by Jack Massa
The dim corridor shook and screeched. More of the metal guards stepped from the walls behind the first. Amlina whirled and spotted still more of them, approaching from the opposite direction.
“Without weapons we have no chance,” Lonn muttered at the witch’s ear.
“Yes,” she answered. “Back inside. Quick!”
The mates retreated to the cell they had vacated. As the monstrous figures drew near, Draven and Lonn shoved the door closed and braced it with their shoulders.
“Are they drogs?” Kizier asked.
Amlina nodded. “Activated by the dungeon itself, I think, whenever it senses a prisoner escaping—doubtless an ancient design woven into the stone foundation.”
“So now what do we do?” Karrol asked.
Amlina lifted her chin. “We think of something …”
A quarter-hour passed, Amlina pondering their dilemma. She wondered if she could create a formulation to blind or paralyze the drog guards just long enough to move past them. But without trinkets to help her focus and store power, it was difficult. The Iruks talked about whether they could tackle one of the drogs, bowl it over and steal its weapon. Dangerous, they agreed, but with one truncheon they might have a chance to win more.
In the midst of their sober discussions, a sizzling light burst in a corner of the cell. Amlina shaded her eyes at the sudden flash. Next moment, Trippany materialized, her wings fluttering in the dank air.
She settled to the floor, stared at the witch and the Iruks.
“I did not know,” she said in Larthangan. “I did not know what the Mage intended. I swear this on my honor.”
“Why are you here now?” Amlina demanded.
The drell lowered her gaze. “I-I wish to help you. I am going against Melevarry in this, but I do not agree with her judgment of you—and certainly not with casting you into a dungeon.” She stared frankly at the witch, then her glance shifted briefly to Eben.
“How can you help us?” Amlina asked.
“I can reappear outside the cell and open the door. Then I can show you the way out of the dungeon.”
“We’ve already opened the door,” Amlina told her. “The passage is guarded by iron drogs.”
Trippany put a hand to her lips. “Oh. I did not know. They are not there now.”
“They will reappear if we try to escape,” Amlina told her.
“Can you bring us our weapons?” Eben asked. “Then we can fight our way out.”
The drell considered. “Yes … I suppose they are still in your quarters? I will find them and bring what I can.”
Her wings sputtered to life and she lifted. In a moment, she vanished in a burst of sparkling silver.
“I wonder if we can trust her,” Kizier murmured. “Or is this another elaborate ruse?”
“If she returns with our swords,” Eben said. “We’ll be happy to take our chances.”
A short time later Trippany reappeared. Her arms were laden with six sword belts and a quiver of Iruk throwing spears hung on a strap from her elbow. She landed on the dungeon floor and staggered, dropping the weapons and then collapsing to her knees.
Eben rushed to her side. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. A bit dizzy I’m afraid.” She smiled. “Invoking second flight three times in so short a period—and your weapons are heavy.”
The witch lifted the drell’s arm and helped her to stand. “You have taken a risk, defying the Mage to help us.”
Trippany nodded soberly. “I know. No doubt I will face censure. But the Lady Melevarry is not my mentor, and my heart tells me she was wrong to imprison you.”
Eagerly, the Iruks strapped on their sword belts and picked out spears.
“Now, we will give those metal soldiers a surprise,” Karrol exulted.
“You said you could show us the way out of here,” Amlina said to the drell.
“Yes. I had to examine the dungeons from beyond to locate you. We are three levels down.” She pointed in the direction they had tried before. “The stairs are that way. One turn to the left, then two the right.”
Moments later, the Iruks were ready. Lonn and Karrol pushed open the door. Eben and the rest of the klarn followed them out of the cell, with Amlina, Kizier, and Trippany coming last. At the moment, the passageway looked empty. But as they headed up the corridor, the floor rumbled and the clang of metal sounded in front and behind them.
Once again, the drog guards tore themselves from the stones. The Iruks drew their swords and lifted spears. They arranged themselves at the front and back of the group, shielding Amlina, Kizier and Trippany who clustered together at the center.
