by Adam Carter
“A compromise, then,” she said. “We take the first corridor. That way, when the others come, they’ll know the first corridor is fine and we won’t have to waste time with Valok’s wards.”
“You’re determined to get us killed, aren’t you?”
“I just want to see her door, Arno. If I’m going to stand here doing nothing I want to be able to stare at her door. I want to be able to see something which makes all of this real.”
Canlin stared down the corridor and set his jaw firm. “You’re not going to be easy to wait with if I say no, and you seem to have forgotten you outrank me, so fine. But I’m going first.”
Over the past year Wren had dropped some of the formal rank in what remained of her regiment. It was good of Canlin to remind her of it, but then that was Canlin all over. “You’re too good to me, Arno.”
“I’m a hard-hearted brute who’s not good to anyone, Captain. You shouldn’t insult me like that.”
It was not a humorous statement, because it was true. But as brutish as Canlin was in the application of his work, it was good to see he was still human.
Canlin stepped cautiously into the corridor. He knew as little about magic as Wren, so while the both of them were keeping a careful eye out for traps, neither understood the full impact of what Moya might have been able to do. Loose flagstones could trigger poison darts to shoot from the walls, invisible tripwires could send boulders from the ceiling to crush them, just about anything could set off a loud and piercing alarm. Canlin and Wren were well aware of these and a dozen other snares, but as the sergeant paused at the halfway point down the corridor it was to find no problem at all.
He glanced back and Wren could only shrug. “Maybe there’s nothing here,” she whispered.
Canlin did not look as convinced, which was his prerogative considering it was he who was taking all the risks. Resuming his tentative walk, Canlin crept along the corridor, taking great care not to touch either of the walls. Wren hardly breathed, not daring to make any sound nor add pressure to the air by expelling her breath. Each of Canlin’s steps was a needle into Wren’s heart, although finally he placed both feet together and angled himself to face down the new stretch of corridor.
“Nothing,” he whispered back to her.
“What can you see?”
“Only what we wanted to see: a door.”
Wren eyed the flagstones warily, not quite believing Canlin had made it all the way across without any problems.
“Come on over,” Canlin whispered. “It’s fine, come on.”
Taking a steadying breath, Wren placed one foot before her, then another. She took her time, and after a full five minutes was standing beside Canlin.
“If anyone could see us now,” Canlin said. “They’d think we were nuts.”
“Why isn’t the corridor trapped? I don’t get it.”
“Moya’s too confident. We keep saying it, but we don’t seem to believe it. Moya doesn’t think much of ordinary soldiers, which is why she dumped Crenshaw. She used him as a brace while she perfected her magic, built her strength. She doesn’t need him any more, and she doesn’t fear him.”
“Maybe with good reason. I have a horrible feeling that when we go through that door we’re all going to die before we even see Moya.”
“Which is why we’re waiting for Valok, right?”
Wren said nothing. He knew her too well to suspect she was thinking anything of the sort, but it was good of him to offer the suggestion.
“You want me to go on ahead again?” he asked.
“Sorry, Arno, I know this is probably silly, but I want to make sure she’s in there.”
“So long as we agree to draw the line at listening at the door. Going through that door is not a good idea.”
Wren knew what he was doing, and was at least partially grateful for it. If Canlin made her agree to something it meant she was bound by that oath. At her current rate she would continue to push them both until the moment Moya incinerated them. “I promise,” she therefore said. “We’ll listen at the door and do nothing else until Valok gets here.”
“No matter what we hear coming from inside?”
“No matter what. Unless,” she added, “we hear the baroness pleading for her life.”
Canlin considered the matter a moment, then nodded. “All right, I accept that. Now, stand back and let me do my job.”
“And what job would that be? Walking gingerly down corridors?”
“Protecting my captain, Captain.”
He took a single step forward and suddenly the floor was no longer there. The ground did not collapse beneath them, the flagstones did not disintegrate, the floor did not retract into the wall; the ground simple vanished, to be replaced with a gaping black hole.
Wren and Canlin were falling before they could register what was happening. They thrust out their arms, trying to grab hold of the pit’s edge, but there was no longer any sign of the edge, the wall, or anything regarding the corridor. The only thing which remained in their sight was the door leading to Moya. Wren’s eyes fixed on it even as her stomach left her. The door was enticing, mocking almost; a magical mirage that hovered in her vision as a final reminder that when one was all-powerful in the arts of sorcery, one had no need to rely on such random foolishness as poison darts and falling ceilings.
Wren’s flailing hand caught something and she was not surprised to see it was Canlin’s arm. As they plunged into infinity, she could not help but take some small solace in the fact that when the end came for them, it had at least taken them both together.
CHAPTER FIVE
She was trying to get to the rendezvous point, but Mannin was having a difficult time of it. Unlike Wren, she did not have a good enough rank to walk where she pleased, and as the mass of soldiers carried her along, she found herself heading towards the courtyard. Every time she broke off and tried to make her way towards the stairwells, she was caught by an officer and told to run an errand. Sergeant Such-and-such needed to be told to reinforce the east wing, Captain So-and-so wanted the armoury to be informed of the situation. Mannin had no intention of completing any of these assignments, but that did not mean she could accept the orders only to run in completely the opposite direction.
