make you who you are.” He paused a moment and then added, “You see, you once asked me what made me different, and that’s it. It’s my principles.”
Liden and the others woke quickly and looked around, trying to see what had opened the cell door.
“It’s Wren,” Knell said. “He’s here.”
“Where?” Liden asked.
“Right here, juggler,” Wren said.
Liden jumped and turned toward Wren, scrunching up his face and narrowing his eyes.
“I have a potion that makes me invisible. Don’t worry, I’m here to get you out.” He stepped into the cell and opened his backpack. He pulled out the large wooden box containing the bomb and watched as all eyes stared at it.
“I can see that,” Knell said.
Wren nodded and opened the wooden box. “The potion made the backpack invisible, but all of the items inside were unaffected.”
“What about the man with the scar?” Liden asked, still trying to ascertain exactly where Wren was.
“Let’s not worry about any of that now, let’s just get you out. Everyone out of the cell. Go stand by the door.” The group did as they were told, except for Knell, who stood and watched as Wren placed the bomb in the back of the cell against the wall.
“What is that?”
“It’s a surprise for Driscal, the wizard who imprisoned you here.”
“A wizard?” Liden asked incredulously. “You mean a real wizard, with all the hocus-pocus and stuff?”
“Knell, listen carefully,” Wren said. “Take this potion, sprinkle a few drops on each of you, and on your clothes. It will make you invisible for about an hour. I’m going to go on and find the wizard. Count to thirty, then light the fuse. Once it’s lit, you’ll only have about ten seconds, so run quickly. As soon as you are outside the tower, run for the staircase that leads down to the tunnels. Remember about the large chamber, skirt along the same wall you did when you were brought here.”
Knell nodded.
“Then, once you’re in the field, run for the woods and hide. Divine willing, I will find you all once this is over.”
“And what if the Divine is not willing” Knell asked.
“Or what if Liden tries to help?” Sarta added. Knell elbowed her hard in the side.
“Wait only until nightfall. If I haven’t found you by then, get as far away from here as you can.”
“Where are we going to go?” Debir asked.
Wren smirked. “I’m sure y
ou’ll figure something out. Don’t worry, even if I don’t make it, the wizard will no longer threaten you.”
Knell reached out with her arms, found Wren, and hugged him. “Thank you for coming back!”
“I told you he would.” Sarta nodded in satisfaction and joined her sister in squeezing the assassin.
Wren pried free of her and held her hands. “Remember, light it, then run as quickly as you can. Don’t delay.”
With that, the assassin turned and left the room, carrying his weapons and the mage’s key. He ascended several flights of stairs, mentally counting to thirty and hoping his pace was close to Knell’s. If he timed it right, he could reach the wizard just as the bomb exploded. Near the fourth floor landing he found a complicated set of glowing wards that took a full five seconds to dispel. Knowing that his time was nearly out, he sprinted up the last set of stairs, reaching the open doorway to Driscal’s study as quickly as he could.
Inside, he saw the man sitting in a high-backed chair reading a book.
Wren stopped and stood there for a moment, as if time stood still while he examined the man who had murdered his fiancé and destroyed his home. The wizard was not at all anything like Wren expected. There was no pointy hat or long beard as wizards had in fables, nor was he wearing fancy robes with stars printed upon them. Driscal was a short, bald-headed man with a round belly that protruded far enough when Driscal sat that the wizard could rest his book upon it like a table. His tunic was made of silk, and his trousers were of fine cloth, but there was no wizard’s staff or fancy spectacles. Wren was almost afraid he had the wrong man until he saw Driscal snap his fingers. In answer to the wizard’s call, a book appeared in the air before him that matched the very same codex Wren had. With a wave of his hand, Driscal opened the book and spoke.
“Lady Ashlyn, regrettably I must cancel our meeting. There has been a change of plans, you see, and I am expecting someone else. I will be in touch with a new time to meet shortly. Signed, Master Driscal, High Wizard of the Fourth Order.”
Wren and the Ravens Page 27