Unpredictable Fortunes (The Memory Stone Series Book 3)

by Jeffrey Quyle

  He could cease to use the invisibility power for a while. The chances were good that he could walk visibly, and be assumed to simply be one of the palace slaves running an errand. He could conserve his energy.

  There was a way to use such a ruse to even gain entry to Donal’s chambers, without using any of his white magic energy in the process, he suddenly considered. He had once been able to deliver a meal to Donal’s tower, and penetrated deep inside the chamber by simply carrying a platter of plates.

  No one would doubt that such a delivery was expected; no one would believe that anyone would go to the magician’s tower voluntarily.

  Theus could save his energy, he realized, by walking with a plate of food, as if it were a delivery, and thus not use any power until he was inside the tower. Once there, he could become invisible and search for Amelia, then when he found her, the two of them would exit by the use of a magical step.

  It sounded plausible in his head. He continued to walk and think, moving around the palace grounds while he tried to poke holes in his concept. If he were discovered early, he’d be able to whisk himself away to freedom before capture. He could analyze his mistakes, and try again.

  There was no one nearby, no one to expose him if he became visible. He looked around in all directions, at the wall on one side, and the yard and palace on the other, with the roadway empty behind him, and someone traveling away from him in front.

  He stopped, ceased to create his invisibility, then stood and waited for a reaction. No reaction occurred. There were no shouts. He breathed another sigh of relief, happy to no longer be draining his power. Someday he would fill an entire memory stone with the story of his quest to save Amelia, he promised himself.

  He began to walk, heading towards the kitchen, the friendly confines that he knew relatively well – better than any other part of the palace. He would face some difficulty in explaining what he was doing back in the palace, but he felt sure that no friends would betray him; no one would have time to before he would already have let himself into Donal’s realm.

  He might get to see Letta again, the kind and wonderful overseer who had trusted him and allowed him to thrive. And he would see Torella, the slave girl who had been as close to him as the circumstances allowed during their few days together.

  His heartbeat accelerated momentarily at the thoughts, and he lowered his head, then increased his speed, and continued his walk to where the delivery drive offered a path directly to the kitchen. Minutes later he arrived at the steps that led up to the kitchen, the steps he had stumbled up on his first day of arrival as a new slave in the palace.

  He recollected the bloody mess he’d made on the paving stones after he’d sliced open his infected limbs and allowed the pus and blood to drain. Afterwards, he had concocted the salve necessary to heal the wounds and stop the infection. And after that, Letta had considered him a healing genius, and had applied his skills to many challenges.

  He climbed up the stairs, then entered the storage room between the kitchen proper and the door. And then, with tense muscles and tight lips, Theus stepped into the kitchen and looked around.

  The first person he saw was Torella, working at a counter, prepping some food that was to be cooked in the future. It was likely to be part of the dinner that would be served that night, Theus guessed. He ignored everyone else in the kitchen as he kept his head low and his face hidden while he quietly snuck up behind the girl and placed his hands over her eyes from behind.

  “Guess who,” he whispered softly.

  “I know that fragrance, but it can’t be,” Theus felt her tremble, and he heard the excitement in her voice before she twisted around and freed her eyes from his fingers, then threw her arms up around his neck and hugged him tightly, with a squeeze so tight that it began to hurt.

  “You’re alive!” she screamed loudly.

  “Sssh!” Theus immediately hissed. “Stay quiet!”

  “You’re alive,” she repeated softly.

  “What are you doing here? Where have you been?” she asked. Torella backed away from him, only far enough to gaze upon his face. “We all thought you were dead.”

  “I will be if Donal hears that I’m here,” Theus told her. He shifted his position so that he slouched down, and had his back to the rest of the kitchen while facing Torella.

  “I escaped from Donal when he took me as his slave to Steep Rise for the invasion. When I was there, I met a little girl and her brother, and I helped them escape too. But now Donal has the girl, and I’m here to try to set her free,” Theus explained quickly.

  “Theus, run for your life! Run while you can. You’re never going to see that little girl again, not if Donal has her. You know that, and I know that,” Torella said fervently.

  “I’m going to run, as far and as fast as I can,” Theus confirmed. “But I’m going to try to set Amelia free first, and I need help.

  “Will you help me?” he asked. “It’s just a little thing.”

  “Oh Theus, how can I have anything to do with the magicians? After they took you, Ruune and I were in pain for a fortnight after the things they did to us. They terrify me,” she whispered.

  Theus heard sounds behind him, as someone else began to work in the kitchen.

  “Just give me a couple of plates of food,” Theus lowered his voice. “I just want a couple of plates to carry into Donal’s tower, so I look like I’m making a delivery. Once I get in the tower, I’ll search to try to find her.”

  “Do you remember what it was like in that tower?” Torella hissed. “How can you even think of going there?”

  “Just help me Torella, please,” Theus was fearful – Torella was playing to his fear. But he was determined to see the task through after coming so far. “I healed Ruune for you, didn’t I?”

  “Oh Theus,” the girl was hurt by Theus’s decision to pressure her with the reminder of what he’d done for her. “Of course you did. I’ll help you. Do you want the plates now? I’ll go get them.”

