“She escaped into the sky. Last I saw she was flying west.”
Alexander took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “At least that part of the plan worked.”
“I can free you. I know the way out of the dungeons and there are only two guards on duty.”
Alexander tried to get up, then quickly sat back down. “Maybe I’ll just rest here for a few minutes. I don’t think I’m in any shape to move right now, let alone fight.”
A man two cells over sat up and looked at him-Titus Grant.
“Are you still alive, Pretender?”
Alexander started laughing softly in spite of the pain it caused.
“What’s so funny?” Grant demanded.
“Just that your plan worked out about as well as mine did.”
“It’s not funny,” Grant said. “They’re going to sell my wife as a slave and execute me for treason unless we work together to get out of here.”
Alexander started laughing again, each chuckle sending ripples of pain through his head. “Oh, it’s kind of funny, especially the part about you being executed for treason.”
“Maybe you don’t realize how serious this is,” Grant said. “Face it, I’m the only friend you’ve got right now.”
This time Alexander tipped his head back and forced a mocking laugh, ignoring the pain.
“You’d rather die in here than help me?”
“Oh, they’re not going to kill me,” Alexander said, “at least not right away.”
“Wouldn’t you rather they didn’t kill you at all?”
“You’d stab me in the back the moment you got the chance, and we both know it.”
“That’s just not true. I have nothing to gain by your death.”
Alexander found himself wishing that he could see this man’s colors, but even blind to Grant’s aura, Alexander knew better than to trust him. Still, he might stand a better chance of escaping if he had some help.
“Perhaps killing me wouldn’t do you any good, but alive I would be quite the bargaining chip. You might even get your charter back.”
“Don’t be foolish. The Babachenko knows my ambition now. He’ll never let me live to challenge his authority.”
“Maybe you’re right on that count,” Alexander mused, carefully lowering himself back to the floor.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to take a nap … my head hurts.”
“Are you insane? We have to get out of here.”
“Even if I trusted you, I’m in no shape to travel. I doubt I could even stand up right now without falling over.”
“Unbelievable. You’re supposed to be the great and powerful Lord Reishi, Sovereign of the Seven Isles, and you’re just going to curl up and take a nap?”
“Seems like the thing to do,” Alexander muttered.
But he didn’t take a nap. Instead, he sent his mind to Chloe and spent the next half hour searching the warrens of the Andalian palace, mapping a way out of the dungeon and exploring the routes he might follow to reach the forges that lay even deeper still. Satisfied with his understanding of the layout, he sat up cautiously, testing the pain in his head. While it hadn’t subsided as much as he would have liked, it had diminished to a manageable level … so he started making plans.
His objectives hadn’t changed. The king was dead. Hopefully, that would put an end to the Lancers, but he wanted to be certain, and that meant destroying the forges and the Crown. After his reconnaissance, he was confident that he could reach the forges without too much difficulty, but he’d have a fight on his hands once he did. Twelve guards were stationed at the entrance when he and Chloe had floated past in the aether. Once he reached the forges, he faced the problem of destroying them. Each was an enormous magical construction fashioned from steel and stone. He would need more than his bare hands to undo them.
While he was considering his options, he heard an odd noise that sounded like it was coming from behind the wall he was leaning against. He stood quickly, pain surging in his head. Leaning up against the bars opposite the wall, he looked through with his all around sight and saw who was coming.
The Thinblade could destroy the forges.
Tyr stabbed through the wall at the back of the cell between Alexander and Grant, cutting a section away and letting it fall to the floor with a thump that reverberated down the dungeon hallway. He stepped through the hole into the cell, slowly looking this way and that, smiling with satisfaction at what he saw.
“Got you!” he said, cutting a hole through the bars of Alexander’s cage with several haphazard strokes, sections of metal clattering to the floor.
“I have to say, I wasn’t expecting you to ride to my rescue,” Alexander said with a mocking smile.
