†
“Hand me a paper and pen,” Danica said before she opened her eyes. “And be quick about it.”
Bryn, having remembered Danica’s state after she met Elias in the dream world, complied without so much as a comment. She, along with the rest of the anxious party watched Danica as she silently scribbled on the paper. The White Habit read over her work, made a quick note, and then nodded to herself. She rolled up the slip of parchment and asked, “What time is it?”
Ogden checked his clock. “Half past one.”
Danica nodded. “Good. That gives us just over five hours.”
“Before what, pray tell?” asked Eithne. “Danica, what did you learn?”
“Oh, not much,” Danica said with a bright smile, “just how to help Elias and stabilize the anomaly.”
Ogden and Phinneas exchanged glances. “How do you propose we do that?” asked the wizard.
“We’re going to need to go to Arcalum. Here’s a list of the things I’ll need.”
Chapter 48
Vault
“Here, we’ll need to move these desks,” Danica said.
“Those things must weigh two hundred pounds apiece,” said Lar.
“Agreed,” said Danica. “Ogden, would you be so good as to save poor Lar’s back and use magic or something to take care of those.”
Ogden grunted. “By all means, Your Highness.”
If Danica heard the sarcasm in his voice, she didn’t let on. She was too absorbed in studying the ground-floor chamber of the Rook’s Nook. “Someone light that lantern.” She went around the room and snuffed out the spells in the four enchanted torch scones. The other party members—Ogden, Lar, Bryn, Phinneas, Eithne, and old Leoman—watched her go about her business without comment, but Danica could feel the weight of their eyes, and their doubt.
Danica waited for Ogden to use a psychokinetic spell in conjunction with Lar’s brawn to move the ponderous triad of desks out of the center of the chamber. She then consulted her notes and counted out ten paces from the furthest torch sconce. She examined the floor and looked back to the sketch on her slip of paper. Satisfied, she rolled the parchment back up and slipped it into her pocket. “Lar, the pickaxe.”
Lar brought over the pickaxe and held it out to her. Danica snorted. “What am I to do with that?” She pointed to the floor. “See that brick, there? Start there. You should break through in no time.”
“I suppose some things will never change,” Lar said, but the truth was he was glad to have something to do other than drilling with Blackwell or the Marshals, or sitting on his hands.
“Drinks are on me tonight,” Danica said.
“Deal,” said Lar. He raised the pickaxe over his head and went to work.
Leoman screeched. “Ogden, Your Grace! I must protest! This is...this is...”
“Madness?” said Danica as Lar’s pickaxe bit into the stone with a sharp sound. “I’m sure it must seem so, but trust me. You’ll be thrilled in about ten minutes.”
Leoman stuttered out a string of indecipherable words, perhaps in another language. Ogden laid a hand on his shoulder. “Easy, old friend. I’m sure Danica knows what she is doing.”
“Indeed,” said Eithne. “Our Danica knows her business well, but perhaps it is time, dear child, that you tell us what we are all doing here.”
“I was always so fixated on the top floors that I over looked the obvious. A structure this tall can’t stand without a basement foundation, but yet there’s no apparent entrance. Why? The top floors are a decoy. The real treasure is buried below. I never stopped to think why the floor of the chamber is made from soft brownstone when the rest of the tower is made of granite.”
“It’s because it’s a, well, softer look,” said Leoman. “It was an aesthetic choice I imagine.”
“And the crystal chandelier on the ceiling?” asked Danica, as powdered brown stone flitted around the chamber from Lar’s rhythmic pickaxe falls.
Leoman threw up his hands. “Arcalum once had deep pockets. Forget you that this tower is an architectural marvel?”
“Which is precisely why it needs a basement,” said Danica.
“Honestly,” cried the flustered librarian, “how much longer must we endure this spectacle?”
Lar pulled up his pickaxe and wiped sweat from his brow. He shot Danica a grin. “I think I found something.”
“What is it?” asked Leoman, curiosity getting the better part of his ire.
