“Oh, sure. Midnight tours are held there all the time.” Heidi rolled her eyes. “We’re going to get ourselves arrested.”
“We’re not,” said Carson resolutely. “I know where we’re going.”
“To the throne room, which will be totally unguarded, because who would post guards in one of the most important rooms of the Ostiagard keep?”
“Give the man some credit,” said Emmanuel. “They’re on a patrol. And he’s right: the guard detail is light.”
“And you know this how?”
An uneasy shrug from my brother. “I’ve looked into this thing myself too, way back. Just curiosity, you know.”
Heidi nodded like she didn’t believe him. “Uh huh.” To Carson: “Right then, seeing as you’re the expert. What’s the plan if we do run into guards?”
“Uh … I guess I didn’t really …” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t think about that.”
“Brilliant planning.”
“It doesn’t matter what happens,” he exploded. “We’re not going to get caught. It’s an irrelevant concern.”
“Of course. Bad things never happen to us.” Heidi shook her head, and exhaled. “Fine. Guess this is happening whether I like it or not. Mira, you in?”
I nodded, just once.
“Bub?”
“Always.”
“I won’t ask you,” she told Emmanuel.
“Because you know I’m not backing out now,” he said.
“Because your answer would be annoying.” A huff. “Right, Carson. Lead the charge.”
Carson nodded, short and nervous. Straightening, he glanced between the four of us, took a long, deep breath, and said, “Right. Okay. Geez. Okay.” And he led.
There were scant few streets remaining between us and the Ostiagard keep’s outer wall. At this hour, much of the city was empty; other than Lady Angelica, we’d barely passed a soul since we’d arrived. Nevertheless, the last roads separating us from the end of our quest seemed almost eerie in their silence. Dirty lines of smoke crept into the night sky from contorted chimney stacks above us, and now and again a light would flicker, as if a soft breath had disrupted a candle’s flame for a moment. Otherwise, we were the only movement, the only noise.
The keep’s wall was brick, and dark even accounting for the dimness of the streetlamps. Begrimed by smog? Maybe. If I touched a finger to it I would know.
“How does this thing even stay up?” Heidi murmured. She’d skirted a wide berth around a place where the wall leaned forward suddenly, jutting out into the road overhead.
“The Vardinn walls were all reinforced by steel rods,” said Carson.
“None of that here,” said Emmanuel. “This is Ostiagard magic.”
“Pointless use of magic,” Heidi mused.
“Every culture is entitled to its own tics.”
Heidi looked like she wanted to snap off something nasty, but she held her tongue.
We moved around as close to silently as we could. Our footfalls were too noisy though, and Burbondrer’s armor … well, for all the orc’s good intentions, he could probably have been heard a half mile away.
The keep’s entrance loomed. A wide gate had been cut into the wall. Through it, the street widened and fed into the grounds beneath a grand arch—like the ones leading away from the Wayfarers’ Monument, but even larger in scale. It was strangely angled, like everything else, and some of the bricks were missing.
“They’re doing well with the maintenance, then,” Heidi muttered.
“Ostiagardans aren’t like the Mirrish,” said Emmanuel. “Upkeep isn’t top of their list of priorities.”
I kept quiet; no point in saying it was probably an issue of budget, empty as the city’s coffers were. We’d all see that for ourselves soon enough.
Unlike a castle I’d expect to see back home, there was no gate pulled closed, so we had free access to stroll right in. And so, after a moment’s pause, Carson said, “Here we go, then,” and led the way.
The roadway was wide, but fairly short. The grounds were minimal, only a little distance separating the outer wall from the keep itself. They were plain too: a handful of tatty-looking bushes peeked out from the grass at uneven intervals. Otherwise the only interesting thing about the outside of the keep was that it was inclined, the castle itself on raised ground. Another defensive measure, like the Vardinn and Mirrish city layouts.
Unfortunately for Ostiagard, it had also failed them no fewer than three times.
