The Black Fortress

by E. G. Foley

  Waldrick did not stop to wonder what his brother might do to him for his betrayal, if he was still among the living after all this time. The possibility seemed so remote that it was hardly worth worrying about.

  Meanwhile, every minute or so, he checked over his shoulder as he worked, making sure that no one had spotted him. The knot of scientists around the newly captured Lightrider had calmed down. Waldrick supposed they were processing him now, the poor blackguard. He wasn’t fighting anymore. Probably unconscious.

  Why? Waldrick wondered. Why have they kidnapped them? What do they mean to do with them all?

  Then he mounted another rung of the ladder, and that was when he found him.

  Waldrick went motionless where he stood, almost forgetting to hold on to the ladder in his shock.

  Jacob…?

  The glass was dusty, and the tubing looked old. His hand trembling, Waldrick used the sleeve of the lab coat to wipe away the thick layer of dust so he could see the man inside the glass box better.

  He drew in his breath as he beheld the handsome face of his comatose elder brother through the glass.

  It’s you. Waldrick would’ve recognized that chiseled face anywhere, that shock of golden hair.

  But the true Earl of Griffon looked gaunt, frail, aged from having been kept in this state.

  And yet the fluid pumping into his body through the Flower of Life implant in the Lightrider’s arm was somehow keeping him alive.

  As Waldrick stood there in disbelief, feeling like this must be a dream, Jacob’s eyes flashed open for a second—searing blue, and glazed a bit, but still full of his usual intensity.

  Waldrick jolted backward with an oath and nearly fell off the ladder.

  His brother was there but not quite there as he stared back at Waldrick for a second through the glass, as if to say, I know what you did.

  Then his eyes drifted closed again, and the real Lord Griffon made no further motion, gave no further sign of life.

  Trembling violently, his teeth chattering, Waldrick gulped and forced himself to look into the nearby coffins. No, no, no. Please. Not the woman. Tell me they didn’t do this to Elizabeth, too…

  But even as he shakily climbed the next rung of the ladder, he could see that the glass box above contained a dark-haired female.

  Tears filled his eyes, and he could go no farther. He knew in his heart that it was she, and he could not bear to face her.

  Because he knew what he had done. He had shot her in the back while she was fleeing him with her baby. How could I ever do such a thing? What wicked influence took hold of me that I could ever have justified this?

  Yes, his brother and he had scuffled since boyhood. They’d had their ups and downs, and frankly, Waldrick had often been jealous of Jacob.

  But Elizabeth had never once wronged him.

  On the contrary, the charming beauty had always done her best to invite him to be a part of the family. Christmases. Easters. The christening of their son. And what thanks had he given her in return?

  A bullet in the back.

  Apparently, a magical one of some sort, because, clearly, it hadn’t killed her. It had only, he surmised, put her into this strange magical coma.

  For once in your life, don’t be a coward, he thought. They deserve more from you than that.

  Waldrick clenched his jaw and then forced himself up the next rung.

  Again, he had to wipe a circle away in the thick layer of dust on her container before he could see her well.

  And then there she was.

  Lovely as ever, with her milky skin, pert nose, and her dark, winged eyebrows. The waves of her sable hair flowed past her shoulders down to her waist, overgrown in her long slumber.

  I am so, so very sorry. A tear rolled down Waldrick’s face and dripped off his jaw onto his hand as he clutched the ladder rung, staring at his sister-in-law. You didn’t deserve this. And I swear, I will do aught in my power to make it right.

  The present moment and his precarious situation came back to Waldrick suddenly, snapping him out of his tearful daze. He realized he’d better watch his back. The stakes here were obviously higher than he’d had any idea.

  Climbing down from the ladder, he gathered his composure for a moment when he reached the floor. Then, hugging the clipboard in his arm, he headed out of the cavernous chamber, moving like he knew exactly what he was doing and had every right to be there, same as always. He was very good at dissembling, after all. An expert at it, really.

  His simple ruse worked. The scientists barely looked at him, still fussing over their latest kidnap victim. Together, they were lifting the now-unconscious Lightrider off the gurney and into one of the glass boxes.

