As much as Zauber would like to leave Spellhaven to search for Dawn, he couldn’t just yet. So many spells needed to be worked, hung, and he also had to research the situation from every angle. Waxxon was cunning, and this takeover wasn’t by accident or an unknown opportunity. The plans had been plotted for quite some time. Nothing this broad occurred overnight.
How had the lord convinced the Vykings to join his cause? How would the Vykings benefit from such an alliance?
Zauber spoke a chant and teleported to his secret alchemist library, which had no doors or windows and the only access was through his magic. Once he was inside, he was greeted by gentle bubbling sounds that mumbled inside various glass orbs and vials set over low magical flames. Potions brewed, and suddenly he realized that he had been preparing for this invasion with some of what was being concocted inside those heated flasks.
On one table lay an open, aged tome. Beside the tome was a large Orc skull with huge tusks. The massive book’s yellowed pages held spells he had studied for most of his life. And yet, while he had learned these, he failed to understand the true reasons for his devoted interest in them. The fall of Hoffnung revealed what had been hidden from him. Now he needed only to finish the potions, memorize the proper spells, and hope there was still time to redeem Hoffnung by finding Lady Dawn.
She has to be alive, he reasoned.
He ran a hand through his beard and sighed. He needed to focus his thoughts and shun his lingering doubts of Dawn’s possible death. Such conflicting thoughts disabled the strength of his incantations and magic. Driving out the qualms might be harder than working his magic.
After he ridded his mind of such worries, he’d hang a few spells, and send out a few ravens to neighboring witches and wizards. Just like an army needed massive numbers to overtake a foe, Zauber understood there was also more power in numbers for those that worked magic toward the same end. To find Lady Dawn required the aid of all the workers of white magic.
He placed his hand upon the Orc skull. If necessary, Zauber would channel the afterlife dark magic of the crazed Orc sorcerer Zauber had killed at the center of the Haunted Forest of Dorian. The magical duel had almost set the forest on fire, and perhaps would have, had the spirits that roamed the haunted trees not quenched the flames. Their action created a diversion that sent the Orc, Thull, into a blind rage, and when he attempted to destroy one of the ghosts, Zauber took the opportunity to use a flesh decomposition spell that boiled and peeled away Thull’s flesh like acid. When the spell completed, all that remained was the Orc’s skull and the sorcerer’s magical staff, which Zauber claimed as his own. Rewards, or trophies, so to speak, but even after death, some remnants of the sorcerer’s magic remained within the items.
Staring at the bubbling potions, Zauber smiled. He wondered how the Orc fumed during its afterlife of torment from knowing Zauber could alter its black magic and convert the dark energy into light. Thull’s rage might boil, but he was helpless to do anything to stop Zauber.
He held up one glass flask and studied it in the faint light. Nodding, he eased the flask back into the metal ring that supported it above the magical flames. He sighed, somewhat delighted and yet, he was curious at what lay ahead. Once he mixed the proper potent concoctions, he might find it necessary to leave the safety of his tower to right a few wrongs. But magic came at a cost. Homage must be made, and he must be diligent in his requests because a dead wizard held no power at all.
Chapter Nine
The serrated daggers of the three thieves gleamed in the light of Dawn’s torch. She ignored trying to see their faces and concentrated more on the angle of their blades. While they had sufficient weapons to easily kill her, she held a slight advantage by having the torch.
For one, they’d be leery of the flame because one of the most painful afflictions is getting burned. Even a slight burn from a small candle’s flame ached for hours or a couple days without the proper ointment or healing potion. Worse was being set on fire. Major burns could render enough pain to cause death, or for someone to beg to die.
Another thing was that while their eyes concentrated on the glow of the torch, their sight became partially inhibited once they looked away. They’d see dark afterimages where their eyes had focused on the dancing torch fire and looking away made judging accurate distances more difficult. Such limits gave her a better opportunity to attack or quickly escape.
“So lad,” the man in the center said, “you have a victim from the castle keep. What treasures did the ol’ lady have?”
