by Sever Bronny
He crawled along the moat and through a small hole in the ruined curtain wall that stood on the other side of the moat. Before him were the ruins of an ancient stable without its roof, which he slithered into and used as cover. The stable was divided into small rooms with half walls. He crawled over to the one closest to the entrance just as the Chameleon spell expired. He cursed himself for not training harder with the spell. Someone like Jez could make it last for hours. He was merely a novice. He rested and listened knowing he would have to recast the spell before making his next move. He peeked through a hole in the ruins and studied the charred village. The good news was there was plenty of cover to crawl to. The bad news was he had no idea where the dig entrance was.
His eye settled on the collapsed building where his great-grandmother had vanquished Narsus the necromancer in a historic duel. Give me strength, Nana, for I need to be brazen.
He closed his eyes and searched his arcane soul, determining he needed to meditate to replenish his arcane stamina. He emptied his mind and listened to his breathing. But hearing the occasional crack of a whip and the subsequent cry of pain made it impossible. Not to mention time was of the essence, for at any moment the Canterrans could discover their traps had been disenchanted.
With an exasperated sigh, he peeked through the hole once more. The soldiers tended to patrol in a wide oval that followed the curtain wall. He suspected their route went past the entrance to the dig, which likely sat obscured behind a ruin. The question was, which one—the barracks, granary, prison tower, or one of a number of other buildings? He monitored their movement a while longer, until he saw two soldiers shepherding a group of frightened and shackled Ordinary peasants. They led them behind the prison tower, where they disappeared into what Augum theorized was likely the dig entrance. If he was careful, his best route to the spot would be to crawl directly ahead to the barracks, and then find a hole in the wall to go from building to building.
He focused and once more guided an open hand over his body. “Armari obscura chameleano traversa.” Satisfied he was all but invisible, he crawled to the gaping entrance and, checking that the coast was clear, slithered across open ground, stopping whenever he heard voices close by or saw any of the handful of guards nearby look his way. An alert guard could see the shimmer even in low light. It was late and they were likely tired, their nerves frayed, which only helped him.
He made it across to the barracks, discovering it a mess of ruined walls and a staircase that shot up to nowhere. He crept up to the wall closest to the prison tower and peeked through the window, but the building next door obscured his vision. The stairs would make a perfect vantage point, he thought, and he stealthily ascended them, only sticking his head up as far as he needed to. He was rewarded with a view of an earthen tunnel entrance about twenty feet behind the prison tower. It was large enough to fit a garrison through. It was also heavily guarded. And the more Augum looked, the more enemies he saw—warlocks hiding in doorways, bowmen in upper floor windows. The soldiers by the entrance were bait, the entire setup a trap. There was no way in without being seeing, even with the Chameleon extension. He considered casting Centarro, but that wouldn’t change the reality of his situation, at least not without a fight, which would be suicide.
He kept looking around for ideas and spotted steam coming from the old granary, the domed roof of which had collapsed. It had to be a vent shaft. He only hoped it was big enough to enter and descend through.
He slithered back down the steps and, timing it right, ducked into the next building over. Then, still under cover of the chameleonic shimmer, he crawled from building to building, until he was across from the granary. Between his building and the granary was an ancient cobbled street. Unfortunately, there were two groups of soldiers standing at opposite ends of that street. Seeing no other option, he got on his stomach and slithered across, wincing with every metal scrape. As he neared the granary, he picked up a smoky food scent. It seemed it was a kitchen vent shaft.
He was about to crawl through the doorway when he thought it would be wise to first check it for traps, and stuck out his hand. “Un vun asperio aurum enchantus.” Sure enough, the entire doorway lit up with a crimson field, indicating an explosive trap. And judging by the rich color and complexity, a powerful one. Should he fail in disarming it, he’d be blown to bits and not even know it.
He was about to attempt to disenchant it when he heard a patrolling group of soldiers move toward him along the cobbled street. They chatted in low voices as they neared.