The drogs approached—hulking iron forms like men, with long arms and squat bodies. Their domed heads showed no mouths, noses, or ears, only eyes that glinted like red embers. Spying the Iruks’ weapons, the creatures dropped their truncheons. The clatter of the weapons on the floor was followed by the loud noise of scraping metal—from the fists of each drog grew two long swords.
“Well, that will change things,” Eben muttered. He glanced back to where drogs with swords now approached the rear guard of Draven, Glyssa, and Brinda.
With a wordless roar, Lonn charged, Eben and Karrol right behind him. The Iruks had an advantage: the passage was so narrow and the drogs so large they could not fight two abreast. The ones in the rear could only cluster behind the first drog, poking with their sword points without making strong thrusts.
The mates attacked the first drog, Lonn and Karrol parrying while Eben searched for an opening. They had fought drog warriors in the past. They were always supposed to have a weak point—a conduit for the magical power that animated the lifeless bodies. But these creatures appeared to be cast of solid metal—even the tiny eyes look hard. The Iruks’ sword and spear points slipped harmlessly over the metal hides.
Eben saw his mates being forced back from both directions. If the drogs had a vulnerable point, it must be on their backs. Eben took a reckless chance. Squeezing along the wall, he slipped into the crevice where the first guard had broken through the wall. He had a brief moment to scan the drog from the rear. At first he saw nothing, but then he spied slivers of pulsing light behind each knee.
One of the rear drogs had spotted him and thrust with both swords. Eben just managed to duck under the attack. He lunged and swung his blade, cutting his attacker behind the knee. The drog straightened up with a loud creaking noise and dropped one of its swords. Eben shoved his spear tip into the back of the creature’s other knee.
The drog collapsed across the passageway, falling into the one behind it.
“Cut behind the knees, mates!” Eben shouted.
He glanced up to see the next drog looming over him. Eben flinched and raised an arm to protect himself. A blade struck the top of his skull.
He lay dazed for several moments, blood running over his face, excruciating pain pounding his head. Distantly, he heard the shouts of battle, the clang of weapons, and what he hoped was the crash of metal guards falling onto stone.
Next thing he knew, Glyssa and Trippany knelt over him. The drell used the edge of her gown to wipe the blood from his eyes. Beyond them, a glance showed metal bodies lying askew on the floor. At the end of the passage, the mates were surrounding the last two drogs.
“We’ve nothing to bandage you with,” Glyssa said. “Can you walk, mate?”
Eben braced his hands on the floor and managed to stand. He wiped a sleeve across his forehead, glanced at the red stain on the fine silk of the Larthangan jacket.
“I can try.”
With Glyssa holding his elbow, Eben staggered to the end of the corridor. Karrol and Lonn dueled with the last of the drogs, while Brinda and Draven pivoted behind them and cut at their knees.
“Glad you managed to find their weak point,” Glyssa said.
“You were brave.” Trippany hovered at his shoulder.
Dizzy, eyesight swimming, Eben laughed. “Yes. A shame I wasn’t also quick.”
With the last of the guards disabled, the party turned and hurried down the side passage. Lamps shone along the walls, but no more drogs emerged to attack them. Two more turns and corridors brought them to the base of a narrow stairway leading upward—just as Trippany had said.
Lonn and Karrol led the way up the steps, the witch and the rest climbing behind them. The blood from Eben’s wound had slowed to a trickle, but still he had to clutch Glyssa’s arm now and then to steady himself. Up two flights they passed an arched corridor. Still, they encountered no drogs or human jailers. Except for their footsteps, all was silent.
At the top of the next flight Lonn held up his hand. Everyone halted. Above was one more stairway, ending in a wide iron door. In front of the door, equally wide, squatted another drog—a legless, blue-skinned human torso with eight muscular arms. Four of the arms ended in sword blades, four others in battle-axes. The face was broad and glaring, a sapphire set in the forehead.
“We can’t topple that thing. It has no legs,” Lonn observed.
“Well I don’t see how we can go around it,” Karrol answered.
“Where is the weak spot?” Glyssa asked the witch. “That gem in its forehead?”
Amlina shook her head. “That would be too obvious.” After probing with her mind, she answered: “The throat is soft. We must get it to raise its head.”