  Theus nodded, and Torella left him. He felt both sorry that he had pressured the girl by bringing up Ruune’s healing, and sorry that he’d had to use it, sorry that she hadn’t instantly volunteered to assist.

  A minute later Torella returned with two plates carrying complete meals.

  “They’re ready. Let’s go,” she said.

  “You don’t have to go,” Theus explained. “I just wanted the plates; I’ll carry them. You don’t have to go. I wasn’t expecting that.”

  Torella’s eyes widened, then began to tear. “You’re not going up there alone, are you?” she asked. “You’ll never come down.”

  “You may not see me, but I’ll escape,” he assured her. “I’ve learned some tricks. Now,” he looked over his shoulder at the butcher who was carving chops from a slab off meat. “Go distract him so he doesn’t see me go.

  “And thank you Torella,” he added. “I wish the world was different. I wish I could have known you,” he paused, “better,” he failed to come up with a word to describe the sense of potential that was unrealized in their relationship.

  The small girl, began to tear up again, but rose and kissed him gently, then left him to carry out her task of distracting the butcher.

  Theus lifted his plates, and began to walk slowly as he watched Torella walk over to the butcher, then take a position on the opposite side of the man and begin to speak to him in a low voice. Theus hastened his pace and passed by. He and Torella exchanged a momentary glance, one that was interrupted as the girl shut both her eyes for a long moment, as if holding back tears, and then Theus was at the door and out of the kitchen. He was on his way to Donal’s tower.

  He kept his head down, and facing towards the wall as he walked, not wanting anyone to recognize him by chance. He remembered the way through the palace, passing the landmarks he recognized, and minutes later he ventured down the passageway that led to Donal’s tower.

  There were guards at the foot of the stairs, but they negligently waved Theus
past as he lifted the plates to demonstrate his reason for approaching the tower, and he began the lonely climb up the steps that led to the chambers of evil. He slowly climbed each flight of stairs, then paused to rest. He wanted his energy level to be as high as possible once he entered the magician’s rooms, and he wanted his legs to feel as fresh as possible so that he could run and sprint to evade detection or attack, if needed.

  He entered the darker upper portions of the stairwell, and slowed even more, but at last reached the top level, where the walkway to the door circled around to reach a guard in front of a torch-lit doorway. His staff was strapped on his back, but he took no comfort in the presence of the physical weapon; it was of little use in Donal’s world.

  The guard was a different man from the one Theus had seen before, but he had the same empty-faced expression, and gestured mechanically in the same way as the previous guard, allowing Theus to take his deceitful delivery inside the chambers of Donal.

  It happened sooner than he realized. Theus stepped through the doorway, the door closed, and he found himself within the lair of his worst nightmare. His throat was suddenly dry, and his heart felt as though it was racing. Theus paused, trying to recollect his travels within the confines of the magician’s chambers in the past.

  He had seen a dead victim of Donal hauled away from a door on the very floor he was on; he had only to travel a few feet around a corner to reach that door. And he had found himself a prisoner in the tower, but he didn’t know what level he had been held on. He only knew that he had climbed several sets of stairs to ascend from his prison cell to the formidable chamber at the crown of the tower, the chamber where windows gave views in all directions from the round space; it was the chamber where Theus had tried to fight back against Donal, and been painfully put in his place.

  Theus heard a set of boots walking in a hallway somewhere nearby, and panic rose in his throat.

  He stepped forward, impetuously deciding to try to seem as if he was simply making a delivery. The short hallway he was in ended at a tee crossing, and as he turned right, headed towards the door he had decided he would enter, a voice called out from the hallway extension on the left.

  “What are you doing here, boy?”

  Theus gasped, and then fell to his knees and kept his face down.

  “I was told to deliver these meals from the kitchen, my lord,” he spoke in a voice with a higher pitch than his own, wanting to disguise every aspect of his identity.

  “Who ordered them?” the man asked. Theus refused to look up at his face.

  “They didn’t tell me, my lord. They said to deliver them as quickly as possible. I’ve hurried here. Where would you like me to put them?” Theus asked. “Shall I leave them here and leave your chambers?”

  “I can’t tell you where to put them if I don’t know who ordered them,” the magician’s servant said in annoyance. “Stand up and follow me; we’ll find out where they belong.”

  Theus slowly rose to his feet while still holding the plates and still keeping his face down.

  “And look at me, you ragamuffin!” the servant added in annoyance.

  Theus raised his head, and looked at the servant. His eyes widened, just as the servant’s did. They recognized one another. The servant had been one of the men who had followed Donal on the trip to Steep Rise; he had manhandled Theus as needed.

  There was no time for anything but an instinctive reaction. Theus slammed the two plates of food together on either side of the servant’s head, a messy, noisy splatter and clatter that dropped the man to the floor, unconscious.

  Theus stared down in astonishment, unable to comprehend that he had acted so quickly. Doom was about to descend upon him, he was sure – his muddled wits told him so.

  He listened for sounds of reaction and outrage to emerge from the walls around him.

  There was nothing.

