Nikkolynda dropped his wand and cursed again, then froze as his gaze settled on the lake behind the new assailant. Lying almost level with the surface, Nikkolynda sensed more than saw a subtle trace of energy intermixed with the sparkling reflection of the moon. He pushed himself away from the troll and risked focusing his arcane senses on the Cauldron. It took only an instant to confirm his thoughts: Malthus had prepared the lake with an enchantment of some sort. Entering the water would be, at best, fatal.
The troll roared and sprang forward with surprising speed. Nikkolynda began a desperate chant and threw one arm across his face defensively, but the troll kicked it aside and landed a foot in the wizard's chest hard enough to drive the wind from his lungs. Stunned, unable to even draw a new breath, Nikkolynda lay sprawled on the grass and watched the troll reach for him. Just as its claw-tipped finger grazed his cheek, a winged figure slammed into the troll's chest and drove it backward, toward the Cauldron.
* * * * *
Hawkin hit the troll feet first, bouncing off its chest as he had the spider's eyes. The creature massed even more than he'd expected; sharp lances of pain shot up both the flyer's legs and for a moment he feared he'd broken an ankle. The sensation subsided quickly, however, and the attack was successful—the troll staggered away from Nikkolynda. The Prime Wizard took the opportunity to scramble away and begin scrabbling around on the ground for something. Hawkin spotted the object of the wizard's search immediately. The wand he'd dropped lay close to the edge of the lake, a few feet away from the troll. Across the glen Malthus was on his feet and shouting.
“The warlock!” Hawkin shouted. “Kill the warlock!” He had no idea whether or not Nikkolynda could do so, but Hawkin was certain that his own chances were fairly close to nil. He dove at the troll again and managed to keep its attention away from Nikkolynda, but the creature was ready for him this time. Hawkin sheered away as the troll whipped its net in a vicious arc. The webbing flared out and just brushed the flyer's boots as he climbed away.
He debated landing and fighting with his rapier but immediately discarded the idea. He'd seen how fast the troll had moved when pursuing Nikkolynda and knew the creature's preternatural speed far outmatched his own agility. Too, he wasn't convinced he could force the slender weapon through the troll's thick hide.
Seeing him wing toward the moon, the troll turned its attention back to Nikkolynda. The wizard stood facing Malthus and traced patterns in the air with his wand, chanting with his eyes closed and one hand pressed to his forehead.
Hawkin decided on a course of action abruptly and banked back toward the troll. He'd gained a decent altitude and used it now to his advantage, tucking his body into a streamlined shape as he dove at the creature of the lake. It sensed him coming and whipped about, roaring in defiance with a deep voice that echoed in harmony with the crash of the waterfall. This time, Hawkin didn't alter his course. He plummeted straight toward the troll with his wings folded back at a sharp angle. When he knew he couldn't miss the target he wrenched one hand from the directional and drew his rapier.
Though he immediately spread the opposite wing the move threw Hawkin into a tight spin. He managed to thrust the rapier forward as he fell and the tip pierced the troll's breast. Half a foot of steel sank into the thick body before the rapier snapped. So great was Hawkin's momentum that the broken portion of the rapier impaled the troll a second time. He crashed into the massive beast at full speed, smelled the foul eruption of blood from its chest and felt the hot spray over his arm. He and the troll screamed in unison as his wrist broke beneath the pressure of the collision. The troll stumbled backward with both pieces of Hawkin's rapier protruding from its chest, and the flyer turned and sprinted away. He thrust his free arm through the directional again, nearly passing out at the inferno in his wrist as the leather loop slid onto his arm. He reached the edge of the Cauldron and leaped for the sky.
A roar of fury filled the canyon as the troll bolted after him. Great gouts of blood poured from its mouth but the creature refused to die without one last attempt on the strange winged man who'd delivered the mortal wound. The troll cast its net just before collapsing into a squirming, choking heap at the edge of the lake. It fell still just as the net settled over Hawkin's back.