The witch laid her hands on their spear tips, investing them with power.
With Lonn in the lead, the Iruks advanced up the steps, spears held ready to cast. The drog watched them in silence, chin sunk to its shiny blue chest, weapons raised to strike.
“Wait,” Trippany called. “I will distract the drog.”
She flew from behind the Iruks, hands raised, silver wings beating. Her shimmering form rose to the ceiling, and the drog followed with its eyes. When she dove toward the creature, it lifted two arms and the chin tilted up—revealing a pulsing white throat.
“Now!” Lonn yelled and flung his spear.
While the drog swiped at the looping drell, four spears lanced through the air. Two struck the chest and clattered away. A third slid past the shoulder. But one spear found the mark, puncturing the white flesh of the throat.
The drog’s mouth gaped wide, emitting a strangled cry. The arms flailed wildly, and black ichor flowed from the wound. The head lolled sideways and the shoulders sagged, arms and weapons drooping. A hissing noise erupted, and the giant torso collapsed like a water skin torn open and spilling its contents.
The Iruks looked inquiringly at Amlina. She nodded, and they started up to the landing.
“I will open the door!” Trippany’s form burst into a dazzling light and she vanished.
Seconds later, the party stood over the ruined body of the drog, their noses wrinkling at the stench. They heard bolts sliding on the far side of the door and then Trippany’s muffled voice calling them to push.
Thirteen
Amlina and her companions emerged in a broad corridor outside the gate to the dungeons. Daylight, shining through small windows near the ceiling, disclosed that they stood in a basement of the mansion. Storage rooms bordered the right and left of the corridor. At the end a stone stairway led up.
The Iruks and Kizier stood clustered behind the witch. Trippany settled to the floor beside her.
“Now what?” Lonn asked.
Amlina gave a faint laugh and looked around at her companions. Eben had a bad gash on his scalp, and Brinda a puncture wound in her shoulder that prevented her raising her arm. The others appeared unhurt.
“I leave it to you, mates,” Amlina said. “Do we try for the boat and sail away, or do we go and have words with Melevarry?”
Lonn and Karrol grunted angrily. “I think we’d like to confront the treacherous lady,” Draven said. The others nodded vigorously, except for Kizier who merely rolled his eyes.
Amlina turned to the drell. “Where are we most likely to find the Mage this time of day?”
Trippany’s mouth bent in a smile. “I left her in her study. There is only one stair. I will show you.”
She flew off and Amlina and her friends hurried after. They ran to the end of the passage and up the steps. At the top, they pushed open wide doors and entered a well-lit hallway at the rear of the mansion. They followed the drell past storerooms, pantries, and a kitchen. Servants spotted them, gaped for a moment, then turned and fled. To Amlina’s surprise, the party did not encounter any of the Mage’s household guard.
They arrived in the main foyer of the mansion, a high-domed chamber with a curling ceremonial staircase. Across from these stairs, the drell landed before a wall panel painted with a stylized image of a phoenix. Trippany placed two fingers into the eyes of the bird and pushed. Her action triggered a mechanism and the panel slid aside.
Beyond was a narrow staircase leading up. Amlina went first, Trippany and the others following. Higher and higher they climbed, past numerous landings and hidden doors. Nearing the top at last, Amlina held up a hand to signal for quiet. She crept to the top landing, the Iruks moving silently behind.
Amlina bent and peered through a peephole. She spied a round, finely-furnished chamber with daylight streaming in from an open balcony. Melevarry sat at a mahogany writing table, working with pen and parchment. She wore the Cloak of the Two Winds.
Amlina took a deep breath, slid aside the panel and stepped into the room. Melevarry looked up calmly, as the Iruks and the rest of the party sidled into her study.
“Hello, Amlina.” The Mage gestured toward a globe of amber glass. “I followed your progress in this looking-lamp. Your escape from the dungeon was quite remarkable—” Her eyes shifted to Trippany—“albeit, accomplished with unexpected assistance.”
Behind Amlina, Karrol lifted a spear, ready to throw.
