The Citadel

by Knaak, Richard

  Despite the blades, Bakal knew he could not rest. Estimating the height at which they had materialized, the captain started crawling up the stairs. When the blades did not shoot out, he grew encouraged. Only two steps remained.

  Two steps that he had not yet tested.

  Still lying down, Bakal took the scythe and tapped the nearest. Nothing. Then, recalling that it had taken the weight of his foot to set off the blades, the Ergothian officer took a chance and used his free hand to push down.

  Again nothing.

  Only one step left.

  Sweating, Bakal used the scythe again. When that failed to bring about any result, he touched the step himself.

  And two more blades shot out of the walls, this time just above knee level.

  Bakal flattened himself on the stairs, not daring to look up until the blades had vanished again.

  “B-Blasted spellcasters!” Bakal didn’t let the new trap slow him, though. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself up the final few feet. The second set of metal blades forced the Ergothian to practically slither.

  It was with some relief that he reached the entrance to the tower chamber. The captain gingerly touched the door. To his amazement, it opened readily, with no further surprises. Bakal entered, scythe held before him.

  Windows lined the circular room, a different touch from what the veteran recalled from previous flying citadels. In those, the chamber had been sealed off from the outside save for a single inner entrance. Reports had indicated that the one who flew the castle had some magical means of viewing his destination. One had claimed that a spell on the ceiling created some sort of window to the outside world. Bakal actually thought Valkyn’s approach made more sense; let a man see where he’s going and be done with all the mystical nonsense.

  At that moment, Bakal caught sight of Valkyn’s steersman, a thing more shadow than man. No matter how many times he had seen the creatures, the cloaked ghouls still unnerved him, more so because he knew that they had once been living men just like himself.

  Steeling himself, Captain Bakal shouted, “You there! Away from that thing! Do it now!”

  The shadow servant did not obey. Instead, he simply turned his sightless gaze toward the soldier, revealing the pale, drawn face.

  Bakal shivered. Something about that face struck a memory. He quickly dismissed the thought. Bad enough to confront the creature without the added knowledge of who he once had been.

  Still the robed figure did not move. Bakal exhaled. If the shadow servant wouldn’t listen to his demand, then the captain would have to use force. Holding the scythe high, Bakal marched up and took hold of the ghoul’s sleeve, which slid back … and revealed the awful truth.

  There were no hands—or rather, what little that remained of them simply melded into the controls of the misnamed Wind Captain’s Chair. Glancing down, Captain Bakal saw that the feet, too, had become part of the mechanism. In fact, it was impossible to tell where the steersman ended and the Wind Captain’s Chair began.

  “By the gods!” Captain Bakal murmured, overwhelmed by revulsion.

  “Disgustingly efficient, isn’t it?” came a voice from behind him. “He told me about it, but seeing it is certainly something else. Typical of Valkyn to come up with something like this.”

  General Cadrio stood at the entrance. The vulpine general had his sword drawn, its point leveled at the Ergothian’s gut.

  Bakal realized that he had been a fool. Cadrio had allowed him to show the way. The general had likely watched from the bottom of the steps, marking each trap or action.

  “You can offer to surrender, Ergothian, but I just want you to know that Valkyn doesn’t see much need for you.”

  “You, either, from what I’ve seen.”

  Cadrio’s expression darkened. “He’s been more clever than I would have thought, but I’m working my way back into his graces. Better a puppet emperor of Ansalon than dead.”

  “Until you can cut the strings, I suppose.”

  The lanky villain smiled slightly. “Until then, yes …”

  The captain doubted that Valkyn would prove as foolish as General Cadrio believed. From what Bakal had seen so far, the wizard would let Cadrio hang himself when the time came. “It will be interesting to see which one of you proves wrong.…”

  “Does that mean you’re surrendering?”

  Now Bakal smiled. “No, I don’t think I’ll be doing that.”

  “Probably not the best idea, but the result will be the same whether you accept your death willingly or not.”

  Bakal readied the hand scythe. “I’ll take that chance.”