“I hear the ritual is almost complete.”
“Then it’ll rise?”
“If they did it right.”
“What will happen to all the Ordinary slaves?”
“Put to work on some other chore.”
“What about the warlocks? What? Why are you grinning like that?”
“You’ll see. Rumor says we’re in for quite the special treat.”
Their voices faded as the soldiers passed. Augum didn’t want to ruminate on what that “special treat” meant. He refocused on what he had to do, knowing how risky it was to try Disenchant on such a complex spell while maintaining his grip on the Chameleon extension. But, seeing as there were no other entrances to the granary and its walls were too smooth to scale, he spread the fingers of one hand and incanted, “Exotus mia enchantus duo dai ideum exat.” The field reappeared once more, but this time he had access to its tendrils. The challenge was judging exactly where his fingers were, for they shimmered invisibly. Despite that handicap, he began the delicate work of disassembly, which was akin to undoing a tapestry thread by thread. It took him a while, but after pulling a critical tendril, the field fell apart. The concentration had cost him, however, for his hand became visible, meaning the rest of his body had as well. He scrambled through the doorway and froze, listening. Sure enough, he heard the clatter of footsteps and two voices.
“Yeah, but I didn’t see anything.”
“Well, I heard something even if I didn’t see anything.”
Augum glanced around the granary, but there were only two things there—rubble, and a smoking hole in the ground. He ran over to the hole and climbed in, knuckle and calf screaming with pain. The smoke made breathing difficult, but it was certainly survivable. His mouth watered because it smelled like grilled beef, and he could practically taste the spices on his tongue.
He pushed his limbs against the rough wall and waited. The voices soon floated over once more.
“You see anything?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t step through or our guts will be all over the walls. It’s jinxed with magic.”
“Then wouldn’t he have blown up?”
“I think so. Don’t know much about witchery. Creeps me right out, it does.”
“Well, ain’t nothing here obviously.”
“Must have been a ghost. I’m telling you, this place is haunted.”
“I’ll be happy to see this business over with.”
They left and Augum lit his palm and began descending, a painful proposition with his injuries, compounded by his left elbow, which found the right angles to lock up; an old war injury that reared its ugly head now and then.
Thankfully the smoke soon stopped. The passage was roomy and smooth, telling him it had been arcanely carved, probably by Count Von Edgeworth, who was a high-degree earth warlock. He had to jam his feet into the clay earth as he climbed down, which caused him to loosen a stone. His newly-honed reflexes sprang into action and he telekinetically snatched it before it fell out of sight. After breathing a sigh of relief, he carefully lifted it up and over the lip of the hole. He caught other stones as well—tricky with a bulky breastplate and limbs pressed against the walls. Some he jammed back into the passage, others he lifted over the lip. The latter was only possible for a short while, and he resorted to punching small divots along the way, into which he telekinetically jammed detritus. But some rubble inevitably fell down the shaft. He only hoped the particl
es were small enough that whoever was down there chalked it up to normal wear and tear, for the vent shaft had not been adequately reinforced with wood.
The hole sank two hundred feet, turning into near solid rock halfway. By the time Augum neared the bottom, he was sweaty, filthy, and exhausted. His bandaged calf had bled right through, his elbow was sore, and his broken knuckle throbbed angrily. Only feet below was an underground grill and oven. A cook was cleaning it, mumbling angrily to himself about the rubble. When he finished, Augum took a series of deep breaths and once more cast the Chameleon extension, knowing he’d have to be cautious as the descent had physically exhausted him. Then, body shimmering, he scaled to the bottom of the shaft, where he listened. Hearing only the sound of dishes being washed, he jumped down, landing on the warm surface of the oven, ready to cast a spell. Two servants had their backs to him washing dishes, the sound of which had covered his landing. He jumped off the oven and slipped underneath a long trestle table, hiding from sight. He froze, hearing the distant clank of people eating.
