The Citadel

by Knaak, Richard

  And then a very unkenderlike notion occurred to him. He had constantly been thinking of lockpicks and keys, believing the manacles the focus of his efforts despite the deadly spell on them. However, if he couldn’t even touch, much less open them, what if he concentrated elsewhere? Maybe Valkyn hadn’t thought about that.

  Rapp looked around for anything that might do the trick. Of course, wizards were not very physical, and so the kender could not immediately find what he sought. Still, Rapp felt encouraged.

  “Give … give up, Rapp! K-Killing me is … is the only way!”

  “No. I think I know how to free you!”

  “I told y-you. Manacles … enchanted.”

  Rapp had no time to explain. He needed a good, strong edge, something he could lift and swing.

  And there, seemingly forgotten in one remote end of the chamber, lay a sword. Rapp recognized the sword from the catacombs. Tyros had taken it with him, despite the fact that mages were not allowed to use any edged weapon larger than a dagger. A foul-looking black crust covered a good third of the blade. Still, the Solamnic weapon would serve well enough for what the kender had in mind.

  Tyros misunderstood his intentions. “Good … S-Strike true … please! And hurry! No telling what … what carnage Valkyn’s caused.”

  “Don’t you worry, Tyros. I know what to do.”

  The mage closed his eyes, preparing himself. Rapp shrugged, then dragged the stool he had used earlier to one of the great marble columns. Hefting the sword with both hands, the kender stepped up. With the stool, he could readily reach the chain, which had been bolted into the column roughly level with the wizard’s shoulder.

  Tyros finally opened his eyes, no doubt curious as to why he still lived. When he saw what Rapp intended, his expression grew more horrified. “Rapp! Don’t!”

  “But don’t you see, Tyros? I’m not going to try the manacles at all. I’m going to break the chain off at the base.”

  “I-Insane! Rapp, l-listen to me!”

  The kender readied the sword. It felt heavier than he had first thought. “There isn’t time, Tyros! You said so yourself!”

  As if to punctuate his words, the device flared and the mage screamed again.

  Rapp stared at where the chain was bolted to the column. Perhaps he had been mistaken and all he would achieve would be death. It would be an interesting, if rather final, experience.

  “Oh, well …” He swung the heavy sword like an axe.

  The edge of the blade struck true. Rapp felt every bone in his body rattle, but no spell turned him to ash. The clatter echoed throughout the chamber.

  Again he swung, nearly losing his balance in the process.

  “Anything?” Tyros asked, now hopeful, since the kender had not been obliterated.

  “Let me try again.” This time the miniature warrior inhaled, then swung. His bones did not rattle so hard this time, and at last he had the satisfaction of seeing part of the marble at the bolt break away. “It’s working!”

  “P-Praise Lunitari!” the captive spellcaster gasped.

  Rapp continued his efforts. The sword chipped more of the marble away. The kender only prayed that the sword would hold up. The edge was already badly chipped.

  Tyros tugged on the chain. “I think … I f-felt it give a little.”

  Again Rapp attacked, and this time a crack appeared in the column. A small crack, but near where the chain began.

  Tyros pulled. The kender marveled that the mage had strength after his ordeal, but the prospect of release clearly urged the human on.

  Rapp stumbled off the stool as bits of marble and the heavy chain suddenly rained down on his head.

  The pair looked at one another for a few seconds, drinking in the realization that one hand had been freed. Tyros flexed his hand, the chain dragging behind it as he swung his arm around. “Gods, that … f-feels good!”

  “Is it over, then? Will it stop funneling magic through you?”

  The captive mage suddenly gritted his teeth, which more than answered Rapp’s question. “No … not until … completely free!”

  Kicking the stool aside, Rapp studied the chain that held Tyros’s ankle. “Then I guess I better get started on this one.”

  “Hurry … before it’s too l-late.”

  Once more they saw the flash of lightning and heard the rumble of thunder … the sound of death for the defenders of Gwynned.

