chanted the crowd. The warlord waved his hand in the air and the chattering grew loud again. The guards moved in with spears.
***
Now we know what the empire has been doing with the elves they
ve been rounding up,
Royce
muttered as he ran his fingers lightly along the length of the doorjamb. Hadrian noticed Wyatt turning away sharply.aboenkin locked them in cells buried in the foundation of the fortress. There were no windows. The only light came from the small barred opening of the door beyond which torches mounted in iron sconces flickered intermittently. Hadrian and Royce were fortunate enough to share a cell with Wyatt and Wesley, while the others were in similar cells within the same block.
The sounds of their independent conversations echoed as indiscernible whispers.
It
s ghastly,
Wesley said, collapsing on the stone floor and dropping his head in his hands.
Admittedly, I
ve never held any love for those of elven blood,
he gave Royce and apologetic glance,
but this
this is loathsome beyond human imagining. That the empire could sanction such a vile and dishonourable act is
is
And now we also know what that fleet of ships in the bay is for,
Hadrian said.
They
re planning to
invade Delgos, and it would appear we delivered the orders for them to attack.
But Drumindor is impregnable from the sea,
Wesley said.
Do you think this Erandabon fellow
knows that? All those ships will be burned to cinders the moment they enter the bay.
No, they won
t,
Royce said.
Drumindor has been sabotaged. The spouts are blocked and when they vent at the next full moon there will be an explosion, destroying it and I suspect Tur Del Fur as well. After that, the armada can sail in unopposed.
What?
Wesley asked.
You can
t possibly know that.
Royce said nothing.
Yes, he does,
Hadrian said.
Realization crossed Wesley
s face.
The seal was broken. You read the letter?
Royce continued exploring the door.
How is it going to explode?
Hadrian asked.
The vents have been blocked.
No
Hadrian shook his head.
Only Gravis knew how to do that, and he
s dead.
Merrick found out somehow. He
s doing the same thing Gravis tried. He
s blocked the portals and
when they try to vent during the harvest moon the gas and molten rock will have nowhere to go.
The whole mountain will blow. And that
s what Merrick meant about turning the tide of war for the empire. Delgos supports the Nationalists, funded largely by Cornelius DeLur. When they eliminated Gaunt, they cut off the rebellion
s head. Now they will cut out its legs. Destroying Delgos will mean the New Empire will only need to deal with Melengar.
But those ships we saw in the harbor were not just Tenkin. The vast majority were Ghazel,
Hadrian
pointed out.
Gile thinks he can use them as muscle, as his attack dogs, but goblins can
t be tamed.
He can
t control them. The empire is handing Delgos over to the Ba Ran Ghazel. Once they entrench themselves the goblins will become a greater threat to the empire than the Nationalists ever were.
I doubt Merrick cares,
Royce opined.
You stole the letter from me and read it?
Wesley asked Royce.
And you had us deliver it to the
warlord knowing it would launch an invasion?
Are you saying you wouldn
t have? Those were your orders, sanctioned by the regents themselves.
But giving Delgos to that
that
insane man and the Ghazel, it
s
it
s
It
s your sworn duty as an officer of the empire.
Wesley stared, aghast.
My father used to say,
A knight draws his sword for three reasons: to defend
himself, to defend the weak, and to defend his lord
, but he always added,
Never defend yourself
against the truth, never defend the weakness in others and never defend a lord without honor.
I don
t
see how anyone can find honor in feeding a child to goblins or handing over a nation of men to the Ghazel horde.
Why did you let him deliver the letter?
Hadrian asked.
I just read it tonight during the water break. It was my last chance to get a look, and I figured if we showed up completely empty handed we
d be killed right away.
I won
t be party to this
this
atrocity! We must prevent Drumindor
s destruction,
Wesley announced.
You realize interfering with this would be treason?
Royce told Wesley.
By ordering the delivery of every man, woman, and child in Tur Del Fur into the bloodthirsty hands of the Ba Ran Ghazel, the empress has committed treason to her subjects. It is I who remain loyal
loyal to the cause of honor.
It might comfort you to know that it is highly unlikely that Empress Modina gave this order,
Hadrian told him.
We know her
met her before she became empress. She would never sanction anything like this. I was in the palace the day before we sailed from Aquesta and she is not in charge. The regents are the ones behind this.
One thing
s for sure, if we foil Merrick
s plan we won
t have to look for him anymore. He
ll find us,
Royce added.
This is all my fault.
Wesley sighed.
My first command and look where it has led.
Don
t beat yourself up. You did fine.
Hadrian patted him on the shoulder.
But your duty is done
now. You completed the task your lord set for you. Everything after this is of your own choosing.
Not much of a choice, I
m afraid,
he said, looking around their cell.
How long before the rise of the harvest moon?
Royce asked.
About two weeks I would guess,
Hadrian replied.
It would take us too long to travel back by land. How long would it take us to get there by sea, Wyatt?
With the wind at our backs, we
d make the trip in a fraction of the time it took us to come out. Week and a half, two maybe.
Then we still have time.
Time for what?
Wesley asked.
We
re locked in the dungeon of a madman at the edge of the world.
Merely surviving will be a feat.
You are far too pessimistic for one so young,
Royce told him.
Wesley let out a small laugh.
All right, Seaman Melborn, how do you propose we sneak down to the harbor, capture a ship loaded with Ghazel warriors, and sail it out of a bay past an armada, when we can
t even get out of this locked cell?
Royce gave the door a gentle push and it swung open.
I unlocked it while you were ranting,
he
said.
Wesley
s face showed his astonishment.
You
re not just a seaman, are you?
Wait here,
said Royce, slipping out.
He was gone for several minutes. They heard no sound. When he returned Poe, Derning, Grady, Dilladrum and the Vintu followed and Royce had blood on his dagger and a ring of keys in his hand.
What about the others?
Wesley asked.
Don
t worry I won
t forget about them,
Royce said, with a devilish grin. When he left, the others followed. A guard lay dead in a pool of blood and Royce was already at the door of the last cell.
We don
t need to be released,
Defoe said, from behind the door.
I could open it myself if I wanted to
get out.
I
m not here to let you out,
Royce said, opening the door.
Defoe backed up and drew his dagger.
Stay out of this, Defoe,
Royce told him.
So far you
ve just been doing a job. I get that, but stand
between me and Thranic and it gets personal.
Mister Melborn!
Wesley snapped.
I can
t let you kill Thranic.
Royce ignored him, and Wesley appealed to Hadrian who shrugged in response.
It
s a policy of
mine not to get in his way, especially when the other guy deserves it.
Wesley turned to Wyatt whose expression showed no compassion.
He burned a shipload of elves,
and for all I know was responsible for taking my daughter. Let him die.
Doctor Levy stepped aside leaving Thranic alone at the back of the cell with only his dagger for protection. By his grip and stance, Hadrian knew the sentinel was not a knife fighter. The sentinel was sweating, his eyes tense as Royce moved inp>
Might I ask why you
re killing Mister Thranic?
Bulard asked suddenly, stepping between them.
Those of you intent on fleeing could make better
use of your time than butchering a man in his cell, don
t you think?
Won
t take but a second,
Royce assured him.
Perhaps, perhaps, but I ask you not to. I am not saying he does not deserve death, but who are you to grant it? Thranic will die, and quite likely soon given where we are headed. Regardless, our mission is vital not just to the empire, but to all of mankind, and we will need Thranic if we are to have any hope to complete it.
Shut up, you old fool,
the sentinel growled.
This caught Royce
s attention, though he kept his eyes on Thranic.
What mission?
To find a very old and very important relic called the Horn of Gylindora that will be needed very soon I
m afraid.
The horn?
Hadrian repeated.
Yes, given our precarious situation I don
t think it wise to give you a history lesson just now, but suffice to say it is in all of our best interest to leave Thranic alive
for now.
Sorry,
Royce replied,
but you
ll just have to make do without
The door to the cellblock opened, and a pair of soldiers with meal plates stepped in. A quick glance at the dead guard and they ran.
Royce sprinted after them. Defoe quickly closed his cell door again.
Go, all of you!
Bulard urged.
The party ran out of the cellblock and up the stairs. By the time they reached the top, the hallway was filled with loud voices.
They got away,
Royce grumbled.
We gathered that from the shouting,
Hadrian said.
They faced a four-way intersection of identical narrow stone corridors. Wall-mounted flames burned from iron cradles staggered at long intervals, leaving large sections of shifting shadows.
Royce glanced back toward the cellblock and cursed under his breath.
That
s what I get for
hesitating.
Any idea which way now?
Wyatt asked.
This way,
Royce said.
He led the way, trotting rapidly then stopped, abruptly motioning all of them into a doorway.
Moments later a troop of guards rushed by. Wesley started forward and Royce hauled him back.
Two more guards passed.
Now, we go,
he told them,
but staybehind me.
