Legends of the Lurker Box Set

by Richard H. Stephens

  She didn’t trust herself to voice her wonder. Even though she had been within the inner walls of South Fort, the only real fortification she had ever entered was the Wizard’s Sanctum. Other than Devius’ octagonal chamber perched atop its highest tower, she hadn’t been privy to the rest of the castle’s grandeur—aside from the long, spiralling steps from the outside to the chamber itself, and the dark room beneath the castle that he had released her gift in.

  The duchess flashed her a thin-lipped smile. “Have you been to Carillon before?”

  A polished, veined, white marble walkway passed beneath their feet, bordered by a knee-high balustrade masterfully carved with animals of all descriptions, including dragons.

  “No…” Reecah searched for the proper way to address the duchess. She looked at the ground, focusing on the duchess’ long-slippers. “M’lady?”

  The duchess’ powdered, high cheeks lifted in a genuine smile, but didn’t correct her if she had erred. “Are you from around here? Zephyr, I mean.”

  It didn’t feel right to lie. “Um, yes m’lady. F-Fishmonger Bay.”

  She couldn’t be sure, but Reecah thought the duchess missed a step.

  “I see. A bit of a different culture out there on the coast, I imagine.”

  Reecah nodded, not daring to look into the duchess’ grey eyes.

  “Momme, you’re embarrassing our guest,” the duke chided his wife.

  Eight polearm bearing guards warded the open doors of the keep. Only the breeze ruffling the hems of their long, vermillion surcoats disturbed the unmoving men clad in full plate armour from head to foot.

  Reecah spotted the eyes behind one man’s visor following their progress, but his head never moved.

  Passing beneath an exquisitely carved lintel stone, Reecah’s breath caught in her throat. Marble walls draped in tapestries lined a long egress that ended at another flight of gleaming steps—the lofty ceiling supported by massive stone arches.

  Wrought-iron sconces set into the wall, much like the ones lining the streets in Thunderhead—but more elegant—illuminated the corridor.

  She hazarded a look over her shoulder. Jozwa flashed a disarming grin, but it was the sight of Stryk and several other guards leading her friends along the walkway that interested her. The dark-skinned man pointed to things Reecah couldn’t see, explaining the significance of whatever they were looking at.

  She didn’t appreciate being centred out and separated from her peers, but what choice did she have? She wasn’t about to question the duke.

  Duke Ryonin stopped in front of the largest tapestry, halfway down the hallway. On its velvety-black surface, a fantastic scene of men and women were gathered around four, multi-coloured dragons, before a wooden fort. In the background, several dragons flew above the turquoise waters of a choppy lake, each one bearing a rider in flowing robes.

  “Recognize the castle?” the duke asked.

  “Um…this one?”

  “Good guess. This picture was painted a couple hundred years ago. Before the Wizard Wars.”

  The duchess nodded. “A better time for all involved.”

  “Agreed, my lovely.” Ryonin smiled. “Did you know, Reecah, that Castle Svelte was selected as the original seat for the high king?”

  Reecah shook her head.

  “The Wizard Wars changed all that. The benevolent emperor of the time shipped hundreds of thousands of tons of marble—all transported inland from Madrigail Bay. I can’t imagine how grueling that task would have been. He did this for years and years throughout the lengthy war, planning to erect a palace of unequalled magnificence. When he was overthrown, the new king changed his mind, scoffing at the idea of the capital being landlocked. He abandoned the project.”

  The duke allowed that to sink in and added, “My great-great-great-grandfather took advantage, and Castle Svelte was built. Is still being built, as a matter of fact. Apparently, my wizard isn’t happy about being disturbed in his tower by visiting nobles who demand views of the countryside. He has contracted the stonemason’s guild to raise the Wizard’s Spike another hundred feet and construct what he claims is a proper wizard’s chamber. Something about being octagonal and walled with glass.” He shook his head. “Who knows what goes on in a wizard’s head?”

  Reecah’s breath caught, thinking about Devius Misenthorpe. He had performed the ritual of unbinding at no small risk to himself. As payment, she had left him to fend for himself after suffering a serious arrow wound. She had a sudden urge to return to Headwater, but chided herself. If Junior or the others discovered what she was contemplating, they would be upset.

