by Bill Fawcett
"To the cell at the end of the hall," he ordered.
A peasant was in the corridor, cleaning the floor with a large broom, sweeping a pile of foul-smelling straw out of one of the cells. The stench was horrible.
The other prison cells appeared to be empty. The prison was eerily quiet. The only sound Alise could hear was that of running water. She was wondering what this might be when the floor suddenly dropped out from under her.
Alise cried out in alarm. Off-balance, she wavered on the edge of a gaping chasm, terrified that she would fall. Her guards let her teeter one heart-stopping moment, then hauled her back to safety, laughing at her fear. Below her, a rushing stream ran black and turgid. A sewer, to judge by the smell. The peasant plodded past her, swept his load of muck into the hole. Tugging on a rope that hung from the ceiling, a rope attached to what Alise now saw was a wooden door set in the floor, he pulled the door closed.
"There are grates at either end," the commander announced. "Just in case you were thinking that this might make a good escape route."
The guards pushed Alise forward. Her footsteps echoed hollowly as she walked across the wooden door. She passed the cell occupied by the dwarf, who was dark-eyed and dour, unkempt, disheveled and dirty. He was shackled hand and foot, the manacles attached to the stone wall and he glowered as they passed him. In response to Shadamehr's polite greeting in dwarven, the dwarf made a rude gesture with a manacled hand.
The guards hauled Alise and Shadamehr into the same cell, stood them against a wall and clamped manacles over their wrists and ankles. The commander looked on with approval as the guards locked the manacles in place with the keys, which they then returned to the commander. He slammed shut the iron barred door of the cell and locked it.
"I demand—" Shadamehr began, but he was talking to himself. The commander had left, taking the torch with him.
The cell was pitch dark. Alise could not see Shadamehr at all, though he was chained only a few feet from her.
"Shadamehr?" she said softly, needing to hear his voice.
"Here," he replied. He was silent a moment, then said quietly, "Did you see Brother Ulien's face, Alise?"
"Yes, I saw." Alise decided it would be best to handle this dispassionately. Shadamehr would not appreciate maudlin sympathy. "His expression fits the description of a vrykyl's victims. Don't blame yourself, my lord. There is nothing you could have done. You yourself said that you could not fight a vrykyl."
"Especially not chained to a wall." His voice in the darkness was bitter. He shook his manacles in frustration.
"I've never known you defeated before," she said. Her hands were manacled to the wall attached by a short length of chain on either side of her head. She twisted her head experimentally to see whether she could reach her thick coil of hair. "I find it rather endearing."
"Yes, well, I hope you find it so when the vrykyl comes. What are you doing?" He could not see her, but he could hear her chains rattling in the darkness.
"You told me it was my turn to get us out of a situation," she said, her hands busy. "I have a vial of earth hidden in my braid. Do you have your lockpick?"
"I did bring you for your red hair, after all!" Shadamehr stated. "Yes, I have lockpick, but I can't reach it."
"I believe I can remedy that."
Her searching fingers discovered the small vial she habitually kept tucked into the thick coil of red hair for just such an emergency.
"Now, pray I don't drop it," she muttered.
"I'm praying," said Shadamehr fervently.
Alise forced herself to make each movement deliberate. Moving slowly and carefully, she pried loose the stopper on the vial and shook a pinch of earth into her hand. She concentrated her thoughts on the stone wall to which she was chained, especially the portion of the wall to which the manacles were attached, and closed her eyes to better focus her thoughts.
"Stone, split!" she commanded and sifted the bit of earth through her fingers, letting it fall to the ground.
The sound of rock cracking was extraordinarily loud, or so it seemed to Alise, who cringed and looked apprehensively at the cell door, expecting that the commander would return at any moment. No one came.
Alise tugged on the chain and the heavy manacles pulled free and fell to the floor with a crash. She grit her teeth and continued her concentration on the spell. The fissures spread down the wall and the manacles on her feet pulled out of the stonework.