  * * * * *

  The Ergothians fought with desperation as even the very elements seemed to turn against them. Lightning bolts assailed the defenders. A good number of the catapults had been reduced to cinders, the bodies of the soldiers manning them scattered like leaves in the wind. The cavalry, which had managed to push back the invaders in several places, was suddenly decimated by a series of strikes in their very midst. Those that survived faced the blades of Valkyn’s warriors. The defenders’ lines wavered, broken in many places, but nothing could be done about the cause of their despair.

  Castle Atriun drifted in the center of the ungodly storm, a monstrous, untouchable nemesis. It stayed well out of the range of the catapults, and the only defender who might have been able to face it not only could no longer fly but also had troubles of his own.

  Sunfire snapped and slashed at the foul black, but Eclipse hovered just out of range, moving in only when the gold left himself open. Both had tried unsuccessfully to use their breath weapons, but even though Sunfire held his own, he knew he was at a great disadvantage. The human riding Eclipse knew well how to direct the black’s battle and even when to use his own tiny sword to distract the injured leviathan.

  The gold dragon knew he would die, and that with his death would come the death of the eggs, but Sunfire couldn’t abandon the land he had chosen to protect. Glisten would have understood. The evil citadel and its master were a far worse menace than either of them had believed. If Sunfire could even slow it, he would buy others precious time. Yet to reach it, he would have to fly, and not only did his wings not work, but he doubted that he would even survive the battle with this upstart black beast.

  Eclipse mocked him from above. “Old crippled wyrm! You should have died with your mate instead of running like a coward. No better than a wyvern, old one!”

  “Better at my worst than you at your best, foul one!” Sunfire slashed at Eclipse and had the satisfaction of watching the other leviathan dart back in momentary retreat.

  Eclipse, though, immediately dropped down, catching his adversary by surprise. The black’s claws dug into Sunfire’s hide, drawing blood. Before the gold could take a bite out of him, Eclipse quickly released his murderous hold and flew back out of reach.

  The human’s doing! The younger dragon had neither the cunning nor the experience for such maneuvers. His rider had directed the last attack, knowing that each blow would weaken Sunfire more and more until he proved an easy kill.

  It would only be a matter of time. Still, Sunfire would do what he could to avenge his family. If he could at least badly wound Eclipse, it would give him great satisfaction.

  A horrendous bolt ripped into the earth, startling the two dragons. Sunfire blinked, realizing that the lightning had nearly hit his adversary. Previous bolts had struck their targets with unerring accuracy. Why this mistake now?

  An ear-shattering rumble made both behemoths look up. To their mutual astonishment, the storm had abruptly shifted. Even as they watched, a lightning bolt struck the front lines of the invaders. Caught off guard, scores of men perished. Confusion rose on both sides of the conflict.

  “What goes on?” muttered the great gold. “Is the citadel’s master mad? Does he plan to destroy everyone but himself?”

  And then the storm turned on the castle itself.…

  * * * * *

  The smile upon Valkyn’s face utterly vanished as his precious creation suddenly went mad. The misdirected bolts attacking his soldiers he could have forgiven as some sort of accidental discharge of pent-up magical forces, but now one had shattered a go
od portion of the outer wall to his right. In fact, only his own intervention had turned the lightning enough to miss the castle. Unfortunately, while Valkyn had been busy with that blast, a second had ripped through the sky, battering one of the lower towers.

  “Impossible! Utterly impossible!” He had worked so hard to create this new flying citadel, and now someone else had the arrogance to think he could turn it against the dark mage. The source of his ire had to actually be aboard the castle. Only one other, in Valkyn’s estimation, could have managed such a feat.

  “Tyros …”

  * * * * *

  Had Valkyn thought further, he might have considered that one other had the capabilities. That other now sat in her chamber, singing and praying as her fingers created note after heavenly note without the aid of an actual instrument. The magic of Branchala was with her. Serene felt her god hear her plea, felt him grant what she asked. Yet to keep the storm from returning to the control of Valkyn, the cleric had to keep singing and playing.

