Dream Magic

by Joshua Khan

  A brick hit him, blinding him with pain. Thorn wiped his face but only managed to smear blood over his eyes. Heart pounding, he tried to get up. He had to get off this bridge right now, escape the rubble raining down all around him.

  A deep, ominous groan rose from the keep. It was the sound of thousands of tons of stone grinding against itself.

  He had nowhere to run. It was too late.

  Lily gazed at the burning gatehouse and the small figure of Thorn.

  He’d saved the zombies. They were crawling out of the moat, bedraggled, dripping wet, and covered in weeds.

  He’d risked his life for the undead.

  The gatehouse swayed. The flames had destroyed what little mortar was holding it together. “Run, Thorn!” she screamed, but Thorn wouldn’t be able to hear her, not from here.

  “He’s dead,” muttered Baron Sable. “It’s coming down.”

  Dott bellowed. She and Thorn were friends.

  The uppermost stones, those along the battlements, fell. It would only take one to flatten Thorn into a bloody paste, and there were thousands. No one could save him.

  Except her.

  Lily closed her eyes and forced all the darkness around her into…life.

  The shadows between the wavering torches rushed toward her. The lightless patches in the empty doorways obeyed her summons. Long, rippling ribbons of darkness thrashed and flickered violently.

  The Mantle of Sorrows pulsed as the spirits sewn within its uncanny cloth worked like fishermen to gather in the darkness.

  Lily opened her eyes and cast the dark at the gatehouse.

  People screamed in terror. Some fled as a huge, arching wave of oily blackness stretched out across the moat. Would it be strong enough to deflect the inestimable weight of stone falling on Thorn?

  She had to believe it would. This was Shadow magic, and Lily was a Shadow. Her blood was blackest of all.

  She cried out when the stone smashed against the shield of shadows. She felt as if she was being pummeled from all directions. As the crushing load bore down on her body and spirit, the weight pushed her to her knees.

  Through tears of pain, she saw Thorn crawl toward the edge of the trembling bridge. He was bloody but alive. Unable to stand, he toppled over, and there was a splash as he disappeared into the moat.

  “Get him,” Lily whispered. “I can’t hold it….”

  Baron Sable dove in. Ying ran across the broken ice and threw himself down near the hole where Thorn had gone in.

  The stones were bearing down. Her shadow shield was cracking.

  Dott yelled. “T’orn! T’orn!”

  Lily glimpsed a soggy, shivering Thorn emerge from the moat, held up by Sable and Ying.

  She dropped her magic.

  The gatehouse finally collapsed completely, falling with a deafening roar, and shaking the ground so violently that people fell. Dust filled the air, stinging the eyes and obscuring everything. Eventually, the dust settled, and Lily got her first glimpse of the devastation.

  The gatehouse was gone, and the keep still burning. The fire wouldn’t go out until there was nothing left to burn. Tomorrow morning, there would just be a pile of blackened stone.

  While Lily stared at the ruins, the others stared at her.

  Villagers from afar. Her guests from the Feathered Council. Nobles she’d known her entire life.

  “Did you see…”

  “I knew they were hiding something….”

  “Not even her father could have done that….”

  Thorn was alive. She’d saved him with her magic.

  Magic she was supposed to keep secret.

  She’d protected her best friend, used magic more powerful than anyone had ever seen, but no one was speaking with gratitude or admiration, only with fear.

  Lily groped at the dirty, trampled snow. A savage pain ripped through her chest. She fought to breathe as her lungs tightened. Her bones ached.

  What’s happening to me?

  She stared at her hands. The skin was wrinkled and becoming marked by ugly dark brown patches.

  Too much. I used too much magic.

  “Look at her….”

  People backed away. Even Dott couldn’t hide her bewilderment. “Prin’ess?”

  A hand reached out, and Lily grabbed it. “Thank you.”

  She looked up to the dead gaze of a zombie. He was cold and dripping from the fall into the moat, and tangled with weeds and sprinkled with flowers. The other zombies gathered around her, reaching out to…help.