Ogden and Phinneas drew close as Lar pulled the rubble aside, while the others looked on. “A granite subfloor,” Ogden said. His eyes narrowed and he gasped.
“Yes, I see it too,” Phinneas said.
Leoman craned his neck trying to see over the shoulders of Bryn and Eithne, both of whom were taller than him. “What?”
“There’s some kind of spellform under the brownstone,” Ogden said.
“What’s its function?” asked Eithne.
As one the party turned their eyes to Danica who said, “According to the time mage, it’s a seal that leads to Arcalum’s vault.”
The room fell silent as the gravity of Danica’s words settled upon them. It was Leoman who broke the silence by saying, “Did you bring just the one pickaxe?”
After a quarter of an hour they had hauled all of the bricks of the false floor to the perimeter of the room, revealing an ornate spellform etched into the floor. An inscription in a flowing script encircled the spellform. Danica ran a finger along the writing. “What language is this?” she asked. The characters had no resemblance to any of the letters used in any of the languages spoken in Agia. “It looks something like the runes on Elias’s sword, but different.”
Ogden looked to Leoman, who shook his head. “I’ve heard tell of this tongue,” said Ogden, “though I have never seen it. It’s High Eurinthian, a language devoted solely to the arcane arts.”
“If legend is to be believed,” said Leoman, “each word of High Eurinthian spoken was a spell in of itself. Rather a bit of exaggeration I imagine. Still, this alone would be the discovery of the century, notwithstanding what lays below.”
Danica consulted her pocket watch. “Bar the doors, Leoman. Time grows short.” After the librarian complied she handed a fist-sized orb of amethyst to each of the arcanists, Ogden, Phinneas, and Leoman. “Put these in the torch sconces. Bryn, do you have that gold dust?”
Bryn produced a gem satchel from her pocket. “All of it that was in the treasury. Miserly old Dugan must have read the order slip a dozen times.”
Danica took the satchel and opened it. “Rasen said that gold is an excellent conductor of arcane energy.” She looked up at the chandelier that hung over the center of the spellform. “Quartz as well.” She busied herself with siphoning off the gold dust into the recessed lines of the spellform with a careful hand. Satisfied that she had followed Rasen’s instructions adequately she stood and went to stand below one of the torch scones.
“What now?” asked Leoman.
“Take your key to the tower and insert it into the hole in the center of the spellform,” answered Danica.
Leoman crept over the spellform with small steps, took a knee in the center, and slid his cylindrical key into the hole. It clicked after it went in, the thumb-sized crystal orb at the apex of the key the only visible part. The librarian looked up at Danica, disappointment written clearly on his features.
“Fear not,” said Danica, “there remains one final task. Leoman, Ogden, Phinneas—I need each of you on one of the torch sconces.” She reached over her head and pushed on the sconce. It groaned and shifted a hair. “It’s in want of oil, but the old wizards knew their craft. It still works. Lar, a little help. I can barely reach this thing.”
Lar padded over to her and mimicked her gesture. The sconce swung up toward the wall. “That’s it,” said Danica. “Keep going, but make sure the amethyst doesn’t fall out.” Lar complied and with a shuddering creak the sconce swung up until it rested against the wall and its stem, which too was capped in
crystal, pointed up at the chandelier.
“Good,” said Danica, “now the others.”
After Lar had assisted the others with their sconces Ogden peered up at the chandelier and said, “Now what?”
“The sconces are enchanted with old magic,” Danica said. “Feed raw magic into them and they should take care of the rest.”
“Sounds simple enough,” said the wizard.
Danica clicked open her pocket watch and chewed on her bottom lip. “Just a couple more minutes.”
“Why do you keep on looking at that thing?” Bryn asked.
“Timing is of the essence, or so I was told,” said Danica. “The time mage explained that there are multiple timelines where different versions of history are played out.”
“That is one of the theories philosophers have discussed since they first conceived of the fantasy of time travel,” said Phinneas slowly.
“Evidently it’s no fantasy,” said Danica. “The time mage said that it’s fact, and there are timelines beyond count.”