Before she had any real chance of figuring out what she was going to do, Mannin found herself back outside, where she was immediately pushed back by the throng of bodies. Soldiers were everywhere, screaming, shouting and fleeing. Mannin’s heart raced at the thought of what they must be facing, although reminded herself she knew precisely what it was. An entire battalion pushed its way past her as it charged into the courtyard and Mannin took the opportunity to scramble up an outer stairway. She hoped from there she might be able to re-enter the building and work her way back to the rendezvous point. Soldiers dropped past her, hastening down the stairs to join the fighting, and still she had seen nothing of their opposition. She knew Valok and the others intended to cause a distraction, but whatever they were doing went far beyond anything Mannin had expected.
A terrible roar tore through the courtyard, shaking the wooden slats of the stairs she was ascending. Falling, Mannin grabbed hold of the railing and dragged herself back up. From her position she could at last see something of the courtyard and could not help but risk a glance out there to see what all the fuss was about.
What she saw turned her blood to ice.
Fifty feet in length, with cool blue scales, a mighty dragon charged on four thick, powerful legs. Its neck was stumpy and well protected by a splay of spines, while its tail was long and snakelike. Within its eyes burned a hatred of confinement, and it twisted constantly, savagely blasting soldiers with its mighty roar.
The battalion which had passed Mannin set up a defensive line before it and she watched its officer give the command to fire. Two scores of arrows flew at the beast, seemingly to no effect. The commander shouted for a reload, but the dragon was already turning towards them, opening its maw to bellow its wrath. Flame sho
t from its mouth, singeing the closest soldiers and causing the remainder to break ranks and scatter, leaving their commander shouting for order, which led to obscenities, which led to pleas for his own life as he followed them in flight.
Mannin was apparently the only one who had noticed the flame had not quite come from the dragon’s mouth, but from its chin. She stared harder and could just make out Valok’s form in the midst of the dragon, conjuring his magic and pushing the trio on.
She smiled, thankful their sorcerer had been able to add something to the legend that was Crenshaw and Asperathes. Captain Wren would not have been pleased should the two men have won this all by themselves.
A fresh wave of soldiers came running past her and Mannin realised she was only going to get trampled if she remained where she was. The stairs had taken her to an entrance back into the keep, so she took this and left the battle behind. She had no doubt she would still be bumping into soldiers fleeing in both directions, but at least now she was headed in the right direction.
*
The dragon was fading and there was precious little Valok found he could do to maintain the illusion. Crenshaw and Asperathes were making a lot of noise on the outskirts of the beast and while Valok could not see them too clearly he knew they were hacking away at the baroness’s troops. He tried not to allow it to bother him, but it did. Once they rescued the baroness, Wren would have to explain how it was that so many of her people had died. No doubt Wren would try to use the excuse that the baroness was under a sorceress’s spell and that all the deaths were technically on Moya’s head, but Valok doubted the baroness would see it that way. The other problem was that it was obvious Crenshaw and Asperathes had no intention of allowing the baroness to walk away from this alive; Asperathes especially had a murderous glint to his eye every time the woman was mentioned.
Dispersing the latest battalion set against them, Valok could feel control of the dragon image slipping. It would only last a few more minutes at most, and once it fell they would have only a brief time before the soldiers realised they had been duped. If they had not entered the keep by that time, they would be cut down where they fought.
Valok succeeded in catching Crenshaw’s eye and the old soldier seemed to understand Valok’s meaning, for he was furiously pushing forward, trying to reach the keep. By their approach, Valok could not see how they were going to be able to get to the staircase they needed, but there was an entrance they could use close by. It was not ideal, for it went down into the lower levels of the keep, but from there they should be able to work their way up.
The dragon image shimmered and Valok poured more of his willpower into the thing, but it was no good. If it dispersed naturally, everyone would instantly see it as a fraud, so Valok did the only thing he could under the circumstances: he willed the image to take flight and soar out of the courtyard.
It was only as the image disappeared into the sky that he remembered he had not given the dragon wings. Thankfully this only confused people more, allowing the three of them a moment to talk.
“There,” Valok pointed. “That’s where we need to head for.”
Crenshaw and Asperathes did not argue and charged for the doorway he was motioning to. Valok winced as further soldiers were cut down, more blood sprayed into the air and yet greater justification to the baroness would have to be made. But what was done was done and they could only explain anything to anyone if they survived the current madness.
Asperathes reached the door first and kicked it open. Seeing there was no resistance waiting within, he placed his back to the door and slashed with his sickle at anything that came his way. Crenshaw and Valok stormed past him, throwing themselves through the doorway, Asperathes slipping in behind and slamming the door closed.
“We need to brace it with something,” he said, but Crenshaw was already moving. They were in a small guardroom, but since all the guards were outside fleeing an imaginary dragon there was no one to stop them overturning the table and shoving it against the door. The three men acted quickly, using the chairs as braces. It would not hold for long, and there would be other ways into the room, so they were already out the other door and into a corridor before the first soldiers tried to force entry.
