Legends of the Lurker Box Set

by Richard H. Stephens

  Calor slowed his pace and tucked against a two-storied, stone building, glancing at the intricately carved steps leading to a stained-glass door.

  J’kwaad took one look at the door and put his back against the wall beside Calor, raising his eyebrows.

  Calor nodded. “Aye, witches.”

  “Mm. I suspected as much. Nelly isn’t your regular barmaid.”

  Calor frowned, but he let it pass. His apprentice had so much to learn. He swallowed. Time was running out. The threat of his father collaring Devius and ruining everything he had painstakingly set into motion pushed aside his fear of entering the witch’s domain. He wasn’t afraid that he wasn’t strong enough to combat a witch—he had plenty of talismans to protect him from an outright assault—it was the thought of entering a building where more than one of those hags would be about. If they combined their efforts, he held no illusion they were more than capable of taking him down.

  Calor inched forward, his shrewd eyes scanning their surroundings. “Do you think the door is warded?”

  J’kwaad bit back a curt reply. What a stupid thing to ask. “Of course the door is warded. You didn’t touch it, did you?”

  Calor shook his head. “I remembered what you taught me. I didn’t dare try the steps.”

  “Good man. Glad to know you listen to what I say. It’ll save your life one day.”

  Checking back the way they had come J’kwaad searched for the cats, but they were nowhere to be seen. He sighed. He didn’t doubt for a moment that whoever inhabited the witch’s abode already knew of their approach. Once inside, he needed to find some way to divert their attention until he could lay his hands on Devius. Fighting witches and the high wizard might prove more than he could handle.

  “Watch my back.” J’kwaad stepped around Calor and stood before the flight of steps leading up to the door. He counted them and rolled his eyes. Of course. Thirteen.

  Tentatively placing a foot on the first step, he braced himself. Nothing happened. He swallowed. Witches were renowned for their caginess. Luckily, he made a point of studying every type of magic user ever known. His knowledge would hopefully assist him in avoiding the pitfalls an unlearned person would fall victim to.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Do exactly what I do.”

  Calor nodded and followed him up the steep flight, skipping every other step until he stood at the top and Calor stood two steps below. So far, so good. Now for the door.

  Witch’s were notorious for placing repulsion spells on their doors and windows. Looking at the steep drop to the unforgiving cobblestones below, triggering a repulsion spell at this height would be the last thing anyone did.

  Extending his magical awareness, he discerned half a dozen different trigger points along the frame of the door and its fancy, curved handle. He made quick work of temporarily disabling them, but the real challenge had just begun.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead. The disabled wards would soon react to being manipulated. They allowed for temporary disruptions to their power to allow the casters to slip through them without harm, but they only remained inert for a short period before resetting themselves.

  Six wards. If nothing else, witches were predictable. They did things the same way every time so that another witch could come along and know exactly what to do without harm befalling them. They were also a superstitious lot. More so than any other magic user. They shared a fetish for the number thirteen, and if he wasn’t mistaken, that meant there were seven more wards hidden somewhere.

  Using the power in a few of his rings, he ran his fingers over the door, careful not to actually touch it.

  There! One in the top corner. He disabled it with ease and located three more in the other corners. Dealing with them, he wondered how many he had found. He counted in his head. Ten. That left three more.

  His eyes darted to the hinges. Sure enough, deep inside the springs, he located two more. They required deeper concentration, but he disarmed them without incident.

  Try as he might, he couldn’t locate the thirteenth. Maybe there wasn’t one. He admonished himself for even contemplating the carelessness of not being thorough. These were witches. There was a thirteenth one somewhere, but where?

  Afraid that the other wards were about to enable themselves, he revisited each one and disarmed them again.

  Sweat dripped from his nose and fell between his boots, leaving a dark spot on the thirteenth step. His eyes grew wide and a grin split his face. Of course. The thirteenth step.

  Bending down, it wasn’t until his bare fingers hovered a mere whisper over the stone that he sensed the biggest ward of all. One that would have blasted him and Calor across the street.

