by David Rice
He tensed and rocked his wings back and forth, encouraging Siandros to hold on tight. Then he banked hard and swooped towards a massive waterfall that shone like sparkgems in the sun. Down they went in a swooping arc, aiming for a high balcony at the back of what Tyrin hoped would be Graniteside’s palace. Siandros clenched his fur so hard it hurt, and Tyrin felt he had misjudged their speed when he pulled up.
They were between thick stone columns in a flash, past broken shards of stained glass window panes, and then they slid to a tangled inglorious stop amid a pile of dusty tables and chairs.
Siandros sprung from Tyrin’s back and trained his bow on the open doorway. Tyrin groaned as he soothed his aching body back to its purest form.
“Stay here,” Siandros ordered. “I’ll come back here when I’m finished.”
Tyrin blinked. “I’ll keep a good watch for you. Sorry, I’m not much of a warrior.”
Siandros smirked. “No one else is,” he laughed. “Ballok should have done this a long time ago. Would’ve saved us a lot of trouble.”
Tyrin watched Siandros race away with almost childish abandon. Then he tried vainly to stretch out some kinks in his shoulders. The far corner of the patio provided a concealed space behind an overturned table from where he could observe the courtyard. As he peeked over the edge, he noticed that the gate leading to this level was being closed and barricaded. A few guards were positioned at the main gate. A few more were standing near the only door of the tall tower. Starwatcher’s Tower, he recalled. Old memories were once again instantly fresh. He had landed on the far side of that tower cycles earlier. That was when he had been shot by a crossbow, poor thanks for rescuing their future king, and when he had been surprisingly healed by the Rajalan girl, Raisha, who he later met several times.
Tyrin sighed. Beside the door of Starwatcher’s Tower, he noted a strangely crafted sled of Halnnish design. It had no place for animal harnesses but, and he could feel their tug upon the weave quite palpably, they had sparkgems mounted along the sides. In fact, Tyrin realized, they felt very much like the gems that Woodmother Reshae had once crafted into her meditation mat.
Tyrin felt his temper rise. There was only one clear explanation, and it revolted him to the core. The gnome who had visited Longwood so long ago at the time of Reshae’s calling, he had stolen Reshae’s mat. He must’ve sold it later to be dismantled by the crafters of Halnn. Parasites, Tyrin thought. He’d fetch those gems before they departed.
***
Corebit lounged upon the muticoloured chair with his two parcels by his feet.When a guard announced King Lornen’s arrival, he turned casually and then stood with a smile.“It’s customary to kneel, gnome,” Lornen scolded. “After how your people have betrayed me there had better be a reason for this uninvited visitation.”
Corebit grinned, cradled his rifle nonchalantly, and slapped his legs. “Bad knees,” he apologized with the thinnest of veneers. “You made me a promise, good king, and I like to deliver.”
Lornen raised an eyebrow and made a shooing motion with his hand. “That is my chair. Show me the gifts you bring and pray that I am pleased.” When Corebit moved to crack open the smaller of the crates, Lornen lowered himself into the cushions with regal theatrics.
The King jumped to his feet when the gleam of silver and gold struck his eyes.
“I believe this is part of what your former Chancellor was hiding away? I could look for more if you treat me the right way.”
“Where did you find it?” Lornen demanded.
“Splintjack, of all places.”
“I’ll send the fleet!” Lornen exclaimed.
Corebit repressed a smile. The only fleet he observed sailing into harbour was resting on its bottom. “But the better part is yet to come, good King Lornen. You once requested that I fetch an elf for you.”
“What?” Lornen’s heart tripped over itself with excitement. “Is it—”
Corebit threw back the top of his vented container. Inside, Dria moved slowly against her bindings and she turned her head away from the sudden light.
Lornen’s eyes poured across her body and his smile twisted laviciously. Her natural curves were all too visible to Lornen, and her blonde hair spilled past her shoulders and caught the candlelight like spun gold.
Lornen smacked his lips and looked towards Corebit, half drunk with anticipation.
“Titles, was it?”
“And gold. But I’ll settle for the title you promised, and a third of what’s in that box.”
Lornen’s face reddened. Then he looked at Dria’s helpless form a second time. “A quarter of the box. And a similar share if you find the rest of that missing hoard.”
Corebit beamed. The titles were just decorations but the wealth could buy souls. “I’ll leave you to it, Your Majesty.”
“Yes. Yes.” He reached into the container and pulled Dria to her wobbling feet. “Have the guards help you out.”
Corebit slung his rifle and began lifting gold and Rajalan silver bars from the crate as quickly as he could manage, depositing them on the rug haphazardly.
Seeing the impatience in their King’s gaze, two of the guards joined in. Another two stood ready to open the door for Corebit’s prompt exit.
“When he goes, everyone goes,” Lornen instructed. “I want complete privacy this evening.” He twisted Dria’s arm and forced her up the stairs.