  His senses restored themselves, and he began to react to the unexpected confrontation. He looked up and down the halls, then ran to the nearest door, the door he had planned to explore in the first place – the door he had seen a dead prisoner carried out from. It would be a good place for him to hide his unconscious first victim, if it was nothing else.

  Theus opened the door, and as he did, a man stood on the other side, his own hand reaching for the latch to open it. The pair looked at each other in astonishment.

  “Who in the name of Morienette are you?” the man asked. He glanced down the hall and saw the recumbent figure of the man Theus had knocked unconscious.

  It was time for a fight, Theus knew. He reached over his shoulder to draw his staff free, with a plan to swing it directly from his back into the head of his new nemesis.

  But instead, the man raised his hand, and Theus vaguely saw a flash of light, then felt terrible pain.

  “Warders!” the man shouted, as Theus fell to the ground in excruciating pain. “Warders, to the main hall at once! At once!” he shouted.

  “I don’t know who you are, or why you’re here. We don’t have many visitors, and none who are voluntary. We’ve certainly never had anyone stupid enough to try to break into Donal’s tower,” he spoke in a softer voice as he bent low over Theus. “But I believe we’ll have to question you to find out what this is all about. In the meantime, you can stay in our guest quarters and contemplate your remaining, short life.”

  Theus heard the tramp of boots approaching rapidly.

  And then he passed out.

  Chapter 8

  Theus woke up in a cell, and vomited in a corner. He was in pain, terrible pain, as a result of the magical attack by the magician he had run into. His cell was pitch black, and all he could do at first was moan and crawl across the floor until he quickly ran into a wall.

  His memories came back to him, and he understood where he was, and what had happened. He was in a cell, one probably like the one he had been held in before. And he was there because his poorly-planned venture into Donal’s territory had run into trouble.

  He sat against the wall, in pain, and rested, trying to find the strength to improve his circumstances. After several minutes, he heard a noise, and a light appeared at the barred window in his door. He sensed a person behind the light, though he could not see the person through the glare.

  “Well, you’re apparently quite a special find,” a voice rasped. “They say that Donal himself is hurrying back to the palace to see you. He’s very, very interested in you,” the voice cackled, and then the light faded away. “He’s been outside the city sending a group of the lesser magicians on a quest to a place far away, but he wants to get back as quickly as he can – just for you.”

  Theus felt new fear, and the fear was a motivation. He was not going to let himself be subjected to Donal’s torture, he told himself. With full focus of his attention, he forced himself to stand up, then he forced himself to grasp his energy, and he made the tip of his finger glow, giving him illumination in the prison cell.

  He tested his cell door; it was secure and unmovable. He could simply take his magical step and leave the cell, he decided, as he checked on his ability to grasp sufficient energy within himself. But once he left, he was not going to ever come back to the tower, he knew. Never. If he didn’t find Amelia at that moment, he would never be able to steel himself to voluntarily enter the tower of horror again.

  “Amelia? Amelia!” he shouted out through the portal in his door. “Amelia, are you here?”

  “Shut up down there!” the guard shouted. Theus heard a chair scrap across the floor, and then the sound of boots walking towards his cell.

  He hastily dowsed his light, then turned his energy to a new task, making himself invisible.

  Perhaps he could trick the jailer into opening the door, he reasoned.

  He became invisible, which is what he had planned to do in the first place, when he had first imagined that he would enter the tower. If he had been invisible, he wouldn’t have been caught and thrown into a cell, he told himself.

  The
jailer’s light suddenly was at the window in his door, illuminating his cell.

  “Hey, where is he?” the man asked in surprise. “Where did he go?” the note of surprise was replaced by a note of panic.

  The light left the door, as the jailer began to hurry back down towards his desk.

  Torella would be crying for him if she saw his situation, Theus oddly thought of the girl from the kitchen at that moment.

  He dropped his use of his energy for invisibility, then decided to try something risky, something he hadn’t practiced.

  He would see if he could command the ventriloquism spell. He hadn’t tried it, but he had heard the Voice demonstrate it. It would be useful at the moment he was imprisoned.

  He found the spell and applied his energy to it.

  “Where is my prisoner?” he focused his voice down at the far end of the hall. “I want to see him. Bring him to me.”

  “My lord, where are you?” the jailer shrieked out the question, caught by surprise by the bodiless voice. Theus saw the light from the lantern swing wildly as the man twirled about looking for his master.

  “My location is of no consequence to you. Go open the cell and bring the prisoner to me,” Theus thundered.

  “My lord, the prisoner is gone. His cell is empty. I do not know what happened to him. I checked on him just moments ago,” the jailer pleaded.

  “If he is gone, you will suffer. Go find him and bring him to me,” Theus ordered, his voice relocated to a spot near the ceiling by the jailer.

  “I’ll try, my lord,” the jailer vowed. “I’ll try my best for you.”

  Theus heard boots walking again. He released his ventriloquism spell, and stood expectantly by the door.

  “How did you get back? Where did you go?” the jailer asked in astonishment as he peered in at Theus.

  “I’ve been here all along,” Theus answered mildly. He was in a hurry, a desperate hurry; he could not afford to be present when Donal arrived. But he had to maintain a calm appearance while dealing with the unfortunate guard.