  Momme grabbed her forearm. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

  Reecah blinked. “Oh, yes. I’m fine. I was just thinking of someone who had their own octagonal chamber.”

  The duchess and duke exchanged glances.

  “A wizard?” Ryonin asked.

  The long hallway became quiet. Junior, Aramyss and Tamra had stopped behind them with a contingent of noble-looking men and women, including Stryk and Jozwa speaking amongst themselves—everyone waiting on her answer.

  The duke and duchess had proven nothing but kind and accommodating. It didn’t sound like there was any love lost between them and the high king. If anything, the sentiments they shared with regard to the dragons may well be construed as treasonous.

  “I spent a spell in High Wizard Devius Misenthorpe’s company recently. No pun intended.” Her cheeks reddened as no one acknowledged the joke.

  The duke’s furtive glance to a tall, black bearded man beside Stryk wasn’t lost on Reecah. She feared she had revealed too much.

  “Interesting. And how is Devius doing these days? Well, I hope.”

  Reecah wasn’t sure what to make of the duke’s tone. “He was alive when I left him.”

  The duke frowned momentarily before his face lifted. “Ha! That’s a rich one. I’m sure we’d know if anything untoward happened to him, hmm?”

  “Um, yes. I guess so.” Reecah pretended to be fascinated by the tapestry but her thoughts were hundreds of leagues to the north.

  Jozwa cleared his throat. The duke and duchess were waiting for her to go with them.

  “Oh, um…sorry. I was just admiring the artwork.”

  “Aye. From a time sadly only remembered in tomes and tapestries.”

  Reecah swallowed, falling in between the couple. “Indeed.”

  Stryk and Jozwa led the rest of those gathered, a few steps behind. The echoing thump of the exit doors closing made Reecah jump. Four of the eight guards who had warded the doorway now stood inside, facing them.

  The wide hallway ended at five marble steps, opening into a massive hall that was lined on both sides with half a dozen fireplaces set into stone block walls. Rows of colossal, white marble pillars supported a ceiling three stories high—the entire chamber surrounded by a wide balcony encompassing the perimeter, three-quarters of the way up the wall. Two crimson velvet armchairs dominated the centre of the hall’s far wall, perched upon a dais.

  The duke and duchess took a seat while the rest of the gathering formed behind Reecah at the base of the raised platform.

  “Now then,” Ryonin began, his earlier friendliness absent.

  If not for the fact that they were permitted to keep their weapons, Reecah would’ve been more worried by the duke’s serious demeanour than the prickly sensations filling her.

  “Before we proceed further, I’m afraid I must ask that Reecah prove who she is.”

  Reecah frowned. “I’m sorry, m’lord. I’m not sure what you mean. I am Reecah Windwalker, but I have only my word to give.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be enough.” Ryonin held up a hand to stay her. “You must appreciate the predicament your presence places my house in. These are dangerous times. More unstable than most people imagine. I’m an ambassador of the Great Kingdom. Though I may not agree with everything that is done for the greater good, I assure you, my allegiance is to the crown.”

&
nbsp; Reecah shot her friends a worried glance.

  Tamra put her hand over Aramyss’ to keep him from going for his axe. He gave her a dark scowl but acquiesced.

  “To come here claiming you’re a Windwalker, a special magic user that hasn’t been seen or heard from in decades, is understandably hard to believe. No?”

  Reecah shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t believe it myself. I don’t think I’m any more special than…” She looked around. “Than Junior. No offense.”

  Junior swallowed and looked at the ground.

  Aramyss grumbled loud enough to make Reecah wince, “How’s the daft man think she flies dragons?”

  Duke Ryonin’s brows came together, his face darkening. “You must understand, entertaining the discussion I had with Tamra Stoneheart is not something that can be taken lightly. Many lives hang in the balance.”

