by Mel Odom
Wick was impressed. He’d seldom seen archery so swift and certain outside of elven warders.
The surviving Razor’s Kiss thieves scattered, taking cover behind broken buildings, scattered piles of stone, and a few of the larger trees that had taken root inside the inner courtyard.
Thinking quickly, Wick felt confident that three of the thieves were either dead or dying. Originally, ten of the Razor’s Kiss thieves had ridden out to the ruins. They’d been joined by seven more, including Ryman Bey. Gujhar made eighteen. That number was down to fifteen.
Even as he thought that, though, Quarrel put another arrow into the chest of the man fighting to get Alysta from his head. The man was dead before he hit the ground, and Alysta jumped free of the body as it fell. Immediately, arrows followed the cat but hit the ground well short of her.
Then an arrow fired by one of the thieves thudded into the snow-covered ground only inches from Wick’s head. Not good, he thought.
“Get over here,” Quarrel ordered. He knelt and whirled around the stone column, drawing and firing again effortlessly. His arrow just missed the man who’d fired at Wick.
Scrabbling through the snow, in truth staying under it most of the way, Wick joined Quarrel and hunkered down. Arrows from the thieves shattered against the column or whistled by.
“We can’t stay here,” Quarrel said.
Wick agreed, but he looked around. “Where did the cat go?”
“The cat?” Quarrel shrugged and peered around the column, then ducked back as an arrow glanced off, narrowly missing him.
“I had a cat with me,” Wick said.
“Whatever for?”
“Because she wanted to come.”
“Why couldn’t you have picked a bear?” Quarrel asked. “A bear would be more of a deterrent than a cat.”
“I didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter.”
Muffled voices reached their ears.
“They’re going to surround us.” Quarrel looked around, rolling to his right and drawing the fletchings back to his ear. He released and Wick saw one of the thieves drop to the ground.
More cursing suddenly filled the air. Shouts of promised revenge followed the dying man’s last cries.
“We’ll never reach the wall,” Wick said. “Even if we did, they’d pursue us.”
“I’ve no intention of leaving here till I get what I came for.”
“Seaspray?”
Quarrel looked at Wick. The young man’s eyes narrowed. He looked even younger with his smooth face. A beard or a mustache would have added more maturity.
“What do you know about Seaspray?” Quarrel demanded.
“Practically nothing,” Wick lied.
Quarrel shook his head. “I knew I should have let the thieves kill you.”
“Actually,” Wick said, changing his mind when he thought it wouldn’t be any trouble for Quarrel to boot him out into the open and use him for a distraction while he made his own escape, “I know a lot.”
“What do you know?” Quarrel’s gaze was filled with challenge.
“I have a map of the keep that was here before this fortress.”
“Where?”
Wick took out the ship’s log and tapped the cover. “Here.”
“Give it to me.”
Taking a step back, Wick hid the book once more in his cloak. “No. You’ll leave me out here.”
Quarrel showed him a thin-lipped smile. “Perhaps.”
“Are the two of you going to stand here and natter all day?” The cat sat atop a heap of stones only a few feet away. She looked no worse for wear despite her fight. “Or do you think possibly you could avoid getting killed or captured?”
“A talking cat?” Quarrel asked.
“It’s not as amazing as it sounds,” Wick said. “And not nearly worth the trouble, I tell you.”
“They’re coming,” Alysta said.
“Follow me.” Quarrel turned and ran, staying low and within the shadows.
Wick trailed after the young man. They ran a zigzag trail through the tumbled buildings of the inner courtyard. Some of the statues of people and creatures startled Wick. He hadn’t seen those in his earlier observations.
Quarrel cut across other trails, confusing their own tracks with those of others. He obviously had a destination in mind, but he took a circuitous route to it. Finally he headed into one of the doorways that opened a throat down into the earth.