  She had shifted the emphasis of her song. Even if Serene and the others could not escape, she would see to it that her former love’s mad creation never harmed anyone else. Given enough time, she would make the storm tear Castle Atriun to pieces.

  A shadow loomed over her, a shadow with wings. Still singing, the cleric looked up, thinking that Stone had returned.

  Only the gargoyle before her stood more massive than Stone and had three wicked horns jutting from his head. He glared at the bright surroundings, as if looking for someone else; then his gaze shifted to her. Hot, fetid breath struck her face, and her view filled with the toothy maw of the large gargoyle.

  Crag.

  Despite her growing apprehension, Serene ceased neither her playing nor her singing, fearful that to do so would reverse her success. The cleric tried to pretend that she sang without care, as if what she did should be of no consequence to the gargoyle.

  Crag growled. Though not as quick-thinking as Stone, he knew that something didn’t look right. Certainly the winged fury did not trust this woman. He moved forward, reaching out with one taloned hand to touch where the harp should have been, frustrated when that did not stop the music, which seemingly came from nowhere.

  The beast pulled back. His expression darkened further. “Stop muuuusic!”

  Serene kept on playing, trying to decide how to deal with the intruder. Crag looked dangerously near to forgetting his master’s authority and attacking her.

  “Where maaan? Where?”

  She had no idea what man he spoke of, although Tyros came to mind. Had Rapp managed to free him?

  When the human didn’t answer, Crag grew even more incensed. He leaned very close, causing the cleric to falter. The gargoyle suddenly reached out, snaring her right hand and putting a jarring end to her music.

  “Let go of me! Valkyn will not be pleased!”

  “Nooo …” Crag gave her an evil look. “Maaaster will be pleased.”

  He pulled her to her feet. Serene didn’t fear so much for herself as her work. The storm would revert to Valkyn’s control. Gwynned’s defenders would once more be crushed from above.

  A second winged form fluttered through the window. Serene’s heart sank further until the newcomer, instead of joining Crag, snarled at the larger gargoyle.

  “Release human … now!”

  “Stooone …” Crag seemed to forget all about Serene. His fiery eyes blazed with anticipation. “Traitor to Maaaster!”

  The smaller gargoyle said nothing but simply flared his wings. The action startled Crag, who must have momentarily forgotten what Valkyn had done to his rival.

  “Wingsss?”

  Stone nodded. “Wings …” He extended his talons and puffed himself up. Now he looked nearly as ferocious as the other creature. “Claws, too.”

  Crag tossed Serene aside carelessly and started for the other gargoyle. Only then did the cleric realize that Stone had challenged Crag to combat.

  She leaped up, intending to help the smaller gargoyle, but Stone shook his head. “No! Play music!”

  He knew as well as she that only her song and playing could keep the storm under control, yet still Serene hesitated. Crag was so huge.…

  “Play! Sing, mistress!”

  Taking opportunity of his foe’s distraction, Crag roared and charged Stone. The two rolled across the floor, hissing and snarling as they fought.

  With reluctance, the scarlet-tressed cleric seated herself and once more took up her song to her god. To her relief, the words and music came back immediately. Serene could feel the storm suddenly bend to her needs again. Now, though, she had to press the attack, increase the intensity, and hope that Tyros escaped so that she wouldn’t kill him in the process.

  And before her, Stone and Crag engaged in battle. Stone kept the pair rolling until he lay on top, but Crag used his greater weight to push the other gargoyle off of him. The larger beast snapped at the throat of his rival, barely missing. As Stone pulled away, though, Crag slashed with one set of talons, raking Stone’s chest and leaving a trail of crimson.

  A tremendous crash shook Atriun, the tremors sending both gargoyles tumbling to the corner of the room.

  Crag recovered first, and before Stone could stop him, he seized the smaller creature by the throat. Stone made an attempt to pull free, but Crag shook him. The larger gargoyle raised his rival high, then hurled him across the chamber. Stone smashed against one of the walls, then dropped to the floor, dazed.

  With a triumphant roar, Crag flew to finish off his adversary.