  Lily’s spine stiffened; she couldn’t stand up straight. Each step was agony.

  She stumbled on, slowing making her way back to the castle, and no one stopped her. She barely managed to turn the door handle, dragged herself over the threshold…

  “Lily!”

  It was Thorn, but she didn’t turn around.

  He mustn’t see me like this.

  “Lily! Wait!”

  She got through the door, leaving the living and undead behind, and slammed it shut.

  Why was it so bright? The candlelight burned her eyes.

  She needed to get away from everyone. She needed to find out what was happening, and if she could stop it.

  I need Father.

  Lily faced the door of the Shadow Library.

  It had taken her ages to reach it. She’d almost had to crawl at one point, when the pain had become crippling. But now she was upright, thank the Six. She could flex her fingers, and the wrinkles were fading. The effects hadn’t been permanent.

  This time.

  But she felt weak, drained of all her energy.

  There was still some pain when she looked at the lamps shining on the walls.

  Iblis had warned her not to push past her limits. But he would understand why she had done it this time. He knew how much Thorn meant to her.

  Lily reached into her pocket for the Skeleton Key. It wasn’t there.

  She checked her other pocket, then the first again. Both empty.

  Maybe she’d dropped it? Maybe it had fallen out somewhere near Old Keep? Yes, that had to be it.

  Just as she turned to head back, Lily heard the library door grinding apart.

  It was a demon door. The first Lord Shadow had built it and bound a hundred and one demons into the strange metal. Only the bearer of the Skeleton Key could open it. Breaking in was impossible. Anyone else who even touched the door would awaken the hellish beasts trapped within its panels; not even bloody smears would be left. The demons took their task very seriously.

  And yet now, unaided, the door was opening….

  The interior was lit by a pearly moonlight. It softly illuminated the statues and furniture within.

  And the man standing there, waiting to flee. His crippled left hand was curled up against his chest, the Skeleton Key dangling from his clawlike fingers. In his right he carried a small black box.

  It was Weaver, the conjuror from the feast.

  “Ah, this is awkward,” he said.

  Weaver held her father’s box. Why was he stealing that? There were far greater treasures in the library.

  Not that it mattered.

  “That does not belong to you,” said Lily. “Put it back.”

  The man tightened his hold. “And if I don’t?”

  He covered himself with a tattered patchwork cloak, but there was no way for him to hide the hideously burned skin and the withered limbs, even in this dim light.

  Lily stepped forward. “Put it back or I’ll make you.”

  The conjuror tensed. “I made myself a promise, a long time ago. The Shadows hurt me once. But never again.”

  There was no mistaking the rage in that reply. “Who are you?”

  “My first name was burned away. I am Weaver now.”

  “Then, Weaver, I’ll tell you this just once more: put the key and the box down.”

  “No. I am owed both, at least.”

  What did he mean?

  Lily edged a step closer. “The fire in Ol
d Keep. That was deliberate, wasn’t it?”

  “My companion Firestarter.” There was a hint of a smile. “A distraction to keep you all busy while I searched. But I had no idea how truly vast the library was, and it took me longer than expected to find what I was looking for.”

  “Why that box? It’s just got a bunch of my father’s letters in it, not magical scrolls, if that’s what you’re thinking. They’re worthless to you.”

  “You have no idea.”

  His eyes were stony pale and bitter. This man was her enemy, but she couldn’t understand why. “What is it that you want, Weaver?”

  That bitterness deepened. “Oh, just everything.”

  Lily’s magic was strongest down here in the buried heart of Castle Gloom. Normally she would just tie him up with black strands of shadow, or steal enough life from him to make him collapse. But right now it was Lily who felt on the verge of collapsing; she wasn’t sure what would happen to her if she cast even the simplest magic. Her head still swam with exhaustion, and she struggled to remain standing.

  And this Weaver looked so fragile, so broken. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said.

  “Hurt? As if you could.” He took a step forward. Was he going to attack her? How? That rage he was trying to suppress, it was spilling out; his hate was almost overwhelming him. “I owe you so much pain…but not yet. Isn’t there a saying here in Gehenna that revenge is a dish best served from the grave?”

