Warsgra was in the cell to Orergon’s left, and Vehel to the right. There were others in here with them, too. Human men who were being held for whatever crimes humans arrested each other for—thievery, murder, unpaid taxes. One of the human men had been singing a ballad of some kind when they’d been brought in, and another had been yelling and hammering on the bars, but everyone had fallen quiet when Orergon and the others had been pushed into the dungeon. Most of the humans had most likely never seen someone from another race, and to end up locked up with three of them probably wasn’t the way they’d anticipated the day going.
They were waiting for the right moment for Vehel to break them all free, but right now they struggled to speak to each other without one of the guards yelling at them to shut up. They also didn’t want the guards to know what they were planning. None of the guards had the brainpower, or so it seemed, to see that Vehel was Elvish, and therefore might have the ability to do magic. That might change, however, when King and Queen Crowmere finally bothered to come and speak with them. The guards might not recognize an Elvish person when they saw one, but the king and queen certainly would. If they thought him capable of magic, they might take steps to make sure he was incapable of doing any. Orergon didn’t know what those steps would be, but death seemed a pretty surefire way of preventing him trying anything.
Each of them had received a beating upon being brought to the dungeon. Orergon had been delivered a particularly nasty kick to the ribs, and each time he moved it was like splinters of wood were being driven up through his side. The others had received punches and kicks as well, and he knew it had taken all of their strength not to retaliate.
But they needed to soon.
With their faces pressed against the bars so they were able to see each other, Orergon knew the time had come.
“Hey,” he hissed at Vehel. “We need to make a move.”
Vehel nodded. “What about those two?” he whispered back, nodding at the guards.
Warsgra’s low voice came from the other side. “I can take care of them.”
They’d all had their weapons removed before they’d been brought down here, but Warsgra was big enough to crush their skulls together.
“Okay,” Vehel replied, keeping his voice down. “I’m ready.”
Orergon watched as Vehel closed his eyes and lifted his hand to the gates. A blue light, like miniature lightning bolts crept up the bars, darting from one bar to the next. The light crept farther, spreading across from Vehel’s cell to Orergon’s and then Warsgra’s. There was a click as one of the locks sprang open, and then another and another.
“Hey, what are you doing?” shouted one of the guards.
Vehel’s magic died away, and all three of the gates swung open. The guards rushed toward them, their swords drawn. Both had matching expressions of confusion and fear, but sometimes fear gave way to anger, and anger could be deadly.
“Mage,” one of them cried. “He’s a Mage.”
Orergon was a good fighter, but he normally had a spear in hand. One of the guards swung his sword at him, and Orergon reared back, and then sidestepped as the guard pulled back and then stabbed forward. The other guard had been left with the unfortunate choice of taking on either Warsgra or Vehel. Even armed with a sword, while the other two were unarmed, it didn’t seem like a fair fight. Warsgra towered over him, his massive shoulders bunched. Vehel could use his magic to disarm the guard, but it always took Vehel a little while to pull his strength back together after using magic, even after the Seer’s training. From the look on Warsgra’s face, however, the big Norc was looking forward to this fight.
Still in the cells behind them, the other prisoners jeered on the fighting, shouting and banging on the bars with their hands. Orergon ignored them. The human men weren’t their problem, whether they deserved to be there or not.
Clearly seeing Warsgra as the bigger threat, one guard swung his sword at Warsgra’s stomach. Warsgra stepped back, and as the sword continued with its momentum, he darted back in and delivered an elbow at the man’s sword arm. The guard cried out but managed to keep hold of his weapon.
Orergon couldn’t focus on Warsgra. Between him and Vehel, they had the other guard to take on, and the other man was armed where they had nothing. Orergon glanced at Vehel. His eyes were slightly glazed, and Orergon knew it was the effect of him having worked his magic. He couldn’t rely on Vehel just yet for help. He needed to take down this guard by himself, but it wasn’t going to be easy when the guard was armed and he was not.