Royce continued along the multitude of corridors and turns, pausing from time to time. They climbed two more sets of stairs and dodged another group of soldiers. Hadrian saw the wonderment reflected in the party
s faces at Royce
s skill. It was as if he could see through walls, or knew the location of every guard. For Hadrian it was nothing new, but even he was impressed at their progress given that Royce was towing a parade.
A door unexpectedly opened and several Tenkins literally bumped into Dilladrum and one of the Vintu. Terrified, Dilladrum fled down a corridor, the Vintu following. The stunned Tenkins were not warriors and were as scared as Dilladrum, and retreated inside. Royce shouted for Dilladrum to stop, but it was no use.
Damn it!
Royce cursed chasing after them. The rest of the crew raced to keep up as they ran blindly through corridor after corridor. After rounding a corner Hadrian nearly ran into Royce, whose way was blocked by Tenkin warriors. The dead bodies of Dilladrum and the Vintu lay on the floor, blood pooling across the stone. Behind them, a small army cut off their retreat.
Who are you to defy Erandabon?
chanted the crowd of Tenkin warriors.
Get back!
Hadrian ordered, pushing Wesley and the others into a niche that afforded at least a small amount of defense. He pulled a torch from the wall and together with Royce formed a forward defense.
The Tenkin soldiers charged, screaming as they attacked.
Royce appeared to dodge the advance but the foremost warrior fell dead. Hadrian drove the flame of his torch into the seconnkin
s face. Using his feet, Royce flipped the dead man
s sword to Hadrian
who caught it in time to decapitate the next challenger.
Two Tenkins charged Royce, who simply was not where they expected him to be when they arrived. His movements were a blur, and two more collapsed. Hadrian advanced as Royce kicked the dead men
s weapons behind to where Wyatt, Derning, and Wesley picked them up. Hadrian stood at the center now.
Three attacked. Three fell dead.
The rest retreated, bewildered, and Hadrian picked up a second blade.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
The warlord walked toward them applauding and grinning.
Galenti, et ez you. So good to
ave you
back!
Chapter 18
The Pot of Soup
Amilia sulked in the kitchen, head in her hands, elbows resting on the bakers table. This was where it all started, when Modina
s former secretary brought her to the kitchen for a lesson in table manners. Remembering the terror of those early days, it was staggering to realize those were better times.
Now a witch hid in Modina
s room, filling the empress
s head with nonsense. She was a foreigner
and the princess of an enemy kingdom, who spent more time with Modina than Amilia. She could be manipulating the empress in any number of ways. She tried to reason with Modina, but no matter what Amilia said, the girl remained adamant about helping the witch find Degan Gaunt.
Amilia preferred the old days, when Modina left everything to her. Sitting there, she wondered what she should do. She wanted to go to Saldur and report the woman, but knew that would hurt Modina. The empress might never recover from a betrayal, especially from Amilia, who she trusted implicitly. The loss would surely crush her fragile spirit. No other alternatives were any better, and Amilia saw disaster at the end of every path. She felt as if she were on a runaway carriage racing toward a cliff, with no way to reach the reins.
How about I make you some soup?
Ibis Thinly asked her. The big man stood in his stained apron stirring a large, steaming pot into which he threw bits of celery.
I
m too miserable to eat,
she replied.
It can
t be as bad as all that, can it?
You have no idea. She
s become a handful and then some. I
m actually afraid to leave her alone.
Every time I walk out of her room, I
m frightened something new and terrible will happen.
It was late and they were the only two in the scullery. Long shadows traced up the far wall cast by the flames of the cook
s hearth. The kitchen was warm and pleasant except for a foul smell coming from the bubbling broth Ibis cooked on the stove.
Oh, it can
t be as bad as all that. Come on, can
t I interest you in some soup? I make a pretty mean
vegetable barley, if I do say so myself.
You know I love your food. It
s just that my stomach is in knots. I noticed a gray hair in the mirror the other day.
Oh please, you
re still just a girl,
Ibis laughed, catching himself.
I guess I shouldn
t speak to you that
way, you being noble and all. I should be saying,
Yes, Your Ladyship,
or in this case,
no, no, Your
Ladyship! If you will allow me to be so bold as to speak plainly in your presence. I beg to differ, for I think you are purty as a pot!
That would be a more proper response.
Amilia smiled.
You know, I never have understood that saying of yours.
Ibis drew himself up in feigned offense.
I
m a cook. I like pots.
He chuckled.
Have some soup.
Something warm in your belly will help untie some of those knots, eh?
She glanced at the pot he was stirring and grimaced.
I don
t think so.
Oh, no, not this. Good Maribor, no! I
ll make you something good.
Amilia looked relieved.
What is that you
re making? It smells like rotten eggs.
Soup, but it
s barely fit for animals, made with all the worstparts of old leftovers. I try to dress it up as best I can. I throw some celery and spices in, just to ease my conscience.
Who
s it for?
I have no idea. The smell comes from this horrid yellow powder. About all I know is I have to use it and in a little while, a couple of guards will come by and take it. To be honest I
m afraid to ask
where it goes.
He paused.
Amilia, what
s wrong.
Amilia stared at the big pot her mouth partially open. Noise on the stairs caught her attention. Two men entered the kitchen. She knew them by sight. They were guards normally assigned to the east wing
s fourth floor hall
the administration corridor, where she and Saldur worked. They recognized her as well and took a moment to bow. Amilia graciously inclined her head in response. Their looks revealed they found this courtesy odd, but appreciated. Then they turned to Ibis.
All done?
Just a sec, just a sec,
he muttered.
You
re early.
We
ve been on duty since dawn,
one of the guards complained.
This is the last job of the night.
Honestly, I don
t know why you put such effort into it, Thinly.
It
s what I do, and I want it done right.
Trust me, no one is going to complain. Nobody cares.
Icare,
Ibis remarked, his voice sharp enough to end the subject.
The guard shrugged his shoulders and waited.
Who
s the soup for?
Amilia asked.
The guard hesitated.
Not really supposed to talk about that, milady.
The other guard gave him a rough nudge.
She
s the bloody Secretary to the Empress.
The first one blushed.
Forgive me, milady. It
s just that Regent Saldur can be a little scary
sometimes.
Amilia agreed in her head but externally remained aloof.
His friend slapped himself in the forehead rolling his eyes.
Blimey, James you
re a fool. Forgive
him, milady.
What?
James looked puzzled.
What
d I say?
The guard shook his head sadly.
You just insulted the regent and admitted you don
t respect Her
Ladyship all in one breath.
James
face drained of color.
What
s your name?
she asked him.
Higgles, milady.
He swallowed hard and bowed again.
Why don
tyou answer my question then?
We takes the soup to the north tower. You know, the one
tween the well and the stables.
How many prisoners are there?
The two guards looked at each other.
None that we know of, milady.
So, who is the soup for?
He shrugged.
We just leaves it with the Seret Knight.
Soup
s done,
Ibis declared.
Is that all, milady?
Higgles asked.
She nodded and the two disappeared out the door to the courtyard, each holding one of the pot
s
handles.
Now, let me makeyou something.
Ibis said wiping his big hands on his apron.
Huh?
Amilia asked still thinking about the two guards.
No thanks, Ibis,
she said, getting up.
There
s
something I need to do, I think.
***
The lack of a cloak became painfully uncomfortable when she was halfway across the inner ward.
The weather had jumped from a friendly autumn of brightly colored leaves, clear blue skies, and crisp nights to the gray, icy cold of pre-winter. A half moon glimmered through hazy clouds as she stepped through the vegetable garden, now no more than a graveyard of brown dirt. She approached the chicken coop carefully trying to avoid disturbing the hens. There was nothing wrong with being out, no rules against wandering the ward at night, but at that moment she felt sinister.
She ducked into the woodshed just as James and Higgles passed by on their return journey. After several minutes, Amilia crept forward, slipped around the well and entered the northeast tower
theprison tower as she now dubbe it.
Just as described, a Seret Knight stood at attention dressed in black armor with the red symbol of a broken crown on his chest. Decorated with a red feather plume, the helm he wore covered his face.
He appeared not to notice her, which was odd, as all guards bowed to Amilia now. The seret said nothing as she stepped around him toward the stairs. She was shocked when he made no move to stop her.
Up she went, periodically passing cells. None of the doors were locked, and she pushed some open and stepped inside. Each room was small. Old, rotted straw lay scattered across the ground. Tiny windows allowed only a fraction of moonlight to enter. There were heavy chains mounted to the walls and the floor. Some had a stool or bucket, but most were bare of any furniture. Amilia felt uncomfortable while in the rooms. It was not just the cold, it was the thought that she might end up in just such a place.
James and Higgles were correct; the tower was empty.
She returned down the steps to the seret.
Excuse me, but what are you guarding? There is no one
here.
He did not respond.
Where did the soup go?