Tyr leveled the Thinblade at Alexander, who just smiled as he gingerly tested the point with his finger, provoking Tyr even further.
“Don’t test me, Pretender. This isn’t a rescue. In the end, you’ll end up at Phane’s mercy. This way, I get paid and the Babachenko gets to suffer Phane’s wrath.”
“Well then, I guess we should be on our way,” Alexander said.
“Cut me loose, Tyr,” Grant said, his hands gripping the bars tightly. “I can help you. I have friends that can help you escape Andalia.”
Tyr whirled on Grant. “So do I. But even if I didn’t, I like the idea of you losing your head. Just wish I could be there to see it happen.”
“I can pay you. I have silver.”
“Again, so do I.”
“Not this much,” Grant said. “I’ll pay you one million silver sovereigns if you help me escape Andalia.”
“Do you really think I’m that stupid?”
Grant hesitated for just a moment too long. Tyr spat at him and turned back to Alexander who had stepped into the cell with him and was waiting patiently.
“What are you looking at,” Tyr snapped, sheathing the Thinblade. “Get moving.”
Alexander stepped into a dark and unused passage, the far wall completely unfinished, then went to his knees at Wizard Edric’s feet, his collar constricting around his neck. He tried to turn around and step back into the dungeon, but Tyr shoved him to the ground. The slave collar closed off his airway and left him struggling for a breath that couldn’t get through. He tried to regain his feet, but Tyr kicked him to the ground again, laughing at his predicament, letting the darkness of suffocation start to close in around him until he lost consciousness.
He woke with a gasp, the ruined collar lying next to him on the dusty floor.
“Get up,” Tyr snapped.
Alexander raised himself to his hands and knees, but Tyr kicked him in the gut, sending him toppling to his side, gasping for breath.
“Lord Tyr, this is neither the time nor the place for this,” Wizard Edric said. “The Babachenko will learn of this quickly. We have precious little time to escape the palace or we risk being apprehended.”
Tyr squatted down so he could look Alexander in the face from just a few inches away, the smell of his acrid breath turning Alexander’s stomach.
“When I’m finished with you, you’ll beg me to give you over to Phane,” he said, droplets of spittle spraying Alexander in the face.
Tyr roughly hauled him to his feet and shoved him down the passage. Alexander stumbled and only avoided falling by catching himself on the wall. He didn’t look back, he didn’t need to … his all around sight told him that Tyr and Edric were right behind him.
“Tyr! Don’t leave me here,” Grant shouted just before Edric caused the ceiling to collapse, sealing the passage behind them.
“That should slow them down,” Tyr said, shoving Alexander forward.
They followed a path rarely traveled in recent centuries, only the footprints of Tyr and his wizard visible in the layer of dust coating the floor. At every turn, Tyr commanded a direction and Alexander obeyed. If the temperamental, would-be king of Tyr had a plan to get him out of Mithel Dour, Alexander was happy to have him do the heavy lifting. It
would be a simple matter to turn the tables on him once they were away, especially since Alexander was no longer constrained by the slave collar.
They delved deeper into the bowels of the ancient palace until it became apparent that they were approaching the level of the city itself. Alexander smiled to himself. Even if the passages they were traveling didn’t lead to a door, the Thinblade would be able to open a passage for them without difficulty. Whatever else Tyr was, he seemed to have thought his escape plan through.
“I believe this is the place,” Edric said.
“Stop,” Tyr commanded, drawing the Thinblade and cutting a section of the wall away. It took several minutes to open a passage through the six feet of granite.
Alexander was surprised to see that they were still a hundred feet above the city.
“Cast your spell,” Tyr said.
Edric nodded respectfully, muttering a few words before taking both Alexander and Tyr by the wrist. They all stepped out into the open air and fell gently to the streets below, where a carriage was waiting for them nearby, manned by two of Tyr’s pirates.