  Nothing the duke said made sense to Reecah. A lot of people claimed she was a Windwalker. Grimelda. Grimclaw. Tamra. Devius. Her dragon friends certainly. Even the dark heir. But to her, she was just Reecah. She didn’t feel any different than the day she had dreamed on the hilltop with Poppa.

  She forced a weak smile for Ryonin and Momme. “Aramyss speaks wisely. I don’t know of anyone else who can speak with the dragons, nor has ridden one. Besides those here, of course.”

  “Then am I to believe you are all Windwalkers?” Ryonin raised his thin eyebrows. “You see my dilemma?”

  The duke had a point. Thinking hard, the essence of her dragon magic pressed along the edges of her mind. She needed to find a way to demonstrate her newfound ability.

  The words Devius had taught her came to mind. Thumping the end of her staff on the marble floor, more for effect than to assist as she didn’t know the first thing about employing Grimelda’s gift, she spread her arms theatrically and chanted, “Evanesce.”

  A collective gasp sounded as every candle and sconce flickered and went out, casting the receiving hall in darkness. Swords being drawn and the shuffle of metal boots converging on the duke’s podium reverberated within the chamber.

  In the faint light shining through the stain-glassed windows lining the balcony level, the dark form of the duke’s men surrounded Reecah and her companions.

  Fearing Tamra or Aramyss might react, Reecah reversed the spell. “Videtta!”

  Flames sparked to life all around the chamber, the wall sconces flaring brightly before settling back to their usual glow.

  Duke Ryonin held up his hands for his guards to stand down. Nodding his approval of her magic, his words weren’t as reassuring. “Nicely done. You have proven yourself a witch. Lucky for you I don’t adhere to the superstitious tenets of the land, else I’d have you burned. I need proof that you are more than a practitioner of parlour tricks.” His eyes fell upon her staff.

  She lowered her gaze. “I haven’t learned how to use it yet.”

  “You haven’t learned to use it yet?” The duke’s voice was cold. “And yet, you expect my house to follow you east into the desert to turn back High King J’kaar’s advance on a colony of dragons?”

  “I-I don’t expect anything, m’lord. We’re hoping to find support to stave off the extinction of dragonkind.” Her dander started to rise. “If you don’t think your men and women are worthy of the beautiful creatures’ plight, I understand. With your leave, I’ll take my dragons and cease to bother you further.”

  Ryonin studied her—the hall as quiet as if it stood empty. “I don’t know how much Tamra has told you about me, but to those in the know, I am called the Dragon Duke.”

  A slight motion of the duke’s eyes caused his men-at-arms to stiffen. “You won’t be going anywhere. Guards!”

  Arcanium

  “Arcanium, my prince.”

  Prince J’kwaad looked past the rings on his fingers, considering Calor standing between his chair and the stairwell door of Draakhorn. His trusty apprentice and protector had just climbed the tower stairs in full armour and looked no worse for wear than a subtle sheen of sweat on his forehead.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Aye, my prince. Confirmed by two sources. Devius is there.”

  “Excellent. Makes sense. Have horses prepared for our immediate departure.”

  “They’re at the ready.”

  “Very good. See we have provisions to get us there and back. I’ll be along shortly.”

  Calor nodded. Without a word, he slipped through the heavy door and disappeared.

  A good man, Calor. A special healing spell, taught to J’kwaad by the high wizard, Devius, had healed Calor from the grievous injuries incurred at the mouth of the dragons’ lair. The irony lifted a corner of J’kwaad’s mouth. The high wizard had provided him the means to heal the man who would ultimately assist with Devius’ demise. But not before they dragged him back to the high wizard’s Sanctum.

  Jumping from his chair, he searched his chamber to ensure he hadn’t forgotten anything. He closed the door behind him, pausing long enough to set the wards in place before following in Calor’s wake—his faithful apprentice’s footsteps echoing far below.

  Time was of the essence if they wished to capture the traitorous wizard before the high king got wind of Devius’ whereabouts. If J’kaar found him, J’kwaad’s plans would suffer a fatal setback. He needed the wizard alive.

  The Dragon’s Eye the Windwalker had stolen from beneath his nose at the Dragon Temple was a key piece of his plan, but she could wait. In good time, she too, would lie strapped to the altar beneath the Wizard’s Sanctum.

