by Stuart Jaffe
“Well, they didn’t find me, so we won’t have to experience that.” She checked Tommy to make sure he paid attention. “While I don’t fear these soldiers, there are a lot of them. We should skirt around and see if we can find an easier path.”
“No,” Stray said. “You’re missing the situation. All three groups have camps like this one. I have no doubt. They’ve settled in here because this is where they lost you — the woman who stole the Artisoll. Since it’s logical that all three have made camp, they most likely all have planted spies in the camps of the others.”
Tommy demonstrated Malja’s predicament by walking two fingers on his palm, and then closing the palm in from all sides.
She nodded. “If we go around, we’ll hit another camp or another group of soldiers — someone will see us.”
“And with all the spies,” Stray said, “once one camp sees you, they all see you.”
“Is there another way around?”
“I doubt it. They will have all routes to the town covered. Especially the closer you go to Abrazkia’s home.” An ominous cloud crossed Stray’s hard skin. “I have a plan. It will separate me from you two, but it will work. When the way is clear, head straight through until you reach the town streets. From there, you should end up on Rower Road. Take that north and you’ll see the roof of Abrazkia’s place above the others. I assume you can figure the rest out on your own.”
“What are you going to do?”
“If you succeed, meet me back where we first arrived. Do you remember how we got here?”
“Of course.”
“If I don’t show by sunrise, then I’m dead.”
Malja looked to Tommy, sure that he would protest, but instead, she saw a firm expression on the young man’s face. He understood the plan without being told, and he showed Stray his respect by not putting up a futile argument. He had grown up. It could not be denied.
Stray untied his scabbards and set them aside. He removed the scimitars and spun one in each hand. Holding the weapons skyward, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. As he exhaled, he lowered the weapons and focused ahead.
Malja tapped Tommy’s shoulder. “Be ready.”
As if responding to an invisible bell, Stray sped off toward the camp, his arms pumping, flashing the polished scimitars against the fire and moonlight. He rushed at the cooks.
“Hey! What’re you doin’?” Lilt-voice said, pointing a finger.
With one swift motion, Stray cut off Lilt-voice’s entire arm. As Rasp-voice tried to react, Stray removed his head from his body. Enough noise had been made, however, and soldiers poured out of their tents — some curious, some confused, and a few already brandishing weapons.
Tommy moved toward the camp, but Malja grabbed his wrist. “Not yet. We have to wait for the spies.”
They watched as Stray killed or maimed a few soldiers before dashing deeper into the camp. With Stray out of sight, they continued to listen to the clang of metal-on-metal, and twice they heard the report of gunfire.
Tommy looked at Malja but she shook her head. “Not yet.”
A few minutes later, as the commotion died into the throat of the forest, Malja saw what she had waited for. More soldiers — these dressed in blue — hurried through the camp. Finally, the third group of soldiers — mustard and brown — worked their way toward the fight.
All the camps would have left plenty of soldiers behind, but sending these units along thinned the ranks considerably. More than enough. Without a word or a look, Malja took off. Tommy hurried right behind her. They bobbed along the edges of the camp, enveloped in the shadows of trees, protected by the noise and confusion Stray had created.
Once they reached the opposite side, they cut away toward the town. Faster than expected, they came upon the first streets. Though cleared of snow, an icy coating lay atop the stones. Both Malja and Tommy slipped and fell.
The thump of their fall filled the street. That was when Malja noticed the emptiness. A few candles lit a scattering of windows, but beyond that, not a sign of life.
Getting back up, careful to maintain her balance, she listened for anything that might betray an entire town hiding nearby. Nothing. It was late — perhaps they were all asleep. But how could so many sleep with three armed forces on all sides and the Artisoll missing? Then again, Malja had seen many townspeople cower under the threats of political upheaval. Yes, that made sense to her. Afraid of the shifting sands beneath them, they pulled the bedcovers over their heads and waited for the turmoil to end. But without the Artisoll’s Rising, these sands would continue to shift for a long and blood-soaked time.
With his arms out to keep balance, Tommy’s furtive steps inched him toward the street’s edge where the cleared snow had been piled. Once there, he walked along the side, using the snow to keep traction. Smart. Malja inched to the other side of the street and did the same.
They followed Stray’s directions and fast found Abrazkia’s home. It stood out among the others with its height and its unique architecture. Where the other buildings were narrow and constructed of gray and brown stones, Abrazkia’s towered high, took up most of the block, and involved masonry that the townspeople could not match — perfectly cut stones, chiseled abstract designs, and monstrous sculptures watching from high above.
The place also had a basement with a staircase leading down off the street. Malja waved Tommy over. At the bottom of the stairs, they found an unlocked, wooden door.
Possible trap, but Malja doubted it. There were too many bad outcomes to setting a trap for her when Abrazkia had no clue when or if Malja would ever return. In the meantime, the trap would be easily tripped by any number of random factors in an active town — curious children, cold soldiers, greedy looters. Without further delay, Malja grabbed the handle and shoved the door open.
Despite her reasoning, she still looked at Tommy and said, “Be cautious.”
They entered Abrazkia’s home.
