* * *
Ridley knew he was lost, knew for certain the corner he’d turned only moments before was not the corner that would lead him up the twisted stairwell and back to the door where he and Snails had come in.
Snails… Where was he, and why had Ridley let him go off by himself? They both could have looked for Marina then searched for the scroll. It would have taken longer, certainly, but this way—
“Ridley…”
“We’re all right,” he told her, “we’re almost there.” It was a lie, and maybe she knew it, but he didn’t have the heart to tell her anything else. He didn’t know what she’d been through at Damodar’s hands, and he knew he wouldn’t ask, not unless she chose to tell him herself.
“I think I had a dream, Ridley, a really terrible dream.”
“I think you did, Marina, but you’re awake now. When you’re awake, the dreams go away.”
“No, no they don’t, Ridley. They’re… supposed to go away, but this one is teal. This one really happened. It happened to me.”
He knew her words were true, knew there was nothing he could do, nothing but hold her, get her out of here, and get her as far from this place as he could. There was no time, no time to look into her eyes, no time to tell her things he hadn’t told her before, for in that moment they were on him, howling out of the corridor ahead, coming at him in a blaze of crimson red, in an rush of ugly helms and slashing silver blades.
He met the first with a wicked slash of iron, driving the fellow back and watching the sudden horror in the man’s eyes as he knew death was on him, that this was the moment he’d feared since first he’d dreamed of the killing, of the rage, of the wonder of a Crimson warrior’s life.
Ridley took the second man as quickly as the first. The man knew how to hold a sword, but little more than that. He had loved the parades and the women and the wine—those were the parts of soldiering he’d liked.
“Ridley!”
Ridley, turned and ducked as Marina slammed the blazing end of a torch in the third warrior’s face.
“Thanks.”
“Any time,” Marina said.
Ridley grabbed her arm, sprinting down the corridor toward a heavy wooden door. He backed off, quickly raising his blade as the portal suddenly opened in his face.
A guard half as big as a house stood in Ridley’s way. He grinned, showed a set of broken teeth, and drew a short blade from his belt.
Ridley clutched his sword with both hands and took a step back.
“A little slow, friend,” Marina said, and slapped him soundly with her torch. The guard blinked, slightly irritated. He caught the back of Marina’s hand and sent her sprawling to the floor.
“Hey,” Ridley shouted, “you can’t do that!”
“Huuuka Pluuut!” the giant said, or words to that effect. He swung a massive arm at Ridley, but Ridley ducked and stepped on his foot. With a desperate shove, he sent the giant to the ground.
Ridley turned to flee and saw a sight that sent a chill up his spine.
“Snails!”
Snails didn’t answer. He was stumbling down a set of stairs, running as fast as he could, his jacket flapping like ragged wings at his back. Damodar bounded down the steps only seconds behind him, shouting a fearsome cry, his great blade slashing at the air.
The giant picked himself up and came at Ridley again.
Ridley kicked him soundly in the belly, grabbed Marina, and didn’t look back. He bounded up the stairs and stopped, startled to find that the steps ended, went nowhere at all.
“That’s impossible,” he said. “I saw them. They went this way!”
“Damodar,” Marina said. “He’s left some kind of a spell. There’s a way here, you just can’t find it.”
“Damnation, I’ve got to find it. He’s after Snails!” He turned, grabbed her shoulders, and looked into her eyes. “You’re a mage, Marina. Do something. Get us out of here.”
Marina pulled away and rubbed her arm. “I would if I could, Ridley. He—He took something out of me. I don’t have anything. That part of me’s gone. It’s there, but I can’t find it anymore.”
Ridley groaned. He took the hilt of his sword and started pounding savagely on the stone walls, working his way from one end of the corridor to the next, shouting, cursing to himself, pummeling the rocky surface until the sweat poured down his brow.
“You can’t,” Marina told him. “You can’t fight him, Ridley. You can’t do it that way.”
