by Ben Hale
Shadow began to list the types of cheeses, wondering aloud what would go best with his meal. Serak stared at him, his hand inches from pressing the rune. Relgor’s expression blackened, his black eyes spinning with red until he snapped.
“SILENCE, SLAVE!”
Shadow smiled, and Serak slammed his hand onto the rune. Again the light brightened, burning Shadow’s body. He kept his feet, laughing through the pain, the sound so mocking that Serak pressed the rune harder.
“Enough!” Relgor barked. “Bring her in.”
The light diminished and Shadow sucked in his breath, smiling through the pain. Relgor glared at him, his amusement gone, leaving fury in its place. Shadow blew a kiss, daring him to press the rune again. A door opened at the back of the chamber, briefly lighting a circular room and a pedestal at the center. Lorica entered and advanced to join Serak and Relgor.
“Lorica,” Shadow said in surprise.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “But they made an offer I could not refuse.”
“So you betrayed me?” Shadow demanded.
“I was here for Gendor,” she said, grimacing. “My oath is to my guild.”
Shadow stabbed a finger at her empty finger. “I see you have yet to claim the guildmaster’s ring. Does Gendor yet live?”
“For now,” Serak said. “We must ensure Lorica’s loyalty before we grant her reward.”
“So you trust them?” Shadow asked.
“I have no choice,” she said, and looked away. “I’m sorry.”
“Your reunion is touching,” Serak said. “But we have a schedule to keep.”
Relgor, obviously still seething, pointed to Shadow. “We want you to cast a messenger to Elenyr. We want her to dispatch Fire to help you.”
“You think I’m going to help you?” Shadow snorted in disbelief.
“Of course,” Serak said. “Because if you don’t, we’re going to kill Lorica.”
Lorica rounded on them, just as Gendor appeared behind her, his barbed dagger at her throat. Her features contorted with fury, but the blade was tight on her neck, and she trembled in helplessness.
“You really thought Serak would trust you?” Gendor asked.
“I’ll kill you for this,” Lorica spat at Relgor.
“I did speak the truth,” Relgor said, yellow replacing the red on his dark eyes, his tone shifting to amused. “I would rather have you on my side. But better to have a devil I trust.”
Serak never took his gaze from Shadow, as if he knew victory was at hand. Shadow glared back, wanting to dismiss Lorica as easily as she had dismissed him. But he remained silent, the words failing to reach his lips.
“That was all it took to silence you?” Relgor asked, chuckling. “We should have brought her in sooner.”
“Will you let her go?” Shadow asked.
“I swear it.”
“You can’t trust them,” Lorica growled.
“You don’t get to talk to me,” Shadow hurled the words at her. “Not anymore.”
“You have no choice,” Relgor said.
Shadow clenched his fists. “I’ll do it.”
Serak smirked, and touched the rune, lowering the darkness in the cell enough that he could craft a messenger. He crafted a jungle cat out of the darkness, and when Serak gave him parchment, wrote a brief message. He wanted to shape the message to his own aims, but they gave him the exact words.
As he wrote the message, he subtly crafted a dagger out of shadows and tucked it behind his back. When he was finished, Serak opened a section of the bars and the cat padded out. Then the bars shut and the room brightened again, disintegrating the dagger.
Relgor’s smile was sickening. “You have my gratitude.”
He motioned to the darkened room and Bloodsworn appeared from the gloom with shackles, which they placed on Lorica’s wrists. At no point did he permit her an escape, and Gendor kept the blade on her throat. Then the shackles locked shut and the pair dragged Lorica from the room.
“I’m sorry,” Lorica called as she disappeared, her tone filled with anger and regret.
Relgor went with them, leaving Shadow alone with Serak. The father of guardians regarded Shadow for several moments and then pressed the rune, burning Shadow anew. This time Shadow did not laugh.
“I sent your message,” Shadow said, wiping blood from his mouth. “Will you let her go?”