Still, he was a seasoned warrior and a skilled fighter, where the guard was a low paid employee of the crown. The presence of the sword evened them up, however. Orergon just needed to get the weapon out of the other man’s hands.
The guard swung the sword, and Orergon ducked and then spun away. He darted to the left, but the guard stepped forward with a descending slash, and Orergon pulled back, the blade skimming the front of his body. He couldn’t allow himself to be pressed up against the wall. It would leave him with nowhere to go, and he’d end up skewered like a hog. The swing of the sword exposed the guard’s back and Orergon took the moment, lifting his foot and kicking hard. The impact sent the guard flying back, but he managed to keep hold of the sword. Frustratingly, the guard kept his balance and swung the sword again, keeping Orergon from launching a second attack. But being off balance, combined with the weight of the weapon, gave Orergon an advantage again. He darted in, trying to take out the guard’s legs with his foot. He misjudged, and the guard managed to step out of the way, and Orergon ended up on the floor on his back. Murderous anger glinted in the guard’s eyes as he brought the sword down. Orergon saw the cut coming and barely managed to roll out of the way, the metal striking the stone floor with a clang.
Knowing he was going to lose unless he disarmed the guard, he focused on the man’s hands around the hilt of the sword and aimed another kick. The sword was heavy, and as he lifted it to strike back at Orergon, Orergon’s boot made contact, knocking the weapon out of his grip. The sword flew to one side, skittering across the floor, finally coming to a rest out of reach.
Orergon was bigger than the guard, and he jumped to his feet to face him. They were in hand to hand combat now. The man threw a punch, but Orergon spun back around, coming to a halt at the man’s back. He caught the back of the man’s head. Working purely on instinct, and without consciously thinking, he brought his face directly in line with the guard’s.
Dead. He wanted this man dead. Anger and rage filled him. The darkness that had been swirling at his soul since Vehel had brought him back rose inside him again. He placed his mouth to the guard’s and exhaled.
A stream of black, like ash, flowed out of him and into the guard’s mouth. The man’s eyes widened in terror, and his body jerked and shuddered, but he made no move to escape.
When Orergon knew he’d done enough, he released the man and stepped back.
The guard fell to the ground, his eyes wide as he clutched at his throat. The darkness spread across his face like a disease, and Orergon realized he’d seen something similar before, when the trees and bushes had turned to dust back in the Seer’s cavern.
The guard croaked one final time, his body jerking, and then fell still.
Orergon looked to where Warsgra was still trying to disarm the other guard.
In a flash of silver, the man brought the sword in a downward slash. Warsgra tried to sidestep, but his size made him slower, and the blade cut Warsgra’s shoulder. Fury crossed the big Norc’s face as he glanced down at where blood flowed down his skin. He sucked air in over his teeth, but he didn’t hesitate. His fist balled, and he swung a punch directly into the middle of the man’s face. His nose smashed, blood flying in every direction, and the second guard went down hard. Warsgra stepped in and kicked the sword out of reach.
They were all breathing heavily, and a strange stillness descended over the dungeon. Even the other prisoners had fallen quiet now, silenced by witnessing the wa
y Orergon had killed the other guard.
Orergon stared down at what he’d done. He could feel Vehel and Warsgra’s questioning stares, too.
“I ... I ... didn’t mean to.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Vehel. “It’s done. We need to get out of here.”
Both Orergon and Warsgra snatched up the men’s swords. Vehel had his magic as protection, should he need, though now, Orergon realized, he had his own kind of magic, too.
What if he couldn’t control it? He hadn’t really been able to control it just then. He’d simply had the thought that he wanted the guard dead, and then he’d done it. What would happen if he fought with someone he cared about and the same thought came into his head? What if he hurt them without even meaning to?
Warsgra grabbed the guard who was still alive by the throat. “Which way to the castle’s vault?” he demanded.
The guard opened his mouth and yelled, “Thieves! Thieves! Help!”