Chapter 12
A warm mist hung in the dark basement. The reek of decay peppered the air. The exposed beams running straight into the stone walls looked aged and weak, threatening to bring down the entire first floor.
With Viper in hand, Malja walked across the wet floor. “This may have been a mistake.”
Tommy glanced at a tattoo on his elbow and light radiated from his body. The light didn’t reach far, but it served better than stumbling in darkness.
From what they could see, the basement appeared empty except for several crates in one corner. They had been chewed open by rats, and those same rats had been piled in the center — dead and rotting.
Tommy’s face expressed the question in Malja’s head — Why? She knew that the do-khas were powerful, but she didn’t see how they could possibly see into the future. So, she had to believe that Abrazkia still did not expect her arrival. Yet if this macabre scene had not been meant as a threat towards her, then what was its purpose?
She moved closer to the crates, paying particular attention to one that had its wood slats bursting outward instead of in. Tommy clapped his hands for her attention. The warning in his eyes stopped her. Whatever had been in that crate most likely had killed the rats.
Malja’s eyes widened. She heard a strange, rhythmic sound — breathing. Something lived in that basement. Her body tensed, and she lowered into a stance that braced her well — kept her standing should something check her from the mist.
Think, think, think. Whatever lived in here did not see well — might even be blind. If it could see, it would have reacted when Tommy’s magic produced its light. It needed warmth and a moist place to live. But scanning the basement showed no places to hide — no equipment, no discarded doors or painting or old furniture, not even a rickety staircase leading to the first floor. Nothing to protect a creature or for it to call home — other than the crates. Except the crates had been ruined by the rats. Even from where Malja stood, she could see well enough inside — nothing moved, nothing breathed, not a hint of anything h
arbored in the crates.
Which left the pile of dead rats.
As Malja peered through the mist, focusing her senses on the pile, Tommy moved to the opposite side and focused on a tattoo that had appeared on his wrist. Malja tried to ignore the way tattoos came and went upon his skin. She had never seen that happen for any other magician. But then, no other magician had been through such physically unusual experiences.
She shelved those thoughts. They would not help her survive the moment, and all she knew told her that this moment threatened her survival.
Turning Viper parallel to the floor, she twisted her waist so that when she struck, her whole body would spin into the attack. One clean slice through the middle of the disgusting pile would dispatch anything hiding in there. With a glance, she checked that Tommy understood what she planned to do. He nodded in reply.
Exhaling to relax her body and ensure the fastest motion possible, she released her energy. Viper smashed through the pile and dead rats exploded off to the walls. But Malja felt no resistance. She heard no cry of shock or pain.
That’s when the wooden beam above her moved.
It dropped the front half of its serpent body, and Malja swung hard as she hopped back. Viper cut across the creature’s back but no blood sprayed out, no cry of pain, nothing at all. A real wooden beam could be no harder than this thing’s hide.
Tommy darted to the corner with the crates and started a new spell. Malja sidestepped into a position on the other side, forcing the creature to face her and ignore Tommy. As it turned, she saw the underbelly of the beast — circles like cups lined its center, each one a jagged-toothed mouth. It had no legs. Only those mouths. It bit into the ceiling to cling and moved by inching along, gripping with some teeth, letting go with others, and leaving a trail of saliva behind.
Malja whirled Viper overhead and arced down with sheer power. When she hit the creature, her blade jolted to a stop. The shock traveled straight up her arm and into the bones of her shoulder.
Yanking Viper free, she grunted and repositioned. The creature swung its body back and forth like an elderly man with poor eyesight might swing a stick. Yet this thing knew it was close to her. Maybe it could smell her or hear her breathing. It certainly had the right vicinity.
Keeping part of her attention on the creature, she looked closer at the support beams. If she knocked them out, the entire ceiling would crash down and bury this thing. But that would bury Tommy and her as well. The door leading to the street stood off to her right, but Tommy sat on the far side of the room. He’d never be able to get to the door without being attacked.
The creature made an awful belch and shot forward. Malja leaped to the side, but it clipped her in the hip. She rolled on the floor, coming back up with Viper ready to counter any further attack.
So the thing had known where she was all along. It had toyed with her.
Tommy appeared no closer to casting a spell. Whatever he was trying to do, it wasn’t going to happen soon. Up to me, Malja thought.
She charged the creature, spinning, striking, and slicing her blade in every way she could manage. Chunks of the creature’s thick back flung off, yet it still paid no mind to the wounds. As she came around for another strike, the creature dashed towards her, caught her in the gut, and tossed her into Tommy. He fell to the floor, his concentration broken — the spell would have to be restarted.
“No time,” Malja said. “Give me something quick. Make an opening for me.”
Tommy splayed his fingers toward the creature and lightning arced from his fingertips. The first spell he ever knew — so old and familiar that he could cast it at will, never once having to concentrate on a tattoo. The electric charge struck the puddles on the floor as it reached across the room.
When the spell found its target, the creature’s numerous mouths opened in unison and howled their pain. Its body spasmed, and bile spewed out of its mouths. Tommy ceased his assault when the creature whined and toppled over.