Augum peeked out from under the table and saw a long counter near the entrance that had a line of trays filled with food. Servant cooks with soiled gowns dipped in and out in pairs, picking up two trays each and carrying them to what had to be the guards’ mess, for he already knew the slaves ate nowhere near as well. He spied hearty helpings of roast beef and potatoes, among other things, and licked his lips, hungry. And if he was hungry, the others had to be famished.
He thought it wise to grab some sustenance to carry him through what would come next, and so he waited for a lull between servants, pointed at two trays, and gingerly floated them over, knowing that if he left an odd amount, the servants would notice. He placed the trays before him under the table and waited. Sure enough, the servants came in and out, picking up trays in pairs without interruption.
Like a starved vagrant, he feasted then and there on grilled beef, boiled beets and carrots, steaming buttered potatoes and parsley, a quarter loaf of soft bread, two apples, a sweet pecan pie, and a tall horn of water. Although he hurried the meal, he couldn’t remember the last time something had tasted so savory. It was incredible how well the Canterrans ate, yet chose to starve the Solians.
The second tray he quietly placed into a wooden box he’d pilfered from nearby. He also nicked a burlap sack of fresh apples and an enormous leather bladder of water, all of which he’d use to feed the others.
With the trays all gone and the dishes cleaned, the servants departed, probably to collect empty trays and plates from the mess hall. Augum, still chameleonic and telekinetically lifting his pilfered goodies, slipped out into the tunnel hallway, which was lit by crude oil lanterns hidden behind iron brackets that looked like miniature prison cells. The distant sound of people eating came from the right, and silence came from the left. He went left, hobbling as fast as he could. Ahead, candlelight spilled out into the hallway from an open door. He heard voices as he neared.
“Yes, Commander,” a man said in a lithe Canterran accent, “I will personally see to it that the extermination order is carried out, as per your wishes—”
“The emperor’s wishes, not mine, Lieutenant,” a stern-voiced Canterran man interrupted. “I would have kept the slaves around for labor, but he insists they count toward the great debt. Poor fools are done for as soon as the engine starts up. Half this kingdom’s done for.”
“Yes, Commander.”
Augum, feeling a surge of hot-blooded anger, put down the stolen supplies and peeked around the corner, finding two soldiers—Ordinaries by the looks of it—standing apart, a desk between them. Knowing he could not let the order get beyond this point, he telekinetically levitated his provisions into the room while stepping in. Inside, he dropped the items, unsheathed Burden’s Edge, and slammed the door shut.
“Gods, what is that—?” the commander said as the pair turned around.
“A ghost,” Augum said. “Do not draw your weapon—I said no!” Augum shot forth at the lieutenant as he drew his sword, slapping the blade out of his hand with a well-placed slice of Burden’s Edge. The man squeaked and jumped back along with the commander.
Augum held fast to Chameleon for effect as he raised his shimmering blade at the commander. “Do you have a map of this place?”
“Desk drawer.”
Augum pointed and with a groaning crack of wood, telekinetically ripped the top of the desk off as the soldiers lunged back with frightened gasps. Augum then plucked the map from the exposed drawer and floated it over, snatching it out of the air.
“Unnameables help me, did you see that?” the lieutenant hissed. “The space around him warped.”
“You’re him,” the commander said, grinning. “The young Arcaner.”
“Shut up. Where is the jailer on this map?”
“Don’t say nothin’, Commander, he’s an Arcaner. We don’t have to—”
“Dreadus terrablus.”
The stout lieutenant screamed like a terrified child.
“Voidus lingua.”
The man’s screaming ceased almost as soon as it had started. He fell to his knees, eyes wide with terror as he blocked his sight with his arms, rocking back and forth in the vain hope he could shake the nightmare.
“I do not have time to play games,” Augum said, advancing with his blade. “You were about to carry out an unlawful command to exterminate Solians, a crime that deserves no less than execution. But I will spare your lives in exchange for a fair war trial on one condition—you tell me where the jailer is, where everyone is being kept, and how I can free them.”