“Danica,” said Eithne, “I think it’s time you explain how your theories apply to what’s happening at Lucerne.”
“Elias did fall through a portal of sorts,” Danica said, “but not into another realm, as we had supposed.” Danica took a breath. “Elias fell forward in time. He is centuries in the future. And if we don’t help him rewrite history we are all doomed.”
A silence fell over the chamber, until the queen said, “Lead on, Danica.”
The White Habit checked her watch once more. “It’s time.”
Danica raised her hand to her sconce and reached for her magic. She closed her eyes and her hand warmed as she plummeted into the void. She looked up. Fiery script, hitherto invisible, sprung up on the sconce, corkscrewing from basket to stem. A sound like popping embers cut the silence and a beam of white energy lanced from the crystal point and shot to the chandelier. A low pitched hum filled the chamber as beams from the other sconces followed suit and lit up the chandelier.
A halo bright as the corona of the sun gathered around the chandelier. The individual crystals of the chandelier vibrated until the sound drowned out even the thundering of Danica’s heart. The energy collected in the chandelier beamed down to the spellform, lighting up Leoman’s key. The gold dust turned to molten liquid instantly and then sublimated as the script encircling the spellform began to glow.
The whisper of stone sliding against stone filled the chamber as the energy beam abruptly winked out. Danica staggered, her senses momentarily overcome by the tumult of arcane energy in the room and the jolt of the arcane backlash that surged up her arm and through her body when the spell winked out. When her bearings returned some handful of beats later, she saw that she was not the only one so affected. Ogden leaned upon the spry Phinneas, who looked reasonably hale despite the ordeal, while Leoman had sunk to his haunches against the wall, his head bowed against his knees.
Deciding the librarian looked the worse off, Danica went to check on him. Bryn had gotten to him first and helped Leoman get his feet back under him. Danica took a quick look at him, though he tried to wave her off. She decided his vital signs were stable, if a bit elevated. “The secrets below must be wondrous indeed if this is what it takes to gain entrance,” the librarian remarked.
“And dangerous,” answered Danica.
Danica found Lar standing by the opening in the floor, peering into the chamber below with a hand on his sword. She joined her stout-hearted friend. The time mage had been good to his word. The floor had split in the center of the spellform and slid to either side to reveal a spiral staircase that wound to a small antechamber some twenty feet below.
Danica turned as the queen came to stand beside her. Eithne squeezed her hand and said, “Lead on.”
They stole down the stairs, as solemn as a clerical procession. Set opposite the staircase against the far wall was a smooth and black granite door. An ornate triangular spellform drawn in silver was embossed in the center of the door. Seven tumblers, like those featured on complex locks, bisected the spellform, but instead of numbers the tumblers featured characters of High Eurinthian.
“Brimstone!” swore Leoman. “I wonder how many combinations there are?”
Danica produced her slip of notes. “There are ten character sets on each tumbler.”
Leoman’s face screwed up as he did the math. “Why that’s...that...”
“More than a little,” Danica said dryly. “Now hush everyone, I need to concentrate.” She consulted her notes. Rasen had made her repeat the litany time and again until he was satisfied that she had the line of verse committed to memory as well as the pronunciation, for not only did one have to place the tumblers in order but also speak the incantation to gain entrance to the chambers that lay beyond.
Danica spun the tumblers into place and double checked them. She offered up a silent prayer to whoever watched over fledgling arcanists trying to save history and then began to recite the incantation. “Eckrota En-kra Venaro Osh Ehm-jo Yhanna Rahn!”
The tumblers spun and reset and heavy, clunking sounds, like multiple jail cell doors slamming open, echoed down the corridor. The party flinched to a man, save Danica who stood tall and held her ground. The door swung inward revealing a wide hall lined in luminescent limestone.
Without missing a beat Danica strode into the hallway. “The sixth door on the right is where we’re headed. And be sure not to touch anything. My benefactor led me to believe that a whole host of unpleasant things could befall the unwary.”