We breezed to the keep’s entrance. A wide pair of doors, wood and taller than two Carsons stacked end on end, they were drawn shut at this hour. Cracks in the wood spilled light across our feet.
“Are we all ready?” Carson asked in a barely audible whisper. His rising fear had overridden his previous excitement. Now he looked almost sick.
“As we’ll ever be,” said Heidi.
“Bub? You in?”
Burbondrer nodded. “I am prepared.”
“No swinging that thing at the guards,” Heidi warned him, pointing at his sword.
“Unless things get dicey,” he said.
“No. No swinging it at all here. We get one shot at this. And I don’t want to be put in prison because someone in my posse beheaded a guard from one of the most important cities in our worlds’ shared histories.”
“Ostiagard means little to the orcs,” said Burbondrer.
“Really?” Emmanuel asked. Then he snapped a finger. “Oh, of course; Armurial is the big one in your culture, isn’t it? I’ve been there a few times. Awkward to get to, but—”
Heidi kicked him in the shin. He gasped and glared. “What are you—?”
“The longer we stand out here talking, the more likely we are to rouse attention. Let’s just forget about the back-patting and head inside, okay?”
Emmanuel scowled, but didn’t say another word.
“Mira?” Carson asked me. “You ready for this?”
My voice still hadn’t come back enough to venture more than a couple of words. I still stung inside—and he still didn’t know it. But I nodded anyway, a single bob of the head, and said, “Yep. I’m in.” My voice was hollow.
Carson wiped a hand across his forehead. Smearing it on his trouser leg, he looked up to the tops of the doors. “Geez.” One hand holding his manbag strap tight, he reached out to rest his hand on the dark metal bar running the width of the right-hand door—and pushed.
I braced for guards—
There were none. Nor were any summoned. We were presented with a grand, elaborate entryway, lit but entirely unmanned. It smelled faintly in that way all older buildings tended to.
I hadn’t been to a great many castles in my time, at least not human ones. What I did know of them, from storybooks and the imagination of the child still in me, was vastly different to Ostiagard’s keep. I expected something upright and sturdy, a bulwark of stone that stood straight against all comers.
Here, the walls were crooked. The floor appeared to be a patchwork quilt of wood and stone, all different colors interlocking like puzzle pieces, none of them the same size. No paintings adorned the walls, no portraits of rulers past; instead this first room was lined with busts, a string of men and (more rarely) women wearing crowns that grew larger and more elaborate over the ages. Most of these were citizens of Ostiagard themselves, but the invasions were clear: at one point, a Vardinn ruler had occupied the throne, and farther down the line, snaking down the wide corridor on the right, were at least four Mirrish rulers in a row.
Most unlike a human castle were the stands and racks of souvenirs. Sure, guide booklets were par for the course at places like this—but the number of them! They were all over the bloody place. Then there was a rack of human(-like) clothes—t-shirts adorned with images of the Keep or the Monument to the Wayfarers. Another stand sold hats in all shapes and sizes. And past that, pressed to the wall on the left, was what looked like a hot dog stand—?!
I stumbled into Heidi as I craned. “Sorry.”
“This place is weird.” She drew out the ‘weird,’ making it last two syllables instead of one. “How mad have they gone for tourist gear?”
“You should check things out farther down,” said Emmanuel. “This stuff is fairly human-centric. They’re selling some real odd trinkets to the non-us races.” To Burbondrer: “We could probably find something even for you, buddy.”
Carson was frittering through the racks of leaflets.
“What are you looking for?” Emmanuel asked, joining him.
“A map.”
Emmanuel found one all too easily and passed it over. “You guys want one?”
“We can follow Carson,” said Heidi. “This isn’t a tour.”
“If any of the staff were here, they wouldn’t want to hear that,” Emmanuel said.
Carson opened his map. It was comprised of what looked like a dozen flaps, and he folded them back and forth as he tried to piece our route through the keep together.
“Hurry up!” Heidi breathed. “We can’t just stand here forever. What if someone comes?”