  Waldrick walked smoothly out the door, sparing an arrogant nod for the larger Noxu, who glanced indifferently at him. He crossed with measured paces to the cloakroom, his heart pounding, but, once inside, he got rid of his disguise.

  Taking a deep breath, Waldrick steeled his spine and proceeded back out into the lobby again, crossing to the stairwell.

  The Noxu didn’t bother him: all humans looked alike. He was just one of the scientists.

  Once he was out of view, Waldrick climbed the stairs two at a time in terrified silence, arriving in the black hallway once more.

  By some miracle, he made it back to his room without further incident. He didn’t even get lost. Finally, he shut the door to his chamber behind him and leaned against it, his legs still trembling beneath him.

  He did not know yet what to do, how to fix this. But what had just happened changed everything.

  I’m not a murderer after all! Mawkish tears jumped into his eyes, but he was past caring. What did it matter? What did anything else matter?

  My family is alive.

  CHAPTER 50

  Gathering Allies

  When the diplomatic party walked into King Snorri’s great hall at Jugenheim the next day, Jake savored the stunned look on Dani’s face.

  Nixie and Isabelle were also dumbfounded.

  The towering timber hall of the Norse giants was built in the Viking style, with a mighty oak tree growing right up through the center of the floor and passing out overhead through the same opening in the roof that allowed the hearth smoke to escape. The trees had been sacred to them since pagan times.

  And speaking of pagans, Archie and Jake had also been tickled by the girls’ amazement to meet Odin. The chief Norse god, though retired now, had had to come in person to let their party into Jugenheim, for he had fixed the seal between the worlds after Snorri had accidentally broken it some time ago.

  He’d nodded at Jake when he saw him, a gleam in his remaining eye. The other was covered by an eye patch, for he had sacrificed it at the Well of Wisdom in exchange for the depth of understanding that had made him the chief of the gods.

  Jake found him fascinating, an old warrior-king roaming the world in all his disguises, collecting heroes for Valhalla with his retinue of gorgeous, winged Valkyries.

  When Jake had first met him, he’d been disguised as a janitor. He was most unpretentious.

  “Still have that dagger I gave you, young hero?” he’d asked Jake in amusement, his voice gravelly with a thick Scandinavian accent.

  “Oh, yes, sir.” Jake pulled out Risker and let Odin examine it again. “I found out the blue stone in the hilt glows in the dark. It’s helped me more than once, I can tell you.”

  Odin nodded. “Take good care of it,” he said while the rest of their party walked ahead, marveling at giant land. “Who knows what else it can do? Forged in Asgard, it was made outside of what you mortals call space and time. As for its qualities, hmm, Wayland the Smith does not like to explain his creations. But I would not be surprised if it can do things similar to brightwields and darkling blades.”

  Jake was awed to hear it. “Thank you, sir.”

  Odin had given the magical knife back to Jake, then continued on his way, leaving Maddox and even Uncle Richard staring, wide-eyed, after the long-
legged, short-skirted Valkyries.

  Then it was onward into Jugenheim for their whole party, an entourage of twenty-four people in all. There were two Lightriders, Ranjit and Tex; ten Guardians, plus Derek and Janos; two shapeshifters—Henry and Helena; their official VIPs, Lord and Lady Bradford; and the six kids.

  Though the girls had seen giants wandering through the grounds of Merlin Hall now and then, this was not the same as being in their world, where the humans only stood knee-high to the locals and everything was built to their scale.

  The visiting party had to climb ladders to sit on vast chairs. The giants’ dinner plates were so enormous that Jake could’ve lain down and made snow angels on one.

  But it was good to see how well Snorri had taken to the role of king, and, of course, Princess Kaia-of-the-Yellow-Braids had turned into a splendid shield-queen. She was the real power behind the throne. She had been trained for it, while Snorri had been but a lowly shepherd before he’d saved his people from Loki.

  The diplomatic party spent two days in Jugenheim, making sure the giants would be ready for any threat from the Dark Druids.