  It proved a simple matter to disarm it. He wiped his face on his sleeve and winked at Calor. Taking a deep breath, he pushed down on the curved handle.

  The door gave way without a sound, opening inward to reveal a large foyer—its dark wood trim reflecting the flames of multiple candles of various shapes and sizes.

  He held the door for Calor to enter and went to push it shut, but movement at the bottom of the steps outside gave him pause. Two black cats stared up at him, their green eyes glowing even though the light of the rising sun wouldn’t breach the buildings lining the street for some time to come.

  Closing the door harder than he meant to, he searched Calor’s face. He imagined his own complexion mirrored the stunned one looking back at him. He nodded. “We’d best be quick.”

  Opposing, circular staircases wound their way up to a walled in landing overlooking the foyer—their wide steps richly appointed in a plush, crimson carpet that would put the rugs in Draakhall to shame.

  At the far end of the open space, a dark wood door blocked their sight of anything beyond.

  Calor examined the staircases and the door, raising his eyebrows. He started toward the door but J’kwaad stopped him with a subtle shake of his head. “One of these flights will take us to him.”

  “The women said he was underground.”

  The Serpent’s Eye glared at the right staircase. Ensuring his talisman didn’t detect anything out of the ordinary, J’kwaad nodded at the steps. “Precisely. After you.”

  Calor frowned, but went where he was directed. A tentative footfall on the first step had the apprentice jolting to a stop—hanging onto the thick banister lest he fall, he cast a dumbstruck look at J’kwaad; his foot was lower than the floor.

  J’kwaad nodded and said with disgust, “Witches.”

  At the prince’s urging, Calor descended the curving stairwell—each step met with a shaky landing.

  Following, J’kwaad sensed the disorientation of descending a rising stairwell. It felt as if he lifted his weight with each downward footfall.

  Armed with the knowledge that it was an optical illusion did little to stop either man nearly tumbling down the long flight as it curled beneath the floorboards and out of sight into the darkness beyond.

  Flames licked at Calor’s fingers, illuminating a dishevelled passageway leading off the base of the steps into the gloom.

  A proper, fist-sized fireball formed above J’kwaad’s palm, further driving the darkness away; Calor’s skills hadn’t developed sufficiently for him to hang onto a fireball.

  Skittering feet, keeping just out of the light, made J’kwaad’s skin crawl. There were rats down here, if not something worse. Musty dampness filled the tight passageway running beneath the house; cobwebs and roots from something growing above hung through cracks in the dark wood panelled ceiling. The prince didn’t doubt the roof might cave in at any moment.

  Calor stopped ahead, his huge frame preventing J’kwaad’s light from shining on whatever he had stopped to look at.

  “What is it?”

  Calor stepped back. “I’m not sure. Looks like a veil or something.”

  “A veil?” J’kwaad pulled Calor back and squeezed past him. It took him a moment to notice what Calor spoke of. The floor appeared to stop on the edge of a shaft that disappeared int
o the earth. He couldn’t see the bottom. Beyond the shimmering hole, the hallway continued several steps and disappeared around a sharp bend.

  One look at the Serpent’s Eye confirmed a strong magical presence somewhere beneath them.

  “Do you see it?” Calor asked.

  “Aye.” J’kwaad crouched to inspect the area. If it contained a trap, he couldn’t sense one. In fact, he couldn’t sense anything, and that, he mused, was more worrisome. One wrong move might bring the entire passageway down.

  The prince stood up, a finger to his lips. Casting his senses to the walls, he didn’t detect anything suspect in the old mahogany panels. A furtive movement behind Calor made the fireball flare in his palm. A door that hadn’t been there a moment before blocked the passageway they had come down.

  Calor backed away from the solid-looking obstruction, almost burning himself on J’kwaad’s fireball and knocking the prince into what whatever shimmered on the ground.

  J’kwaad wanted to berate Calor’s clumsiness, but he held his temper. His nerves were frayed as well. “Did I ever tell you how much I detest witches?”

