by Jaxon Reed
Stin found a decent inn that would be willing to handle a couple of drunken pirates but not be too unsavory for Bellasondra.
When they were settled in and had a meal together in the common room, Stin said, “I’m going to the dungeon now. I’ve got to deliver this dagger and be done with this task.”
Bellasondra said, “Can’t it wait until morning? It’s almost dark.”
He shook his head and said, “I want to get this over with.”
Kirt swallowed the last bite of his food and said, “You’re coming back, right?”
“Of course I’m coming back. Why wouldn’t I be coming back?”
“You’re going into a dungeon. Last time you were in there we had a hard time finding you.”
“That dungeon has never been able to hold me, even when I was your age. I’ll be back.”
He stood up then bent to kiss Bellasondra. He gave a final wave to Plinny, Veeroy, and Kirt, and walked out the door.
“He didn’t say when he’d come back,” Kirt grumbled.
The sun dropped below the rooftops as Stin made his way up the hill toward the castle. The final rays caught the red-orange coral inlayed in the stonework. He smiled looking up at the view, preferring to see the castle from the outside.
He approached one of the side gates in the wall along the street that the guards used for easy access to the dungeon.
The two guards manning the gate watched everybody coming and going. Their red and orange leather armor looked like a dim reflection of the palace walls above and behind them. They saw Stin as he rounded the corner, and maintained eye contact with him when it became apparent he meant to approach the gate.
They came to attention, resting hands on sword hilts and raising eyebrows when he drew close.
Stin said, “I’m here to see Syphon.”
One of them smirked and said, “It’s a little late for visitors.”
“Check your instructions. I’m to be admitted any time I show. My name is Stin.”
The smirks disappeared. One of them jerked his head toward the other, who disappeared inside the gate. Stin waited patiently until the man returned.
“Let him in.”
Stin followed the guard through the gate and onto the palace grounds. He led Stin to a side entrance in the castle where another guard opened a locked door for them. They went inside, then down some steps.
At last they came to the dungeon entrance. Stin’s guard left at this point and the one assigned to dungeon duty unlocked the outer door and led him down even more steps. Finally they stopped descending. They were in a long hallway with wooden cell doors spaced evenly apart. The guard walked down to the last door on the left and banged on it.
“Syphon! Visitor.”
He jangled the keys on his ring, unlocking the door. He pulled it open and held it for Stin, a blank expression on his face.
Stin walked in, expecting to find a standard cell. Instead, to his surprise, he found himself entering a large room with other doorways leading presumably to additional rooms.
A fireplace yawned in the far wall, empty now but ready to feed on wood when the temperature dipped later in the year. A dresser with a water pitcher and basin stood in one corner, an expensive and somewhat rare mirror hanging on the wall above it.
At a table in the center of the room, with an oil lamp nearby, Syphon sat in a sumptuous chair holding a book. The whitish wings above his ears seemed to have grown larger from when Stin saw him last, and his coal-black hair looked speckled now with flecks of gray. Age was leaving its mark on the man, but he still appeared dashing and handsome. He looked like he could charm a widow out of her last copper.
Syphon said, “Ah, Stin! There you are. I heard that you came through the city gates today.”
Stin took a final look at the surroundings, noting a carpet likely imported from Sandstone, a tapestry hanging on one wall depicting the Hightower, and a shelf along another filled with books.
He said, “You’ve made some improvements to your cell since I was a kid.”
Syphon smiled, his sparkling blue eyes shining through crows’ feet and other wrinkles.
He said, “You should have stayed here. You could have had this and more.”
“I’m happy with my decisions.”
Syphon nodded, the smile remaining. He said, “Quite so. I believe you are.”
He waved at a chair near the table opposite him and said, “Have a seat. I presume you have the dagger?”
“I do. If it’s all the same with you, I’d like to deliver it and be on my way. My part is done.”
“Let’s see it, first.”
Stin nodded and reached behind his neck, pulling the knife from its sheath strapped to his back. He placed it on the table, hilt first, and slid it toward the older man.
Then he straightened and took a step back. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled the leather straps attached to the sheath. He handed that over, too.
Syphon’s eyes twinkled in amusement at the ornate scabbard, seemingly so out of place in relation to the mystic black blade. Then he picked up the Forlorn Dagger and held it upright in front of his face, studying it.
“Amazing. I feel all my magic drained away. It works the same with you? With anyone holding it?”
Stin said, “That’s right.”
“And how about now? Can you feel anything now that I have it?”
Stin shook his head. “It’s still too close.”
Syphon said, “Good.”
He grinned while Stin furrowed his brows, trying to figure out what his old mentor meant. He never heard the guard’s movements behind him, or the club swooshing through the air before it popped him on the back of his head.
-+-
Of all the cities in all the lands, none had a grander port than Coral. The old quays made from stone were still in use, but over the years the docks had been expanded multiple times. Now wooden piers stretched out into the water, and ships loaded and unloaded with frequency and efficiency. The piers served other purposes, too, and on this day as most other days, they were crowded with sailors, passengers, agents, vendors, pickpockets, prostitutes, and tourists soaking in the sights.