At first she thought it best not to answer, but instead she deepened her voice slightly and said, “Nothing. She’s just an old woman that must have gotten lost.”
“Lost? Lad, we’ve not ever seen you here before, either. Are ye lost as well?”
The two cloaked men beside him laughed, pressing closer.
Dawn wasn’t certain how to reply. If she told them she wasn’t lost, they’d press for answers about how she had gotten into the deepest recesses of the sewers with a dead woman undetected. Perhaps they’d even insist that she show them the way out to prove she wasn’t lying. However, should she say that she was lost, they’d still ask how she got past their hideout or posts without them knowing about it until now. They’d suspect she had another entrance that they didn’t know of, and if they discovered she had come from the castle, they might figure out her true identity. Waxxon would pay them a substantial reward to hand her over to him.
The only good thing was that they assumed she was a young man and not a lady. At least for now, she thought. The clothes Nessa had given her were baggy around the waist and her buttocks, which better concealed her gender. Should they discover that she was female, she feared what might ensue. The hardest thing for her was to remember to deepen her voice whenever she spoke, so not to betray herself.
Her hesitation in replying agitated the central thief. He said, “Well?”
“I lost my way,” she agreed, lowering her head as if she felt guilty about admitting it.
The leader grunted. “And her? You just happened upon her, eh?”
Dawn gave a slight nod.
“That part I know you’re lying about.”
Dawn frowned.
“You’re new to thiefdom. Lying is just part of a thief’s nature, but you’re not too convincing in your words.”
“I’m not lying,” she said.
The leader’s voice became agitated. He said, “You somehow convinced her to follow you down here and then you killed her to take whatever riches she had. She’s well dressed, so that’s an easier story for me to believe. Is that what really happened, lad?”
“No,” she replied.
The two other thieves chuckled.
“What did you find upon her? Jewels? Coins?” He rubbed his hands together, savoring the thoughts of whatever riches Dawn might have taken from the old woman.
“I told you, ‘nothing.’”
“Then you won’t mind if we search her and you?”
Her eyes narrowed. Allowing them to search her was out of the question. She didn’t want their grubby hands anywhere near her body. The fire was the only weapon she had, but the flame was running out of pitch to feed it. Soon the fire would extinguish itself, and she’d fall victim to their blades or whatever else they sought to do after they discovered she wasn’t a young man.
Dawn hated that Nessa had died, but in a sense, her death had probably occurred at the best time and without any agonizing pain. The dear old maid would have promptly stood between her and these thieves and died to protect her. Dawn would have hated that alternative. At least Nessa had peace during her final moments.
The leader took a step toward Nessa’s corpse. Dawn took the dying torch and thrust it toward the man as she stepped into the man’s path.
The fire made him step back a moment in hesitation, but he tossed his blade back and forth between his hands. The fluidity of his movements revealed how well he could use the weapon, and her stubbornness would pro
bably anger him enough to send it flying at her heart.
“Laddie, surely you’d like to live a long life. A bit longer, at least. Don’t test me patience or you’ll feel my blade slice through your tender throat.”
Acting to the ruse, Dawn said, “I found her first! Whatever she has belongs to me.”
The man chuckled. His deep voice was gravelly, threatening. “You indeed do not know your place. Whatever fool happens into our halls is subjected to our rules. Now, back away or pay the price, with your life.”
He took another step toward Nessa. Angered, Dawn leapt forward with the torch, ducked the slice of his blade, and brought the torch to the man’s hood, setting it ablaze. He howled out in pain, dropping his dagger, and flung both hands to the flame-engulfed hood. Bewildered, his two companions turned their attention away from Dawn as they sought to aid their leader.
Dawn grabbed the serrated dagger, rammed the torch to the cloak of another thief, and fire blazed up the cloth. The man abandoned his leader and attempted to pat out the flames on his own cloak.