Alexander went along for the ride; his moment hadn’t arrived yet. The carriage traveled through the back streets, twisting and turning to avoid streets that were more frequently patrolled, until it came to a stop.
Tyr opened a shutter to the driver’s seat. “Why did we stop?”
“The river has been diverted down the switchback road,” the driver said. “There’s no way out of the city.”
“He knows,” Edric said.
Tyr seemed to have an emotional meltdown right in front of Alexander without ever saying a word. His face contorted and changed colors while he struggled to master his distress. Alexander almost laughed, but thought better of it. Tyr was still his best bet for escape and testing his temper now would only result in rash and unproductive decisions.
“Take me to my estate!” Tyr finally snapped, slamming the shutter closed.
“Is that wise?” Edric asked, diplomatically. “If the Babachenko is aware of your involvement, your estate is the first place he’ll look.”
“Where then?”
“Perhaps the Grant estate would be vacant.”
Tyr slammed the shutter open again. “Take us to Grant’s estate instead.”
As the carriage started moving again, Tyr sat glowering at Alexander, only growing more agitated when Alexander closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of his seat.
“Where’s the Stone?” Tyr demanded.
Alexander ignored him.
Tyr slapped him across the face. “Where’s the Stone?”
“Safe,” Alexander said, fixing Tyr with his golden eyes and holding his stare until Tyr looked away, again trying to master his anger.
“I’m going to enjoy this, Pretender. I hope you hold out for as long as possible … give me a reason to cut on you, take your life away from you a piece at a time.”
“You need a reason to do that?” Alexander asked, closing his eyes again and leaning his head back.
“You think I’m bluffing?” Tyr snapped, barely controlled rage with a tinge of fear in his voice and colors.
“No, not at all,” Alexander said without opening his eyes. “But no suffering within your power to inflict will ever cause me to give you the Sovereign Stone, and without me, it will be forever beyond your reach.”
“I’ve heard bluster like that before, but they all break. Sooner or later, they all beg for mercy. You’re no different.”
Alexander sat forward quickly, boring into Tyr with his blind eyes. “I have endured such fear, pain, and despair … the likes of which would crush your petty little soul into nothingness. Your limited mind can’t even conceive of the trials that I’ve already survived, so save your threats, Tyr … they’re as impotent as you are.”
Veins started to bulge from Tyr’s temples, ripples of rage and fury coursed through his colors, but Alexander didn’t back away. He held himself within reach, daring Tyr to lash out again … and he wasn’t disappointed. Tyr surged forward, grabbing Alexander by the throat and slamming him back into his seat, landing astraddle him and roaring into his face from only inches away with such force that his voice broke.
The edge of Alexander’s mouth turned up just enough to mock the pirate king. Tyr flopped back into his seat, glaring at Alexander, once again struggling to master his temper.
While everything Alexander had said was true, he didn’t relish the idea of being tortured, especially if that torment left him maimed as Tyr had promised. Fortunately, Tyr was keenly aware that he was little more than an errand boy charged with delivering Phane’s prize, so Alexander had little fear that he would do anything too damaging to him. Phane would likely be quite unforgiving if Tyr delivered Alexander broken and without the Stone.
After a series of turns, the carriage stopped, wobbling when the drivers dismounted. Tyr opened the door and peered out.
“It looks abandoned,” the lead driver said.
“Good, we’ll do this in the stables,” Tyr said, stepping out into the cool night air. “Stand guard.”
Alexander obeyed Tyr’s imperious gesture to exit the carriage and followed him into the stables without a word. Wizard Edric trailed them, but not too close. Alexander decided it would be best to kill the wizard first when he chose to make his move. Unfortunately, the wizard seemed to have enough sense to understand this and so kept his distance.
Tyr grabbed a chair from a small table beside the door and set it in the middle of the hay-strewn floor. Edric remained by the door. Alexander surveyed his surroundings, taking note of everything within reach that he might use as a weapon.
“Sit.”