  “You’re not dead.”

  “Oh, but I have been. For a long, long time.” He took another step forward. “Now get out of my way.”

  “No.”

  Lily extended her hand and tried to tear a shadow off the wall, in that dull space between the spread of the torchlight. Just enough to trap him…

  “Magic? This I’d like to see,” mocked Weaver.

  Lily pulled, but the strands just turned to smoke between her fingers. Her heart pounded as she tried to hold on to them. Every part of her ached.

  Senses spinning, Lily gazed at Weaver; then her vision darkened and she fell….

  Thorn longed to check on Lily.

  He didn’t want to be here, in the Night chambers with Baron Sable and Gabriel, listening to the Solar boy’s opinion on how to run Castle Gloom.

  “A torturer is what’s needed,” declared Gabriel. “I cannot believe Lilith doesn’t have one. We have three back at home, don’t we, Mr. Funny?”

  Mr. Funny jingle-jangled his head up and down on his scrawny neck. “Yes, Master. Three men with quick blades and hot pokers.”

  “Thank you for your suggestion,” said Baron Sable. “But as you’ve said, Castle Gloom does not have a torturer, and hasn’t for over three hundred years.”

  Gabriel scoffed. “It’s amazing you’ve not been overthrown, then.”

  “Like you?” snapped Thorn.

  Gabriel turned to look at him, a sneer cutting his face. “Baron Sable, is it really necessary to have this…peasant here?”

  Baron Sable brushed his mustache. Thorn wasn’t sure if it was because he was angry or smiling. “Young Thorn’s one of us, m’lord. He has as much right to be here as you.”

  Gabriel stood up and brushed his white jacket. “It’s an insult to compare a noble to a mere commoner, Baron.” He snapped his fingers, and his jester jumped up. “Let us be on our way, Mr. Funny. I have letters to write. My father will be very interested to hear of tonight’s events.”

  Thorn stepped aside, pausing only to swap scowls with Gabriel. They hated each other, and five minutes together was five minutes too long.

  Mr. Funny giggled nervously as they left.

  Thorn’s head ached badly. Dr. Byle had coated the cut on his scalp and bandaged it tightly, promising that he’d stop any brains from spilling out. Then he’d offered to swap Thorn’s brain for one in a jar he had on his desk. Thorn hadn’t laughed, and he’d gotten out of the infirmary before the doctor could grab his saw.

  Baron Sable filled a tall tankard with ale from a jug, then poured it back and drank from the jug instead. He glugged the whole contents down, not spilling a single drop. He gazed into the empty vessel and sighed. “What a mess.”

  “She saved my life,” said Thorn, propped up at the door. “Lily’s not to blame.”

  “You’re right. This is your fault. What in the name of the Six were you doing at Old Keep, boy?” He gestured irritatedly at a chair. “And sit down before you fall down. Your swaying is making me seasick.”

  “I’m perfectly fine—”

  Baron Sable growled, and Thorn sat down. And let his weariness seep out.

  I should be in bed. I should be under the covers with a hot chocolate in my belly and the warming pan for my toes.

  Or I should be dead.

  The baron stomped over to the door and bellowed, “Will someone get me more ale?”

  Thorn tried to find a position that didn’t hurt. Bruises covered every inch of him. His bruises had bruises.

  But he couldn’t rest. The castle was in chaos.

  Lily had used magic. She’d broken the first and greatest law of the New Kingdoms.

  All to save him.

  Word was that Ying and the rest of the Feathered Council had already left.

  So much for that marriage proposal.

  Thorn couldn’t help but be a little glad.

  He reached over to a glass of aqua vitae and let the cool, refreshing liquid run down his throat, warming as it went until he felt a happy glow in the pit of his stomach. “How much trouble is she in?”

  “As much as anyone can be. I warned her,” said the baron. “Everyone knew, of course, but as long as no one knew, then it didn’t matter.”

  “I get it, I think. So what? Lily rules Gehenna. She’s a Shadow. She can do what she likes.”