A yellow globe appeared in the midst of all this humanity, growing larger and rotating, its hazy outline firming into shape and casting golden shafts on the faces of those nearby and the wooden planks of the pier.
People scrambled out of the way at this sign of magic far greater than their own. But a ring of onlookers quickly formed, made up of those less worried that the globe was an ill portent and more curious as to what would happen next. No one in the crowd had ever seen the Globe of Transport spell before, let alone an actual wizard.
When a young woman with brown skin marking her as a native of the Crystal Kingdom stepped through, many in the crowd gasped. She seemed confident and certain of herself, and was dressed in tight black leather armor.
Some in the crowd recognized the look. Many had heard the stories of Theena, and this woman matched her description. More recent news surrounded a huge battle in the Hidden Woods with two or more black-clad women flying through the air wreaking death and destruction to troops on the ground. A murmur of “Battlemaiden!” rippled through the crowd.
The powerful young woman looked back at the hazy globe as a man and another woman stepped through, dressed in merchant’s traveling cloaks. They looked around at the crowd staring back at them and appeared less sure of themselves. The globe faded behind them and the powerful woman pressed through the crowd, which parted for her without a word. The merchants followed in her wake.
A handful noticed that the black-clad woman’s clothing changed along the way. In an instant, a traveler’s cloak appeared around her, too. As the trio made their way further through the crowd, those who witnessed both the Globe of Transport and her change of dress fell further behind. Soon they melted in the tide of humanity on the piers.
At the dock master’s office, the travelers listened while an official explained tha
t Foambreaker was an express ship, primarily used to shuttle documents and diplomats between Coral City and other ports of call. On occasion the captain took on passengers in one of three private cabins reserved for those willing to pay an exorbitant fare in order to travel quickly. She was scheduled to dock today, within the hour in fact. She would take on at least one new passenger, deliver and pick up some cargo, and depart on the evening tide for Port Osmo.
Minutes later, the three found themselves at a dock with a handful of stevedores waiting and watching the harbor expectantly. Someone who recognized the boat pointed it out, and everyone watched as the tugs slowly rowed her in.
After several long moments, Foambreaker finally settled into a berth and the sailors tied her up. Bartimo noted she was smaller than the ships he had sailed on, but had multiple masts for ample sail and a sharp prow. She looked very sleek and fast. He found himself trying to calculate how much faster an express ship like this one sailed compared to the typical merchants. His thoughts were interrupted when somebody slid the gangplank out, and it clattered onto the wooden dock.
Bystanders moved out of the way, allowing passengers to disembark. There were only three: a married couple and a solitary woman. The couple marched down the plank first, smiling at everyone. They were older, and Ageless Islanders by their looks. Perhaps they were splurging on a vacation. Or maybe they held important business interests on the mainland requiring immediate attention. Either way, Bartimo did not recognize them. They quickly moved off to one side and waited for their luggage.
The woman came next, wearing a black wide brim sun hat that shielded her face. She carefully watched her steps as she daintily traipsed down the gangplank. When she reached the docks she looked up. Leddia’s eyes bulged and she gasped to see Bartimo and Phanissa staring at her.
She said, “You! But that’s . . . that’s not possible . . . how?”
In Bartimo’s mind, he had nursed the possibility that perhaps Lady Leddia was not at fault for what happened at the reception. While it seemed obvious her disappearance just before the wedding made her appear guilty, they had no definitive proof Leddia was involved.
But the look of utter shock on the widow’s face chased away all his doubts. Leddia had arranged for the spell somehow, and the chronosigil of death was her responsibility. He could see it in her face. He could see it in the shocked expression in her eyes. She clearly expected them to be dead by now.
Phanissa had never entertained such doubts. Fury filled her face, and her voice.
She said, “You killed my parents!”
Leddia opened her mouth as if to protest. But she remained mute. Horror and surprise filled her eyes as the blood drained from her face.
She took a deep shuddering breath, and made a valiant effort to gather her wits. Everyone on the dock stared at her openly now. She had not moved off the gangplank, rooted to the spot where she had first seen the couple.
She took another deep breath and closed her mouth. She grimaced, looking Phanissa in the eye. Then she bolted, running down the dock and shoving aside everyone in the way.
Bartimo raced after her in a burst of speed, but before he got very far Darkstone raised her hand and shot a Spell of Paralysis at the fleeing woman.
Robbed of her mobility, Leddia tripped and sprawled face first on the dock.
Darkstone said, “Come along.”
Together she and Phanissa and Bartimo walked over to the prone woman. Darkstone reached down and picked up Leddia by the hair, thrusting her into Bartimo’s arms.
“Carry her.”
Bartimo grunted under the deadweight, and shifted the woman onto his shoulder. Then he and Phanissa followed Darkstone as she made her way through the crowd.
No one noticed Quartzstone nearby, disguised as a peasant. He waited several paces away as first Darkstone passed, then Phanissa, then Bartimo carrying Leddia. Surreptitiously, he flicked his hand and shot a spell at Leddia’s head. Then he turned and walked away.