  Calor steadied himself and nodded. He inspected the door with his fingertips before pushing on it. It withstood his scrutiny.

  An old lady’s voice cackled, sounding as if someone were in the hallway with them, “Quickly, my dear!”

  J’kwaad jumped and searched the corridor. Penned in by the closed door on one side and the shimmering floor on the other, there was no way anyone could have been that close to them, unless…

  Concentrating on the shimmering floor, J’kwaad’s sight adjusted to see through its opacity. A tiled floor opened up below—a foyer with opposing stairwells curving up to the ceiling beneath their feet.

  A white-bearded man in dark blue robes festooned with celestial objects scampered across the foyer with Nelly close behind. The barmaid waved a hand at a stained-glass door and it swung open. She paused on its threshold to look up the left stairwell—meeting J’kwaad’s stunned gaze. A crooked smile played across her wrinkled face and then she was gone.

  Everything became clear. J’kwaad had been fooled by a witch’s conundrum. The optical illusion of the staircase had been a doubled sided spell, making the rising stairs seem like descended when in fact they were climbing—just as they had appeared and felt.

  His mind spun with the connotations as the ruse made itself clear in his mind. They had been tricked into thinking they had outsmarted the witches, when all along, they had played into their devious plan. He sneered at the irony. The plan had allowed Devius to escape right beneath their noses.

  Placing a tentative foot into the shimmering section, he lowered his foot past where the floor should have been—his boot finding solid purchase a step’s distance below. Just as he thought. They were standing at the head of the opposite stairwell.

  As soon as J’kwaad’s foot hit the step, the illusion dispersed. His suspicions were correct. They stood at the head of the second stairwell, overlooking the foyer. The roots and cobwebs had disappeared over their heads, though a mustiness still turned up his nostrils.

  “Come on, Calor. They’re getting away.” The prince took two more steps and stopped.

  At the base of the stairwell, two black cats waited for them.

  Where Eagles Dare

  Junior left Reecah to wash in private in the early afternoon, saying he wished to check on Swoop and the others. For someone who had recently gotten involved with the ferocious, man-eating beasts and intimated he wanted nothing to do with them, Junior had become very concerned about their well-being. Probably most remarkable was his adoration of Swoop—a dragon whose flying habits had instilled terror into him when they first met.

  She smiled. Swoop scared her witless just watching her erratic flight. Swoop’s aerial antics reminded her of Raver but on a gargantuan scale.

  Reecah twirled around her luxurious room in nothing but her shift; her cheeks sore from smiling. In the back of her mind, a dark presence tried to dash her euphoria and warn her that all good things must come to an end. Like they had always done throughout her life.

  She stared at herself in the full-length mirror beside the soaking tub. She truly had grown up. Silly as that sounded given her age, she had never viewed herself as an adult. Sharing her intimate side with Junior, something she would have adamantly denied ever doing with another soul as recently as yesterday, had changed all that. She discovered she was capable of loving someone as more than merely a relative or friend. The inexplicable warmth exciting her soul left her with the sensation that she could fly without the assistance of her dragon friends.

  A knock at the door made her gasp. So preoccupied with her fantasy, she nearly tumbled into the tub. She grabbed the heavy mirror stand for support and stared at the door.

  The faint knock sounded again. If she wasn’t mistaken, Brynhild stood in the hallway, afraid to enter the room in case Junior was there.

  Hiding behind the door in case it wasn’t her appointed lady-in-waiting, Reecah eased it open.

  Brynhild’s pretty brown eyes briefly met hers before lowering to her clasped hands. “M’lady. Duchess Momme insisted I accompany you around the castle to tend your needs this afternoon.”

  Reecah pulled the door open. “It’s Reecah, remember? Please, come in. I was just getting dressed.”

  Brynhild forced a smile and started into the room but she stopped and looked around from beneath a lowered brow.