Agony shot through Hawkin's arm with every beat of his wings. He had no strength on that side; it was a struggle just to maintain a symmetrical wingspread, much less climb. He'd only managed to gain ten or fifteen feet over the surface of the lake before the loose ends of the webbed rope stung his cheek. He recognized immediately what had snared him and clapped his arms together desperately, unmindful of the liquid fire pouring through his wrist. The net fouled his glider thoroughly, however, and in the flash of a heartbeat Hawkin knew he wouldn't again drift on the peaceful winds above his home. He managed to roll to his back as he fell and the soft glow of the moon filled his vision as he plunged into the Cauldron.
* * * * *
The lake exploded into a great detonation of water, as if a boulder many times the mass of Hawkin had been dropped into the center rather than the flyer himself. A ring of waves washed out from the point of impact, breaking over the shore to drench the cooling body of the troll. The accompanying crack of thunder actually rent the rock wall of the canyon; a jagged fissure appeared high in the stone expanse and a shower of pebbles sprinkled down. The last word of Nikkolynda's spell died in his throat as the shock wave hit him in the back and dashed him to the ground. The wand bounced from his hand to lay inert in the grass, then the wall of water from the Cauldron splashed over the ground and carried it even farther from his grasping fingers. He heard the light, crystal sounds of something breaking as shards of clay tumbled past his face. The wizard's muscles refused to obey as he tried to drag himself to his feet. His arms burned and his legs were simply numb but sheer force of will set them in motion.
Something scurried over his hand. Nikkolynda shook his head to clear water and sweat from his eyes. It was a spider, a tiny one, but one of hundreds scrambling from the wreckage of the pot Malthus had thrown. To Nikkolynda's horror the wriggling horde already covered a good portion of his robes. His arms were caked with them and he felt more running up his neck and onto his cheeks. Slapping at his arms, he tried to shout the words that would activate the amulet on his chest. No sound came—his mouth was abruptly filled by a sweet, sticky substance. Silk, he realized. The spiders had gagged him with their silk.
Nikkolynda fought even harder, physically, dropping completely to the ground to crush the tiny aggressors with his body. He reached for his mouth with one hand and found it already covered with a thick mitten of the sticky thread. Dozens of crushed bodies clung to his robe or were ensnared in the webs, but uncountable numbers of living spiders remained. In a short time both of Nikkolynda's hands were trapped, fingers completely immobilized in a dense wad of silk. The spiders scattered abruptly as a pair of sandaled feet appeared beside the trussed wizard's head.
“Fortunately,” said Malthus, “I didn't tell them what you did to their larger cousin.” The Weirdling laughed, but the sound turned into a choking cough halfway through and the warlock knelt next to Nikkolynda's prone body. He matched the wizard's unblinking stare and raised a hand to rub at his own temple.
“You were more of a match than I expected,” he said. “Perhaps I overestimated my abilities. Then again, you're guilty of the same transgression, and only one of us is paying the ultimate price tonight. You should have marshaled your wizards and hunted me down, Nikkolynda. You could have forced me to abandon my plans and flee, had your pride allowed for help from your lackeys. How fortunate for me that the most powerful man in Hurst was, well, still a man."
The warlock glanced at the corpse of the troll, then at the Cauldron. The surface of the lake had settled again but the currents of arcane energy still danced across the water. “I'm sure you'll appreciate the lengths I went to in preparing your new home. Your physical body, of course, will be destroyed, as I have no use for it. You
r life force, however, will be broken up into infinitesimal bits and bounced around quite happily by the Cauldron. I wanted a way to call on your spirit, you see, should the need arise. Of course, I'm not sure what effect your winged boy will have. I'd only anticipated capturing one human tonight."
A gargling noise arose from Nikkolynda's throat.
“Oh, no, no,” said Malthus. “Don't think I'm stupid enough to let you speak. I'm thoroughly worn out and don't want to go through the trouble of subduing you again. Still, let me give you something to think about for the next hundred years or so."
Malthus stood up and set his toe under Nikkolynda's shoulder. He rolled the wizard onto his side and stepped backward, reaching into a pouch as he walked. From the pouch he withdrew a golden ring, whose flattened face was surrounded by green stones. On the face was inscribed the Imperial insignia of Hurst. Malthus noted the recognition in Nikkolynda's eyes and nodded. He slipped the ring onto his finger and began to change.