Serak inclined his head. “I will spare her life as agreed. But I admit I’m surprised. I did not think you would feel compassion for another’s pain.”
“I’m surprised as well,” Shadow said. “Surprised that anyone thought you attractive enough to love. Tell me, was Elsin blind? Or just desperate?”
Serak reached to the rune on the bars, and the illumination in the cell brightened. Shadow cringed away from the brilliance and raised a hand, but the effort was futile. The bars, the floor, even the walls and ceiling were all imbued with light, burning away every patch of shadow, and scalding his flesh.
His chest and face were scorched and cut, blood dripping to the floor. Shadow grimaced but laughed anyway, the sound low and mocking, daring Serak to brighten the room further. He knew it was foolish, but he refused to let Serak see him vulnerable.
“I do like long walks on the beach,” Shadow said.
“You won’t like this one,” Relgor said, returning and joining Serak.
The krey stood as tall as Serak, his body lean, his black eyes gaining flecks of gold. His smile suggested he found pleasure in Shadow’s pain, and Shadow managed to make a rude gesture to the krey.
Relgor did not take his gaze from the cell. “You have no idea how much you are worth,” he said softly. “With you and your fragment brothers, I could even buy a marriage into the empirical line.”
“You cannot trap us all,” Shadow said.
“Actually, I can,” Serak said.
He reduced the illumination in Shadow’s cell, not enough to create darkness, but enough so Shadow wasn’t bleeding. Then Serak stepped to the center of the circular chamber and touched a rune on the pedestal.
Four walls descended into the floor, revealing four additional cages. One was crafted of bright blue flames, another absent of all light. The third was built of water so cold that frost vapors curled off the aquaglass wall. The last was a traditional cell, with hardened steel and mithral walls. Serak smiled at Shadow’s expression.
“You see, I’ve been preparing to cage you for thousands of years, ever since I found the Gate chamber and sent a message to Relgor.”
“I thought you sent the beacon to Wylyn,” Shadow said.
“That’s what my mother thinks,” Relgor said, his smile turning smug.
“You lied to your mother?” Shadow feigned indignation. “How beastly of you.”
“I wonder if your buyer will cut out your tongue,” Relgor said. “Or maybe he will enjoy your crassness. Either way, it won’t matter to me. I will already have my reward.”
“You cannot cage what you do not understand,” Shadow said.
Serak swept a hand to him. “I’ve spent my entire existence studying you. I know everything you are capable of, and what you cannot do.”
“We shall see,” Shadow said.
Serak regarded him for several moments and then motioned to the only entrance into the cell. “Come, Relgor. We must prepare for Fire’s arrival.”
“Enjoy your final days here,” Shadow called. “You won’t like how they end!”
Serak and Relgor departed, leaving Shadow in his glowing cell. He listened to their footfalls diminish. Then he stepped to the bars of his cage and leaned against them, examining the other cages.
He always appreciated how much men divulged when they thought themselves in power. Shadow had learned a great deal in the last few minutes. And for all their gloating, Shadow would have the privilege of seeing their triumph turn to despair.
“Your plans are good,” he murmured, a faint smile spreading on his face. “But my plans are better . . .”
Gendor shoved Lorica into her cell, knocking her to her knees. She rose and spun, ready for a fight, but Gendor remained in the doorway, his lightning sword in hand. She kept expecting them to take her wing cloak, but they would pay for the effort in blood. Even without a weapon, she was dangerous as long as she had her wings. But not against Gendor. The urge to charge burned in her chest, but without a blade the effort would be lethal.
“Tell me,” she said. “Is there anyone left that cares about you? Or have you killed them all?”
“You despise me for being smart?” Gendor asked.
“I despise you for killing the innocent,” she snapped.
“No one is innocent,” Gendor said. “Have you not realized that yet? They all deserve to die, and I’m just smart enough to see the coming storm. Only a fool would sail into a hurricane.”
“Does that help you sleep at night?” she asked. “Kill anyone to survive?”