With the dank moldering smell all around him, Wick couldn’t help feeling he was descending into an open grave. Broken rock lay strewn about. Snow had blown in through the entrance and sat in heaps.
Inside the chamber, the thieves’ voices reached Wick’s ears more readily. They’d gotten confused and anxious, becoming more certain their quarry had somehow managed to escape.
“Did they get over the wall, then?” someone asked.
“If they’d gone over the wall, we’d have seen them,” another answered.
“They’re still here,” another voice, more commanding in tone, announced. “They’re hiding. Spread out and find them. I want to know who they are and what they’re doing here.”
“Ryman Bey,” Quarrel whispered in the quiet of the chamber.
Wick had assumed that. “What are we going to do?”
Quarrel frowned at him. “I should have let them kill you.”
“Perhaps they wouldn’t have killed us,” Alysta replied.
Quarrel snorted derisively. “They’d have killed you.”
“Then you were a fool to interfere,” the cat accused.
Ignoring the comment, Quarrel slid his bow over his shoulder and drew his sword. He stared at Wick. “Let’s have another look at that book.”
Wick hesitated.
Quick as a wink, Quarrel placed his blade tip at the little Librarian’s throat. “Now would not be a time to vex me, halfer.” Even though his voice was soft, there was no lack of menace in it.
13
To the Dungeon
Swallowing hard, feeling the keen edge pressed up against his neck, Wick weighed his chances. Everything in him that was a Librarian (which was everything in him) screamed out not to surrender the book. It held clues to the person who had sent Captain Gujhar in search of the three magic weapons that had been at the Battle of Fell’s Keep. The pages offered hints at where Seaspray was located.
And it might even tell what was at stake, why the weapons were being gathered after Lord Kharrion had fallen and a thousand years had gone by.
“Your word,” Wick bargained in a croaking voice.
Quarrel stared at him in surprise over the length of sword steel between them. “What?”
“Your word,” Wick repeated. “Before I give you the book, I want your word.”
“On what? That I won’t kill you?” Quarrel nodded. “Done.”
Wick knew that was no trade. Quarrel had already risked his life to save his. He didn’t think the young man would just as quickly take it. Even if he did have a sword at his throat.
“Your word that you will give the book back to me,” Wick said.
Quarrel cursed. “You bargain too far, halfer. I could just as easily pluck the book off your dead body.”
“And I could just as easily start yowling and draw the Razor’s Kiss thieves down on you,” Alysta said.
Silence stretched between them for an instant.
“Perfidious cat,” Quarrel snarled.
Alysta sat on her haunches a safe distance away, her tail curled around her paws. “That’s just one of my more endearing qualities,” she replied. Her large eyes winked in amusement.
“Do we have a bargain?” Wick asked.
Quarrel didn’t answer.
Alysta purred, on the verge of a yowl. “Don’t mind me,” she said. “I’m just tuning up my voice.”
Heaving a great sigh, Quarrel dropped the sword from Wick’s neck. “Old Ones preserve me, the two of you don’t know what you’re in for or what I’ve had to do to get this far.”
He gestured with his free hand. “Very well, you’ve got my word. Now let’s have a look at that book.”
Relaxing a little, Wick took the ship’s log from his cloak and handed it over.
Quarrel sheathed the sword and took the book in both hands. “Where did you get this?”
“From Wraith.”
“How?”
Wick related the story of the escape from the goblinkin ship (perhaps playing up the nearness of the escape and his amount of derring-do a little, but he felt entitled since it was his story) and his subsequent journey to the ruins. The cat hissed at several of the more fragrant points, but offered no comment. As he talked, Quarrel walked more deeply into the chamber.
Wick was grimly aware that the thieves could enter the tunnel at any time. He wondered how far back the tunnel went. As narrow and barren as it was, there didn’t appear to be many places to hide. Defending their position was out of the question; all the thieves had to do was starve them out.