The pointed ears melted away as extra flesh swelled onto his jaws and cheeks. The unnatural blue glow of his eyes subsided, paling into the watery, bloodshot gaze of a drunkard. His nose spread flatter and his mouth stretched a bit wider. Even his fingers thickened. Though he still wore the torn robes of the warlock, in seconds Nikkolynda found himself staring at Prince Darien.
“Can you even guess,” said Malthus, “how miserable it is to be Darien? Imagine it—the Emperor's bastard pretending to be the Emperor's younger son, and how? By spending day after day with those lowlife, filthy creatures that Theodoric calls his subjects. I almost wish I'd left the task to the real Darien but, alas, he's been beyond such things for nearly ten years."
Nikkolynda rolled back onto his stomach as he struggled against the silk encasement around his hands. He kicked himself to a sitting position and wiped at his mouth desperately with the bulb of web at the end of his arm, but his efforts proved completely fruitless. Malthus looked up at the moon, which had begun to disappear behind the rim of the canyon wall.
“Enough of such things,” said the warlock. “Time for me to return to Hurst. It wouldn't do for both the Prime Wizard and the younger heir to vanish in one night. Perhaps we'll speak again, wizard, when I hold your spirit in an ethereal chain. Until then, let me give you one more thing to ponder."
Malthus closed his eyes and began to chant. His brow wrinkled as he concentrated and sweat dripped from under his hair, but his hands remained clamped at his sides. A strange falling sensation twisted Nikkolynda's guts as he rose into the air, kicking desperately but helpless to stop the motion. Despite the impending peril the wizard marveled at the warlock's performance—at the very least, Nikkolynda would have required a carefully prepared wand to achieve such a levitation.
His wonderment vanished abruptly as he drifted out over the water's edge. With no defense possible, he fell still and resorted to glaring at Malthus until he was positioned above the center of the Cauldron. The warlock's eyes opened and he smiled with Prince Darien's mouth.
“Good-bye, wizard,” he called, and Nikkolynda plunged into the lake.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Alexander followed Kandys through the back alleys of Hurst, painfully aware that the thief traveled at half the pace she could have without him. The transformation he'd witnessed over the course of the day was remarkable. The frightened young women he'd met just days earlier was gone, replaced by a confident, eager professional. She had gone through his clothing, grimacing as she deemed his meager wardrobe completely unacceptable. They spent a few hours seeking more suitable wear for the night's task in Shipman's Plaza, then visited an apothecary and a magician. The latter had remained hidden behind a slotted wooden panel, pushing small wrapped packages to Kandys in response to coded phrases and various coins.
The worst part of the preparation had involved forcing himself to sleep in the early evening. Though Kandys had consented to sharing the bed with him, he had stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours while the thief dropped off to sleep in a matter of minutes. When she'd finally shaken him awake in the middle of the night Alexander had desired to do nothing more than roll over and go back to sleep.
“Why wait ’til so close to dawn?” he'd asked. “It's dark enough a long time before that."
“Guards are most lax in the early morning hours,” Kandys said. “Also, the later into the night you wait, the better chance that people who stayed up longer than usual will have fallen asleep."
Despite being aware of his lack of experience Alexander found the journey through nocturnal Hurst oddly exhilarating. They skulked through alleys and side streets, pressing themselves to the walls or freezing in shadowed doorways whenever a crier appeared. At one point Kandys led him up an ivy-laden trellis, past a window through which the sounds of conversation and a flute player drifted. They took to the rooftops, nearly sprinting across a row of low peaks. Kandys skipped easily along the steep slopes, slowing only to be sure Alexander kept up. He saw her leap just in time to realize that an alley was approaching; though the open space only spanned a few feet, his breath caught in his throat as he soared over the empty expanse. Ahead, Kandys slid to a stop. She grabbed Alexander's arm and dragged him to the side of a wide chimney, where they sat down and huddled close together.
“You made a little too much noise landing,” she whispered, lips pressed close to his ear. “There's a flyer overhead and I want to be sure he goes on before we do."