“We’re not here for the gold and gems, you idiot,” Warsgra snapped. “We have plenty of them in our homelands.” Warsgra turned to throw a glance at Orergon. “We’re here for Dela.”
The dragon egg. Of course, the dragon egg. That was the whole reason they were here.
“The vault is on the other side of the castle. You’ll never get into it. The place is sealed up tight.”
Warsgra laughed. “Like the cells down here, you mean?”
Panicked, the guard flicked his gaze over to Vehel. Warsgra caught the man by the sides of his head and slammed his skull against the floor. The guard fell still.
The Norc straightened. “You heard him. We need to be on the other side of the castle.”
Orergon shot the man he’d killed another glance and then nodded. The sooner he was away from this room, the better. His fingers tightened around the hilt of the guard’s sword. He’d use the weapon if they came across anyone else. It was heavier than his spear, but at least it was the right way to kill a man.
“Hey,” came the yell of one of the prisoners still locked up. “Let us out of here, too! The keys are on the guard’s belt. Just throw them over.”
Orergon glanced at Vehel, who shook his head. They didn’t know why the human men were locked up. If they let them out, they might end up with another fight on their hands.
Together, the three of them ran for the heavy door. Jeering from the other prisoners sounded from behind them, but they ignored them.
“There may be guards outside,” Vehel warned. “Be careful.”
Orergon thought if there were, they’d probably have come running by now.
The door opened out onto a low-ceilinged, dark passage. There was no sign of any more guards, so they kept going. The castle was undermanned, with many of the guards having joined the army that was now crossing the Southern Pass. They could use that to work in their favor.
Even as they crept forward, the guard’s face, mottled black, flashed in Orergon’s mind. He’d done that.
Orergon didn’t know why the death was sitting so uneasily on his shoulders. He was a hunter and a warrior. It wasn’t as though he was a young boy and that had been the first life he’d ever taken. He’d killed plenty of men in his time as tribe leader, and all of them had been necessary deaths. He’d even had to kill other Moerians in the past, so why was this one troubling him so much now?
Because you killed him with magic, and that magic was dark, a little voice whispered in his head.
But he didn’t have time to think about what that meant right now. He needed to focus on them all getting out of here alive.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Dela
DELA SPUN AROUND WITH her heart in her throat, ready to attack if necessary, but instead she breathed out a sigh of relief.
“Brer! What by the Gods are you doing inside the castle?”
The young man who’d been friendly with Ridley at school and had survived their encounter with the Long White Cloud, raised his eyebrows. “I was going to say the same about you.”
She didn’t know how much she could trust him. “I’m delivering armor to the armory. I work for the blacksmith, remember?”
Brer Stidrisk’s eyebrows lifted even higher. “Dela, the last time I saw you, you were with those people from the other races, and a huge blue ball of light surrounded you and then exploded. When I looked back, you were all gone, and now you’re here, creeping around the castle—”
“I wasn’t creeping,” she exclaimed, indignant.
His eyebrows hadn’t lowered at all. “You were creeping. The armory is nowhere near this part of the castle. Want to tell me the real reason you’re here?”
“I told you, I delivered armor to the armory. Go and take a look if you don’t believe me. Anyway, what are you doing here?” She was trying to distract him by getting him to talk about himself. He’d always been a proud young man.
He puffed up his chest, putting back his shoulders. “You’re looking at the new advisor to King and Queen Crowmere.”
Her mouth dropped. “You are kidding, right?”
He deflated again. “Why would I be kidding? Only me and Harlem made it back from the Southern Pass—well, you too, now, but I guess the king and queen don’t know about that. I’m one of the only people who saw the leader of the Elvish people use magic.”
Anger rose up inside her. “So, you were the one who told the king and queen. Do you have any idea what you’ve started?”
He jerked back at the venom in her tone. “What are you talking about? He broke the Treaty!”
“He was trying to save us! And in case you hadn’t noticed by the fact I’m standing here talking to you, it worked!”