Two turns later, Quarrel stopped in a work area that Wick could barely discern in the low light. Quarrel, with only his human’s eyesight, had to trail a hand along the tunnel’s side to find his way. In the work area, a lantern hung on the wall. Using a tinderbox on a shelf near the lantern, the young man lit the lantern.
The soft yellow glow filled the work area.
Quarrel opened the book and leafed through the pages. “I can’t read it,” he admitted.
“You can read?” Wick asked, surprised when he thought he wasn’t going to be any further surprised.
“Yes.” Quarrel frowned at the pages as he continued turning them. “But not this.”
“The halfer can read it,” Alysta said.
Quarrel looked at Wick. “Is that true?”
Blabbermouth, Wick thought at the cat. He sighed. “Yes.”
“How?”
“With my eyes,” Wick said. He didn’t mention that he could also read with his fingers, by scent, by sound, and even by taste. After all, he was in training to be a First Level Librarian.
“That’s not what I meant.” Quarrel looked exasperated.
“Oh.”
“Who taught you to read?”
“Someone,” Wick answered.
Quarrel shook his head. “Fine. Keep those secrets. But not this one. Can you read this?”
“Yes.”
“What does it say?”
“I haven’t read all of it. There wasn’t time.” Wick glared at the cat, indicating that lack was purely her fault. Alysta just winked at him in disdain and wrinkled her nose. If Quarrel caught the look, he gave no indication.
“But it talks about Seaspray?” Quarrel asked.
Wick nodded. “The text refers to Seaspray and Boneslicer and Deathwhisper.”
Quarrel frowned. “All of the weapons that were at the Battle of Fell’s Keep.”
“Yes.” Wick was quietly surprised that the young man knew so much about the weapons. He wanted to ask how Quarrel had come about that knowledge, but he didn’t dare.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. The captain of Wraith, a man named Gujhar, was sent to retrieve them.” Wick almost added that he’d been on hand when Boneslicer was taken.
“For what reason?”
“I don’t know. Yet.”
“Who sent him?”
Shaking his head, Wick said, “I don’t know that, either.”
“Perhaps the ship’s log will reveal that.”
“That’s what we’re hoping.”
“‘We?’”
Wick pointed to Alysta. “The cat and I.”
“How did you become partners?”
Alysta interrupted. “Do you think we really have time to talk about this now? The thieves outside aren’t going to give up looking for us.”
“She’s right,” Wick said.
Quarrel held the book closer to the light. Wick had to hold his tongue. In the Vault of All Known Knowledge, flames weren’t used. Illumination was provided by lummin juice from glimmerworms. Several dwellers, Wick’s father among them, raised glimmerworms.
The young man flipped the ship’s log till he found the maps of the ruins. He studied them.
“The thieves gave up on this site,” Quarrel said, “but I felt that something more was hidden here.” He placed a finger against the map. “What’s this?”
Wick peered at the page. The small picture at the edge of the old keep Thango had built was of a ship with full-bellied sails.
“It’s a ship,” Wick said.
“Here in the mountains?”
“Perhaps there’s a cave at the bottom of the mountain that leads to the sea,” Wick said.
“I’ve been there,” Quarrel said. “I didn’t see a passage to a cave.”
“Maybe you didn’t know what you were looking for,” Alysta suggested. “In any event, staying here only makes us increasingly vulnerable. It’s better if we put some distance between us and our foes.”
Wick was antsy, too, eager to be moving.
“I’ll take you to this spot,” Quarrel stated. He handed the ship’s log back to Wick. “Let’s go.”
Carrying the lantern, his sword naked in his fist, Quarrel led the way down into the ruins. Looking around at the layers of earth that had piled on top of the past structures, Wick was reminded of the caves in the Cinder Clouds Islands. How much history had been lost in the world even before the Cataclysm? At one time, writing hadn’t existed. It troubled him to think of how many people’s stories would never be told.
Down and down they went, following Quarrel and the swinging lantern. Soon, though, he halted at an opening.