The guards knew better than to argue with their King. Corebit knew better than to linger after being paid.
In moments, they were sealing the door from the outside, and sliding Corebit’s much lighter cargo back onto his Halnnish sled. The gnome activated the gems and smiled as it floated upward. “Now,” he addressed the guards magnanimously, “for a wafer of gold each, who would like to escort me back to the docks?”
All four guards nearly broke their arms volunteering. Corebit had no worries about protecting himself but he wanted to keep the riffraff at a distance. He took the biggest two.
***
Plax woke with a start, pine needles were tickling his nose and his headache, a constant companion since he had touched Kirsten’s pendant, was pounding once more. He had settled in a clutch of trees north of Graniteside’s walls and he brushed aside a bough for a better look. The city’s highest towers were just beyond the nearest walls. There were watch towers on each corner but no sign of guards.
Dria was there somewhere and Plax could imagine quite readily how she felt being isolated from her own people. Could he just fly over the wall and through a window? Would it be that easy?
No. Cities were full of dangers he did not care to discover first hand. His temples began to buzz and itch once again and some impulse pulled his eyes down. Below, mostly hidden by twigs and scrabble, was a rusted grate over a dark hole. Something in his heart tugged him in that direction, and something in his mind told him how.
Wary of a recurrence of the subdued aches and repressed fatigue that followed his shapechanging, Plax decided this next attempt would be as brief as possible. He relaxed his breathing and let his new found impulses drive the change. In moments, the world was so much larger and he was a ferret. He scurried through the bars and into the dark maze of roots and rock, trusting his heightened senses and instincts to guide him once more.
***
Tyrin winced as the occasional muffled cry of surprise travelled from somewhere in the palace to his charm sensitized hearing. It always ended abruptly and Tyrin regretted that he had unleashed such a fury as Siandros. All they needed to do was find Dria and get her home.
However, Siandros seemed driven by the desire to cull this human herd from the bottom all the way up to its King.
The forestward took another glance into the courtyard and jumped when he saw a grizzled gnome hunter exit Starwatcher’s Tower along with four guards. The gnome wore a strange leather band wrapped around his head that was wreathed with odd scopes and glasses, and his arms cradled a long rifle. The guards fumbled with elaborate locks on the tower do
or while the hunter never stopped sweeping the surroundings. When he looked in Tyrin’s direction, he stopped abruptly and flipped a scope down over his eye.
In a surge of panic, Tyrin ducked, strengthened his shadowcharm, and listened intently. After several moments, he chanced a second glance from a different window. Two guards were running for the main gate and two were approaching the palace, their swords and shields ready. The gnome’s sled was still there, but the gnome was nowhere to be seen.
“By the One,” Tyrin cursed himself. They had seen him. He had to warn Siandros. Or perhaps he could buy Siandros some time with a worthy distraction. The forestward hustled in a crouch to the edge of the balcony where he faced the roaring waterfall, and climbed over the edge. His heart pounding as he held on by only his fingers, he pulled the weave to him once more, begain his transformation, and let go of the wall.
***
Plax dropped from the musty shaft into a rough tunnel dimly lit by a single oil lamp turned low. He couldn’t hold the ferret’s form any longer if he wished to have enough energy to call upon the weave later. The nagging itch in his temples seemed to be directing him. When he turned one way the itch became unbearable, and when he turned another, the discomfort faded until the next choice arrived. He hustled down the hall, through an empty room that stank of humans, past two tunnels that wafted bitter sewer gas, and into a broken cavern faintly lit by moss. The troublesome pain returned and chased him towards a darkened corner where he knelt to rub his head and collect his thoughts.
The cavern was entirely silent except for the thin trickle of water leaking from a crack in the rock near his head and disappearing through a small crevice. His eyes followed the water upwards until he realized that the tiny stream was issuing from a gap between two slabs of polished stone.
Running his hands along the stone, he discovered a pivot point. He gasped. He didn’t know where it would lead but he had found a door.
***
Siandros quietly lowered the second guard’s body to the ground, no mean feat when he had to keep their shields and swords from clattering along the stone like an alarm. Their bodies joined a trail of retribution that stretched through every corridor and room that he could find.
Despite the occasional pang of his wound, he smirked. Why hadn’t Ballok done this? These humans were not warriors. Three of them could have slipped into this city and ended this entire foolish conflict in a day. Then Siandros chuckled. If the remaining resistance was anything like this, it would be ended in even less time.
He paused to consider his next move. There was a throne room and richly appointed chambers that surely belonged to the King, but Lornen was nowhere to be seen. Neither did he find any sign that Dria had been there. But the nearby tower had guards and smoke rising from its chimneys. Siandros’s smirk grew into a hard smile and coiled himself in a shadowspark..
His bow would make short work of the guards and then Tyrin could fly him to the roof. They would never expect an attack from above.