Moments after Darkstone’s party cleared the crowd and left the docks in search of an inn, a closed wagon approached from the opposite direction.
-+-
Stin came to, grimacing in pain. His head throbbed. He gently touched a sore spot on his scalp and winced at the soft lump that had formed.
Clonked on the back of the head, he thought. Stupid guard.
He tried opening his eyes wider, but the darkness persisted. His knees were bent. He felt cramped
At least I’m not bound, he thought.
Carefully, he felt around. He was boxed in, literally. He was in a cube maybe four paces by four. Or was it five? He felt rough wooden planks above and below and around him.
It’s small, however big it is.
He worked his way carefully all around the inside of the cube with his hands, feeling for joints or a latch to a door, or anything that might aid his escape. But whoever had fashioned this little prison knew what they were doing. The seams were all tight.
At last he found a break in the texture of the wood, above him in the box’s “ceiling.” Here was an iron grate. Feeling carefully around it he decided it was about a pace square, and it allowed air into the box.
He pushed on it, stretching his cramped muscles as far as he could push them, but the grate remained firmly in place.
He sighed, and relaxed, looking up into the darkness. He felt motion, and could hear sounds of people and traffic outside. So, he must be in a wagon, he thought. A covered one like the merchant caravans used.
Am I being taken out of the city?
Absently, he felt his chest, looking for the Gloomis Key. It was gone. He chuckled in the darkness.
Only a matter of time before it comes back.
He sighed again and looked up at the grate, even though he couldn’t see anything. He felt it with his hands and summoned the magic that allowed him to open locks.
Nothing happened.
A cold sweat broke out on his brow. No key. No lock picking. He had never felt so helpless.
The Gloomis Key should be back by now. What was keeping it? And why couldn’t he summon his lock picking ability?
His heart skipped a beat and he felt his blood running cold as he suddenly recognized a familiar weight hanging on his back. He reached behind his neck and grasped the hilt of the Forlorn Dagger.
He pulled it out and held it in the darkness, feeling the cold metal of its blade against the palm of his hand.
They put me in here with the dagger. The key can’t come back as long as this thing is near me.
He tried poking the grate with the blade, but the metal mesh was too fine to allow the knife out past its point. He tried bending the mesh, but it was too firm. Neither the grate nor the dagger gave way. He reexamined every square inch of the container with the point of the blade, but again found the joints too tight. The weapon did not help at all in getting out.
Finally he slumped back, exhausted in his efforts. He tried to ease the cramping in his muscles.
He felt the wagon stop and the hubbub of voices outside increased. A harbor bell rang out somewhere in the distance.
The back door opened and light flooded the inside of the wagon. Some of it filtered down to him through the grate. Men clambered in and grabbed the box, hefting him up and outside.
“Hey! Help! Lemme out of here!”
The men ignored him, and as they carried him out to the busy dock, his voice inside the box was drowned out by all the outside noise.
He felt them carry him a goodly distance, then his pitch altered along with the sound of their steps. He decided they must be walking up a gangplank.
Soon the light decreased as they went down into what he presumed was a ship’s hold. He tried yelling at them now that the ambient noise was reduced, but again his efforts met with no response.
He heard four pairs of feet tromp away and a door slammed shut. Once more, darkness prevailed. He felt the slight jostling of the ship as men and materiel were loaded.
After what f
elt like an eternity, but was probably only a couple of hours, he felt the ship move as the tugs pulled her away from the docks. Faintly he heard the calls of the crew as they unfurled her sails. Out in the open harbor, the wind filled the canvas and the ship sped away from Coral City. He heard water rushing by her sides.
Stin rested his head gently against the side of the box. He let out a long, sad sigh and spoke out loud for the one name on his mind since waking up.
“Bellasondra!”
16
The following morning when Greystone made his way to the quarry with the two princes, Pudge seemed to have warmed up to the wizard. He chatted with Greystone all the way there, but as they drew closer to their destination he shifted the conversation to the tomb and he openly wondered how the taller human could hope to access it.
Pudge said, “I’ be a tad tight fer ye, Wizard. How mayhap y’ gain entrance? We dinna ken iffen ye can por’ in there or nay . . .”
Greystone said, “I’ll take a look and see. Perhaps it would be best not to port in there, on account of we don’t know much about the protective spells on the tomb, other than they seem to kill anybody trying to get inside. No, it’s probably not a good idea to try and enter the chamber by magic. Who knows what sort of proximity spells are in place.”
“Well, ye’ll ha’ a fine time tryin’ t’ walk in, Wizard. I’ be nay biggen enough fer th’ likes o’ you.”
Greystone chuckled at the thought, then cast an appreciative glance at the scenery over the heads of all the guards walking with them. Personally he felt thankful he was too big for the royal carriage, and thus had a rare opportunity to stretch his legs. In consideration of their guest, the princes walked with him.
Greystone said, “I haven’t traveled much in the Tantamooks. It’s absolutely lovely out here.”
Pudge sniffed. He said, “Eh. Purtier un’ergroun’, iffen y’ ask me.”
Dudge spoke up from the vanguard, where he led the procession. He said, “We be nearin’ th’ quarry.”