Again, the seret stood mute. Unable to see his eyes through the helm, and thinking perhaps he was asleep while standing up, she took a step closer. The seret moved and, as fast as a snake, his hand grabbed hold of his sword and drew it partway from its scabbard, allowing the metal to hiss, a sound that echoed ominously in the stone tower.
Amilia fled.
***
Are you going to tell her?
Nimbus asked.
The two were in Amilia
s office finishing the last of the invitation lists for the scribes to begin working on. Parchments were everywhere. On the wall hung a layout of the Great Hall, perforated with countless pinholes from the shifting of guest positions.
No, I will not add to that witch
s arsenal of insanity with tales of mysterious disappearing pots of soup! I
ve worked for months to put Modina back together. I won
t allow her to be broken again.
But what if
Drop it Nimbus.
Amilia shuffled through her scrolls.
I should never have told you. I went. I looked.
I saw nothing. I can
t believe I even did that much. Maribor help me. The witch even had me out in the dark chasing her phantoms. What are you grinning at?
Nothing,
Nimbus said.
I just have this impression of you slinking around the courtyard.
Oh, stop it!
Stop what?
Saldur asked as he entered unannounced.
The regent swept into her office and looked at each of them with a disarming smile.
Nothing, Your Grace, Nimbus was merely having a little joke.
Nimbus? Nimbus?
Saldur repeated eyeing the man trying to recall something.
He
s my assistant, and Modina
s tutor, a refugee from Vernes,
Amilia explained.
Saldur looked annoyed.
I
m not an idiot, Amilia, I know who Nimbus is. I was thinking about the name. The word is from the old imperial tongue. Nimbus, unless I am mistaken, it means mist or cloud, isn
t that right?
He looked at Nimbus for acknowledgement, but he merely shrugged apologetically.
Well, anyway,
Saldur addressed Amilia.
I wanted to know how things were
proceeding for the wedding. It is only a few months away.
I was just sending these invitations to the scribes. I have them ordered by distance so those living the farthest away should have couriers leaving as early as next week.
Excellent, and the dress?
I finally got the design decided. We
re just waiting for material to be delivered from Colnora.
And how is Modina coming along?
Fine, fine,
she lied, smiling as best she could.
She took the news of her wedded bliss well then?
Modina receives all news pretty much the same way.
Saldur nodded at her pleasantly.
Yes, true
true.
He appeared so grandfathrly, so kind and gentle. It
would be so easy to trust him if she had not seen first-hand the volcano that lurked beneath that warm surface. He brought her back to reality when he asked,
What were you doing in the northeast
tower last night, my dear?
She bit her tongue just in time to stop herself from replying with total honesty.
I bumped into some
guards delivering soup there in the middle of the night which I thought odd, because
Because what?
Saldur pressed.
Because there
s no one in the tower. Well, besides a seret who appears to be standing guard over nothing. Do you know what that
s all about?
she asked pleased with how she managed to reinforce
her innocence by casually turning the tables on the old man. She even considered batting her eyes, but did not want to push it. Memories of Saldur ordering the guard to
take her out of my sight
still
rang in her head. She did not know what that order really meant, but she remembered the regret in the guard
s eyes as he approached her.
Of course I do. I am regent
I knoweverything that goes on.
The thing is
that was quite a lot of soup for one knight. And it vanished, pot and all in just a few minutes. But since you already know, I suppose it doesn
t matter.
Saldur studied her silently for a moment. His expression was no longer the familiar one of condescension. She detected a faint hint of respect forming beneath his wrinkled brows.
I see,
he replied at length. He glanced over his shoulder at Nimbus, who was smiling back as innocent as a puppy, and Amilia noticed to her chagrin that he did bat his eyes. Saldur took no apparent notice of his antics then reminded her not to seat the Duke and Lady Rochelle next to the Prince of Alburn before withdrawing from her office.
That was creepy,
Nimbus mentioned after Saldur left.
You poke your head in the tower and the next
morning Saldur knows about it?
Amilia paced the length of her office, which only allowed her a few steps each way before having to turn, but it was better than standing still. Nimbus was right. Something strange was going on with the tower, something that Saldur himself kept careful watch over. She struggled to think of alternatives, but her mind kept coming back to one name
Degan Gaunt.
Chapter 19
Galenti
The corridor outside the Great Hall in the Palace of the Four Winds was deathly silent as the small band remained huddled in the niche. Warriors took strategic positions, armed with imperial crafted crossbows, while the bulk of the Tenkin fighters moved back to allow them clear lines of sight. All of theEmerald Storm
s party now held swords salvaged from slain Tenkins, each one made from Avryn steel. Clustered in a tight group, Hadrian
s party made an easy target.
Erandabon stepped forward, but not so far as to block the path of the archers.
Erandabon did not
recognize you, Galenti! Et
as been many years, but you
ave not lost your skill,
he said, looking
down at the bodies of his fallen warriors.
Vie travel vis such creatures as deez, Galenti? Vie suffer dee
umiliation? It voud be dee same for Erandabon to slizzer on dee forest floor with dee snakes, or vallow vis dee pigs. Vie do you do dis? Vie?
I came to see you, Gile,
Hadrian replied. Instantly there was a gasp in the hall.
Ha-ha!
The warlord laughed.
You use my Calian name, a crime for vich dee punishment ez death, but I pardon you, Galenti! For you are not like deez.
He waved his hand gesturing vaguely.
You are
in dee cosmos vis Erandabon. You are a star in dee heavens shining nearly as bright as Erandabon.
You are a brother and I vill not kill you. You must come and feast vis me.
And my friends?
Erandabon
s face soured.
Dey
ave no place at dee table of Erandabon, dey are dogs.
I will not eat with you iws, w are ill-treated.
Erandabon
s eyes moved about wildly in random circles, then stopped.
Erandabon vill
ave dem
locked up again
safely dis time
for deir own good. And you vill eat vis Erandabon?
I will.
He clapped his hands and warriors tentatively moved forward.
Hadrian nodded and Royce and the others laid down their weapons.
***
The balcony looked out over the bay from a dizzying height. Moonlight revealed the vast fleet of Ghazel and Tenkin ships anchored in the harbor. Dotted with lights, the vessels bobbed on soft swells. Distant shouts rose with the cool breeze and arrived as faint whispers. Like the rest of the castle, the balcony was a relic of a forgotten time. While perhaps beautiful long ago, the stone railing had weathered over centuries to a dull, vague reminder of its previous glory. A lush covering of vines blanketed it with blooming white flowers the way a cloth might disguise a marred table.
Beneath their feet, once-stunning mosaic tiles lay dirty, chipped, and broken. Several oil lanterns circled the balcony, but appeared to be more for decoration than illumination. On a stone table lay a massive feast of wild animals, fruits, and drink.
Sit! Sit and eat!
Erandabon told Hadrian, as several Tenkin women and young boys hurried about, seeing to their every need. Aside from servants, the two were alone. Erandabon tore a leg from a large roasted bird and gestured with it toward the bay.
A beautiful sight eh, Galenti? Five
undred
ships, fifty
zousand soldiers and all of dem under Erandabon
s command.
There are not fifty thousand Tenkin in all of Calis,
Hadrian replied. He looked at the food on the
table dubiously, wondering if elf was somewhere on the menu, and selected a bit of sliced fruit.
No,
the warlord said, regretfully.
Erandabon must make do vis dee Ghazel. Dey are like ants spilling out of deir island holes. Erandabon cannot trust dem any more dan Erandabon can trust a tiger, even if Erandabon raised it from a cub. Dey are vild beasts, but Erandabon needs dem to reach dee goal.
And what is that?
Drumindor,
he said simply, and followed the word with a swallow of wine, much of which spilled unnoticed down the front of his chin.
Erandabon needs a shelter from dee storm, Galenti, a strong place to veather it. For centuries, dee Ghazel dey
ave known dat only Drumindor can stand against
dee vinds about to blow. Dis ez vie dey
ave struggled so
ard to take et. Time ez running out, dee
sand spills from dee glass and dey are desperate to flee dee islands. Erandabon could
ave fifty
zousand, perhaps
undred
zousand. Ants, Galenti, dey are everywhere in deez isles. Erandabon vill make do vis deez, too many ants spoil a picnic eh, Galenti?
he laughed.
A servant refilled the wine glass that Hadrian had barely touched.
What do you know about Merrick Marius?
Hadrian asked.
Erandabon spat,
E is dirt, or pig, or pig in dirt.
E promise weapons
dere is none.
E promise food for
dee Many
and dere is none.
E will make it
ard for Erandabon to control dee ants. I vish
e vas dead.
I might be able to help you with that, if you tell me where he is.
The warlord laughed.
Oh, Galenti, you voud do dis for you I dink, not for Erandabon. But Erandabon does not know vere
e ez.
Do you expect him to visit again?
Hadrian pressed.
No, dere be no need. Erandabon vill not be
ere long. Dis place ez old. Et ez not good.
He rolled a
fallen block of granite from the balcony.