  Reecah grabbed her hand and pulled her across the threshold. Throwing the door shut she led Brynhild toward the tub. “Don’t worry. Junior’s gone.”

  Brynhild extracted her hand. “Yes, m’lady.”

  Reecah bristled at the title but castle protocol had likely been drilled into Brynhild from an early age. She spun on her personal servant and grabbed her hands. “Bryn. May I call you that?”

  “You may do whatever you wish, m’lady. It’s not my place to—”

  “But do you like it?”

  Brynhild swallowed. “If that’s what m’lady wishes.”

  “I wish to know what you wish.”

  “It’s not for me to wish anything.”

  Reecah wanted to yank Brynhild’s arms from their sockets. The woman could be so frustrating. She smiled for Brynhild’s benefit—her lady-in-waiting was only doing what she had been taught. “Okay, fair enough. I’ll tell you what I wish. What a Windwalker wishes.” She felt pompous, but she hoped it helped make her point. “From this point forward, if I ever catch you considering yourself lower than me, I shall report you to the duke.”

  Brynhild gave her an incredulous look. She tried pulling her hands free but Reecah held firm.

  “Uh, uh. I mean it. You’re a person. Just like me. I appreciate you have a job to do and I won’t stop you from doing it.” She released Brynhild’s hands and pointed a finger at her. “But! From this point forward, with me at least, you are my friend. Nothing more. Nothing less. Understand?”

  Brynhild swallowed. She nodded ever so slightly and lowered her eyes.

  Sighing, Reecah retrieved her green leggings and slipped them on, her temper threatening to surface. She hated the way society segregated people into classes—allowing the haughtier men and women to look down their noses at those who were, through no choice of their own, born into a lower class. Appreciating how kingdoms and cities were run, she respected the fact that there were less glamorous jobs that needed to be done if everything were to run smoothly, but in her estimation, the people who performed those tasks should be celebrated by the ones who didn’t have to.

  Lacing up her tunic, Reecah asked, “Do you mind helping me with my sword belt?”

  Brynhild grabbed the cummerbund sword belt combination and wrapped it around Reecah’s abdomen. She ducked beneath Reecah’s raised arms and secured the buckles. “Sit on the bed, m’lady and I’ll put your boots on.”

  “You’re not my slave.”

  “Please, m’lady. You’re so nice to me, let me do something nice
for you. It must be difficult bending down with that sword belt on.”

  The girl had a point. “Alright. Thank you.” Watching the top of Brynhild’s head as the woman laced up her boots, Reecah had an idea, but first she had something else she needed to do if she planned on venturing to where she felt she must go next.

  “There you go, m’lady.” Brynhild stood and backed away from the bed to allow room for Reecah to stand. “Where would you like me to escort you?”

  Reecah wanted to tell her that she should go on and enjoy her day, but she required Brynhild’s assistance to accomplish what she had in mind. “Are you familiar with the wizard?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Castle Svelte’s resident wizard. Duke Ryonin mentioned him when we first arrived.”

  Shock registered in Brynhild’s eyes. Or was it fear? “Yes, m’lady. Thunor Carmichael.”

  “Can you take me to him?”

  Brynhild’s eyes grew wide. “You wish to see Thunor?”

  A patient smile played on Reecah’s lips. “If Thunor is the duke’s wizard, then yes.”

  Brynhild clasped her hands and stared at them. “I guess, if you’re sure you want to see him.”

  “You make it sound like it isn’t a good idea.”

  Brynhild’s cheeks went red but she didn’t respond.

  “What is it? Tell me. I won’t judge you.”

  Brynhild squeezed her hands together a few times before meeting Reecah’s stare. “He’s a wizard.”

  “Yes. So?”

  “You know. He’s um, a magic user.”

  “So am I!” Reecah blurted. “We don’t bite. At least I don’t. Does Thunor?”

  The question startled Brynhild. “Um, no, m’lady. Least not that I know of.”

  Reecah smiled wide, staring into her eyes. “A good thing for him then, because I bite back.”