  Cadrio suddenly thrust. The general moved even swifter than Bakal expected. He barely parried the blade with the more awkward scythe, then quickly backed away before his adversary could follow through. The Ergothian veteran skirted around the shadow servant, assuming that General Cadrio wouldn’t slay the creature.

  The dark warrior nearly did just that, so eagerly did he want Bakal. The sword went past the face of the servant, who paid it as much mind as he did the air. Cadrio backed away, then started around the robed figure. The captain kept pace, trying to assess his chances. Not only did Cadrio move fast, but his sword far outreached the curving scythe. Bakal needed to get well within range of the skilled swordsman to do any good with his own weapon.

  “Stop dancing and fight … or is this how the Ergothians lost their vast empire?”

  If he expected taunts to get to Bakal, Cadrio was sorely mistaken. The captain had not lived this long by falling prey to words. “Trade weapons with me and we’ll see how you dance.”

  Again Cadrio thrust, and again he nearly skewered the shadow servant. The general seemed not to care if he killed the only one keeping the castle on course. If anything happened to the robed creature, then Atriun would go flying out of control and …

  Bakal had made many quick but difficult decisions in his career, but this one he found the worst. Castle Atriun needed to be destroyed. No one, not even the Whites tone Council, had the right to the knowledge needed to create such an ungodly craft.

  He held the scythe ready, as if preparing to meet Cadrio head-on. The general smiled, poising himself for the Ergothian’s attack.

  “I’ll make it quick for you, Captain.”

  “Just what I was thinking …”

  Bakal swung with all his might, but his target was not General Cadrio. As the commander moved to defend himself, Bakal suddenly turned in a different direction. Cadrio finally realized what his adversary intended and let out a cry of outrage.

  The scythe bit into the neck of the shadow servant.

  Black bile spurted from the open wound. The shadow servant shivered, then grew still. The Ergothian muttered a quick prayer to the gods, feeling remorse for slaying a creature that could not even defend himself.

  The corpse slumped forward … and the castle suddenly dipped sharply.

  Both Bakal and his foe tumbled to the wall. The two soldiers lost their weapons, but that didn’t stop Cadrio. Rising to one knee, he twisted the captain’s arm behind him, then pushed Bakal hard against the wall again. Out of the corner of his eye, Bakal saw the general draw his dagger.

  The citadel dipped a different direction, throwing Cadrio off-balance. Captain Bakal managed to pull free but couldn’t drag himself out of his adversary’s reach.

  Cadrio spun the captain around. The two men grappled, the taller Cadrio pressing Bakal against the open window. The general brought his dagger up …

  And again Castle Atriun twisted in a different direction. The pair went flying into the Wind Captain’s Chair, shattering it and sending the corpse sprawling.

  Even as he rolled free of the wreckage, Bakal wondered how long the chaos could continue. Atriun flew out of control, turning and dipping in random directions, and now the only method by which to control its flight had been destroyed. In truth, what did the outcome of the fight matter when surely the citadel would eventually destroy itself?

  At th
at moment, General Cadrio rose over Bakal, dagger high.

  Finding himself eager to live despite Atriun’s certain doom, the Ergothian reached blindly for anything he could use for a weapon. His hand touched something hard and crystalline.

  With a practiced arm, Captain Bakal threw the object at his looming foe.

  The fragment from the Wind Captain’s Chair struck Cadrio hard in the temple. The general dropped his weapon and staggered backward. Bakal threw himself at Cadrio, catching the general at the waist even as Atriun lurched wildly.

  Both men fell toward one of the open windows. Bakal, facing it, saw the danger and released his hold, tumbling to the floor.

  The general couldn’t stop his momentum. As he fell through the window, he tried to grab the edge of it, but his fingers slipped free.

  With a cry, Marcus Cadrio plummeted from sight.

  Pulling himself up, Bakal peered out. General Cadrio lay in the courtyard below, his tall, slim form now jumbled like a scarecrow cut loose from its pole. The commander’s battered face wore a bitter expression.