Erandabon and
is ants vill go to dee great fortress vere
even dee Old Ones cannot reach us. Erandabon vill vatch dee return of dee gods and dee burning of dee vorld. You could
ave a seat beside Erandabon. You could lead dee ants.
Hadrian shook his head.
Drumindor will be destroyed. There will be no fortress f you and your ants. If you release me and my friends we can stop this from happening.
Erandabon roared a great laugh.
Galenti, you make big joke. You dink Erandabon is dumb like dee ants? Vie do you try to tell me such lies? You vill say anything to leave
ere vis your dog friends.
He finished off the leg by ripping the meat from the bone and chewed it with an open mouth, spitting out bits of gristle.
Galenti, you offer Erandabon so much
elp. You must see
ow great Erandabon ez and vish to please
me. Erandabon likes dis. I know of someting you can do to please Erandabon.
What is that?
Dere is a Ghazel chieftain, called Uzla Bar.
He spat on the ground.
E defies Erandabon.
As even
challenged Erandabon for control of dee ants. Now vis no food for dee Many
e be big problem for
Erandabon. Uzla Bar attacks caravans from Avryn stealing dee veapons and the Many
s food to
veaken Erandabon in dee eyes of dee ants. Uzla Bar challenge Erandabon to fight. But Erandabon ez no fool. Erandabon knows none of
is varriors can vin against dee speed and strength of dee Ba Ran Ghazel. But den dee stars shine on Erandabon and bring you
ere.
You want me to fight him?
Dee challenge ez by Ghazel tradition. Dey are clan, not single fighters. Dey do not fight one to one.
For dem single combat ez not known. Dee battle will be five against five in dee arena.
Who will I be fighting with? You?
He shook his head and laughed.
Erandabon does not dirty
is
ands so.
Your warriors?
Vie should Erandabon use Tenkin Varriors. Erandabon need dem to control dee ants. I saw dose dogs dat you lead. Dey fight good. Ven backed in a corner Erandabon saw dee bravery in deir eyes.
Dey vill do vell vis you to lead dem. Erandabon knows you
ave succeeded in dee arena vis lesser
men. And if you lose
Erandabon ez same as before.
And why would I do this?
Did you not offer to
elp Erandabon, twice already?
he paused.
I can see you like your dogs. But
you and dem keel many of my men. For dat you must die. But if you do dis
Erandabon vill let you
live. Do dis, Galenti, dee heavens voud be less bright vis out all etz stars.
Hadrian pretended to consider the proposal in silence. He waited so long that Erandabon became agitated. It was obvious the warlord had nearly as much riding on this fight as Hadrian did.
You answer Erandabon now!
Hadrian remained quiet for a few moments longer and then said,
If we win, I want our immediate
release. You will not hold us until the full moon. I want a ship, a small, fast ship, fully provisioned and waiting the moment the battle is won.
Done.
I also want you to look into finding an elven girl who is called Allie. She may have been brought with the last shipment from Avryn. If she is alive, I want her brought here.
Erandabon looked doubtful, but nodded.
I want my companions freed, treated well, and all of our weapons and gear returned to us immediately.
I vill
ave dee dogs you fought vis brought
ere so you can feast vis dem veen I am gone. Along vis vaat other veapons you might need.
And the others?
Dey did not keel my men, but I
ave deal vis dem. I
old dem until deal ez done. All goes vell
I send
dem on deir vey. Deal no good, dey go to dee Ghazel. Do vee have a deal?
Yes. I agree.
Excellent, Erandabon ez very
appy. I get to see Galenti fight in my arena once more.
Erandabon
clapped twice and warriors appeared on the balcony each reverently carrying one of Hadrian
s three
swords. More approached with the rest of their gear. Erandabon took Hadrian
s spadone and lifted it.
Erandabon
as
eard of your famous sword. Et ez an old veapon of dee ancient style.
It
s a family heirloom.
The warlord gave it to Hadrian.
,
the warlord said, picking up Royce
s dagger,
Dis Erandabon
as
never seen dee like. Does it belong to dee small one? Dee one ou fought next to you?
Yes.
Hadrian saw the greed in Erandabon
s eyes.
That
s Alverstone. You don
t even want to think of
keepingthat weapon.
You vill not fight if Erandabon does?
That too,
Hadrian told him.
Dat one ez akaz ?
Yes, and as you saw he is a good fighter. I need him and his weapon.
Hadrian strapped his swords
back on, feeling more like himself again.
So, dee Tiger of Mandalin vill fight for Erandabon.
It looks that way,
Hadrian said then sighed.
***
So, two sit the battle out?
Royce asked checking over his dagger.
The sun had risen on a gray day. The seven of them ate together on the balcony. The food
leftovers
from the warlord
was now suitable for the dogs.
Hadrian nodded.
I was thinking Wesley and Poe ought to be the ones, they
re the youngest
We
ll draw lots,
Wesley declared firmly.
Wesley, you
ve never fought the Ba Ran Ghazel before. They are extremely dangerous. They
re
stronger than men, faster too, and to disarm them you literally have to, well, disarm them.
We
ll draw lots,
Wesley repeated, and finding a dead branch snapped seven twigs
two shorter than
the others.
I have to fight, it
s part of the deal,
Hadrian said.
Wesley nodded and tossed one of the long twigs away.
I
m fighting too,
Royce told him.
We need to do this fairly,
Wesley protested.
If Hadrian fights, so do I,
the thief declared.
Hadrian nodded.
So, it will be between you five.
Wesley hesitated then threw aside another twig and held his fist out. Wyatt pulled the first stick, a long one. Poe drew next and got the first short twig. He showed no emotion and simply stepped back. Grady drew
a long one. Derning drew last receiving the other short stick leaving the last long twig in Wesley
s fist.
When do we fight?
Tomorrow at sunset,
Hadrian explained.
Ghazel prefer to fight in the dark. That gives us the day to plan, practice a few things, and take a quick nap before facing them.
I don
t think I can sleep,
Wesley told them.
Best give it a try anyway.
I
ve never even seen a Ghazel,
Grady admitted.
What are we talking about here?
Well,
Hadrian began,
they have deadly fangs and if given the chance will hold you down and rip with their teeth and claws. The Ghazel have no qualms about eating you alive. In fact, they relish it.
So they
re animals?
Wyatt asked.
Like bears or something?
Not really. They
re also intelligent and proficient with weapons.
He let this sink in a moment before
continuing,
They
re usually short looking, but that
s misleading as they walk hunched over and can
stand up to our height or taller. They are strong and fast and can see well in the dark. The biggest problem
There
s a bigger problem?
Royce asked.
Yeah, funny that, but you see the Ghazel are clan fighters, so they
re organized. A clan is a group of
five made up of a chief, a warrior, an oberdaza, a finisher, and a range. The chief is usually not as good a fighter as the warrior. And don
t confuse a Ghazel oberdaza with a Tenkin. The Ghazel
version wields real magic, dark magic, and he should be the first one we target to kill. They won
t
know we are aware of his importance so that might give us an edge.
Leave him to me,
Royce announced.
The finisher is the fastest of the group, and it will be his job to kill us while the warriors and oberdaza keep us busy. The range will be armed with a trilon, the Ghazel version of a bow, and maybe throwing knives as well. He will likely stay near the oberdaza. The trilon isn
t terribly
accurate, but it
s fast. His job won
t be so much to kill us as to distract. You will want to keep your shield arm facing him.
Will we have shields?
Grady asked.
Good point.
Hadrian looked over the weapons provided.
No, I don
t see any.
The clan is well organized and experienced. They will communicate through clicks and chattering which will be gibberish to us, but they can understand everything we say. We
ll use that to our
advantage.
How do we win?
Wyatt asked.
By killing all of them before they kill all of us.
***
They spent the morning hours sparring and practicing. Luckily, they were all adept with basic combat. Wesley had trained with his brother and as a result was a far better swordsman than Hadrian expected. Grady was tough and surprisingly fast. Wyatt was the most impressive. His ability with a cutlass showed real skill, the kind Hadrian recognized instantly as something he calledkilling experience .
Hadrian demonstrated some basic moves to counter likely scenarios. Most dealt with parrying multiple attacks, like those from both mouths and claws, something none of them had any training in. He also showed them how to use the trilon Erandabon provided, and each took their turn with Grady showing the most promise.
Hungry after the morning
s practice, they sat to eat once more.
So, what
s our battle plan?
Wyatt asked.
Wesley and Grady will stay to the rear. Grady you
re on the trilon.
He looked nervous,
I
ll do the best I can.
That
s fine, just don
t aim anywhere near the rest of us. Ignore the battle in the center of the arena and concentrate your arrows on the oberdaza and the range. Keep them off balance as much as possible. You don
t have to hit them, just keep them ducking.
Wesley, you protect Grady. Wyatt, you and I will form the front and engage the warrior and chief.
Just remember your line and stay away from him. Questions?