“We’ll have to go easily from this point on.” Quarrel shined the lantern into the next section. “This leads to Thango’s main house. To the dungeon area. There are a number of passages. They are in relatively good shape.”
“Hold on.” Wick opened the book, knowing from memory where the map of the pre-existing keep was. He studied the drawing for a moment, looking at the scale at the bottom of the page.
“The opening to the dungeon is ahead.” Quarrel held the lantern closer.
Instinctively, Wick pulled the book back from the lantern’s heat. “The dungeon wasn’t filled in?”
“I don’t think anyone even knew it was here before Gujhar and the thieves found it.”
“You’ve been there?”
“I have.”
“Did you see a ship?” Alysta asked.
“No.”
“Was there a passage down to a cave at the bottom of the mountain?”
“There still is,” Quarrel replied.
“Could that be the ship on the map?” the cat asked. “A reference to a hidden port?”
Wick thought about that. Several cities and keeps had smugglers’ paths. Contraband existed everywhere, though it was generally goods that the sellers and buyers didn’t want to pay heavy taxes on. He trailed a finger down the map, tracing the passageway marked on the paper.
If the passageway led to a secret port, why wasn’t the ship drawn at the bottom of the passage rather than the top? That troubled him.
“There’s nothing there,” Quarrel said.
Wick read through the script under the picture. “According to these notes, Gujhar—or whoever he works for—is convinced that this room holds a secret of some sort.”
“What secret?”
“It doesn’t say.”
“What’s in that room?” Alysta asked.
“Nothing.” Quarrel looked disgusted. “If Seaspray was ever in that room, it’s long gone. That was probably the secret.”
“Then why hasn’t the sword ever been found since Thango brought it here?” Alysta asked.
“Perhaps Seaspray has been destroyed.” Quarrel sighed.
The cat looked at him. “Do you believe that?”
Hesitation showed on Quarrel’s smooth face. “I hope it’s not true.”
“Why?”
Quarrel’s eyes narrowed. “Because I want that swo
rd.”
Alysta hissed in displeasure. “You can’t always have what you want, boy.”
“Let’s go have a look at this room,” Wick suggested, hoping to remind the others why they were there. “Provided we get out of here alive, I’ll wager we don’t get many chances to come back this way.”
“Agreed,” Quarrel replied.
The cat sniffed.
Quarrel turned back to the open area. “This excavation gives us a way to reach the dungeon entrance. After we enter that, the way becomes much more dangerous. Not all of the traps have been sprung.”
Traps? Wick thought. There are traps? Then he sighed. Of course there were traps. There had to be traps. He wondered if Craugh and the crew of One-Eyed Peggie were near. He hoped that they were because the situation at the moment didn’t look good.
The entrance to the dungeon was a hole in the floor set next to an excavation wall. Obviously the excavation had been done some time in the past because the wood was rotting. New braces had been set into place over the old ones, but nothing about it looked safe.
“Will it hold?” Wick asked nervously.
“There are no guarantees,” Quarrel replied. He ducked down and climbed down into the dungeon.
When the light left with the young mercenary, Wick realized he was about to be left standing in the dark. He stepped into the entrance and followed Quarrel down.
Steps cut into the wall led down at least twenty feet. Wick judged that by the fact that the steps were each about eight inches high and there were thirty-two steps in all. The actual height was twenty-one feet and four inches, but he didn’t quibble. It made for a solid shelf of rock overhead, even with the generous headroom.
“Carefully through here.” Quarrel shined the lantern around, revealing the iron-barred cages set in the wall to the right.
Rats ran among the bones of the deceased. No flesh remained on the ivory underpinnings, but there were several insects that lived in the detritus left by those who had tramped through the dungeon looking for Dulaun’s lost magical sword. They protested the invasion of the light with high-pitched squeaks.
It was obvious that those who had opposed Thango had met bad endings once they’d fallen in his hands.