by Ben Hale
Beyond the soldier, the corridor terminated at a single room, the bars suggesting it to be some sort of cell. Shadow wondered who was beyond the door, but there was too much light to find out. Shrugging, he turned and descended to the lowest level of the fortress.
From a perch on one of the beams, Shadow watched the prison wagon being guided down the wide corridor. A steed of fire pulled the wagon around a curve and then straight into a series of cells. The wagon was attached to a cell door, and finally opened.
The Bloodsworn prodded Lorica into the cell with long spears, but she grabbed a spear and yanked it from its wielder. Spinning it, she stabbed through the gap. The man Shadow had seen with dozens of kills marked on his arm died in his own fortress at the hands of an assassin, his scream rattling the remaining Bloodsworn.
Lorica smirked as they shouted, forcing her into the cell and slamming the door. Then they retrieved the dying man and retreated with the prison wagon. Shadow expected guards to be present and was not disappointed. No less than six stood guard in the hall, watching the barred door.
Shadow worked his way around the room and picked up a pebble, which he tossed down the hall. It rattled against the wall and all six turned to look. Shadow used the moment to morph to his shadow form and dive headfirst through the tiny window in the door, entering her cell. Turning corporeal once again, he pressed a rune on his gauntlet, preventing their conversation from leaving the room.
“How was your ride?” he asked with a smile.
Chapter 30: A Dangerous Ambition
“Did you have to antagonize them?” Lorica asked.
“I got bored,” he said.
“You could have gotten us caught,” she said.
He stepped to the door and eyed the guards. “But I didn’t.”
“Barely,” she said. “But I have to admit, the flies were funny.”
He grinned. “Did you see the one smack his own face?”
She grinned and then pointed upward. “We need to find Gendor. Did you see him?”
“I actually think you should stay in here,” he said.
She scowled. “That wasn’t part of our plan.”
“Plans change,” he said.
She took a step toward him, her hands balling into fists. “I thought I could trust you.”
“You can,” he said. “This fortress is formidable, and there’s more Bloodsworn than we thought. The moment I release you it’s only a matter of time until the guards discover your absence. When they do, we’ll be trapped in the fortress and they will hunt us down.”
She stepped to the door and peered through the bars. “Six guards?” she asked, her tone filled with surprise.
“You’re the Angel of Death,” he said. “Can you blame them?”
“I’ll never get out without being spotted,” she said.
“Isn’t that what I said?”
She released an irritated grunt. “You said you were going to leave me in here.”
“Only for a few hours,” he said. “I need to find Gendor before we strike.”
“We won’t need to,” she said, peering through the window.
“Why?”
“Because he’s here.”
He looked through the bars and cursed. With Relgor at his side, Gendor advanced on the cell and barked an order. One of the six guards stepped forward and began unlocking the door, the key clanking in the mechanism.
Shadow scanned the room, searching for a place to hide. Like the rest of the fortress, beams across the ceiling held light orbs. At fifteen feet off the cell floor they would be out of reach for most anyone, but Shadow pulled on the gloom and sent a thread into the rafters. He disappeared as the door swung open.
Lorica had retreated to the back of the room, her hands wide, ready for a fight. Her cloak swirled open, the wings partially unfolding as if they too were eager for blood. Gendor smirked at her position.
“You have no blade, no friends, no allies, yet still you stand defiant.”
She whipped a dagger from a sheath on his back and hurled it at Gendor. He swerved to the side, the blade grazing his cheek and plunging into a Bloodsworn standing behind. The man stared in shock at the dagger in his chest and then groaned as he fell to his knees.
“Now I’m out of blades.”
Gendor wiped at the blood on his cheek. “Somehow I doubt that.”
“Why don’t you come and find out?”
Gendor wiped the blood from his hand. “I think I’ll keep my distance.”