If there were any, no one spoke up, so they all bedded down for a nap. After the workout, even Wesley managed to fall asleep.
***
The arena was a large oval open-air pit surrounded by a stone wall behind which tiers of spectators rose. Two gates at opposite ends provided entrance to opposing teams. Giant braziers mounted on poles illuminated the area. The dirt killing field, like everything else at the Palace of the Four Winds, had suffered from neglect. Large blocks of stone had fallen and small trees grew around them. Near the center, a shallow muddy pool formed. A partially hidden ribcage glimmered eerily in the firelight and a skull hung from a pike that protruded from the earth.
Walking out, Hadrian
s mind reeled with memories. The scent of blood and cheering crowd opened a door he had thought locked forever. He was only seventeen the first time he entered an arena, yet his training made victory a certainty. He was the more knowledgeable, the more skilled, and the crowds loved him. He defeated opponent after opponent with ease. Larger, stronger men challenged him and died. When he fought teams of two and three, the results were always the same. The crowds began to chant his new name, Galenti
killer.
He traveled throughout Calis meeting with royalty, eating at banquets held in his honor, and sleeping with women given in tribute. He entertained his hosts with displays of skill and prowess.
Eventually the battles became macabre. Multiple strong men were not enough. They tested him on Ghazel and wild animals. He fought boars, a pair of leopards, and finally the tiger.
He had killed scores of men in the arena without a thought, but the tiger in Mandalin was the last.
Perhaps the blood he spilled finally soaked in, or he had grown older and matured beyond his desire for fame. Even now, he was unw name, Ga what was the truth and what he merely wanted to believe. Regardless, everything changed when the tiger died.
Each man he fought had a choice, but not the cat. As he watched the regal beast die, for the first time he felt like a murderer. In the stands above, the crowd shoutedGalenti! The meaning never sunk in until that moment. His father
s words reached him at last, but Danbury would die before Hadrian could apologize. Like the tiger, his father deserved better.
Now, as he entered the arena, the crowd once again shouted the name
Galenti!They cheered and
stomped their feet like thunder.
Remember, Mister Wesley, stay back and guard Grady,
Hadrian
said, as they gathered not far from where the skull hung.
The far gate opened, and into the arena came the Ba Ran Ghazel. Hadrian could tell from his friends shocked expressions that even after his description they never expected what now came toward them. Everyone had heard tall tales of hideous goblins but no one really expected to see one, much less five, scurrying in full battle regalia illuminated by the flickering red glow of giant torch fires.
They were not human, not animal, nor anything at all familiar. They did not appear to be of the same world. Movements defied eyesight, muscles flexed unnaturally. They drifted across the ground on all fours. Rather than walk, they skittered, their claws clicking on the stones in the dirt. Their eyes flashed in the darkness, lit from within, a sickly yellow glow rising behind an oval pupil.
Muscles rippled along hunched backs and arms as thick as a man
s thigh. Their mouths were filled
with row upon row of needle-sharp teeth that spilled out each side as if there was not enough room to contain them.
The warrior and the chief advanced to the center. They were large, and even hunched over still towered above Hadrian and Wyatt. Behind them, the smaller oberdaza, decorated in dozens of multicolored feathers, danced and hummed.
I thought they were supposed to be smaller,
Wyatt whispered to Hadrian.
Ignore it, they
re puffing themselves up like frogs
trying to intimidate you
make you think you can
t
win.
They
re doing a good job.
The warrior is on the left, the chief is on the right,
Hadrian told him.
Let me take the warrior, you
have the chief. Try to stay on his left side, swing low, and don
t get too close. He
ll likely kill you if
you do, and watch for arrows from the range.
From the walls, a flaming arrow struck the center of the field and the moment it did, drums began to beat.
That
s our cue,
Hadrian said, and walked forward along with Royce and Wyatt.
The Ghazel chief and warrior waited for them at the center. Each held a short curved blade and a small round shield. They hissed at Hadrian and Wyatt as they approached. Wyatt had his cutlass drawn, but Hadrian purposely walked to meet them with his weapons sheathed. This brought a look from Wyatt.
It
s my way of puffing up.
Before they reached the center of the arena, Hadrian had lost track of Royce, who veered away into a shadow between the glow of bonfires.
When do we start?
Wyatt asked.
Listen for the sound of the horn.
This comment, overheard by the chief caused him to smile and he chattered to the warrior who chattered back.
They can
t understand us right?
Wyatt recited his line.
Of course not,
Hadrian lied.
They
re just dumb animals. Remember we want to draw them forward so Royce can slip up behind the chief and kill him. He
s the one we need to kill first. He
s their
leader. Without him, they will all fall apart. Just step back as you fight and he will follow you right into the trap.
More chattering.
Two more flaming arrows whistled and struck the ground.
Get ready,
Hadrian whispered, and very slowly drew both swords.
***
A horn sounded from the stands.
Wesley watched as Hadrian and the warrior slammed into one another, metal hissing. Wyatt however shuffled back like a dancer, his cutlass held up and ready. The chief stood still. Wary, the chief chose not to follow. Instead, he turned and sniffed the air.
Grady promptly let loose the first of his arrows. He aimed at the distant pile of dancing feathers, but greatly overshot.
Damn,
he cursed, working to fit another in the string.
Lower your aim,
Wesley snapped.
I never said I was a marksman, did I?
Something hissed unseen by Wesley
s ear. Grady fired a second shot. It landed too short, coming close to where Wyatt feinted trying to persuade the chief to follow him.
Hissing whistled by again.
I think they
re shooting their arrows at us,
Wesley said, turning just in time to see Grady collapse with a black shaft buried in his chest. He hit the ground coughing and kicking, his hands struggled to reach the arrow. His fingers went limp, his hands flapped on the ends of his wrists. He flailed on the dirt, spitting blood, struggling to breathe. A third arrow hissed and struck Grady in the boot. His leg struggled to recoil, but his foot was pinned to the ground.
Wesley stared at him in horror as Grady shuddered then fell still.
***
Royce was already close to the oberdaza when the horn sounded. The clash of steel let him know the fight was on. He slipped around one of the shattered stone blocks, trying to find a position behind the witchdoctor, when the air felt wrong. It was no longer blowing, but bouncing
hitting
something unseen. A quick glance at the field revealed only four Ghazel, the chief, the warrior, the oberdaza and the range. Royce ducked just in time to avoid a slit throat. He spun, cutting air with Alverstone. Turning, he found himself alone. On instinct, he dodged right and something cut through his cloak. He thrust back his elbow, and was rewarded with a solid meaty thump. Then it was gone again.
Royce spun completely around, but he could see nothing.
In the center of the arena, Hadrian battled with the warrior while Wyatt taunted the chief, reluctant to engage. The range fired arrow after arrow. Beside him, the oberdaza danced and sang.
Instinct told him to move again, only he was too late. Thick, heavy arms gripped Royce, the weight of a body drove him forward. His feet slipped and he fell, pulled down to the bloodstained earth. He turned his blade and stabbed, but it passed through thin air. He could feel clawed hands trying to pin him. Royce twisted like a snake, depriving his attacker of a firm grip. Repeatedly, Royce cut at the shadowy thing, but nothing connected. Then he felt the hot breath of the Ghazel finisher.
***
His stroke glanced off the Ghazel
s shield. Hadrian thrust with his other sword, but found it blocked by an excellent parry. The warrior was good. Hadrian had not anticipated his skill. He was strong and fast, but more importantly, more frighteningly, the Ghazel anticipated Hadrian
s moves
perfectly. The warrior stabbed and Hadrian dodged back and to the left. The Ghazel bashed his face with his shield, having started his swing even before Hadrian turned. It was as if he was reading his mind. Hadrian staggered backward, putting distance between him so he could catch his breath.
Above, the crowd booed their displeasure with Galenti. Beside him, Wyatt was still playing with the chief. His ruse had bought the helmsman time. The chief was too afraid of Royce to engage, but it would not last long. Hadrian needed to finish his opponent quickly, only now he was not even certain he could win.
The warrior advanced and swung. Hadrian spun to the left. Once more, the Ghazel anticipated his move and cut Hadrian across the arm. He staggered back and dodged behind a large fallen block keeping it between himself and his opponent.
Towd booed and stomped their feet.
Something was very wrong. The warrior should not be this good. His form was bad, his strokes lacking expertise, and yet he was beating him. The warrior attacked again. Hadrian took a step back and his foot caught on a rock and he stumbled. Once more, the Ghazel appeared to foresee this and was ready with a kick that sent Hadrian into the dirt.
He lay flat on his back. The warrior screamed a cry of victory and raised his sword for a downward, penetrating kill. Hadrian started to twist left to dodge the thrust, but at the last minute, while still concentrating his thoughts on turning left he pulled back to center. The stroke of the warrior pierced the turf exactly where Hadrian would have been.
***
Grady was dead and the arrows still coming.