  Though the kids were given permission to go exploring during their visit, Jake decided to stay behind while the others ventured out with an escort of giants and Guardians.

  They were going to see Smokey the Dragon, but he was more interested in observing these diplomatic talks, which Uncle Richard and Aunt Claire had given him permission to do. King Snorri and Queen Kaia knew and trusted him, after all. Given his familiarity with their world, he might even be able to help.

  For his part, Jake was very keen to find out exactly how the sophisticated Lord and Lady Bradford went about conducting their various missions as diplomats, what sort of tasks were involved.

  He knew for a fact that their magical talents were nothing special. Mediocre at best, Archie had once confided. Uncle Richard’s gifts were in the clairvoyant category, just like his sister Elizabeth’s had been.

  But while Jake’s mother had had the full ghost-sight, which she’d passed on to him, her brother’s clairvoyance manifested in a more modest way. For Richard, it expressed as a strong discernment when it came to reading other people. It seemed related to the empathic power in his daughter.

  Richard’s talent no doubt came in handy in his work as a diplomat. He also had a warm affinity with animals (though not as deep as Isabelle’s). Every now and then, he would also have dreams about future events, but that was not something he could control, and the visions were very hard to interpret.

  As for Aunt Claire, she had received the lesser mage’s talent that ran in her lineage, but she was no Nixie. Her magic was limited to charms, hexes, and minor glamours. She was very good at persuading people of things—also a fine skill for a diplomat—but whether that was her magic at work or just her personality was anyone’s guess.

  But in spite of their limited magical gifts, Jake soon saw for himself that by working together in foreign courts, the glamorous pair made quite a team.

  Sitting in on the meetings with Red by his side, he listened intently as they warned the king and queen of the giants and their panel of advisers about the Dark Druid threat.

  “You need to be ready,” Aunt Claire said somberly.

  “Yes, but for what exactly?” Kaia asked with a worried look. “Considering we’re dealing with a bunch of mad warlocks, how can we even predict the nature of their attack? Spells and curses, or armies of monsters or what?”

  Aunt Claire shook her head. “I’m afraid we don’t yet know, Your Majesty. But we will keep you apprised as we discover more.”

  “Don’t worry,” Snorri told them. “The giants will be ready to fight alongside the Order if it comes to that. You are our friends.”

  Jake smiled, impressed by his confident attitude. “Any more trouble from Loki around here?”

  Snorri laughed at the reminder of the battle they’d fought against the Norse god of mischief. “No, he knows when he’s beaten.”

  “It’s too bad Thor and Odin can’t lend us a hand,” Uncle Richard said wistfully. “We could certainly use their fighting skills.”

  “Unfortunately, they have to stay out of mortal affairs,” said Aunt Claire.

  Indeed, it was part of the terms of their surrender nearly a thousand years ago, after most of their pagan worshippers had converted to Christianity. They were ordered to stay out of trouble and enjoy their retirement.

  It was a shame, thought Jake, for Thor could’ve probably smashed a hole in the side of the Black Fortress with one throw of his hammer. Ah well…

  “Hey, maybe the Valkyries would be allowed to help,” Jake blurted out.

  Uncle Richard and Aunt Claire exchanged a glance.

  “I’ll look into it,” the viscount said. “Good thinking, Jake.”

  Jake nodded, pleased to contribute. The work of a diplomat might not be as flashy as that of a Lightrider or as exciting as that of a Guardian, but it was definitely interesting. Jake liked helping to solve practical problems.

  In any case, the giants held a feast in their honor both nights they were there. Both times, it turned into a stomping-good sing-along, just like when Archie and Jake had visited Jugenheim alone.

  Apparently, some of the giants were still under the impression that Jake and everyone with him were dwarves, and all that the giants knew or cared to know about dwarves was that they were excellent singers.

  This was a fact the diplomatic party would soon verify on the next stop in their journey, for the very next morning, they headed off to the Black Mountains in Wales.

  It was time to go and see the dwarves.