Unable to lift her arms due to the weight of the iron manacles, barely able to move her feet, she dragged herself across the cell, groping along the broken wall to find her way. Finding Shadamehr, she clutched hold of him thankfully.
"What did you do?" he asked. "Knock the wall down?"
"In a way," she replied. "Don't talk to me. You'll break my concentration."
"Not talking," he said and shut his mouth.
Taking another pinch of earth, Alise repeated the spell. Again the loud cracking sound. Surely the commander must have heard that! Shadamehr dropped from the wall. He ripped open one of the seams of the leather jerkin he wore, removed the lockpick which had been sewn into the seam.
"I could use some light," he muttered beneath his breath, fumbling to try to find the keyhole in the darkness.
As if on command, light flared.
"Shadamehr!" Alise gasped. "We're on fire!"
The floor of the cellblock in front of the iron-barred door had burst into flame, a magical flame that consumed stone, apparently, for the fire had no other fuel. Not until the flames reached the dry straw that covered the floor on which they stood.
"Ah, that helps!" said Shadamehr. He thrust the lockpick into the keyhole of the manacle on her right hand.
"Hurry!" Alise urged, coughing in the acrid smoke.
"A dwarf Fire Mage, Ulien said," Shadamehr recalled, removing the other manacle from Alise's hand and starting on the manacles on her ankles. He cast a glance toward the cell where the dwarf was chained.
Alise covered her mouth with her hand to avoid breathing the superheated air.
The flames shot high into the air, forming a wall of fire between them and the cell door.
"I take that for yes." Shadamehr was working on the manacles on his ankles with one eye on the flames and the other on the keyhole. A click and he was free. He looked at the manacles on his wrists, eyed the fire, and shook his head. "We'll have to run for it. The flames are magical. Can we escape through that?"
"I don't see we have much choice!" Alise cried. "It's either that or burn to death where we are."
"Then here we go!" Shadamehr leapt into the fire.
Alise closed her eyes, covered her face with the sleeve of her robes, and plunged into the wall of flame.
She was through, gasping and slammed into the cell door. A few sparks clung to her robes, but she patted them out. Shadamehr had his arm thrust through the iron bars, turning the lockpick in the lock. An expert twist and the lock gave. The cell doors swung open.
"How are you?" he asked her, regarding her worriedly.
"A little weak," she replied. "The spell casting saps my energy. But I'll be all right. What about the commander?"
All was quiet in the cellblock. No sign that anyone had heard or seen anything.
"I don't know. I can't see anything for the smoke. I'll keep watch. You check on our neighbor the fire bug."
The flames in the cell had already starting to die out. Perhaps that is what gave Alise the clue. She knew before she went to look for the dwarf what she would find.
He hung from the wall, head and hands and feet dangling limp and lifeless. She could not see the hole in his heart from here, but she had no doubt it was there.
She caught hold of Shadamehr. He had managed to free one of his wrists from the manacles and was working on the second.
"The dwarf's dead," she said, her voice catching in her throat. She coughed. "Blasted smoke! My guess is that he didn't set the fire."
"One suspect gone. How much earth do you have
left?
"Enough for one more spell."
"Excellent."
"Shadamehr, compared to a vrykyl, my magical power is that of a child!"
"I wasn't thinking of taking on the vrykyl. I was thinking more about removing grates. Can you swim?" he asked, working on the lock and not having much luck. "This one's stuck!"
"Swim! Shadamehr," she protested. "You're not serious! You didn't see what it was like down in that sewer!"
"Call it a hunch, but I don't think they're going to let us walk out the front door— Look out!" Shadamehr grabbed Alise bodily, swung her behind him.
A figure loomed out of the smoky darkness. Rubies sparkled blood red in the light of the dying flames. Fire light flashed on a steel blade.
Shadamehr ducked. The blade hissed through the air just above his head, sending the smoke swirling. Alise tried to see the person—or the creature—wielding the blade. The smoke was too thick. Her eyes burned and stung. She fell back against the wall.
Shadamehr scrambled backward to avoid the return stroke. He had no room to maneuver. The ruby-hilted sword slashed again and this time drew blood. He cried out in pain and staggered backward, clutching at his upper arm. Alise caught hold of him, pulled him into a dark corner.