“I’ve got it,” said Carson. “This way.” And with a brief glance to the right—no one there—he headed off down the left.
We followed, doing our best to be silent. That was difficult enough between four humans, but almost impossible with Burbondrer. I rather regretted that someone hadn’t asked him to stay behind, but I wasn’t about to do it; this was, after all, not my quest. Not mine at all.
We crossed the castle without encountering any guards. There were guard stations, but none were manned, and I wondered just how many were for show—photo opportunities, that sort of thing. Given that door had been left open, it certainly didn’t seem as if they took security all that seriously.
Now and again we passed through places where the lights were switched off. These places were better, safer. But they were all too short—through a courtyard, an elaborate fountain burbling; down a stretch of wide corridor; or through an adjoining room that might have once been a study but was now only a shell of itself, half-gutted and replaced with more tourist claptrap.
“The guards here aren’t doing a great job, are they?” Heidi whispered after a while. “Haven’t seen one. What are they even doing?”
“Maybe it’s their lunch break,” said Carson.
“Or the midnight equivalent,” Emmanuel added.
“The entire guard detail doesn’t go off for a break at the same time,” Heidi muttered. “Not in any logical world anyway. Otherwise they’re just leaving the castle undefended while they stop to have a mug of tea.”
“That’s so British,” Carson whispered.
“I am British.”
Deeper into the keep we went, pausing at junctions to look either way. Still no sight of anyone—just where were the guards? The place was defended; it had to be. Had we just gotten really lucky? Or was this another sign of Ostiagard’s available budget in action? An entire keep, defended by just one or two people. Surely not. But then where were they?
The concern must’ve been clear on my face, because at one place where we stopped to pause, Emmanuel turned to me and flashed what I assumed was supposed to be a reassuring smile. “It’s all right, Meer. Luck is on our side tonight.”
I suppressed my grimace. Maybe right now. I was ninety-nine percent sure that luck was going to run out in however long it took for us to arrive at the throne room.
Though squat, the keep did have a second floor. With a smaller footprint than the bottom, it rose above the center of the keep’s ground level, and was accessible by stairs leading up from a courtyard to the gangways on the rooftop. After a careful sweep to make sure we were definitely clear—we were—we scurried up the steps as quick as we could.
The top level also wasn’t guarded—
“Seriously, what is this?” Heidi whispered.
“I told you we wouldn’t run into anyone,” said Carson.
Heidi shot me a baffled look, but followed Carson into the next set of doors.
The upper level was a lot like the first: far too much touristy stuff. No lights either, so we snuck through the darkness. Only feeble light coming through the windows illuminated the maze we wandered, where we saw more stands of cheap trinkets and some tour guide posts. It was relentless, and horribly kitsch.
It also didn’t bode well for the treasure—because after all, what city packed with riches went to such extremes to extract cash from its visitors?
Not, of course, that there would be any treasure anyway. It was just important for Carson to note that the reality told a very different story than the myth.
Although, in his head, Ostiagard’s treasure was real. They were rolling in coin. Maybe turning their keep into a tourist haven for every species that existed in the universe was how they’d achieved that.
“This is it,” Carson finally breathed. He’d snaked us in an awkward route, penetrating the upper level more deeply. Now we were stopped outside a large oak door. No light from underneath—and no guard detail either. These guys really did need to get better at their jobs.
A sudden thought occurred to me from nowhere: what if the guards were present, and otherwise engaged?
Don’t be ridiculous, Mira. Who else would launching an assault on Ostiagard keep in the middle of the night with enough manpower to keep an entire guard detail occupied?
“And the treasure is through here?” Heidi asked.
“Sort of. It’s through—how ‘bout I show you. We all ready to go in?”
Affirming nods, plus another of Emmanuel’s lines—“You got this, big man!”—and Carson gently pushed on the door.
It swung open …
We slipped it, easing it closed behind us.
Heidi: “It’s dark. I can’t see anything.”