  * * *

  Wyvern also set out that morning to seek allies and consolidate support for his overthrow of Zolond, as Shemrazul commanded. He dared not delay any longer.

  The bridge crew and the thick-witted Noxu fighters knew nothing of his true purpose, of course. Had no idea of what he was up to, what with all the jumps he led them on over the next few days.

  But it wasn’t their place to question him.

  He let them assume it had something to do with Zolond’s recent candle call. That he had received new orders.

  In a way, that was true. Why, there was nothing out of the ordinary in his visiting his fellow members of the Dark Druid Council.

  Since Shemrazul had ordered him to seek out the Drow prophet, Duradel, first, Wyvern did just that, consulting the dark elf seer in his underground temple.

  He was an eerie fellow, with his long, pale hair, fine features, and white, sightless eyes. Dressed in lightweight black armor and flowing midnight robes, Duradel advised Wyvern to destroy any Council members who refused to side with him, lest they betray him to Zolond once they learned of his plans.

  Wyvern didn’t need to be told twice. After all, empty seats on the future Council could always be filled later by people who owed him.

  Already he had promised places to Fionnula, his future queen, and to Badgerton, along with his Proteus power.

  But since a proper war could not be conducted without the help of certain key players, he went next to visit General Archeron Raige, per Shemrazul’s orders.

  The general was a soldier’s soldier, an assassin whose favorite pastime was genocide.

  When Wyvern went to visit him in the jungles Raige called home, he found the musclebound warrior with a gun in his hands, roaming the wilds of his tropical estate. His square, scarred face painted with camouflage, the stub of a cigar dangling from his lips, Raige never took his fiery eyes off the lush, tangled landscape before him.

  “Careful where you step, warlock. I keep the grounds booby-trapped. For trespassers.”

  Wyvern looked down just in time and saw an open bear trap right in front of his feet. “Thanks for the warning,” he muttered.

  “Well? Why are you here? Grab a rifle if you’d like a bit of sport, but whatever you do, get to the point, man. The game’s afoot. Ah, I love a good hunt in the morning.”

  Wyvern took him up on
his offer and accepted a loaded rifle, though he had too much on his mind to focus on tracking big game. “What exactly are we hunting, general?”

  “Pacifists,” spat Raige. “They can run, but they can’t hide. Follow me.” He nodded over his shoulder at Wyvern, then headed down a narrow path crowded with palm trees, hanging vines, and tropical shrubs.

  Exotic birds called from the canopy, a monkey mocked from somewhere in the mist, and a large snake slithered on a branch overhead, but neither man paid it any mind.

  Raige kept searching the underbrush. “I’m a plainspoken man, Wyvern. None of your sorcerer’s double talk. Come straight to the point.”

  “As you wish.” Wyvern didn’t mind doing so, since he felt rather sure he could count on the madman to help him.

  Raige was always chafing for a war. Still, just in case he refused, Wyvern had brought along not just his wand, but the Altantean cuff with which to kill Raige, if it came to that. The likes of Archeron Raige didn’t die easy. Especially given his arsenal of unusual weapons.

  “So what’s on your mind?” He puffed on his cigar and waved off a mosquito.

  “General, I’ve been thinking.” Wyvern lifted his rifle into position and followed him into the jungle, scanning the greenery as they stalked their prey. “Zolond’s hesitation is beneath us.”

  The soldier harrumphed like he’d been thinking the same thing.

  “I don’t know why the Dark Master waits to move against the Order. But I, for one, am running out of patience. It’s time to act. With Shemrazul’s blessing, I have begun formulating a plan, and I’d be grateful for your support moving forward.”

  Raige stopped, turned around, and stared at Wyvern, sizing him up.

  Wyvern met his gaze evenly.

  Raige slowly took the cigar out of his mouth, exhaling smoke. “This a trick? Some kind of test?”

  “No.” Wyvern shook his head, deadly serious.

  “Huh.” Raige paused, narrowing his eyes. They were light blue and piercing, contrasting with his camouflaged face. “You double-cross me, I’ll kill ya.”