Dawn bolted barefoot along the cold, wet sewer pathway in the direction of the nearest torch on the wall. She didn’t have any clue which direction she should take, but she wasn’t wasting a moment to get as far from the thief trio as she could. Her footsteps smacked the wet rocks as she ran and the splattering sound echoed through the sewers. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched the one thief patting out the final flames on the leader’s hood while the other thief tossed and turned on the wet floor trying to extinguish his cloak. When he finally doused his smoldering cloak, he stood and helped the leader.
She gripped the dagger tightly and kept running. She passed the first torch but didn’t grab it. Deep in the sewers, darkness might prove to be her dearest friend, giving her a place to hide. Carrying a torch let pursuers know where she was at all times.
While there was the possibility for large rats, serpents, and other creatures waiting in the shadows, she believed her greatest enemies were other humans—thieves, turncoat guards, and Waxxon.
After she ran past the third torch, there wasn’t any sign that the thieves were pursuing her. She had escaped but still didn’t know where she needed to go. The sewer was a labyrinth of confusing passages and tunnels. The longer she wandered aimlessly among them, the more danger she was bound to find herself in.
Dawn ran another hundred feet and noticed rusted metal handles fastened horizontally to the wall. These were spaced a couple feet apart and led upward.
A crude ladder!
She tucked the blade behind her belt, grabbed the first rung, and pulled herself upward. She clamped her hand onto the next and then the next. After reaching the sixth rung, she glanced down. The floor seemed so far away, but she hung where the darkness concealed her. Even if the thieves looked up, they couldn’t see her.
Dawn pulled herself up three more rungs. Above, maybe ten feet or more, horses whinnied. She held her breath for a moment, wondering where in Hoffnung she was. Surely she wasn’t too far from the castle. She listened. The horses seemed upset, but there wasn’t any familiar clacking of horse hooves on the cobblestone street. But then, it was night. Most travelers had found inns to rest for the night.
The scent of the air weighed heavily of soured hay, urine, and manure.
The Royal Stables? It had to be since she was still close to the castle keep.
She smiled. Her mare, Keela, and her father’s stallion, Baymont, were in these stables. By saddling and taking her horse she had a better chance of escaping from the city, but then what? She was still alone.
Dawn’s mind raced. What would she do once she got clear of the city gates? She needed allies. Armies. But where and how did she recruit people loyal to her mother to aid her? Her masquerade as a peasant certainly couldn’t amass an army. Scrutiny and ridicule was all she’d receive. To reveal her true self to anyone could be instant death. How did she find help?
She didn’t know.
Dawn grabbed another rung, pulled herself up, and then reached for the next in the darkness. She found it. When she tried to find the next one, her hand touched a wooden board that budged slightly upward. She had reached the top. The trapdoor was overhead.
Cautiously, she pushed up on the board. Just an inch or two, and then she peered through the narrow crack. A lantern hung on a square post, providing a dim glow near the divided stables. Strands of hay and bits of loose dirt fell onto her face. She quickly closed her eyes to prevent the debris from getting in her eyes. Once the bits of dirt and hay settled, she blinked and let her eyes adjust to the faint light.
For several minutes, she watched and waited, expecting footsteps of an approaching night watchman, but no one came through. No horse hooves stomped near the trapdoor, so she was fairly certain that she was beneath the hallway floor between the stalls that lined both sides of the stables.
Dawn slid the board aside and pulled herself out of the opening and slowly stood inside the stables. Her arms ached, but she hurried and placed the board back into place, scooting loose hay over the board with her feet.
Looking both directions, she edged her way around the sides of the stalls, still worried that someone might discover her before she could get to Keela.
She approached the stall where her horse was housed. The sorrel horse’s ears turned forward. Keela recognized her, whinnied, and nodded her head with excitement.
Dawn hurried to the stall window and rubbed the mare’s nose. She fumbled with the gate latch.
“Boy!” the man shouted behind her. “Get to your quarters!”
She turned quickly to see the burly stable master, Balo, with his whip in hand. The giant man stood nearly seven feet in height, and he was enormously fat. He appeared almost as wide as he was tall. An evil glint grew in his eyes as his anger unfolded.