Malja let a few minutes pass in respite. Her torn leg continued to trouble her. She should have been able to kill this beast without any problems, yet her precise strikes failed. With her injury, she had lost some of her strength. She couldn’t get her whole body’s power behind each attack. Her do-kha kept the leg working, but she now admitted that nothing would help completely. She would have to find the time to allow her body rest and recuperation.
Tommy gestured toward the ceiling — a small square cutout with a handle on one end and hinges on the opposing side.
“I was wondering how we were getting upstairs,” Malja said.
She caught the latch using Viper like a simple hook and tugged it open. After boosting Tommy up, she clutched his arm and climbed through. The basement access led them into a kitchen.
Calling it a kitchen seemed inadequate, though. Malja had never seen such a sparkling clean yet industrious-looking space. Spotless metal pots and pans hung from the ceiling. Two tiled counters stretched across the lengthy room while two metal workstations ran along the walls. These stations included glimmering sinks, enormous metal cabinets that hummed disconcertingly, wide, flat sections with knobs, and contraptions overhead like metal mouths wanting to suck up whatever cooked beneath them.
Except nowhere did she see a fireplace. How could all that food Abrazkia had presented before been produced in a fireless kitchen?
Tommy snapped his fingers. He pointed down one of several halls that connected to the kitchen. Malja nodded. They had to start their search somewhere — and she had no desire to remain in this bizarre room any longer than necessary.
At a brisk pace, they covered one hall after another. They found decorated rooms, all spotlessly clean and meticulously arranged — pictures, chairs, books, and flowers all like an acting troupe’s stage waiting for the play to begin. Strange enough on its own, but stranger still — Malja had not seen sign of anybody around. No servants, no slaves, nobody that would explain the care taken for this house. And nothing would allow Malja to believe that Abrazkia spent her days with a rag in hand, dusting every room, and scrubbing every floor.
After several halls produced no results, Tommy made a series of hand gestures that confused Malja at first. She caught the first sign — Harskill — as well as the idea of torture and their search. But only after three repetitions did she figure out that Tommy wondered if they were wrong. Perhaps they had not found a secret dungeon because one did not exist. Perhaps Harskill was not a prisoner at all but an accomplice.
“No,” Malja said. “He’s here against his will — somewhere. I know exactly why you’re suspicious and that’s good. You’re right. We should be cautious and we shouldn’t trust Harskill. Don’t worry. I don’t trust him. But I saw the way he was with Abrazkia. I can’t believe he’s here willfully.”
Tommy pointed at Malja and mimed stepping through a portal. Then he gestured to the room.
“Yes, we willfully came here, but that was different. We had been to several other worlds first. I’m starting to think this was his last hope of finding a Gate that might talk with us — even if that talk was filled with hatred towards him. I think he did it for me. Besides, if you were right, why haven’t they attacked us yet? Or at least invited us to sit down and talk? Or anything?”
Hushing her with his finger to his lips, Tommy gazed upward. Malja listened to the staccato taps of a fast, purposeful walk. Somebody was upstairs.
They sped down the hall, found one of several staircases, and climbed to the second floor. As they searched, Malja entered the dining hall she had been in before. Wood boards had been nailed across the shattered window, but otherwise, nothing pointed to her earlier actions.
Door after door was opened. Room after room was examined. No sign of Harskill was found.
Malja moved faster, careless of being heard, eager to either locate Harskill or be done with this place. Tommy emerged from a room at the end of one hall. He shook his head and pointed upward. Malja agreed. They climbed the nearest set of s
tairs and explored the third floor.
When she opened the fourth door and peered in, she saw another bedroom, but this time the furniture had been dismantled and set aside. As she moved to close the door, her eye caught the motion of a shadow slipping behind a headboard. It reminded her of her do-kha when she took it off to bathe.
She stepped in the room. On the floor, near the center, she spied two dark splotches — blood. It looked as if Harskill had been brought here at some point. Possibly beaten — except the walls looked clean. A punch would have sent blood spattering against the wall. In order to get little splotches on the floor without any spatter, Harskill would have to be ...
Malja gazed up at the ceiling.
There he was — naked, bruised, and chained flat against the crossbeams. The thick chains glowed a greenish hue. Magic of some kind. His hair dangled with sweat, and though nothing covered his mouth, he could not speak. More magic.
Without his do-kha, he couldn’t create a portal and escape. Without his voice, he couldn’t call for help. Chained to the ceiling, he was unable to utilize anything in the room.
When Tommy entered, Malja said, “Looks like a prisoner to me. Or do you think he might be faking?”
Tommy cocked his head and put his hands on his hips.
Malja pulled back the headboard and found what she had expected — Harskill’s do-kha. She swiped it from the floor and tossed it to Tommy. “Those chains look like magic to me. You think you can get him down? Break the spell or something?”
Tommy pointed to himself with an incredulous expression.
“Okay, no need to get riled up. You can do it. So, do it. Give him the do-kha when he’s down. It’ll help him heal.”
From the hallway, Abrazkia’s soft purring voice said, “Ah, Malja, you’ve finally arrived.”
Tommy shot a pointed look at Malja. She glared back at him. She never liked his I told you so look — especially when he was right.