  “And that is where you are entirely wrong. The devil’s at the door, boy, and there’ll be hell to pay. You mark my words. Hell to pay.”

  As if they didn’t have enough to worry about already. “What about them zombies?” asked Thorn. “Where are we gonna put them now?”

  “The catacombs. Those we can find, that is. Half of them have roamed off. They could be anywhere by now.” He shouted again from the doorway. “More ale!”

  Something else was wrong, Thorn could tell. Baron Sable paced back and forth in the antechamber, pulling savagely at the ends of his mustache. It was more than Lily’s magic. He must have known she’d do something public, sooner or later.

  There was a nest of thin paper strips on the desk. The castle used the papers for sending coded messages via their bats. Thorn had worked with Tyburn long enough to learn the system. The executioner sent him up to collect the tiny scrolls from the belfry twice a day.

  “Bad news, m’lord?” Thorn asked.

  Baron Sable’s fist tightened, and he tensed, as if searching for something to lash out at. Then his shoulders sank. “Word from Baal’s legion.”

  Word from his legion. Not Baal himself.

  Baron Sable picked up a strip of paper. He rubbed his eyes. “They came across a party of trolls. Baal was leading a patrol along the west of the Troll-Teeth, by Grendel’s Gorge.”

  “Your son’s dealt with troll raiders before.”

  “It wasn’t a raiding party, Thorn. It was an army.” He waved the paper. “The Stonehammers, the Rockheads, and the Flintfists. Three clans’ worth of troll warriors.”

  Thorn knew what that meant. It meant hard times ahead. “So it’s true, the trolls have a king.”

  “My son needs me,” said the baron, looking weary and even a bit afraid.

  “What happened to Baal?”

  The baron shook his head. “No one knows. Half the patrol never made it back to camp.”

  “If the trolls break through and head south, we ain’t got the men to defend Castle Gloom. It’ll—”

  “Don’t you think I know that, boy?” snapped Sable. “What we need are allies, something we’ll be sorely lacking once word gets out regarding…Lady Shadow’s antics.�
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  “She could use her magic to protect Gloom. Just like her father did.”

  Sable scoffed. “Look what happened to her when she tried to protect you.”

  The door opened, and a servant came in, carrying a jug. He shuffled, achingly slowly, being careful not to spill a drop. The zombie stopped at the table and steadied himself with an arm that was barely attached with poor stitches. Then he began the process of lowering the jug onto the table. Sable snatched it from him. “Why does she bother? These zombies are useless.”

  Thorn shrugged. The zombies seemed to work well enough when Lily was around. Probably because she treated them nicely, he supposed. Wasn’t it the same for all servants? Treat them well, and they’ll do well in return.

  The baron gulped from the jug.

  Then spat it out. “This is vinegar! You…you…”

  “Uurh rurr rurh?”

  Slowly, despairingly, the baron sank down into a chair. He waved. “Leave. Just…leave.”

  “I should go and see her.” Thorn still hadn’t thanked Lily for saving him, and then there was the break-in at the Shadow Library. “I should check to make sure she’s all right.”

  “Lady Shadow does not need a smelly squire as a nursemaid. This matter will be picked up in the morning, and hopefully, we’ll have our executioner back by then. Whatever Tyburn’s up to, it’s taking too long. I’ve sent bats out to summon him because I can’t stay here. Those trolls aren’t going to kill themselves; they’ll be needing me to do it.” He turned to Thorn. “Get yourself back to the infirmary. Now.”

  There was no point arguing with the baron. Thorn stood and bowed. “Good night, m’lord.”

  “’Night, Thorn.” He put his hand on Thorn’s shoulder. “And for what it’s worth, I’m glad Lady Shadow saved you.”

  “Me too.”

  Thorn left and walked around the corner, then stopped. He waited and listened. The door closed, and he heard the chair creak as Sable sat down in it.

  The infirmary could wait. He needed to go to the dungeons first. To have a word with an old friend.

  All right, not exactly an old friend, but someone he’d spent a month chained to when he’d been a slave.