“Human eyesight is poor,” Burbondrer rumbled.
“There is no light coming in here. How am I supposed to see anything? We’re stood in pitch—”
The lights came on.
“—dark.”
Unlike the mundane tourist trap that was the rest of the castle, the throne room was opulent to the point of awe-inspiring. This must be where Ostiagard’s money went. Everywhere you looked, there was gold. The thrones themselves, tall and imposing, sat on a dais at the far end of the room. Elaborate paintings of past monarchs were hung on straight walls—straight!—whose dark bricks were inset with gold patterns. The ceiling was high, and great long lights hung down, ending in fat bulbous tips the size of my head. Gold was etched over those too, the light shining through the translucent leaf. A deep purple rug covered the floor, leading to the thrones themselves. Tassels were laid perfectly across the floor at each side, straight and untouched, all of them gold.
“Whoa,” Carson breathed.
“Whoa indeed,” Heidi agreed.
Only Emmanuel kept his awe back. “It is impressive,” he admitted.
We took a moment to marvel—then Emmanuel clapped Carson on the shoulder. “Come on, big man. You wanna show us where we find this treasure?”
Carson cleared his throat. “Right. Yes. Erm. Mira?”
“Uh?”
“Can I borrow your compass?”
“Um … okay?” I unsnapped it from my belt, getting a glimpse of misty void, and passed it over.
“Great. Thanks.” He bowed over it, scrutinizing as he approached the thrones.
He stopped just a few feet short of the dais. “Ah ha.”
He grinned at us. Then, reaching into his manbag, he rustled around and withdrew …
Borrick’s ring.
I thrust my hand out—
Too late. Carson swiped—and a ragged hole was torn at the foot of the dais. It shuddered, nothing but black on the other side of it.
Emmanuel’s eyes went wide. “Holy—”
“Through here,” said Carson. He chucked the compass through the air at me, then leapt through.
Heidi: “What the—”
“That’s what his gates look like?” Emmanuel as
ked. He flinched back as the gate gave a frightening judder. One edge jerked up the wall, and all the gold inlay in the brick exploded out in a puff of mist. “Why’s it doing that?!”
“No time,” said Heidi. She rushed toward it. “Just get through before it destroys the throne room!” And she leapt, vanishing from sight.
Burbondrer followed, dive-bombing into the one portal today that had been large enough for him to pass through unscathed.
Emmanuel exchanged a sick look with me. “You didn’t say—”
My only answer was a grim look—then I leapt.
Straight into the other side; no limbo. I fell—difficult to judge the distance in the darkness, but it must’ve been about ten feet—and landed hard. I dropped to my knees, smashing bone on a solid surface. White pain bloomed, and I grunted.
Emmanuel dropped in behind me. He landed much more softly.
Above, the tear shuddered, the throne room’s ceiling looking down on us. Despite the bright lights, none of it seemed to penetrate the tear, leaving us in pitch darkness.
“Close it!” Heidi said.
There was a fumbling noise, heavy breathing from Carson—and then the tear collapsed into darkness.
We breathed.
“Mate,” Emmanuel said from somewhere behind me. “How do you do that?”
“It’s always worked like that,” Carson mumbled.
“That’s crazy.”
There was a soft clunk. “Oww,” Heidi moaned.
“Sorry,” said Burbondrer.
“Ssh, guys,” said Carson—and his voice was alive with excitement. “This is it!”
“What,” Heidi said, “is this, exactly?”
There was the sound of rustling—Carson digging in his bag. Then: “Everyone! I present to you … the treasure of Ostiagard!”
He clicked on a flashlight—
25
Carson’s flashlight spilled over rock.
A cave.
An empty cave.
His face fell. “But … the journal said … how could …?”
Silence, but for the distant drip of water seeping through rock, the very last trickle of the river that had eroded this space in the earth.
Heidi stepped forward. Gently, she laid a hand on Carson’s arm, just below the elbow.
The City of Lies Page 19