He nodded, approaching the chair, putting his hand on the back as if preparing to sit, then whipped the chair up and around in an arc, throwing it at the wizard. It caught him by surprise, slamming him into the wall and momentarily stunning him. The moment he released the chair, Alexander raced three steps to the nearest stall and snatched up the pitchfork leaning against it.
Tyr roared behind him. Alexander ignored him, taking a moment to set himself before throwing the pitchfork like a spear. It flew true and would have buried itself into Edric’s chest had the wizard not flung his hands up and unleashed a force-push that sent the pitchfork flipping into the rafters and knocked Alexander to the ground at the same time.
Tyr kicked him savagely in the side, rolling him into the hay and knocking his wind out, leaving him curled in a ball on the floor, struggling to draw breath.
Tyr’s pirates flung the door open a moment later. One said urgently, “The Lord Protector comes with a hundred men.”
Shouts filtered through the night air into the stables. Sounds of hard boots on stone followed.
“We have to flee,” Edric said. “The Babachenko will kill you for this.”
Tyr bellowed in fury as if the sheer volume of his cracking voice could undo his precarious circumstances.
The door on the far end of the stables blew open, shattering into splinters. The Lord Protector stepped through a moment later, mace in hand, nearly insubstantial black plate armor covering him from head to toe.
Tyr seemed torn, looking at the Lord Protector for a moment as if sizing up his chances. In answer to his unasked question, the Lord Protector unleashed a blast of force that blew Tyr across the floor, leaving him dazed and sprawling near the door next to Edric.
“Now, Little One,” Alexander thought.
Edric picked Tyr up, put one arm around his neck and nearly carried him out of the stables toward the cliff. Alexander smiled when he saw the Thinblade vanish, scabbard and all. Soldiers poured in past the Lord Protector, but they were too late to catch Tyr and Edric. They could only watch as the wizard hurled both of their bodies off the cliff. Alexander chuckled to himself as he was hauled to his feet and roughly turned to face the Lord Protector.
“There is no escape from Mithel Dour,” the Lord Protector said, matter-of-factly.
“Look
s like Tyr managed to escape,” Alexander said.
“He was not our prisoner, though he may soon be.”
“Just don’t put him in the cell next to me … he’s terrible company.”
“Oh, you won’t have to worry about that,” the Lord Protector said, snapping a collar around Alexander’s neck while two men held him from behind. “The Babachenko has decided to see to your interrogation personally.”
Chapter 24
Alexander rode back to the Andalian palace escorted by a hundred royal guard and the Lord Protector. Given his circumstances, he found himself in surprisingly good spirits. While Tyr had failed to free him from the Andalians, Alexander had managed to take the Thinblade from him, a turn of events that Tyr was no doubt furious about. Even better, it was highly unlikely that Tyr would show his face in Mithel Dour anytime soon, especially without the power that the Thinblade gave him.
Alexander expected to be returned to the dungeon, but found the Lord Protector leading him into the warded part of the palace instead, while all but two of his guards returned to other duties.
“Stay close and stay hidden, Little One.”
“I’m right here.”
At the entrance to the central chambers of the palace, the Lord Protector touched a stone set into a panel in the wall, and the magical barrier warding the hallway before them vanished, reappearing once they were through and the Lord Protector touched a similar stone set into the wall a few feet past the ward.
The uniform of the guards changed within the inner sanctum of the Andalian ruling elite, becoming both more austere and more functional. Alexander could see in a glance that the guards’ smocks were enchanted, though he couldn’t determine the nature of the enchantment. He idly wondered if the smocks were produced by some form of magical device similar to the forges that was designed to churn out identically enchanted items in quantity.
The Lord Protector stopped at a set of ornate double doors, pulling the bell cord once. A rich peal rang out, reverberating throughout the nearby halls. A few moments later, a guard wearing an enchanted smock opened the door and bowed respectfully to the Lord Protector.
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