  * * * * *

  Captain Bakal hurried toward the steps leading to the Wind Captain’s Chair, knowing that he had to be cautious. He had managed to escape the gargoyle, and the way ahead seemed clear, but the veteran knew that appearances could be deceiving. Not only did Bakal have to worry about the steps, but he had to do it with someone still in pursuit. The captain had caught a glimpse of General Cadrio, sword in hand, racing down from the battlements. Bakal considered himself a good swordsman, but he doubted his skills would long match Cadrio’s, especially armed only with the scythe.

  Already inside the castle, Bakal did not at first realize what happened beyond the walls. The first violent Shockwave sent him to his knees, but he assumed that the defenders had simply managed a second hit with their catapults. Only when the captain reached a window did he realize that he might have been wrong.

  The gargoyles fought among themselves. Bakal blinked, not at first willing to believe it. Despite the terrible storm and their master’s wishes, the two factions fought tooth and claw with one another. Why would Stone risk his people so?

  Then lightning struck one of the side towers, ripping off a section of wall and laying waste to part of the roof. Bakal would have marked it down as an errant strike if not for a second bolt, which tore apart one section of the outer wall.

  The storm had turned on Valkyn.

  It hardly seemed possible, unless someone had purposely done it. Tyros, perhaps, but then Bakal recalled that clerics of Branchala had some effect on the weather. Could it be possible that Serene had taken control of the storm? If so, could she maintain her hold? The black mage would certainly investigate, and even his past relationship with Serene wouldn’t keep him from punishing her.

  Whatever the reason, it made Bakal’s task more essential. If he could take over, or at least damage, the Wind Captain’s Chair, then certainly that would give everyone more hope.

  He started up the steps to the tower, only to see one of the shadow servants descending. Bakal dropped back down and hid around a corner. The hooded figure paused at the bottom of the steps, but to the captain’s great fortune, it turned the opposite direction and soon disappeared down a hallway.

  Once more ascending, Bakal watched the steps carefully. Although the shadow servant had moved unhindered, that didn’t mean the way was clear. From a pouch, Bakal pulled out a handful of small pebbles he had scooped up on his way into the castle for just this moment. The veteran
didn’t know if what he planned would work, but he couldn’t think of anything else.

  With careful aim, Bakal threw the pebbles on the steps before him.

  He waited for a flash, a bolt, something. The steps remained normal. Bakal exhaled, both disappointed and relieved. Knowing that he could wait no longer, the captain carefully scooped up as many of the pebbles he could, then proceeded up, repeating the process.

  On the tenth step, the pebbles vanished in a familiar flash of blinding light.

  Swearing, Bakal let his eyes adjust, then studied the stairway. He had been certain that the tenth step would be safe and the twelfth the deadly one. The captain cursed his aging memory. Either he had miscounted or the spell had shifted position.

  Carefully crossing the magical trap, he pushed on. Even though the next few steps proved harmless, Bakal’s nerves were on edge. It would take only one mistake, one lapse, to finish him. Valkyn surely had at least one more vicious trap set; wizards, after all, held a morbid fascination for such things.

  Five steps from the top, Captain Bakal found another trap … and almost too late.

  The step itself looked innocent, and even when he tossed the pebbles on it, nothing happened. Bakal even reached up and tapped the step with his scythe, quickly drawing back in order to avoid any surprise.

  Still suspicious of his luck but unwilling to hesitate anymore, Bakal put a foot on the step.

  A slight hiss sent him dropping.

  Razor-sharp sheets of metal sprouted from the opposing walls, slicing across the step. Less than an inch separated the vile pair. If Bakal had stood there, the top half of his body would no longer have been attached to the bottom.

  As quickly as they had appeared, the huge blades retracted. The devilish device had clearly been set into place by the dark mage, for as the sheets retreated, they vanished into seamless blank walls.

  “Draco Paladin!” uttered the scarred veteran, for the moment unable to rise. His body shook as he thought of his near death. The captain had always been ready to give his life on the field of battle, but that hardly compared to this. Better a sword thrust through the heart than severed in half like a fish prepared for supper.