“That is all that matters,” he said.
“You can’t lie to me,” she said. “You love to kill, to have the power to take someone’s life. Give me my blade and see if you can take mine.”
He twitched as if he wanted to agree, and then shook his head. “Goodbye, Lorica. When you die in The Bone Crucible, know that I’ll be watching.”
He turned and left, the door slamming shut. Lorica listened to the key turn and then his footfalls echoing into stillness. Then she stepped to the opening and peered into the hall. As before, six guards stood in the hall, all staring at the door.
Lorica retreated into the darkened interior of the cell and sat on the bed. Although the urge to escape was overwhelming, she held herself in check. Right now, the guards were watchful and wary, and she was still on Gendor’s mind. She needed an advantage.
The guards checked on her every few minutes. It was maddening to know how to escape but be forced to wait, but she resisted the impulse. The guards had likely been warned to watch her carefully, but her unmoving silence eventually caused them to check on her less and less often.
As she waited, she pondered her brief moment of freedom and what she’d learned from Relgor and Serak. The pair thought themselves triumphant and in that victory had gloated. Exactly as she and Shadow had planned. But they had not planned for how well prepared their foes would be, and now they were both in cages.
A meal arrived, the tray shoved through a small flap in the base of the door. The food was better than expected, and although she wanted to ignore the meal, she eventually caved over the savory scents. She picked up the tray and retreated to the bed to eat. When she was finished she kept the tray and continued to listen.
She thought often of her sister and wondered what she would think of her predicament. She was caged by a member of the krey and destined to fight in an otherworldly arena for the amusement of the Krey Empire. If she failed.
“Would you have liked our plan?” she wondered aloud.
Loralyn had always been methodical in her craft, both as a soldier and as an assassin. In that regard she was much like their brother. Zenif would plan the design for a piece of cloth to the utmost detail, while Loralyn would plot an entrance and escape for every target. The actual blow was delivered with solemnity, almost apologetically, and Loralyn had always mourned those she’d killed. Her honor had been above reproach.
Lorica knew exactly what her sister would have said about her plan with Shadow. It was bold and risky, with many variables that could result in ruin. It also counted on Shadow’s cooperation, but she reminded herself that he’d saved her life, more than once now.
A faint swell of voices outside the cell indicated her time had come, so she stood and approached the door. A glance through the small window proved that the guards had grown restless. Only one continued to watch the door, while the other five had fallen into conversation about Gendor and the krey.
Lorica smiled faintly and then spread her wings. Leaping into the air, she flapped once and alighted on the rafters above. Then she crept along the beam to the end, where Shadow had been when Relgor entered the room. Behind a beam where the shadows were darkest, she reached down and found a solid object clinging to the back side of the beam.
A key.
She smiled as she palmed the key and dropped back to the ground. After Shadow had been taken, she’d found the key in seconds, but decided to leave it there in case Gendor returned. Just when she’d been contemplating using it, Relgor had returned and repeated his offer. Realizing it was a chance to survey the castle, even if the offer was false, she’d accepted.
She chuckled in the darkness, pleased with how much she’d learned. Relgor’s offer had sounded genuine, but Lorica had never believed he would let her live. By accepting, she’d learned what she most needed, the way to Shadow’s cell.
Lorica stepped to the door and inserted the key into the lock. Shadow had crafted it out of darkness, so she was careful to keep her body between the key and the light orb in the cell. The lock creaked as she turned the key, drawing the gaze of one of the guards. She tensed, but another guard spoke and he turned away.
She eased the key around, rotating the lock until it opened in a whisper of steel. The wary guard looked again and frowned, and then began to walk towards the door. Lorica grasped the handle and ducked below the window.
The man reached the window and stared into the cell. He scowled and scanned the room before he struck the wood with his fist, calling her name. The other guards heard the concern and fell silent, their boots clicking on the floor as they joined him.
“Where is she?” one demanded.