Despite her warning, and her single-mindedness on the task at hand, Danica’s eyes couldn’t help but wander. The hall stretched on for perhaps five-hundred feet and was peppered with dozens of doors. While the general décor of the cavernous hall was uniform with limestone façade and flooring, alabaster statuary, lustrous gilding, and strips of lapis lazuli with stars of pyrite, the doors themselves couldn’t be more varied. By Danica’s guess they were made of assorted materials from hard granite to soft gypsum, from pewter to platinum. Some featured ornate spellforms that seemed to spin or writhe when seen from the corner of the eyes. Many featured tumblers like those on the main door, while others had only writing in the mystic and flowing script of Eurinthium. Some had only gemstones or orbs set into the face of the door, some were sheer and featureless. As diverse as each door was they all had one thing in common: not a one of them bore a doorknob or lock, at least not in the conventional sense.
Danica heard the others murmuring amongst themselves, but she didn’t listen for she had reached her quarry, the sixth door on the right. She checked her watch. She had to open the strongbox, which Rasen called an Infinity Chest, in five minutes, so she supposed now was as good time as any to open the door. This door was simple, featuring neither ornate spellforms nor filigree, and made from a single slab of black granite. Eight tumblers at eye level were its only notable feature. Danica did not need to consult her slip of notes, for the numbers Rasen had told her were burned into her mind. The combination was the date of this very day. Rasen had planned for her, and moreover he knew when, and how, to reach her. The mystery remained by what art, but she had more important things to worry about then the minutia of time travel and the limits of the time mage’s powers.
She turned the tumblers to the date and with a push of her hand the door swung inward. Again Danica heard the murmur of conversation behind her, and again their voices passed over her like background noise.
A strongbox hovered against the far wall, a sphere of energy cocooning it. Two bookshelves lined the east and west walls, no doubt containing spells and knowledge of the ancient world. These things, however, held no interest for Danica. The small chest on the pedestal in the center of the room was what she had come for.
The chest, and indeed the entire pedestal and dais upon which it stood, was enveloped by not one but two hemispheres of softly thrumming energy. The time mage called them containment fields. It would seem the time mage’s journal had contain
ed a primer of the knowledge she would need to carry out his plan. She had no doubt that Rasen had somehow planted the journal in the Rook’s Nook for her to find.
To Danica the containment fields looked like the magical shields she had seen Ogden conjure to ward off missiles, magical or otherwise. The first shield was the silver-white of lightning, and would pose little hindrance. The second was composed of threads of pale red energy that were woven together in a complex tapestry. Danica herself did not have the requisite skill or power to unmake the shield, but that shouldn’t be a problem, if her timing was correct.
“You lack the knowledge to pick the second containment field,” Rasen had said, “and I haven’t the time to teach you the techniques you’d need. Yet, if you work within the timeframe I’ve given you, we should be able to pull it off.”
“I hope you have yet more passwords scrawled on your scroll,” said Ogden. “It would take me days of studying that containment field to begin to unlock it, if I even could.”
“Leoman,” said Danica, “I’ll be needing your key.”
“Very well,” said Leoman after a moment. He took the enchanted rod that hung around his neck that served as a key to the stacks and handed it to Danica.
Danica scanned the floor before the energy field. As Rasen had instructed her, there was a small hole in the floor, bearing neither sigil nor emblem to mark it. Danica took a knee before it and without ceremony inserted the key. It clicked into place and the first shield winked out.
“That’s lucky,” said Leoman, delighted that his key possessed such wonders.
“There were many such keys made thousands of years ago when this vault was built,” said Danica. “Wizards of the keep’s inner circle were trusted with them, or so I was told.”
She stepped up onto the dais and stood before the second shield. She couldn’t feel any heat radiating from the tightly woven barrier, but she knew it contained enough energy to incinerate her should she venture too close. Danica withdrew her pocket watch. The click of it swinging open was the only sound in the chamber.
Wayfarer (The Empyrean Chronicle) Page 40