The smoke whirled and eddied around them. The commander had lost them and was slashing blindly, coughing and peering through the smoke.
"Zounds!" Shadamehr gasped, leaning against her. "It feels like I've been stung by a thousand wasps!"
"That's the Void magic. It can work like poison. Can you stand?"
"Yes, but I don't know for how long. Here he comes again!"
Shadamehr's only weapon was the manacle, still attached to his wrist, and the short length of chain that dangled from it. He dashed forward, swinging the chain, trying to entangle the sword.
Alise took her last pinch of earth and flung it into the air. She focused her thoughts on the ruby-bejeweled sword and spoke a single word. "Brittle!"
The commander evaded the swinging chain. He lunged at Shadamehr, who was too weak to dodge the stabbing blade. The sword struck Shadamehr in the breast. He shut his eyes involuntarily, expecting his death blow.
The blade snapped in two.
The commander stared at his sword in an astonishment that changed rapidly to rage. Flinging aside the useless weapon, he leapt to grapple with his prisoner.
Shadamehr swept his manacled arm and the flying chain caught the commander in the jaw, snapping his head to one side. He fell backward, landed on the stone floor, and lay still.
Neither Shadamehr nor Alise moved. Both held perfectly still, not even breathing, waiting for the vrykyl to rise again. The commander was out cold. He didn't so much as twitch.
Shadamehr sank back against the wall. "The old wives' tales were wrong. I've known pecwae to put up more of a fight."
Alise knelt gingerly beside the commander. She put her hand to his neck. "Shadamehr," she said, "this isn't a vrykyl. He has a pulse."
"What are you saying? He has to be the vrykyl! Brother Ulien—" Shadamehr sucked in a breath. "Brother Ulien! What a fool I've been! We have to get out of here!" he said in a low, urgent voice.
But they had only taken a few steps when a blast of wind as chill as death blasted through the corridor. The smoke vanished, torn apart in shreds. The flames flared up behind them. The corpse of Brother Ulien strode purposefully down the corridor.
"He's the vrykyl!" Alise whispered.
The power of the Void magic crashed over her, an immense wave of soulless empty darkness which struck her an almost physical blow. Alise's hands went numb and limp. She dropped the vial of holy earth. Not that it would matter. Her own magical power was being sucked into the maw of the Void. Beside her, leaning against the stone wall, Shadamehr let his breath out in a long sigh.
"A trap," he said softly. "It was all a trap. You said my ego would be the death of me. I walked into it as blind as a mole in a snare."
"Indeed you did, Lord Shadamehr," said the vrykyl. The face was pale and gaunt in death, yet the lifeless mouth moved, the unseeing eyes saw. "My master has watched you long. He knows you to be a threat. He heard you were searching for information about us. We had orders to answer all your questions, provided we could find you. Imagine my joy when I discovered, after feeding upon the soul of Brother Ulien, that he was once your friend. The rest was simple, after that. Now you will see me for what I am."
The illusion of Brother Ulien vanished. In its place stood a hideous knight in shining armor, black as the carapace of some huge, malevolent insect. His hands were covered with metal gloves adorned with sharp, hooked black talons. In his right hand he wielded a small poinard that glowed with an eerie, empty white light.
Terror gripped Alise. She felt her face starting to contort into that look of horror which would freeze upon it when she died. She could not think. She could not scream. She shrank closer to Shadamehr and felt him move. His left arm was creeping slowly up the stone wall against which he leaned. She glanced above them and saw a length of rope, running across the ceiling.
Swiftly, Alise lowered her eyes, lest the vrykyl follow her gaze and guess Shadamehr's desperate plan.
"I wouldn't advise feeding on my soul," said Shadamehr, watching the vrykyl advance and hoping to keep his attention. Just a few more steps. A few more. "I'm likely to give you indigestion."
The vrykyl said no word. He walked toward them, his booted footfalls echoing loudly on the stone.
And then the footfalls struck wood.