“It didn’t work for everyone else who died in the Southern Pass.”
A tiny amount of her rage ebbed away. “Okay, no, it didn’t. But it saved some of us. When you came back here and told everyone what happened, you started the Second Great War. You know that, don’t you? Thousands of people of all races are going to die, simply because the Elvish prince was trying to save us.”
Brer pouted. “He broke the Treaty. The other races need to know their place.” His eyes narrowed. “Speaking of which, did you know three of them were found wandering our streets?”
She widened her eyes. “What?”
“Yes, they’re here, in the castle.”
She reached out and grabbed his forearm. “Where in the castle?”
He shrugged. “The dungeon, I assume. That’s where they take everyone who shouldn’t be here.” His eyes narrowed. “Like you. Is that why you’re here? Did you come here with them?”
“No, I didn’t,” she answered truthfully, “but I do know them. Will you show me where the dungeon is?”
His lips twisted and he shook his head. “I don’t think so, Dela. You’re going to get me in trouble.”
“Please, Brer. You owe me. We wouldn’t need to be here if you’d kept your mouth shut. We’re trying to stop the war from going any further. Trying to save innocent lives. You owe this to me.”
“I could get in a lot of trouble.”
“The whole of Xantearos is in a lot of trouble because of you reporting back. Look, if you won’t do it for that reason, do it for Ridley. I’m his little sister, and he loved me. He would have wanted you to help me, wouldn’t he?”
His determination wavered. “By the Gods, Dela! Fine. You’ve emotionally blackmailed me into it.”
She risked a smile. “Good.”
He furrowed his brow and gave a growl. “Come this way, and if you see anyone, just nod and look like you belong. And don’t speak to anyone, got it?”
“Got it.”
She hoped he was doing as he’d said and was taking her to the dungeon rather than to hand her over to one of the City Guards. She didn’t know him well enough to know for sure if she could trust him. He was the one to tell King and Queen Crowmere what Vehel had done, after all.
But she didn’t have much choice and so kept to his side as they walked down the l
ong, high-ceilinged corridors. Tapestries and oil paintings hung from the walls on both sides. Polished grey slabs were beneath foot, her footsteps echoing along with her heartbeat in her ears.
“This way.” Brer stopped to push open a heavy wooden door studded with black iron to reveal a staircase leading downward. He checked that the coast was clear and then started down, Dela following close behind.
They reached the bottom and turned left.
“There will be guards down here,” he warned.
She didn’t reply. She’d figured that out already.
“Which way to the dungeon?” she whispered.
“Left, and keep going.”
Her urgency to see the others pushed at her back. Would they be hurt? Beaten? Chained? She didn’t know how she was going to set them free if they were under lock and key. Vehel had his magic, but if the guards had already done something to prevent him using it, then the others would struggle to set them free. Even Warsgra’s massive strength couldn’t bend iron bars.
“It’s here.”
Brer had stopped in front of another heavy door, but it stood open.
“Shouldn’t the door be shut?” she asked.
Brer glanced at her and nodded. “Yes, I believe so.”
“And where are the guards?”
She had no choice but to check. She wasn’t about to ask Brer to do it for her. This wasn’t his problem.
Dizzy with adrenaline, she inched forward. Her ears strained, trying to pick up on any sound. There was something—a faint moaning. Was that one of the others in pain?
Bravery forced her forward and she peered through the gap in the door. A wall of barred cells ran along the farthest wall. A couple of figures were huddled in the cells, but they didn’t notice the new arrival. But the thing that caught Dela’s eye the most were the two guards on the floor. One of them appeared to be barely conscious—and she assumed he was responsible for the moaning—and the second was clearly dead. What had killed him, however, she wouldn’t have been able to say. His mouth was wide open in a rictus scream, and a strange patchwork of black ran across every inch of visible skin, like the veins threaded through the leaf of a plant.
Chronicles of the Four: The Complete Series Page 40