“Then show me another,” Ridley said, his voice so choked with rage that she backed away in sudden fear. “Show me a way, or I’ll tear this place down, stone by stone. That’s my friend he’s got out there!”
CHAPTER
26
The castle was suddenly behind him, the broad courtyard below. Crimson-clad soldiers stared up at Snails, shouting in anger and waving their weapons about. Snails drew a ragged breath. Ahead was a crumbled tower, half its high turret hollowed by time or some ancient enemy’s brutal siege. He didn’t bother to look behind him. Damodar was there, stalking him, taking his time.
Snails made his way through the turret’s debris. On the other side, if the Fates were with him at all, the narrow walkway would continue, maybe lead down the stone curtain wall to a notch in the battlement, a crenel still intact that would let him make his way down off the wall to the ground. With any luck he could find Rid again and get out of this mess.
Snails’ heart nearly stopped. The wall past the crumbled turret was gone, crumbled away. There was nothing, only a deadly drop to the ground below.
All the strength, all he had left, seemed to drain away and leave him hollow, empty. He fell to his knees, smashing his fists at the stone in hopeless, futile anger. So useless, so damned, totally useless—all of it a dull, useless, senseless life wasted, tossed away in a place he’d never even heard of, a miserable place he’d never meant to be.
“And what in all the hells for?” he muttered to himself. “What for?”
“For nothing, little thief. Don’t tell me even you were unaware of that.”
Snails looked up, the dust stinging his eyes, and saw the dark shadow as the figure shut away the sun.
“I could’ve told you.” Damodar grinned. “You never asked, little thief. Now it scarcely matters anymore.”
Snails drew himself up, blinked sweat from his eyes, spat blood from his mouth, and wiped it on his patched sleeve. He leaned down then, never taking his eyes off his foe, and drew the last of his small daggers from his boot.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s do it. Let’s do it right.”
Damodar looked pained. “You can’t be serious. Look at you.”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life. And don’t smile at me again, all right? You’re ugly enough like you are, don’t try to make it any worse. You’re makin’ everyone around you want to throw up, you know that? All that snaky stuff comin’ out of your head—”
Snails came at him then, with no warning at all. Damodar shook his head, weary of this tiresome task. He thrashed out at Snails with a vicious blow to the face, then another, and another after that.
Snails gasped. Blood dripped from his mouth and the gaping wounds on his cheeks, on his jaw. He staggered back and dropped to the ground. In agony, he lifted his face, coated now with the dust of ancient stone.
“You’re finished,” Damodar said. “You know that as well as I. Give me the Dragon’s Eye. I might decide to let you die quickly. It’s a favor I seldom offer such as you.”
Snails raised himself on one arm, the other now nearly useless. He could barely see the man now. His enemy’s hideous face was a blur, his eyes tiny moons, lost behind a cloud.
“Go to hell,” he said, spitting the words with blood. “You’ll recognize the place. It’s where your kind were spawned.”
“You had your chance,” Damodar said, “and I have to tell you I’m delighted you chose the more painful way. I much prefer to—”
Damodar was startled be
yond belief. He backed off, nearly tangling one boot in the next as his blooded, dying foe, a man whose life flowed freely out of his veins, suddenly launched himself from an early grave and lashed out with a dagger in his weak and trembling hand.
“Fool! Damned little fool!” Damodar shouted. He grabbed Snails’ arm with a one gloved hand, turned it with a nearly effortless twist, and plunged the weapon hard and deep into Snails’ gut.
Snails staggered back, screaming in pain, both hands clutched at his belly. Damodar smiled, took one step, gave the blade a final, deadly twist, and shoved his victim roughly to the ground.
His rage, though, was far from gratified. Hatred still darkened his face, and the monsters within his head writhed and hissed about his features as he reached down and grabbed the limp form by the neck, dragging him roughly to his knees.
Raising his armored hand, he flexed the armored fist, closing and opening the iron, clawed fingers, the deadly wrist blades, again and again.
One blow, one slash of that hand and the little thief’s face would disappear. One blow, and no one—no one, could be certain who he had ever been.