Alexander felt suddenly foolish with the realization that looking up had never occurred to him. He craned his neck slowly and noticed for the first time that their dash was aided by a completely overcast sky. Only weak illumination penetrated the thick layer of clouds. Straining his eyes, he finally picked out the shadowy form wheeling above them.
“Can he see us?” he whispered.
“They're chosen partly for their good eyesight. If he sees us, we'll know. They carry flares to draw the attention of the city guard."
Alexander returned to watching the flyer until Kandys nudged him gently. “Look,” she whispered and put her hand on the back of his neck, guiding his head. At first he saw nothing, then his eyes adjusted a bit more to the weak light cast upward by the street lamps. Two blocks away, atop another roof, a figure crouched in the relative safety of another chimney. Alexander could just make out the blob of a body and shape of the other's head.
“Who is it?”
“I don't recognize him,” said Kandys. “He's a thief, though, and local. He flashed us a sign a few minutes ago."
They waited a bit longer before she indicated they should continue. They traversed a few more buildings then used a pair of pipes alongside a wall to return to the ground. Alexander wondered if the gnomes realized how much their plumbing techniques contributed to the underworld element of Hurst. He told himself to remember the night's lessons when he returned to his work in Addamantia, assuming that such a day occurred.
Minutes later, Kandys halted between two nondescript wooden walls. The alley disappeared into the gloom only a few feet away from Alexander's face but he sensed the looming height of the walls and realized they stood behind Tarlsman's warehouse.
“Now to find a way in."
“I take it the big doors in front are out?"
“Right. Cargo doors always have the heaviest locks, and probably a crossbar to boot."
“There's a regular door next to the wagon entry."
She set off down the back of the building, and he heard the brush of her hand against the wall. “That's where the guard'll be sitting, nine times out of ten. There's always a door in the back, though."
“Always?” Alexander said, following her voice in the darkness. He put a hand on the wall himself and prayed he wouldn't trip over the thief whenever she stopped.
“Naturally. Wouldn't you want more than one exit in case the building catches on fire?"
“Good point,” said Alexander, then he did run into her. His chest hit her in the shoulder and propelled the small woman into the edg
e of the doorway where she'd stopped.
“Sorry.”
Kandys sighed and he felt her hand on his. “Feel this,” she said, and led his hand to an iron plate in the side of the door. “Single pin with an unshielded chamber. Cheap lock, but there's probably a keyless bolt in there as well."
“You can pick this in the dark?"
“No need. Some fool left the transom open. Lift me up."
Alexander cupped his hands and tried not to flinch as a knee suddenly appeared an inch before his face. Kandys's weight landed on his shoulders and sprang off again so quickly he was certain the thief had fallen off into the alley. When he didn't hear the sound of a body hitting the packed dirt he stepped back from the door and peered up through the gloom. He could just barely make out the square, darker shadow of the open window and wondered how Kandys had perceived the propped-up shutter.
The slight scrape of iron against wood interrupted his thoughts and he felt the change in air currents against his face as the door swung open. The room immediately beyond was dark, but a lantern in a further chamber cast a bit of illumination, enough for him to see Kandys's slender figure waiting inside. He stepped in and closed the door but left both bolts open.
Kandys held a finger to her lips and motioned him forward. They skulked past a large rolltop desk and an iron safe, which was bolted to the floor. The wall next to the door was a series of cubbyholes, from which protruded tubes of rolled-up parchment. Unlit lanterns hung from pegs on each wall and the scent of old tobacco permeated the wood, tinged with the sweeter fragrance of consumed oil. Crouching on opposite sides of the open interior door, they peered through at the vast, open chamber of the warehouse.
The guard caught Alexander's attention immediately. The man's prodigious belly shook in time with his snores as he slept away his shift in a chair next to the wagon entrance, which was situated almost straight across from the small office where he and Kandys hid. A thick, gnarled length of wood with one end sanded into a grip lay next to the guard's chair, along with the scraps of a roasted chicken and a large tankard. Alexander grinned despite his tension; perhaps burglary required little more than an astute knowledge of human nature.
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