He motioned to the door, and a guard outside pressed his palm on a rune. Chains of anti-magic burst from the wall and coiled around Lorica’s wrists, pulling her back to the wall. Lorica rattled the chains.
“You must be truly afraid of me, to kill me when I’m unarmed.”
Gendor laughed, the sound filled with menace. “I could kill you as easily as I did your sister. But, unfortunately, Relgor wished to meet you.”
Shadow shifted closer to the edge of the beam, peering down at the krey, who surveyed Lorica with a great deal of interest in his black eyes. Shadow held a dagger in his hand, but Relgor’s expression did not herald violence.
“I know who you are,” Lorica said coolly. “You’re Wylyn’s son.”
“One of many,” Relgor said, eyeing Lorica like she was a prized bull.
“How many sons does she have?” Lorica asked.
“Hundreds,” he replied with a laugh.
Shadow leaned down on the beam, watching the conversation. Relgor’s presence with Gendor here was not unexpected, but his desire to meet with Lorica was. Why would a member of the krey wish to speak to an assassin?
Lorica scowled at Relgor’s attention. “Keep looking at me like that and I’ll cut your eyes out.”
“You must understand my position.” Relgor stepped to the side and looked her up and down. “Wylyn is the head of our house, and there are tens of thousands of direct descendants. Each is given a position of authority.”
“I take it you don’t care for yours.”
Relgor’s lips curled into a sneer. “I deserved a higher position, but I was relegated to the position of house slavemaster.”
“How very vile of you.”
Relgor sniffed. “I control the slaves in the house, and the sale of new stock when a world like yours is harvested.”
“There is no world like ours.”
Relgor’s black eyes spun, a flicker of gold appearing. “Indeed, and for the first time, I saw an opportunity to escape my station. The value on this world is a thousand times that of any other, but there are some of you worth even more.”
Lorica bristled. “I’m not a slave.”
“You will be,” he said, striding forward and examining her up close. “An assassin with wings, the Angel of Death. I know just the buyer for you.”
“I’m not for sale.”
Relgor continued as if he hadn’t heard. “There is an arena renowned as the graveyard of the mighty. Imagine an island filled with killers more dangerous than you, with millions paying to watch you hunt . . . and watch you die.” He smiled and reached out to flick her wings. “Survive long enough and you get your freedom, but no human ever has. I think you could be the first.”
“Does this arena have a name?” Gendor asked.
Relgor never took his eyes away from Lorica. “They call it The Bone Crucible.”
Lorica’s wings spread wide and curved toward Relgor. He leapt back, but one struck him in the chest, knocking him sprawling into the dirt. Lorica spit on his boots as Gendor raised a sword to her throat, lightning crackling on the blade.
“Take her wings,” Gendor barked to the guards outside.
“No,” Relgor said. “A bird in a cage is all the more saddened when they can fly.”
“I said I’m not for sale,” Lorica said.
Shadow shifted to stand above Gendor. If a strike came, it would come from him. His blade hung ready, his grip tightening. With a start Shadow realized he was angry, not for himself, but for an
other. The emotion surprised him. Aside from the fragments or Elenyr, he’d never felt such a compulsion to protect someone else.
Relgor rose to his feet, wiping the blood from his nose with a laugh. “She’s almost worth as much as the others. Don’t damage her.”
“Before you take her there is one thing I require,” Gendor said. “I want the ring.”
“I’m the guildmaster,” Lorica snarled.
“The guild is dead,” Gendor said.
He stepped forward and reached for her hand, but she clenched her fist. Even chained, she fought him until he put his sword against her throat, his dark eyes conveying a desire to strike deep.
Lorica’s eyes filled with hatred and flicked up to Shadow. Then she allowed Gendor to pull the ring from her finger. He smiled as he examined the ring—until Lorica brought her head forward, bashing him in the face with her forehead.
Gendor recoiled and reached to his nose, which had broken, blood falling down his tunic. Shadow snorted a laugh, the sound lost in Gendor’s bellow of pain. He retreated, grasping his nose and cursing Lorica.