  Lightning struck so near that it momentarily blinded Bakal. He blinked, then looked up and noticed that not only did Atriun seem lower in the sky, but the mountains in the distance no longer appeared so distant. They were, in fact, getting much, much closer.

  The flying citadel had become a victim of the whims of the magical storm. Now it floated to the north, away from the battle and toward the nearest of the mountains … with no way to turn it back.

  Chapter 18

  Victory and Sacrifice

  “There! I did it!”

  “Good, Rapp. B-But hurry! Still … still need my … other arm free.” Tyros stretched his leg, trying to work the cramps out of it. It kept his mind from the pain that still coursed through his body each time Valkyn’s foul device drew raw magic through him. Until Rapp had him completely freed, Tyros remained a living part of the arcane spell.

  Tyros hoped Valkyn wouldn’t discover what they were doing, at least not until the red mage was ready to face him. He needed a chance to rest a little and recoup from what he had suffered.

  The wizard’s entire body vibrated as Rapp struck the base of the last chain with the badly beaten sword. Rapp had a keen eye, but the massive weapon had tired the generally energetic kender to such a point that he had to pause for a breath after each swing.

  “I’ll get it, Tyros. I promise!”

  Another wave of horrific pain sent Tyros to his knees, and the tall mage couldn’t answer. Each time Tyros was forced to funnel magic through him, it felt as if some part of his soul was ripped away.

  Again Rapp struck the base of the chain. Tyros steadied himself, then leaned away from the column in order to keep the chain as taut as possible. He tugged over and over, trying to see if any of Rapp’s blows had managed to loosen it.

  The entire chamber suddenly dipped. Benches slid from the walls, spilling flasks, tools, jars, and other items on the floor. A cloud of yellow smoke rose over one table and slowly began to spread.

  Rapp lost his balance. His sword slid past Tyros. Even the mage had to steady himself or else risk pulling his chained arm out of its socket.

  “Tyros, did you feel that? How come the room is at an angle? I mean, it’s fascinating and all, but it doesn’t seem very practical, what with things dropping all over the place.”

  “I … don’t know. Perhaps … a change of c-course.” A violent change of course, to be certain. Had he believed it possible, Tyros almost would have thought that Valkyn had lost control of his flying citadel.

  Whatever the reason, it made no difference to Valkyn’s monstrous device. Still it forced Tyros to draw power for spellwork, then drew that power from him, once more sending Tyros down on one knee.

  As the mage fought the pain, Rapp dragged the stool and battered sword back to the column. The kender looked pale and tired, but hardly vanquished. Tyros praised the gods for a kender’s tenacity; he freely admitted to himself that he would have been hard-pressed to keep up such a pace.

  Once more Rapp swung at the chain’s base, chipping away at the marble but further chipping his blade. Tyros thought at last he felt the chain give a little. He tugged hard, trying to help. “A little … little more, Rapp. I think it’s 1-loosening!”

  “Now, we can’t have that, can we?”

  A shiver ran through Tyros, but it wasn’t caused by the foul spell. Near the door stood Valkyn, his damnable smile in place and his wand held high in one gloved hand. The smile seemed a little forced, as if the black mage barely held himself in check.

  Rapp took one quick, desperate glance at the hooded wizard, then swung at the column again.

  “You were warned, kender.”

  Tyros saw the wand glitter. “Rapp! Watch out for—”

  A miniature bolt of green lightning flashed from the wand, heading for the kender. Rapp tried to leap out of the way, but moved just a little too late. The bolt struck kender, chair, and sword, tossing all three violently across the chamber.

  “Rapp!”

  The small figure dropped to the floor. Much of Rapp’s skin had been burned and his clothes smoked.

  “Rapp!”

  “Such energy …” Valkyn commented as he approached. “Still such life within you. I believe you’ll last far longer than any of the others did, even that hefty white-robed friend of yours.”

  “You … killed him!” Tyros’s pulse pounded. “You killed Rapp!”

  “I sincerely doubt the world will weep over one less kender, my friend. They have no practical use, serving only to create disorder. I do Ansalon a favor, in fact.”