Wesley was shaken. He already failed in his duty, and not knowing what else to do, he picked up the trilon, fitted an arrow, and let it loose. Wesley was no archer and the arrow did not even fly straight, but spun wildly, falling flat on the ground not more than five yards ahead of him.
In the center of the field, Hadrian was avoiding his opponent, and the chief had decided to engage Wyatt. Royce was in the distance, on the ground and wrestling with something invisible not far from where the oberdaza danced and chanted.
This was not going as planned. Grady was dead and Hadrian he saw the warrior raise his sword for
the killing blow.
No!
Wesley shouted. Just then, the sharp exploding pain from an arrow pierced his right shoulder, and he fell to his knees.
The world spun. His eyes blurred. He gasped for air and gritted his teeth as darkness threatened at the edges of his eyesight. In his ears, a deafening silence grew, swallowing the sounds of the crowd.
The oberdaza! The memory of Hadrian
s instructions surfaced.The Ghazel version wields real magic, dark magic, and he should be the first one we target to kill.
Wesley clutched the hilt of his sword, fighting back, willing himself not to pass out. He ordered his legs to lift him. Shaking, wobbling, they slowly obeyed. His heart calmed, his breathing grew longer. The world came into focus once more and the roar of the crowd returned.
Wesley looked across the field at the witchdoctor. He glanced at the trilon and knew he could never use it. He tried to raise the sword, but his right arm did not move. He shifted the pommel to the left.
It felt awkward, and clumsy, but it had strength. Listening to the sound of his heart pounding, he walked forward, slowly at first, but faster with each step. Another arrow hissed. He ignored it and began to jog. His feet pounded the moist muddy ground. He held his sword high like a banner, his hat flew off, his hair flowing in the breeze.
Another arrow landed just a step ahead of him and he snapped it as he ran. He felt a strange painful pulling and realized the wind was blowing against the feathers of the arrow that still protruded from his shoulder. He focused on the dancing witchdoctor.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the range put down his bow and run at him drawing a blade.
He was too late. Only a few more strides. The oberdaza danced and sang with his eyes closed. He could not see Wesley
s charge.
Wesley never checked his pace. He never bothered to slow down. He merely lowered the point of his blade as if it were a lance and put on a last burst of speed
jousting like his famous
brother
jousting on foot. Already the darkness was creeping in, tunneling his vision once more. His strength was running out, flowing away with his blood.
Wesley plowed into the oberdaza. The two collided with a loudthrump! They skidded together and then rolled apart. Wesley
s sword was gone from his hands. The arrow in his shoulder had snapped.
The taste of blood was in his mouth as he lay face down struggling to push himself up. A hot pain burst across his back, but it faded quickly askness swallowed him.
***
Royce twisted but could not break free of the claws that cut into his flesh, struggling to break his grip on Alverstone. He could not grab the shadow. Its body felt loose and slippery, as if it existed only where it wanted. Royce would get a partial grip and then it would dissolve.
Teeth grazed him as the Ghazel snapped, trying to rip his throat out. Each time, Royce knew to move. On the third attempt, he gambled and butted forward with his own head. There was athunk and pain, but he was able to break free.
He looked around and once more the finisher was invisible.
Royce caught a glimpse of Wesley running across the field with his sword out in front of him then dodged another attack. He avoided the blow, but fell to the ground. Weight hit him once more. This time the claws got a better grip. Rear claws scraped along Royce
s legs, pinning him, stretching him
out, holding him helpless. He felt the hot breath again.
There was a noise of impact not far away and a burst of feathers.
Suddenly Royce saw yellow eyes, bright glowing orbs inches away from his own. Fangs drenched with spit drooled on him.
Ad haz urba!
the creature gibbered.
The Alverstone was still in Royce
s hand. He just needed a little movement from his wrist. He spit in the Ghazel
s eye and twisted. Like cutting through ripe fruit, the blade severed the hand of the Ghazel at the wrist. With a howl, the finisher lost support and fell forward. Royce rolled him over, using two hands to restrain his remaining claw and pinning the Ghazel with his knees. The finisher continued to snap, snarl and rake. Royce severed the goblin
s other hand and the beast shrieked in
pain until Royce removed its head.
***
The Ghazel warrior staggered suddenly, though Hadrian had not touched him. Trying to keep his distance, Hadrian was a good two sword lengths away, but the warrior clearly rocked as if struck.
The Ghazel paused, confidence faded from his eyes and he hesitated.
Hadrian looked over his shoulder to the hill and spotted Grady
s body, but Wesley was gone. He
looked over his opponent
s shoulder and found Wesley on the ground. At his side, the oberdaza lay with the midshipman
s cutlass buried in his chest and as he watched, the range stabbed Wesley in the back.
Wesley, no!
he shouted.
Then Hadrian
s eyes locked sharply on the warrior before him.
I only wish you could read my
thoughts now,
he said, sheathing both swords.
Confusion crossed the warrior
s face, until he saw Hadrian draw forth the large spadone from his back. Seizing the chance the warrior swung. Hadrian blocked the stroke, which made the spadone sing. He followed this with a false swing, which the Ghazel nevertheless moved to dodge, setting it off balance. Hadrian continued to spin, carrying the stroke round in a full circle. He leveled the blade at waist height. There was nowhere for the Ghazel to go, and the great sword cut the warrior in half.
Wyatt was fighting the chief now, their swords ringing like an alarm bell as they repeatedly clashed. Blow after blow drove Wyatt farther and farther backward until Hadrian thrust the spadone through the Chief
s shoulder blades.
With a roar like a violent wind, the crowd jumped to their feet cheering and applauding.
Turning, Hadrian saw Royce kneeling beside Wesley
s dead body. The range lay dead beside him.
Hadrian ran to them as Wyatt checked on Grady.
Royce shook his head in silent reply to Hadrian
s look.
Grady is dead,
Wyatt reported when he reached them.
Neither said a word.
The gates opened and Erandabon entered with a bright smile. Poe and Derning followed him.
Derning stared at Grady
s body. Erandabon lifted his arms to the stands like a conquering hero as the crowd cheered even louder. He approached them exuberant and delighted.
?Excellent! Excellent! Erandabon ez very pleazed!
Hadrian strode forward.
Get us to that ship now. Give me time to think, and I swear I
ll will
introduce you to Oberlin myself!
Chapter 20
The Tower
Modina watched Arista as she sat on the floor of her bedroom within the chalk circle and burned the hair. Together they watched the smoke drift.
What is that awful smell?
Amilia entered the bedroom waving a hand before her face while Nimbus trailed behind her.
Arista was performing a spell to locate Gaunt,
Modina explained.
She
s doing magic
in here?
Amilia looked aghast and then added,
Did it work?
Sort of,
Arista said, with a decidedly disappointed tone.
He
s somewhere directly northeast of here,
but I can
t pinpoint the exact location. That
s always been the problem.
Amilia stiffened, her eyes glancing at Nimbus accusingly.
I didn
t say a word,
he told her.
Amilia asked Arista,
If you find Degan Gaunt, what are you planning to do?
Help him escape.
He is the general of an army poised to attack us.
She turned to Modina.
I don
t see why you are
helping her
I
m not trying to return him to his army,
Arista cut in.
I need him to help me find
something
something only the Heir of Novron can locate.
So, you
and Gaunt
will leave?
Yes,
Arista told her.
And what if you are caught? Will you betray the empress by revealing the aid she has provided you?
No, of course not. I would never do anything to harm her.
Why are you asking this, Amilia?
Modina looked from her to Nimbus and back again.
What do you
know?
Amilia hesitated for only a moment then spoke.
There is a Seret Knight standing guard in the base
of the north tower.
I am not familiar with your palace. Is that unusual?
Arista asked.
There
s nothing to guard there,
Amilia explained.
It
s a prison tower, but none of the cells hold
prisoners. Yet last night I watched two fourth floor guards deliver a pot of soup there.
To the guard?
No,
Amilia said,
they delivered the soup to the tower. Less than five minutes later, I arrived. The soup was gone, pot and all.
Arista stood.
They were feeding a prisoner, but you say there are no occupied cells in the tower?
Are you sure?
Positive. Every door was open and every cell vacant and looked to have been that way for some time.
I need to get in that tower,
Arista declared.
I could burn a hair in one of the empty cells. If he
s
nearby that could really tell us something.
There is no way you are getting in that tower,
Amilia told her.
You
d have to walk right past the
knight. While the Secretary to the Empress might get away with such a thing, I highly doubt the fugitive Witch of Melengar will.
I bet Saldur could walk in and out of there without question, couldn
t he?
Of course, but you aren
t him.
Arista smiled.
She turned to the tutor.
Nimbus, I have a letter for Hilfred and another for my brother. I wrote them in the event something happened to me. I want to give them to you now, just in case. Don
t deliver
them unless you know I am not coming back.
Of course,
he bowed.
Amilia rolled her eyes.
Arista handed the letters to Nimbus, and for no particular reason gave him a kiss on the cheek.