“You shouldn’t have come so close,” Lorica said, a smile of triumph on her lips.
Relgor clapped with delight. “I will have to bet on you myself.”
“Tell me,” Lorica said, looking to Gendor. “What’s to stop him selling you to the Bone Crucible?”
“I serve him,” Gendor snarled.
“You are still a slave,” Lorica said.
Relgor chuckled and shook his head. “Slaves serve out of fear, servants serve out of loyalty.”
“I made a choice,” Gendor said, his face a mask of pain. “I chose the side destined to win.”
“An intelligent servant,” Relgor said.
Gendor scowled at the term but remained silent, and Shadow realized the man had indeed chosen a side. Gendor inspired hatred, but he’d made his choice out of self-preservation, truly believing it was the smart route. Shadow wondered how he could use that, for if he could turn Gendor’s desire to his own aims, he might become an ally. Of course, Lorica still wanted to kill him, and Shadow was not inclined to betray her.
“You have your ring,” Relgor said. “Now go. I have other business to attend to.”
Gendor scowled, clearly reluctant to leave the krey with Lorica. Then he swept from the cell. She’d managed to contain her fury, but her eyes glittered with hatred. Relgor regarded the bound assassin for several moments and then called out to the Bloodsworn at the door.
“Leave us.”
“You saw what happened to Gendor,” he said.
“She will not harm me,” Relgor said.
“Yes I will,” Lorica spat.
Relgor laughed and motioned them away. Disliking the look on Relgor’s face, Shadow shifted his position so he could drop between them, if necessary. When Relgor glanced to the door, Lorica looked up and gave a tiny shake of her head. Shadow reluctantly stayed in place.
“What do you want?” Lorica asked.
“I want to know about the fragments.”
“Who?”
“You were seen in the Raven’s home,” he said with a smirk. “And Water and Shadow were both present.”
“Allies of circumstance,” she said. “I know nothing about them.”
“Come now,” Relgor said. “We both know you were traveling with Shadow.”
“He wouldn’t shut his mouth,” she said, raising her chin. “I killed him.”
Her words were so convincing that Shadow felt a chill, and realized she’d considered the prospect enough that her voice had the ring of truth. Relgor too, regarded her with surprise in his eyes. Then he began to laugh.
“I would have been sorely disappointed if you had, but I suspect even you could not kill a fragment of Draeken.”
“What do you want?” she repeated, her tone annoyed. “You have your friends for answers, so why don’t you speak the truth?”
“Very well,” he said. “Keeping one such as yourself contained would prove . . . problematic, and I do not care for the cost. I know what happened to your sister, and I know what you really want. So I ask you, would you join me of your own accord . . . if I let you kill Gendor?”
Shadow’s eyes widened in surprise. Relgor was offering what she wanted most, a chance to avenge her fallen sister. It wasn’t his only goal, that much was clear, but Shadow recognized the seriousness to his tone. He meant the offer.
“Why choose me over him?” she asked warily.
“Gendor is a killer and a survivor, but he lacks a certain . . . gravity. Thorg was the same, and you already killed him. You, on the other hand, are no servant. You may be born a slave, but you have the eyes of a slayer.”
“Gendor will kill you if he finds out you want to replace him.”
“Are you going to tell him?” Relgor laughed. “He would not believe you.”
“I’m afraid I have to decline,” Lorica said.
“Are you certain?” Relgor asked. “I know you seek to protect your companion, but I wonder what you will think when he is also in a cage.”
Shadow’s eyes narrowed, and he scanned the cell. Relgor spoke as if he knew Shadow was present, and Shadow rose to his feet, retreating further into the darkness of the rafters, tightening his grip on the hilt of his dagger.
“I came in a prison wagon,” Lorica scoffed. “You think I have a friend here?”
“You were very clever,” he said. “But then, I expect nothing less from one of your caliber. Isn’t that right . . . Shadow?”