The commander nervously glanced at his silently screaming lieutenant, back at the shimmering visage of Augum, swallowed, and said, “If you spare me, on my daughter’s soul, I’ll answer your questions. Curse this terrible assignment anyway.”
Trickery
After recasting Chameleon, Augum left the commander’s quarters leaving both men securely tied and gagged with rope he had pilfered in the office, taking the remainder with him. The box of food, sack of apples and waterskin floated alongside him but remained visible, as the items were not attached to him. He had memorized the map, which was folded in a pocket.
He hobbled to the end of the corridor, where he found the jailer’s empty sleeping quarters. An underjailer slept in a second bunk. Augum quickly bound and gagged him with the last of the rope, as he didn’t want to take any chances. He found the spare master key—another rune disk—in a desk stolen from the academy, along with a note with its activation phrase.
Augum read the note. “ ‘To open the cell, recite locka del quaffo while pressing runic disk against lock. To relock, recite locka del gato while doing the same.’ ” He waved it at the underjailer. “Thanks for writing it all down.” Then he pocketed both and backtracked out of the room.
“This tunnel leads on, and then there’s a fork,” he muttered to himself as he limped back down the corridor toward the sound of feasting guards. “The mess hall is across the fork, and the prisoners and siege engine are to the left.”
When he got near the fork, he deposited the box of food, sack of apples and waterskin in a storage room full of shovels. Then he went to the fork and froze by the wall as two dirty-faced burly guards passed. They wore muddy boiled leather armor and carried coiled whips on their belts—but no other weaponry, perhaps for fear of their being used against them in an insurrection.
Augum limped after them to the mess hall, where he stopped by the door to peek inside, finding no less than forty guards feasting. All of them looked like variations of the other two—burly, scraggly-bearded, and mean-looking.
But a stroke of good luck—the door was made of old, sturdy oak, pilfered from the academy and bolted right into solid rock. Seeing as there were no warlocks inside, Augum pointed and it creaked closed. More than one guard glanced up in confusion, but too late. As soon as the door shut, he pointed at the top seam and incanted, “Obdura del boundera sen,” and began weaving a complex tapestry of ten
drils that would bind the door to the frame. Just as he finished the Seal spell, someone tried the door, yet it remained firmly shut. A muted cry of alarm soon came from the other side, but Augum was already on his way again, leaving the captured guards, like the commander and lieutenant, as leverage to use against the Canterrans.
Augum stole back into the main corridor, grabbed the food and water, and huffed onward toward the prison rooms. There were no more traps or alarms ahead; all that remained were active guards and a few key warlocks, including a Von Edgeworth. Everything depended on where those enemies were.
A bright light and the noise of clanging and digging came from the end of the tunnel ahead. Occasional silhouettes moved across that light, some pushing carts, others in chains, still others carrying uncoiled whips. But well before that bright light was a fork guarded by sapphire-robed warlock sentries. The map said the left fork led to warlock cells, the right to cells for Ordinaries.
Augum hovered the food along the ground as he hobbled as fast as he could, knowing he needed to catch them off guard. He was almost upon the sentries, who sat behind more stolen academy desks in muddy overseer robes, before one of them stood, pointing at Augum. “What is that?”
Augum stopped to draw his outline. “Paralizo carcusa cemente.” The man froze in place, finger pointing at him. The other one, realizing what was going on, scrambled to get away only to trip over his desk.
Augum swept his arm soothingly. “Senna dormo coma torpos.” The man began snoring where he lay. Both guards had to be of low degree to respond in such a manner, just the kind of luck Augum could use. He limped right by them and went left, using his telekinetic might to drag them along, which was awkward since one was stiff as a board and the other in the dead weight of sleep. The effort also made him lose focus on the Chameleon spell, which fizzled, rendering him visible once more. Perhaps an outside observer would have found it hilarious that these men were being dragged this way, with a box, a sack, and a waterskin floating alongside, but to Augum, it was life and death and he had to make do.