They fled down a series of dark and uninteresting corridors, lit sporadically by long vertical slits in the ceiling. As the tunnels sloped farther down, Valok knew the light would fade and ultimately die altogether, so he cast a quick spell of luminescence. A tiny ball of light formed in the air and travelled along with them. It was an odd sight: liquid fire trapped in a tiny translucent bubble.
“Handy spell,” Crenshaw said.
“One of the first I ever learned. At the academy it was used as a test to weed out those without any real power. A child of four should be able to master a simple light ball spell.”
“I’m sure Moya was doing likewise at that age,” Asperathes said.
“Moya is an untrained sorceress,” Valok pointed out. “Who knows what she was being taught? That’s the problem with that type of person. Non-magic users seem to think we’re being harsh by forcing people to train properly, but allowing rogues like Moya to flourish brings us to this sort of thing.”
“Because there’s never been an evil magic user, has there?” Crenshaw asked.
“Sarcasm aside, Crenshaw, there’s never been an evil magic user the rest of us couldn’t take care of. To attain truly mighty status, there would have been signs those at the academy would have picked up on. The problem is that we have no idea what Moya was taught, or from which books. Without understanding the basis of her magic we have no way of countering it. She could walk into this room right now and I could throw up a shield wall, but she might well dispel it with a wink.”
“So it’s not just because you magic users want to be in control of everyone?” Crenshaw asked.
“Wielding magic is not something to be taken lightly. No one knows why only certain people can do it, and without knowing its origin we can’t understand its limits.” He wondered whether Crenshaw was getting any of what he was saying, but it was difficult trying to explain any of this to soldiers; he had tried so many times over the years and only Captain Wren ever seemed to understand him, and even then he was certain she was just humouring him half the time.
“I get that,” Asperathes said. “The apepkith think they’re above everyone as well, don’t forget. My people think that because we’re superior in every way we should be in charge of things. The sorcerers, whether it was their intent or not, think the same way. Imagine what would happen were the two ever to go to war. I’m not sure the world would survive.”
“Not quite what I was getting at,” Valok said. “You can’t neuter someone so they’re no longer an apepkith if they choose to live a normal life.”
“Sure you could,” Asperathes said. “You just need a very sharp instrument and the opportunity to stab one deep in the eye.”
Valok had never known when Asperathes was joking and did not want to know in this instance. The snake man always found death amusing and was in full swing with his humour whenever he was faced with possible death. It was unnerving for Valok, but he had learned it was one of the less annoying things about Asperathes.
“Where are we going anyway?” Crenshaw asked. “We’re headed down.”
“All the ways up were too heavily guarded,” Valok said. “This should bring us out eventually to a turning which will take us back on course.”
“Should?” Crenshaw asked. “Eventually? Valok, we’re on a tight schedule here. The baroness will already have noticed our attack, which was the entire point since it was a distraction. She’ll either be evacuating her chambers or else fortifying the place with magic.”
“Moya will have holed in,” Asperathes said. “She always was arrogant.”
“Not always,” Crenshaw cut in. “When we first met her she was terrified.”
“But even back then she managed to draw on the magic necessary to survive.”
; “Something changed her, Asp. And I’m not about to believe it was her power which corrupted her. She’s a bitter, twisted reflection of the girl we met in the dungeon, and I want to know what happened to make her that way.”
Valok did not see the point in joining their argument. They all knew his belief – that untrained magic users were a threat to everyone, including themselves – so there was no sense in saying anything. Besides which, the more Asperathes and Crenshaw discussed the mental state of their former friend, the less they were concentrating on their route, and the less chance they would realise that Valok was lost.
Lost was, perhaps, an exaggeration, for they could always turn around and head back the way they had come. Since that was not an option, he may as well admit they were lost. The odd thing was that he was certain there should have been an upward turning by now, but every time they arrived at a crossroads he could sense nothing but downwards trends. The more he thought about it, the more he realised they had not come upon any turning at all in quite some time.
“I think we’re headed for the dungeon,” Asperathes said, his wry way of saying he had figured out they no longer knew where they were.
“We’re fine,” Valok assured him. “Just trust me.”
His companions said nothing. They did not trust him overly, but this deep into the castle they hardly had any choice. It did not help Valok’s self-esteem any. His fears kept returning to Captain Wren, of how she would be waiting at the rendezvous point. Eventually she would attack Moya without him, at which point she, Sergeant Canlin and Mannin would be annihilated.
For the sake of his comrades, Valok had to reach their side. Not for the first time since Crenshaw and Asperathes had made that sensational admission, Valok wished he had never volunteered to help them in making the distraction in the courtyard. There were times when Valok’s former classmates at the academy met up. Together they would swap stories about the people they worked with, for it was always a good laugh comparing non-magic users. Valok seldom attended such reunions, for he was always busy with the regiment, but he vowed to go to the next gathering. The fake heroes and their second attack on the castle was without doubt one of those stories which would win him a plaque on the academy wall.