“Does it matter?” another asked. “She can’t go anywhere.”
“We were not supposed to let her out of our sight,” the first one said.
“She’s just trying to bait us into—”
Lorica kicked the door open, smashing the guard into his companions. She darted into the open and used the food tray to hit a man in the face, sending him into the wall. Cursing, the remainder managed to draw their swords.
“Nice blades,” Lorica said. “Which one will I take first?”
One sliced high, the other low. Lorica spun and took two steps to the wall. Racing up the surface, she leapt into a back flip and spread her wings, soaring over them both. They spun as she landed, her wings stretching out.
She sidestepped a hasty lunge and caught the man’s wrist, wrenching his sword free. Raising the weapon, she blocked the blow from the second and then sent her wing to knock him into another guard who’d managed to get to his feet. Both crashed into the wall.
Now with sword in hand, Lorica dived into the fray. They were trained well, their swordcraft sufficient to inspire fear among normal soldiers. But in their disorganized ranks she flitted from one side to the other, her blade cutting deep, claiming one life, then two.
When the third slumped to the ground the one with a broken nose retreated, stumbling backward. He filled his lungs with air, but she filled his lungs with a sword. He stared in astonishment at the sword extending from his body. His shout died on his lips and he too fell to the floor.
The remaining two struck on both sides, driving her back from the blade, leaving her hands empty. Without a weapon, she was hard pressed. Steel split her skin, cutting her stomach, shoulder, and cheek. Their confidence mounted and they pressed the attack, forcing her back toward her cell.
The one on her right cried out in triumph, driving his sword toward her stomach, a tactic meant to force her back into the room. Instead she caught the door, swinging it outward to accept the blow. The blade dug deep, the wood momentarily binding the weapon. The second Bloodsworn came at her other flank, his sword swinging across her waist.
Still with her hand on the door, Lorica pulled herself above the flashing sword and kicked out, her boot connecting with his jaw. He tumbled backward, and she spun around the door. She caught the hilt of the bound blade and kicked the door, wrenching it free.
“Would you really kill someone so
helpless?” he asked, raising his hands to placate her.
She whirled and launched the stolen sword. It spun end over end and plunged into the guard she’d kicked, the blade knocking him into the wall. He died before he hit the ground. Then she turned to the final guard.
“Better?”
“Much,” he said.
He darted in and leveled a punch that would take her eye. She caught a glimpse of the steel around his knuckles as she ducked and sent her wings outward. The tips of the winged cloak wrapped around the man’s throat, lifting him off the ground and slamming him into the stone wall.
“Where’s Gendor?” she demanded.
The man struggled to speak, his hands clenched around the cloak. “The central tower, top floor.”
“And Serak?”
“Left an hour ago,” he groaned. “Went into the Deep.”
“Why?”
“I can’t—”
She retained her grip on his throat as she turned and slammed him into the opposite wall, where he hung above two of his dead comrades. Her voice turned to ice as she leaned in, her face just inches from his.
“Last time I’ll ask.”
“Someone was impersonating Serak,” he growled.
“Who?”
He squirmed in the grip of her wings. “I don’t know, I swear. But he got far enough into the Order to learn a great deal. They’re setting a trap for the imposter.”
Lorica considered the idea that they might have an ally against the Order. Donning Serak’s persona was a bold move, and bespoke someone both powerful and daring. If they’d also learned about the Order, it could prove useful. It also meant that Gendor was alone in the fortress.
“And Relgor?”
“With Gendor,” he said.
“How many are in Mistkeep?”
The man fought to breath. “More than—”
He pulled a blade from a hidden sheath in his sleeve, a motion he’d obviously waited to do until she was distracted. He sliced for the cloak, forcing her to release him. He dropped the blade and caught it with his other hand, knifing for her throat.
Lorica retreated from the flashing knife, ducking and twisting to avoid his evident skill. He switched hands, and then rolled the blade along his forearm, flicking it out to nick her already bloody cheek.