  When the army returned from the south, it would only be a matter of time before his father ordered an assault on the Draakvuur Colony. If he didn’t locate Devius and the Windwalker soon, his plans of ruling the Great Kingdom would be seriously compromised.

  Three days of hard riding put most of the journey behind them—the trail littered with several blown horses. Not once had Calor complained about the rigours of pushing past the limits of a normal man’s endurance, or of their inhumane treatment of their mounts. J’kwaad’s alchemy training had proven invaluable, the sustaining potions keeping them awake for the days it had taken to traverse the King’s Wood. Only the horses beneath them had survived the brutal run.

  A full moon rose over the distant spires and the high wall surrounding Arcanium—the magic guild visible through thinning trees as the setting sun glimmered off the enchanted town’s bronze and copper rooftops.

  The prince’s gaze settled on the blue robes fluttering behind Calor. Despite the change in clothing, his apprentice would stand out in any crowd—his muscular frame not exactly the typical physique one would expect in a magic user. Even without his usual plate armour, he was sure to attract attention of curious eyes, but it couldn’t be helped. Without Calor’s assistance, J’kwaad didn’t believe he was capable of collaring Devius Misenthorpe.

  He considered his own tattered robes, wondering whether he should have opted for a different colour than black. It was too late to worry about it now.

  The western gates were closed—their wrought-iron spikes twice the height of Calor on horseback. No guards were stationed inside—nor did J’kwaad think there would be. Being a wizard’s gate, none were required.

  Reining in his sweat-soaked horse, despite the cold, J’kwaad dismounted and handed his reins to Calor who dismounted alongside him. He approached the black gates and examined them, extending his magical awareness to perceive the wards that any practitioner worth his salt would discern.

  Several static charges lay dormant, waiting for an unsuspecting traveller to attempt to force the gate, or climb over it. A simple mind manipulation disarmed the wards temporarily.

  J’kwaad hesitated. Wizards were a mischievous sort—prone to leave a hidden ward. Not one that would cause lasting damage, but a spell strong enough to be sensed by those within the walls if it were tripped. A shame spell, it was referred to in the magic community.

  “Where is it?”

  “Sorry, my prince?”

 
J’kwaad shook his head, ignoring the man. He needed to concentrate. The last thing they needed was to alert everyone in Arcanium to their presence. Devius was sure to be wary.

  A subtle ripple in a magical thread between the two large hinges set into the wall of the left gate caught his attention. He was about to send a probing magical tether, but stopped. That was what they would expect. It was a decoy.

  “Ah, I see you.” J’kwaad picked up on a minute ripple running through the upper hinge, its lines blurred by the physical outline of where the hinge folded upon itself. A quick thought and the trick ward shimmered and went out.

  “After you.” The prince motioned for Calor to enter first.

  Typical Calor, he never questioned his liege. He lifted the centre latch securing the gates with a black gloved hand and led his horse onto the cobblestones beyond.

  The street carried into town between wooden and stone buildings of various colours; some standing three-stories tall. The cobblestones also branched left and right, a narrow walkway extending around the interior of the ivy-covered wall and disappeared into the misty twilight.

  Throwing their hoods over their heads, they located a small stable near the gate and left their spent horses in the care of a groom.

  Savoury odours wafted through the street, reminding J’kwaad of how hungry the trip had made him. He was sure Calor felt it too—the man’s huge frame required more sustenance than his own.

  J’kwaad had visited Arcanium many times with Devius during the years they had shared together. As a magic user in Devius’ company he always felt welcome, but on the few occasions he had made the trip on his own as a prince of the Great Kingdom, he had sensed the unwelcoming attitude of the incumbent wizards, witches, warlocks, alchemists, diviners and conjurers. Of all the different disciplines represented in Arcanium, the necromancers unnerved him the most.

  J’kwaad studied the garishly decorated façades on either side of the narrow street. He fought to keep the flames from licking at his fingertips as he imagined who might be watching them strolling through the lengthening shadows. “Be ready.”