  Tyros tried to spit at his counterpart but couldn’t draw up enough moisture. “Small wonder,” he finally gasped, “that s-so many fear and … and hate our kind.…”

  “And well they should. We are more intelligent, advanced, and capable than most of the rabble. I more than any.” Valkyn looked over Tyros. “But I seem to be capable of a mistake now and then. You didn’t do anything to the storm after all, did you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talk—”

  The sinister mage waved off his reply. “No, you don’t. It seems I overestimated you and underestimated another.”

  Tyros tried to reach for him, but his adversary remained just out of range. Frustrated, he pulled hard on the last chain.

  Valkyn smiled more broadly, bringing up the wand. “You seem secure enough, and as long as you are, I can make use of you. However, it wouldn’t do to take anymore—”

  The chain broke loose of the column.

  More from a lack of balance than because he planned it, Tyros’s arm swung forward, the chain with it. Where previously his reach had been limited, it now extended more than twice as far because of the chain.

  The metal base struck Valkyn in the head, part of the chain wrapping around his hood. Valkyn lost his hold on the wand and fell. Blood dripped from his forehead where the base had cut into it.

  Forcing himself up to nearly a sitting position, the black mage rasped, “You dare to strike me?”

  Valkyn retrieved the wand. The expression on his face had no trace whatsoever of a smile, and he didn’t even seem to notice the blood dripping down his cheek.

  “I won’t kill you—oh, no—but I will see to it that you remain more pliable for the short future you still have.”

  Tendrils grew from thin air, reaching immediately for the crimson-clad wizard. Tyros reacted instinctively, the words to create a magical shield springing to mind.

  And to his surprise, the shield materialized.

  The gleaming shield of light not only deflected Valkyn’s tendrils, but flung both them and their creator back to the doors. Valkyn collided with the doors, grunting. Tyros stared at his hands. The spell put on him by the Black Robe had vanished, possibly because of stored power from Valkyn’s device.

  Whatever the cause of his freedom, Tyros dared not concern himself long with it. Glaring at the manacles still attached to his wrists and ank
les, he muttered another spell. Immediately all four manacles clattered to the floor.

  Despite his past suffering, despite the tortures he had barely survived, Tyros readied himself to face Valkyn and the wand. He looked up, certain to see his rival already preparing a deadly counterattack …

  And found that Valkyn and the wand had vanished.

  Tyros felt more relieved than frustrated. Even with magic once more at his command, he would have preferred to meet the other wizard under better circumstances. Besides, Valkyn could wait. The others needed Tyros’s help.

  One, though, he could no longer help. Tyros hurried to the kender’s side, doubtful that his small companion even lived. Yet when he touched Rapp on the shoulder, the kender tried to open his eyes. He only succeeded with one, the other bloody and swollen shut.

  “T-Tyros …”

  “Easy, Rapp. I’ll find you some water.”

  Rapp didn’t seem to hear him. “Tyros … I got you free.…”

  “You did.”

  The kender stared off somewhere. “Taggi … my griffons … I hope they’re okay.”

  The mage sighed. “We’ll find them and set them free, Rapp. You don’t have to worry about them.”

  He stopped. The kender’s face had grown nearly as pale as that of the shadow servants. Rapp stared, but clearly no longer saw anything.

  Hand trembling, Tyros touched the kender’s cheek and felt the skin grow cool. The mage swallowed, then put his hand on Rapp’s chest. He felt no heartbeat, no breathing.

  For a brief time, Tyros remained there, staring in frustration at what even his magic could not rectify. Rapp had saved him, had done so much to get them this far. The wizard felt guilty for not having gotten to know the kender better.

  The others still needed Tyros, yet it frustrated him that he had to leave Rapp’s body in this place. Rapp should have lain in the woods or mountains, where he had made his home while caring for his beloved griffons.

  Tyros dared not expend too much energy, but he knew a minor spell that would at least place the kender’s body in a safe place where the wizard might retrieve it later on. Tyros whispered the words, then watched as Rapp’s body vanished.