Just make certain when you are caught that you don
t drag Modina into it,
Amilia said, leaving with
Nimbus.
What are you planning to do?
Modina asked.
Something I
ve never tried before, something I
m not even certain I can do. Modina, I don
t know
what will happen. I might do some strange things. Please ignore them and don
t interfere, okay?/p>
Modina nodded.
Arista knelt and spread her gown out around her. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and tilted her head back. She took another deep breath then sat still. She did not move for a long time. She sat breathing very slowly, very rhythmically. Her hands opened. Her arms lifted, as if floating on their own
pulled by invisible strings, or rising on currents of air. She began to sway gently from side to side, her hair flowing back and forth. Soon she began to hum. The humming took on a melody, and the melody produced words Modina did not understand.
Then Arista began to glow. The light grew brighter with each word. Her dress turned pure white, her skin luminous. It soon hurt Modina
s eyes to look at her, and she turned away.
The light went out.
Did it work?
Modina asked. She turned back to face Arista and gasped.
***
When Arista opened the door, the guard stared at her stunned.
Your Grace! I didn
t see you come in.
You should be more watchful then,
Arista said, frightened at the sound of her own voice
so familiar
and yet so different.
The guard bowed.
Yes, Your Grace. I will. Thank you, Your Grace.
Arista hurried down the stairs, self-conscious and fearful as she clutched three strands of hair in her left hand and a chunk of chalk in her right. She felt exposed walking openly in the hallways after hiding for so long. She did not feel any different. Only by looking at her hands and clothing could she see evidence that the spell had worked. She was wearing imperial robes and her hands were those of an old man, with thick gaudy rings. Each servant or guard she passed nodded respectfully, saying softly,
Good afternoon, Your Grace.
Growing up with Saldur practically as her uncle had at least one advantage
she knew every line of
his face, his mannerisms, and his voice. She was certain she could not perform a similar illusion with Modina, Amilia, or Nimbus, even if she had them in front of her for reference. This took more
sheknew Saldur.
By the time she reached the first floor of the palace, she was gaining confidence. Only two concerns remained. What if she ran into the real Saldur, and how long would the spell last?
Stumbling through what had to be an advanced magical technique, she worked solely by intuition.
She knew what she wanted, and had a general idea how to go about it, but the result was more serendipity than skill. So much of magic was guesswork and nuance. She was starting to understand that now and could not help but be pleased with herself.
Unlike what she had managed in the past, this was completely new. Something she did not even know was possible. Casting an enchantment on herself was a frightening prospect. What if there were rules against such things? What if the source of the Art forbade it and imposed harm to those that tried? She never would have attempted it under different circumstances, but she was desperate.
Still, having done so, having succeeded, she felt thrilled. She had invented it. Perhaps no wizard had ever managed such a thing!
Your Grace!
Edith Mon was caught by surprise coming around a corner where they nearly collided.
She carried a stack of sheets in her arms and nearly lost them.
Forgive me, Your Grace! I
I
Think nothing of it, my dear.
The,my dear , at the end of the sentence came out unconsciously
it just
felt right. Hearing it, sent a chill through her, which proved it was pitch perfect. This might be fun if not for the mortal fear.
A thought came into her head.
I have heard reports that you
ve been treating your staff poorly.
Your Grace?
Edith asked looking nervous.
I
I don
t know what you mean?
Arista leaned toward her, with a smile that she knew from experience would appear all the more frightening for its friendly, disarming quality.
You aren
t going to lie to my face, are you Edith?
Ah
no, sir.
I don
t like it, Edith, I don
t like it at all. It breeds discontent. If you don
t stop I will need to find a
means of correcting your behavior. Do you understand me?
Edith
s eyes were wide and she nodded her head, as if it were hinged too tight.
I will be watching you. I will be watchingvery closely.
With that, Arista left Edith standing frozen in the middle of the corridor, clutching her bundle of sheets.
The guards at the front entrance bowed and opened the doors for her. Stepping outside, her senses were alert for any sign of trouble. She could smell the bread in the ovens of the bake house. To her left, a boy chopped wood, and ahead of her two lads shoveled out the stable, placing manure in a cart no doubt for use in the garden. The afternoon air was cold and the manure steamed. She could see her breath puffing in steamy clouds as she marched between the brick chicken coop and the remnants of the garden.
She reached the north tower, opened the door and entered. A Seret Knight with a deadly looking sword strapped to his belt stood at attention. He said nothing, and she did the same while looking about.
The tower was cylindrical with arched windows that allowed light to stream in and gleam off the polished stone floor. A tall, arched frame formed the entrance to the spiral stair. Across from it, a small fireplace provided heat for the guard. Covered in cobwebs, a wooden bench stood beside a small empty four-legged table. The only unusual thing was the stone of the walls. The rough-hewn rock of the upper portion of the tower was lighter in color than the more neatly laid, darker stone beneath.
The knight appeared uncomfortable at her silence.
Is everything all right here?
Arista asked, going for the most neutral thing she could think of.
Yes, Your Grace!
he replied enthusiastically.
Very good,
she said, and casually shuffled to the stairs and began to climb. She glanced behind her to see if the guard would follow, but he remained where he was without even looking in her direction.
She went up one flight and stopped at the first open cell. Just as Amilia reported, it appeared long abandoned. She checked to make certain the cell door would not lock and then carefully closed it.
She got on her knees and quickly drew the circle and the runes.
She placed the blonde hairs on the floor, lining them up in rows. Picking up several pieces of straw, she twisted them tightly into a rope-stalk. She repeated the phrase she had used for weeks and instantly the top of the straw caught fire, becoming a tiny torch. She recited the location spell and touched the flame to one of the hairs. It heated up like a red coil and turned to ash. Arista looked for the smoke, but there was none. She glanced around the room confused. She looked at the smoke coming off the straw; it drifted straight up. There was no wind, no draft of any kind in the cell.
She tried again with the second hair. This time putting out the straw, thinking its smoke might be interfering. Instead, she cast the burn spell directly on the hair, followed by the location incantation.
The hair turned to ash without a trace of the familiar light-gray smoke.
Was something about the tower blocking her spell? Could it be like the prison where they kept Esrahaddon? The Old Empire had placed complicated runes on the walls, blocking the use of magic. She looked around. The walls were bare. No, she thought, she would not have been able to cast the burn spell if that were the case. For that matter, she guessed her Saldur guise would have failed the moment she entered.
She had only one hair left. She considered moving to a different room, and then the answer dawned on her. She recited the spell once more, then picking up the last hair and holding it between her fingers, she burned it.
There it was! The smoke was pure white now and spilled straight down between hs like a trickle of water. It continued to fall until it met the floor, where it immediately disappeared.
She stood in the cell trying to figure it out. According to the smoke Gaunt was very close and directly below her, but there was nothing down there. She considered that perhaps there might be a door in the fireplace. No, she concluded, the opening was too small. There simply was nothing else below her except
the guard!
Arista gasped.
She checked her hands, reassured to see the wrinkled skin and ugly rings, and went back down the stairs to the base of the tower. The guard remained standing statue-like with his helm covering every trace of his features.
Remove your helm,
she ordered.
The knight hesitated only briefly, then complied.
She knew exactly what Degan Gaunt looked like from his image in Avempartha. The moment he removed his helm her hopes disappeared.
She forgot herself for a moment and sighed most un-Saldur-like.
Is there something wrong, Your Grace?
Ah
no, no,
she replied quickly, and started to leave.
I assure you, sir, I told her nothing of the prisoner. I refused to speak a single word.
Arista halted. She pivoted abruptly, causing her robes to sweep around her majestically. The dramatic motion had a visible impact on the guard and she finally understood why Saldur always did that.
Are you certain?
Yes!
he declared, but doubt crossed his face.
Did she say differently? If she did, she
s lying.
Arista said nothing but merely continued to stare at him. It was not an intentional act; she was merely trying to determine what to say next. She was not sure how to form her statement to get the knight to talk without being obvious. As she stood there formulating her next words, the knight broke under her stare.
Okay, I did threaten to unsheathe my sword, but I didn
t. I was very careful about that. I only pulled
it partway out. The tip never cleared the sheath I swear. I just wanted to scare her off. She did not see anything. Watch.
The knight pulled his sword and gestured toward the floor.
See, nothing.
Arista
s eye immediately focused on the large emerald in the pommel and she bit her tongue to restrain herself. It all made sense. There was only one thing still to learn. It was a gamble, but a good one she thought. She asked,
Did Gaunt like his soup?
She held her breath as she waited for his answer.
He ate it, but none of them have ever liked it.
Very good,
she said, and left.
When Arista returned, Modina did not speak a word. After admitting her, the empress stared at the vision of Saldur cautiously. Arista started to laugh, then rushed forward and gave her an unexpected hug.
We
ve found him!