Shadamehr grabbed hold of the rope and pulled hard. The wooden trapdoor flew open, booming against the side of the stone wall below it.
The vrykyl vanished, plunging down into the darkness. They heard his roar of anger and a splash as he hit the water.
"What do we now?" Alise cried.
"We run!" Shadamehr said grimly.
He caught hold of her hand and together they dashed down the corridor, making wide detour around the hole in the floor. Neither took time to look for their enemy, who could be heard raging and thrashing about in the foaming water.
They ran up the stairs to the ground floor and out the front door of the military command post. They paid no heed to the startled guards, who yelled after them and began to give chase.
"Keep going!" Shadamehr panted.
Alise needed no urging. She could feel the pent-up rage and fury of the thwarted vrykyl rumbling beneath them like molten hot lava. The ground began to shake and the guards halted in alarm. Alise glanced back and saw blinding white flame engulf the fortress. A concussive blast tore the fortress apart.
Alise dove under a large wagon standing in the roadway and covered her head with her arms. Shadamehr flung his body down beside her and put his arms around her. Rock rained around them, crashing off the wagon and bounding into the street.
And then it was over. The night was eerily quiet, for an instant, until screams and shouts and the sounds of people running toward the burning fortress shattered the stillness.
Shadamehr crawled out from under the wagon, turned to help Alise. "Are you all right?" he asked.
She nodded. She was bleeding from cuts on her hands and face where she'd slid along the ground, but otherwise she was unhurt.
"You?" she asked.
"Aside from being singed by magical fire and poisoned by the Void, I am fine," he said. "A lot finer than I thought I was going to be there for a moment."
"Do you suppose the vrykyl's dead?" Alise asked, shivering at the memory.
"No, I don't suppose it," Shadamehr answered. "But it's going to take him a while to crawl out from the under the ruins of the fortress. In the meanwhile, I suggest that we take our leave. My questions have been answered. We now know the nature of the foe the people of Loerem must eventually face. And we know that neither of us has the power now to face it."
"But who does have the power, Shadamehr?" Alise asked, helping him to his feet. She looked back at the burning, blackened fortress. "Is there anyone wh
o can fight them?"
"Not even the Dominion Lords are prepared to face this, Alise," Shadamehr said. "I don't know anyone who is."
He shook his head and, putting his arm around Alise, he drew her close. "But remind me to apologize to the first old wife I meet."
Serenade
A Spellsinger Story
Alan Dean Foster
The young woman was beautiful, her male companion was shy, and the hat was surreptitious. This feathered chapeau of uncertain parentage bobbed along innocently enough behind the stone wall on which the two young paramours sat whispering sweet nothings to one another. The hat dipped out of sight an instant before the girl's lips parted in shock. Reacting swiftly to the perceived offense, she whirled and struck the startled young man seated beside her hard enough to knock him backwards off the wall. But by that time the hat had hastened beyond sight, sound, and possible indictment.
Beneath the hat as it emerged from behind the wall, having strewn amorous chaos in its wake, was a five-foot-tall otter clad (in addition to the aforementioned feathered cap) in short pants, long vest, and a self-satisfied smirk. Ignoring the occasional glances that came his way, the hirsute, bewhiskered, and thoroughly disreputable Mudge wended his way through the streets of downtown Timswitty. Eventually his sharp eyes caught sight of his friend, companion, and frequent irritant from another world leaning against the wall of a dry-goods shop while soaking up the sun. Dodging a single lizard-drawn wagon festooned with clanging pots and pans for sale, he hailed his companion with a cheery early morning obscenity.
Arms crossed over his chest, duar slung across his back, scabbard flanking his right leg, Jon-Tom opened one eye to regard his much shorter friend. In this world of undersized humans and loquacious animals, the unwilling six-foot-tall visitor stood out in any crowd. Except for his unusual height, however, he was not an especially impressive specimen of humankind.
"Back already? Let me guess—you've been making mischief again."
"Wot, me, guv'nor? You strike me to the quick! Why, I didn't even know the lass."