He turned and looked into the rafters, directly at Shadow. Before Shadow could respond, a hidden door swung open in the wall above the beams, and light filled the cell. Shadow recoiled at the blinding light and didn’t see the incoming blow. It struck him in the skull, knocking him to the floor below. He grunted when he was struck, his vision swimming. He managed to see a man drop from the opening and alight at his side, his smile one of triumph as he hefted chains of pure light.
Serak.
“Welcome to Mistkeep,” Serak said. “I hope you like it, because you’re going to be staying a while . . .”
Chapter 31: Shadow’s Cage
Shadow lurched awake, groaning at the immediate ache in his skull. He reached up and touched his head, his fingers coming away bloody. Wincing, he rolled to his knees and then rose to his feet.
He stood in a cell, only the chamber was not like the room that caged Lorica. The floor, the ceiling, the bars, all were made of pure, solid light, the white material just bright enough to ensure no shadows could exist in the room.
He looked down and realized his shirt was gone, leaving just his tunic. The heat from the light washed across his skin, causing sweat to glisten. As Shadow’s vision settled, he realized two things. First, the cell had taken decades to build. And second, it was built for him.
“I hope you like the accommodations.”
Shadow turned and looked beyond the bars. In the gloom beyond, two figures approached. Serak and Relgor came to a halt outside the cage, and Serak swept a hand to the cage, the pride in his gaze suggesting he’d been the architect.
“I hope you will consider this place your home,” he said. “For you will be here until Relgor can craft a Gate to return home.”
“How long were you standing there?” Shadow asked, his tone one of reproach. “I was just unconscious without a shirt on, and you were what, watching me? That’s a little creepy, you know that?”
Serak shifted uncomfortably. “You could have used your shirt to leave shadows.”
“So you stripped an unconscious man?” Shadow snorted derisively. “Now it’s even more creepy.”
Relgor chuckled at Shadow’s tone. “You have a talent for words, one that I find—”
“Valuable?” Shadow finished. “Curse my good looks and my wit. Would that I lacked such attractions.”
His tone elicited a sneer from Serak. “Of all the fragments, it is you I despise the most.”
“Yet you built a cage for me,” he
said, and winked. “I think you like me.”
Serak’s scowl deepened, but Relgor cut him off. “It is important that you understand your predicament. The other fragments do not know your location, and your only real ally has betrayed you.”
“Lorica?” he jerked his head. “She would never join you.”
“She realized her fate was sealed when you were captured, and has accepted my offer while you slumbered,” Relgor smiled. “She now serves the Order.”
Shadow laughed, the sound low and mocking, so laced with scorn that both men flushed. If he’d just met Lorica he might have believed them, but over the last few weeks he’d grown to trust the woman. Friends do not betray friends.
Serak stepped to the edge of the cage and pressed a hand on a rune. The light within began to brighten, the walls and ceiling turning white, the bars glowing. Shadow grimaced as the light scorched his flesh, burning lines across his skin. More shadows curled off him like smoke, burned away by the searing light.
Shadow fell to his knees but fought the urge to cover himself with his arms. The pain continued to rise, ripping a growl from his lips. Then Serak reduced the light back to normal, leaving steam rising from Shadow’s flesh.
“Can you direct me to the bathing chamber?” Shadow asked, looking about the cell. “I like to take a dip after being tortured.”
Relgor’s jaw tightened. “Do you not understand the danger you face? You are—”
“Famished,” Shadow said. “Potatoes, a nice seared steak, and steamed vegetables sound delightful.”
Serak glowered. “I’ll give you—”
“And dwarven fire ale.”
“I’ll—”
“And perhaps some roast pig haunch,” Shadow mused.
Serak reached for the rune. “I’ll roast you until you—”
“No,” Shadow said, tapping his chin. “That all sounds delicious, but I think it needs cheese. But what type?”