Chapter 21
Drumindor
Led by a fast walking Tenkin warrior, the few remaining members of theEmerald Storm
s crew
made their way down from the Palace of the Four Winds through a series of damp caves to the base of the blackened cliffs where the surf attacked the rock. In a tiny cove, a little sloop waited for them. Smaller and narrower than the Dacca vessel, the ship sported two decks but only a single mast. Wyatt rapidly looked the ship over, declaring it sound, and Poe checked for provisions, finding it fully stocked for a month-long trip.
They quickly climbed aboard. Poe and Hadrian cast off while Wyatt grabbed the wheel. Derning and Royce ran up the mainsail and loosed the headsail, which billowed out handsomely. The power of the wind just off the point was so strong that the little sloop lurched forward, knocking Poe off his feet. He got up and wandered to the bow.
Look at them. They
re everywhere,
he said, motioning out at the hundreds of black sails filling the harbor like a hive of bees.
Let
s just hope they let us through,
Derning said.
We
ll get through,d Hadrian told them. He was seated on a barrel holding Wesley
s hat, turning it
over and over. Hadrian had refused to leave Wesley and Grady in Erandabon
s hands. Their bodies
had been brought aboard for a proper burial at sea. He kept Wesley
s hat. He was not sure why.
He was a good man,
Royce said.
Yes, he was.
They both were,
Derning added.
The tiny sloop was a bit hard to manage with just the five of them, but it would be ideal once they picked up Banner and Grieg in Dagastan. She was a fast ship and they were confident they could reach Tur Del Fur in time. The armada of Tenkin and Ghazel ships looked to be still gathering.
Jacob, trim the foresail, I
m bringing her over two points,
Wyatt snapped as he gripped the slick
ship
s wheel.
And everyone jump lively, we
re in the Ba Ran Archipelago and this is no place for
slow witted sailors.
The moment they cleared the cove they understood Wyatt
s warning. Here the sea was a torrent of
wave-crashed cliffs and splintered islands of jagged rock. Towering crags rose from dense fog, and blind reefs of murderous coral lay in ambush. Currents coursed without reason, rogue waves crashed without warning, and everywhere the dark water teamed with sweeping triangles of black canvas
each emblazoned with white slashes that looked vaguely like a skull. The Ghazel ships spotted them the moment they cleared the point and five abruptly changed course and swooped in.
The black ships of the Ba Ran Ghazel made the Dacca look like incompetent ferrymen as they channeled through the surf and flew across the waves.
Run up the damn colors!
Wyatt shouted, but Royce was already hauling the black banner with white markings that stretched out long and thin.
There was a brief moment as Hadrian watched the approaching sails that he cursed himself for trusting Erandabon Gile. But after the colors were hoisted, like a shiver of sharks the sails peeled off, swirling back around to resume their earlier paths.
Wyatt cranked the wheel until they were pointed for Dagastan and ordered Royce to the top of the masthead to watch for reefs. No one spoke after that, except for Royce who shouted out obstacles and Wyatt who barked orders. It only took a few hours before they cleared the last of the jagged little islands, leaving both the archipelago and the black sails behind. The little sloop rolled easily as it entered the open waters of the Ghazel Sea.
The crew relaxed. Wyatt set a steady course. He leaned back against the rail, caught the sea spray in his hand, and wiped his face as he looked out at the ocean. Hadrian sat beside him head bowed while he turned Wesley
s hat over in his hands
Erandabon had sent a messenger to Hadrian as they left the arena. The search for Allie had produced no results. All previous shipments had been delivered to the Ghazel weeks ago. He knew females, especially young ones, were considered a rare delicacy. She was dead, likely eaten alive by a high-ranking goblin who would have savored the feast by keeping the girl conscious as long as possible. For Ghazel, screams were a garnish.
Hadrian sighed.
Wyatt
I have something to tell you
Allie
Wyatt waited.
Allie is dead. As part of the deal, I made Gile investigate. The results weren
t good.
Wyatt turned to gaze once more at the ocean.
You
you made that part of the deal? Asking about my
daughter?
Yeah, Gile was a little put out but
What if he had said no?
I wasn
t going to accept that answer.
But he could have killed all of us.
Hadrian nodded.
She
s your daughter. If I thought she was alive, trust me, Royce and I would be on it, even if that meant heading back into the Ba Ran Islands, but well. I
m really sorry. I wish I could
have done more.
He looked down at the hat in his hands.
I wished I could have done a lot more.
Wyatt odded.
We can still save Tur Del Fur,
Hadrian told him.
And we wouldn
t have that chance without you. If
we succeed, she won
t have died in vain.
Wyatt turned to look at Hadrian. He opened his mouth then stopped and looked away again.
I know,
Hadrian said, once more fidgeting with Wesley
s hat.
I know.
***
Greig and Banner were pleased to see them. Nights living on the little Dacca ship were getting cold and provisions dangerously low. They had already resorted to selling nets and sails to buy food in town. They made a hasty sale of the Dacca ship. The Tenkin vessel was far faster and already loaded.
Wyatt aimed the bow homeward, catching the strong autumn trade winds. The closer they came to home, the colder it got. The southern currents that helped warm Calis did not reach Delgos, and soon the wind turned biting. A brief rainstorm left a thin coat of ice on the sheets and deck rails.
Wyatt continued at the helm, and refused to sleep until he was near collapse. Hadrian concluded that, failing to save Allie, Wyatt placed his absolution in saving Delgos instead. In a way, he was certain they all did. Many good people had died along the trip
they each felt the need to make their
sacrifice mean something. Even Royce, suffering once more from seasickness, managed to climb to the top of the mainsail where he replaced the Ghazel banner with Mister Wesley
s hat.
They explained the events of the previous weeks to Grieg and Banner as well as Merrick
s plan and
the need to reach Drumindor before the full moon. Each night they watched the moon rise larger on the face of the sea
the lunar god indifferent to their race against time. Fortune and the wind were with them. Wyatt captured every breath, granting them excellent speed. Royce spotted red sails off the port aft twice, but they remained on the horizon and each time vanished quietly in their wake.
Shorthanded, and with Royce seasick, Hadrian volunteered for mast work. Derning spent the days teaching him the ropes. He would never be very good at it. He was too big for such work, and yet he managed to grasp the basics. After a few days he was able to handle most of the maneuvers without instruction. At night, Poe cooked while Hadrian sat practicing knots and watching the stars.
Instead of hugging the coast up to Wesbaden, they took a risk and sailed due west off the tip of Calis directly across Dagastan Bay. The gamble almost proved to be a disaster as they ran into a terrible storm producing mountainous waves. Wyatt expertly guided the little sloop, riding the raging swells with half canvas set, never leaving the wheel. Seeing the helmsman
s rain-lashed face
exposed in a flash of lightning, Hadrian seriously began to wonder if Wyatt had gone mad. By morning, the sky had cleared and they could all see Wesley
s hat still blowing in the wind.
The gamble paid off. Two days ahead of the harvest moon they rounded the Horn of Delgos and entered Terlando Bay.
***
As they approached the harbor, the Port Authority stopped them. They did not care for the style of the ship or the black sails
Wesley
s hat notwithstanding. Held directly under the terrifying smoking spouts of Drumindor, dock officers boarded and searched the vessel thoroughly before allowing them to pass below the bridge between the twin stone towers. Even then, they were given an escort to berth fifty-eight, slip twenty-two of the West Harbor. Being familiar with the city and the Port Authority, Wyatt volunteered to notify the officials of the impending invasion and warn them to search for signs of sabotage.
I
m off mates,
Derning announced once they had the ship berthed. The topman had a small bundle over his shoulder.
What about the ship and the stores?
Grieg asked.
We
ll want to sell it
you
ll get a share.
Keep it
I have business did nottend to.
But what if we can
t get
Grieg gave up as Derning trotted away into the narrow streets.
That seemed
a bit abrupt
man
s in a hurry to go somewhere.
Or just glad to be back in civilization,
Banner mentioned.
Tur Del Fur welcomed sailors like no other port. Brightly painted buildings with exuberant decorations received them to a city filled with music and mirth. Most of the shops and taverns butted up against the docks where loud signs fought for attention:The Drunken Sailor
join the crew!
Fresh beef & poultry! Pipes, Britches & Hats! Ladies of the Bay, (we wring the salt out!) For recently paid sailors who may have been at sea for two or more years, they screamed paradise.
The only oddity remained the size and shapes of the buildings. Whimsical western decorations could not completely hide the underlying history of this once dwarven city. Above every door and threshold was the sign:
Watch your head.
Seagulls cried overhead, crisscrossing a brilliant blue sky. Water lapped the sides of ships that creaked and moaned like living beasts stretching after a long run.
Hadrian stepped onto the dock alongside Royce.
Feels like you
re gonna fall over doesn
t it?
To answer your question from before
No, I don
t think we should be sailors. I
d be happy never to see
a ship again.
At least you don
t have to worry about land sickness.
Still feels like the ground is pitching beneath me.