“Damodar!”
Damodar glanced up, a cruel smile creasing his features, not truly surprised to see the thief and the girl on the steps leading down to the turret wall.
“Not your usual punctual self, I see. Where’s the Dragon’s Eye? I’d be right in thinking you have it, would I not?”
“You would,” Ridley said. “I have it. Right here.”
Damodar gave the young thief a thoughtful look. Clearly, he had not suppressed the spells left behind to stop his way. From the boy’s dusty, disheveled appearance, he had torn his way through the wall itself, nearly killing himself in the effort, solely to get to his friend.
“If you have the thing,” he said, “I fear you must show me. Forgive the lack of trust, but you understand…”
“Let Snails go first. And then the stone is yours.”
“Seems reasonable to me.”
And in that moment, Ridley’s eyes met Snails’. Snails showed his friend a painful smile, blood seeping now between his teeth, his face drained of color, white as new parchment off the artist’s shelf.
Ridley knew there was something there, something in those quickly fading eyes, but their meaning wasn’t clear, not clear at all until Snails’ gaze shifted down to his hand, and there Ridley saw it, half-hidden beneath the blood-soaked shirt.
Ridley drew in a breath. The scroll! Snails had it clutched in his hand! In that instant, Ridley knew what his friend intended, what he meant to do—
“Snails, don’t!” Ridley cried, but the scroll was already in the air, already on its way to Ridley’s grasp.
“No!” Marina shouted, her fingers clasped against her face.
Damodar threw back his head in anger, raised his armored claw and plunged the iron wrist blades into Snails’ back.
Snails’ body crumpled. Damodar moved it with his boot to the edge of the turret wall and kicked it over the edge.
Ridley’s voice cracked in a terrible, mournful cry. He came at Damodar, sword slicing the air. Damodar met him, blocking every blow with the edge of his blade. Ridley’s arms were heavy as leaden weights. He called up every ounce of courage he could muster, meeting the mage’s blows again and again.
As Ridley weakened, as his strength drained away, Damodar’s power seemed to grow, as if the powers of darkness urged him on, adding their will to his. Ridley met one numbing blow and then another, and another after that. With a strike that nearly dropped him, his sword flew from his hand, dropping end over end into the courtyard below.
Damodar was on him at once, pressing his blade cruelly against Ridley’s chest and forcing him to his knees.
“Make it easy on yourself,” Damodar said. “One thrust, and it’s done. There’s scarcely any pain at all. Just give me what is mine.”
“No,” Ridley gasped. “I don’t think I’ll give you that pleasure. No, I won’t do that.”
Damodar grinned. “You’re as stubborn as your friend. Whatever is the point in this false and foolish courage? It serves no end. Look at him. Look at your friend down there a moment, thief, and tell me what courage brought him.”
With that, Damodar thrust, and the blade ripped into Ridley’s chest, ripping flesh and cracking bone. Ridley screamed, crumpling to the stone, and Damodar raised his sword to finish the contest.
Marina couldn’t take her eyes from the thing before her, couldn’t look away. It was only a small, brown pouch, a thing that had clearly fallen from Snails’ pocket before he fell to his death. Only a—She knew the thing, had seen such pouches a hundred times before, had seen them on Vildan’s littered table, seen them on his shelves.
With a quick glance at Damodar, she snatched the small pouch, opened it, and spilled out a handful of powder in her hands. It smelled right, it looked right. Raising her palm slowly, she stared at the mage above her, opened her fingers and blew a small cloud of dust toward his face.
Damodar looked startled, stared, and, for an instant, his attention strayed from his captured foe.
“Vallice runsar kilose!” Marina mouthed the words Vildan had made her learn again and again, tossed the rest of the dust in the air, and threw herself at Ridley, cradling his body with hers.
A pale aura shimmered in the air, blurred, brightened, and then formed a wavery portal of blue.
“Take me,” Marina whispered, “take me to Norda, wherever Norda may be!”