Lonn held out an arm to restrain her, but also lifted his own spear, as did Draven and Glyssa. He spoke to Amlina: “This witch offered us hospitality and then betrayed us. By our law, we have the right to kill her. What do you say, Amlina?”
“Wait a moment,” she answered.
They had spoken in Tathian, but Melevarry clearly understood well enough. Her eyes widened, but she did not flinch. “Your warriors seem eager to kill me. Perhaps you wondered why none of my alatee guards intercepted you on the way up here.”
“The question did occur.”
“When I saw you would escape the dungeon, I ordered them outside—to prevent needless bloodshed.” She lifted an arm, showing the black and silver sleeve. “As you see, I am not unprotected. And while I am inexperienced, I judge the Cloak’s operation is simple enough that I could quite possibly freeze all of you in an instant. We seem to be at an impasse. Shall we fight or talk peace?”
The Iruks still awaited Amlina’s word. She locked eyes with the elder witch, probing, seeking to read her. Finally, Amlina held up her hand.
“Stay your weapons, my friends. Please. Let me speak with her.”
The Iruks kept the throwing spears raised, but let them rest on their shoulders.
Melevarry smiled, setting down her pen. “Good. We shall talk peace. Will you propose terms, or shall I?”
“First,” Amlina answered, “you must swear on your honor to deliver the Cloak to the Archimage, and no other.”
Melevarry seemed surprised. “Certainly. I swear it.”
“Next, you must swear to free my companions without retribution. Restore their property, including their boat, and let them sail from Randoon in peace. Also, Trippany must not be punished for helping us.”
Melevarry gave a shrug. “Trippany is not my responsibility. I am sure she will discuss this morning’s events with her mentor, and they will sort it out.”
“Yes,” Trippany replied evenly. “So I shall.”
“Well enough,” the Mage said. “I did not foresee Trippany helping you, Amlina. And I doubt you could have escaped without her help—or that of your stout warriors. Still, the capacity to attract worthy allies is itself a significant talent. You
mention freeing your companions, but what of you? Do you not intend to sail away with them?”
Amlina swallowed. “No. The affliction that I spoke of yesterday prevents that. I wish to present myself to the House of the Deepmind, request help to be healed. I will accept whatever judgment they make on me.”
Again, Melevarry registered surprise. She stared hard for the space of a few heartbeats. “Very good. I agree to your terms.”
Amlina let her shoulders sagged. “Put up your weapons, my friends,” she said in Tathian. “All is well.”
The Mage stood, took off the Cloak, and laid it on the table. “In fact, I not only accept your terms, but I give you back the Cloak. I will accompany you to Minhang and stand at your side as you present it to the Archimage.”
Amlina eyed the Cloak mistrustfully, fighting the urge to step forward and snatch it. “Why the change of heart, my lady?”
The Mage’s expression evinced amusement. “Because your actions have proved you worthy.”
Amlina sank into a chair, suddenly weak and light-headed. Behind her, the Iruks watched suspiciously.
“I do not understand you,” Amlina said.
“Then I’ll explain. When I met you yesterday, I discovered an enigma, a trained witch, quite powerful, yet also frail and—frankly—damaged. Different stories of how you obtained the Cloak have reached these shores, but one in particular came to mind. It seems there is a certain bard in Gwales reciting a saga of how his queen joined with Amlina the witch of Larthang in a rite of blood magic. By the power thus released, Amlina killed the Archimage of the East. Of course, troubadours make up many tales, but this one corresponded with what I saw in you. In the afternoon, I consulted old texts about the effects of blood magic, and they supported my suspicions. Then last night, you told me you aspired to become Keeper of the Cloak. I decided then I must test you—to find out how badly you were damaged. By escaping the dungeon, you showed talent and resilience. By deciding not to kill me in revenge, you showed virtue and good judgment. So, I conclude you are both capable and honorable, and I can with confidence give you back the Cloak.”
Amlina stared at her levelly. She rose from the chair, crossed to the table, and picked up the black and silver garment. “I accept your explanation and your offer. We will travel together to Minhang. But know this: I will instruct my warriors to keep their weapons ready, and I will watch keenly for any further treachery.”