***
Plax was about to give up when his fingers tripped across a dirt clogged fissure and found the lever. He leaned away in case of a trap and pulled down gradually. With a puff of dust, the rockface split and a small doorway popped open. Plax had to admire the dwarven craftsmanship when it slid wide with little effort. On the other side was a wall cluttered with discoloured pipes disappearing into the ceiling, and a narrow spiralling staircase leading upwards towards the unknown.
The itch was back, and it was relentlessly nudging him forward. Renewing his shadowspark, Plax crept upward as carefully as a cat.
***
Siandros’s first arrow took a guard through the throat and, as the other guard turned, his second arrow struck that guard directly in the ear. Both slumped together, and clattered to the cobblestones.
Siandros grinned with satisfaction and slung his bow. The guards would surely have keys. Perhaps he might not need a flight to the roof.
The granite edge of the door exploded beside his face and sent Siandros reeling backwards into cover. He shook his head to clear the buzz, and snarled. Careless! The gnome was out there, waiting, and he had almost shot him again.
It wouldn’t happen a third time, Siandros vowed. But he’d have to find another way across the courtyard. The shot had come from the direction of the palace gate towers, and he was a hunter who liked to set up an overwatch position and wait. That meant he wouldn’t likely be moving. Siandros wiped some grit from his eye. If the gnome wasn’t going to move then he was already dead. Siandros disappeared into the palace and hunted for a vantage point to return the favour of an ambush.
***
Tyrin heard the shot and pushed himself to climb quickly. His powerful form popped over the walls, circled the outer edge of the tower and flashed past the main gate. Beyond the gate in the lower tier, a huge throng was emptying from an immense building. Their movement altered suddenly and a murmur echoed and built like an ocean storm climbing the shore. Tyrin feared he had been seen and he increased his speed.
Below, he caught a glimpse of the gnome’s sled pressed into the shadows against the gatehouse but he could not see the gnome. Two dead guards littered the ground outside the tower door, and a puff of grey dust floated away from the palace entrance. He strained to catch sight of Siandros but there was no luck. Perhaps if he took refuge on the tower roof?
Tyrin forced his gryphon form into a tight turn, half-expecting to hear another shot, and spiralled past several stained glass windows before alighting upon a tarnished bronze fitting near the ocean edge of the roof. At least he felt safer this high up, shielded from the hunter by the height of the tower. But if someone burst onto the roof he knew he would have to be ready to defend himself.
***
Siandros slipped from a palace side door and crossed a narrow gap to the battlement stairs. If he couldn’t get a clear shot with his bow, he’d use the cover of the wall’s many levels to surprise the gnome face to face. Then he’d see how good the hunter was with a knife. Now he respected his adversary enough to not rush. Now, Siandros’s demeanour fully focused on the
kill. As if he was hunting lifebane.
***
Plax realized that he was moving upward inside the tower’s outer wall. Pipes appeared and disappeared, an abandoned bunk and small desk were mounted in the outer stone, and then from a tiny window the brilliant light of the outer world reached him, along with a breeze that renewed his energy. He stopped to calm himself. The itch in his head was lessening now so he began to feel the inner wall for possible hidden doors.
Muffled sounds travelling down the pipes seeped into his awareness and he froze to listen. He had to chance another charm to hear more clearly. He later wished he hadn’t.
There was harsh laughter and pitiful wimpering. The sound of flesh hitting flesh, a blade against stone, the sharp crack of bone, and an even sharper gagged cry.
The monster!
Dria needed help. Needed him. Plax reached for his father’s blades and pushed himself upward. His legs quaked and buckled and Plax stifled a cry as he crashed upon the stone stairs.
Again he tried to stand and his legs would not behave.
“What is wrong with me?” he cursed himself. “I fought worse. Even alone,” he hissed. “I have to do this.” Still his legs shook, his stomach twisted, and his temples filled with shards of ice. Had he used the weave too much? Was it going to fail him now?
The rough noise settled into a rhythmic pounding of wood on stone, and all Plax could manage was quiver with frustration and loathing.
***
Tyrin caught sight of Siandros advancing along the parapets at the same time he saw the gnome dash from the gatehouse towards Starwatcher’s Tower. He was too far up to call out but
he moved to the opposite edge to keep the hunter in sight.
The gnome was extracting the keys from a dead guard’s belt pouch when Siandros slowed and moved to a better position to fire. Tyrin knew the Third Warden
had him cold. He watched as Siandros raised his bow just outside the gatehouse. Then the wall of the gatehouse exploded.
Impelled to sudden rage, Tyrin leapt from the tower, his claws extended for rending, and swooped down upon the cackling gnome. Impossibly, the gnome rolled towards the door and raised his rifle as if he had anticipated Tyrin’s attack. The shot hit Tyrin at the wing’s root and he spiralled away to crash against the gatehouse wall. Dust from the explosion spiralled in all directions, and Tyrin could barely focus his eyes.