Damodar shouted in fury. His face turned black, and he took a step forward, slashing at the blue apparition with all the strength in his arms. His blade struck stone, ringing like a bell, but the portal was gone. There was nothing there, nothing at all.
CHAPTER
27
The storm had lashed the city all day, shrieking through the high towers, moaning in the streets and alleyways. People huddled in their homes, praying the gods would spare them, that the world would not end on this terrible day. Water quickly turned the narrow streets and cobbled avenues into swiftly rushing streams. Barrels, boxes, wagons, pans and pots, small animals and trash of every sort sped along the twisted maze of sewers down below.
For a minute and a half, the great waterways rushed the coursing flood along, as they’d been built to do. But that had been a thousand years before when Sumdall City was a bright and shining wonder high above a lovely blue river that flowed along below. The city wasn’t a wonder anymore, and the river wasn’t blue. The portals that spewed out water from the city filled with garbage at once, clogging every sewer and sending its foul cargo back up into the streets.
Late in the afternoon, the storm clouds vanished as quickly as they’d come, and the sun showed its splendor through a veil of amber-tinted clouds. The citizens of Sumdall opened their windows and ventured out, stunned by the beautiful sight in the sky, oblivious, for the moment, of the horrid stink that had risen up into their streets.
In the great council hall, an awesome array of brilliant light pierced the multi-colored dome and scattered beams of gold, red, green, and dazzling blue on the somber crowd gathered down below.
The dark-robed mages blinked their eyes and grumbled at this coarse intrusion of light. Mages did their work in shadow, in the dim glow of candles, in the flicker of a torch, set in a damp and stony wall. Besides, the mages lived by portents and signs, and they had no liking for the sight that appeared before them now.
For, as if the gods themselves had set the scene, the Empress Savina walked into the hall, veiled in an aura of luminescent light and walking through a bright slanting beam that was filled with dusty motes of gold.
Every mage held his breath, for the Empress was dressed in scales of pure gold, gold from her magnificent crown to the swirling gown that glittered in her wake. As the Empress climbed the nine runic steps to the dais, she spread her arms wide, revealing golden dragon wings of silk, wings that wavered from her fingers to the hem of her gown.
Not a word was spoken in
the gallery of seers, and no man looked at another, for his brother might read some omen of the future in his eyes.
“This, I understand,” the Empress said, “is the day you wish me to render my family’s scepter of power to this council. You are gathered here, I presume, to hear my decision on this?”
“Aye, august Majesty, we are,” Azmath said, bowing before his queen. “That is indeed our purpose here.”
The Empress stood straight, royal and proud, her chin firm and strong, eyes steady and determined, no touch of hesitation about her this day. No one present, gazing on this monarch sheathed in gold, could mistake her for a child. She was, indeed, a woman grown, her fathers daughter, no one’s plaything, no one’s regal pet, no one’s weakling.
“Then,” she said, her voice ringing out to every corner of the hall, “this day shall be remembered as the day your Empress defied this Council’s decree. For I will not relinquish my scepter to you or to anyone else. Not today. Not ever.”
Now the silence was broken as each man protested to his brother, showed by the anger in his voice, the frantic gestures of his hands, that he and he alone had truly seen the grim signs and portents of the day, that he had warned all the others that such a time would surely come, and now, as anyone could see, that awesome day was here.
Profion, standing in shadow, watched this drama play itself out through one dreary scene and the next. As the author of this bad piece of mummery, this sham with unworthy actors who mumbled through their parts, he simply waited his time. For he and he alone among these shabby players, truly knew his lines.
“Your Majesty,” Azmath spoke when the others had quieted down, “I plead with you, in all respect, for the good of Izmer and us all. This council has voted the issue, and you must bow to our wishes this time.” Then Azmath dared to look up at the Empress herself. “You… you don’t understand the consequences of your action if you do not decide to comply?”
“Decide? You hear what I have declared, and you dare to say decide? If your ears are not full of spiderwebs, you have already heard what I have decided Azmath, you and every other mage here.”
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