Growing up a princess in Hoffnung Castle, Dawn had been protected from the cruel realities in her kingdom and other regions in Aetheaon. Looking into Balo’s hate-filled eyes made her wonder what worse horrors she’d be encountering while she sought to take back her kingdom.
She’d pray, but the goddesses her kingdom worshipped seemed to have abandoned them. She wondered if they even existed.
“A greedy little scoundrel, aren’t ye? Get away from that horse,” Balo said. He cracked the whip. “Something as lowly as you going near a horse of royalty? I should whip you unconscious.”
Dawn backed away from Keela’s stable gate. She needed to get her horse, but the gigantic man posed a greater deterrent in how she might escape. At least he viewed her as a boy and didn’t recognize her face. Nessa’s disguise had worked.
Balo brought back the whip and snapped it forward. The tip cracked an inch from her nose. The heat of the air blew across her face. He curled the whip back and around again like a striking snake. As he brought it down she leapt back. The whip thwacked loudly but nowhere near her.
He took two labored steps forward, bringing back the whip as he approached. This time, Dawn rushed toward the side of the next stable door. He flung the whip forward. Instead of snapping again in the air, the tip caught and wrapped around the post. He tugged but the end had caught on a bent nail.
Balo waddled toward the stall to release the whip, and when he approached, Dawn pulled the serrated dagger from her belt.
“Where’d you get ahold of that, varmint?” he asked. His eyes narrowed and without any fear of her blade.
She had hoped showing the weapon might frighten the man somewhat or make him apprehensive in approaching her. However, the man moved at her much faster than she thought he was capable. She had never practiced using a dagger, and her uncertainty must have shown in her eyes because Balo continued walking toward her.
Dawn extended her hand and pointed the dagger blade at the stable master, but he kept coming. She took a step back and realized that had been a big mistake. Showing signs of retreat revealed her insecurity with using the blade and increased the look of overpowering triumph in his eyes. Not only th
at, but she had backed herself into a corner.
She attempted the menacing use of the blade like the thief had done. She tossed the knife from her right hand to her left, but when she tried to toss it back to her right again, she missed. The dagger dropped into the hay on the floor.
Before she could stoop down to retrieve it, he backhanded her with his massive right hand. The tremendous pain rattled her and sent her spiraling back against the stable wall. Darkness and silence claimed her as she dropped unconscious to the floor.
Chapter Ten
Echtrose pulled his face from the nasty sewer water and growled. Puffed, tight blisters filled with clear liquid covered most of his face. In some ways the pattern of blisters resembled trails of molten candle wax. What had once been his long flowing, gray locks of hair were singed and half their normal length.
His two accomplices, Thorn and Jak, stared at him in horror.
Echtrose gently touched his scorched face and winced. Vengeance burned hotter than his pain.
“Find that boy,” he said in a low, even tone.
Thorn replied, “Yes, father.”
“Bring him to me. I want him dead, but not until after he’s suffered far worse than this,” he said, pointing to his own face. “But do him no harm before he stands before me.”
Thorn nodded, turned, and headed in the direction Dawn had run.
Jak removed a vial of salve from his vest pocket and applied it softly to the blisters on Echtrose’s face. Echtrose winced as the medicated salve was spread across the heated red welts. The cold ointment did little to relieve the fiery pain that still felt like his flesh was burning.
Jak chanted barely audible words while he coated the blisters with the medicine.
Echtrose stared across the greenish sewer water to the small opening at the far wall, which was the entranceway to their hideout. How had the boy gotten into the deepest recesses of the sewers? Even the worst thieves of the competing guilds never considered entering this forsaken sector of the Hoffnung Sewers because they had no easy inconspicuous access to the surface where the wealthier citizens resided. His group of bandits consisted of only six thieves. The other three were somewhere on the surface scouting for their next great theft. They had yet to report back, which concerned him quite a bit.
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