Back Under The Stairs - Book 2 in The Bandworld Series

by John Stockmyer

  John nodded. As John remembered, there had been two guards at the station outside the massive dungeon door when he'd been incarcerated in that foul hole.

  "Though keeping our distance, we have been trailing you, great Mage. First, from Xanthin Island. Then, by cable barge across the Tartarzine. Waiting for the chance to come to your aid."

  "I'm far from a 'great Mage' now," John said dryly.

  "You will always be the Mage," Coluth said seriously, bowing.

  Now that the light was stronger, John could see that Coluth was dressed the way John had first seen him: in a sailor's tunic, a common seaman's leather more in tune with his rough hands and weathered face than his Navy Head's robe. In other ways, too, Coluth looked like John always thought of him. Plain. Unpretentious. Steady.

  "You have only to regain your power," Coluth continued in his matter-of-fact way. "I have a ship waiting. At Canarin. Perhaps a trip to Orpiment in the beak-ward region would be advisable. There, to rebuilt your strength. Stil-de-grain must not be left in the hands of the Malachite. Young Yarro ...." Thinking of how much he missed the child king, Coluth broke off suddenly.

  "Or we could go cross-band to Realgar," Golden added. "To the Claws. There to raise an army. The loyal forces of Stil-de-grain would come over to you if given a chance. To you and to Nator."

  "Nator. What happened to Nator?"

  "He scouts the Stil-de-grain Army, which approaches."

  "The army's still under the command of Forsk? It was Forsk who arrested me at the dock."

  "Yes." Golden nodded solemnly. "But if allowed, the army would follow Nator. As would Forsk, if I am not mistaken."

  "And Leet?" What happened to Leet?"

  "He has returned to Malachite to warn his people about the new Mage."

  John's questions answered for the moment, looking around, finding the window light stronger still, he knew he'd been here before; recognized the tapestries of hunting scenes; the age-dark stones; even the damp smell sifting in from the hallway to the left. The corridor straight ahead should take them to the tower.

  The turret room that, fortunately, served his friends' interests as well as his own. The trick was to get them safely out of the way before he rescued the hand-cranked generator from its hiding place and climbed the static electric "stairway" home.

  Time to reassure them. "Where we're going -- and I think it's straight ahead -- there's a way out. The room I'm headed for also has a caved in roof. It's one of the castle's towers. All you've got to do is throw a grapnel up through the hole, snag one of the roofing blocks and you're on the castle roof. That's probably the best you could do if you got out the exact same way you got in."

  Coluth nodded.

  "Once on the roof, we are away," Golden said with the hint of a smile, his black eyes reflecting points of light. "Few can follow where I lead. Unless I wish them to." It was John's turn to nod. "Fortifications," Golden added, "are meant to withstand forced entry, not to prevent the exit of those within."

  "For now," John said, crossing his fingers -- an action he could tell was a complete mystery to the others -- "let's go that way and hope."

  And they were trotting off again over the rough stone floor; past large rooms open and small rooms closed; jogging between sweating walls of gray stone blocks; through shadowy chambers covered with musty smelling tapestries. Going ... up.

  Until John was certain of his surroundings! They were in the twisting final corridor to the tower room!

  Rounding the last, sharp bend, John burst into the ringlike room, wedge-shaped cuts around the walls giving access to cross-shaped arrow slits.

  Instead of being elated, though, John was ... confused ...

  Was this the room? ......

  Yes! It was that he'd never been in the turret at such an early hour, the shaft of light through the squared off hole in the roof lighting a different quadrant of the room. It was the tower room, however, the atmosphere excessively damp as a result of the night rain showering through the collapsed ceiling.

  The floor was like no other -- wet and slick with gray-green mold.

  On John's right was the stone table with its parallel slab benches. To his left, the scars in the lichen mantled, flagstone floor where the ceiling tiles had come crashing down.

  Golden and the rest had stopped at John's heels.

  Reassured by John's nod that this was the right place, Coluth and the two sailors, their boots threatening to slip on the wet floor, moved to the left to look up at the gap in the roof, Orig shifting the long loops of rope from his shoulder to the floor, recoiling the rope carefully, the rope's two-pronged grapnel in hand.

  Coluth came back to stand beside John. "There is a difficulty," Coluth whispered in his quiet, sober, sea-roughened voice, speaking softly so he did not alarm the others. "The blocks still remaining, seem ... loose."

  John looked up at where Coluth pointed. Took a couple of steps in that direction. .... Saw that the ceiling stones around the break slanted downward.

  A problem for Coluth and the men. But also one for John's plan to get the others up the ropes and on the roof before he took the generator from its hiding place. No sense having anyone else around when he attempted to build the static which would take him home.

  In the silence of the fetid room, John heard a noise. The sound of ... soldiers boots ... thumping down a far-off corridor. He also thought he heard a distant shout, though that could have been his imagination.

  John had been expecting pursuit. Was glad it had taken this long to materialize.

  Still, Coluth and the others needed time to work out the roof problem.

  To the side, Golden caught John's eye, the sober young man making a motion toward the entranceway to make sure John had heard the "baying of the hounds."

  Time. To think of a way to stretch what minutes they had left. .........

  "Golden! Coluth!" Using what police called a "command" voice had always gotten the attention of the people of this realm. "We need to delay Pfnaravin's men. Down the corridor are doors. Behind the doors, rooms. Let's see if there's anything in the rooms we can use to block the passageway. Furniture, bedding."

  "That will not halt the guards for long, I fear," Coluth said, his colorless eyes downcast.

  There was a cry in the room, followed by a crash, John whirling to see Orig rolling on the floor!

  In an instant, John saw what had happened. Orig had tossed a grapnel through the roof hole. Had tested the rope with his weight, only to have another large stone come crashing down at him, Orig still nimble enough to leap to the side and roll out of the way.

  On the floor under the broadened sky-hole was a broken roofing slab, beside it, a deep, white mark where it had gouged the stone paved floor.

  The situation stabilized, John returned to the problem at hand. "Don't worry," John said to counteract Coluth's concern. "I have a means of slowing the guards. But first, we've got to plug the passageway."

  Coluth nodded. Not enthusiastically, but with the resignation of the loyal follower. Golden's expression was unreadable.

  The sounds of the chase still faint, John led his party back into the narrow, curving hall, the indistinct noise of the chase indicating that Pfnaravin's "running dogs" had made little headway -- were probably being slowed by their need to search every room off every hallway. Depending on the number of searchers, this should give John and his men the time they needed -- if the upstairs rooms contained the furnishings John hoped they would.

  A speculation that turned out to be sound, when, in the first room, they found beds, dressers, chairs, chest of drawers, blankets -- the five of them lugging what they could carry into the narrow hall, shoving out pieces of furniture that were too heavy to lift, John's party tumbling the contents of that room (plus the furnishings from two others) to make a pile that blocked the passageway from floor to ceiling.

  Unfortunately, an unavoidable outcome of their efforts was noise, enough noise to alert their pursuers, the guards below shouting, the
sounds of the searchers growing steadily louder as they pounded up the stairs, the "dogs" now using sound to trail their quarry.

  Though John and company had made a substantial junk pile in the hall, it wouldn't stop a determined attack for long.

  Not in the blockade's present state, anyway.

  "All right," John gasped, everyone sweating with the exertion of the frenzied attempt to jam the corridor. "That'll have to do. The rest of you get back to the tower and find some way to secure a grapnel through the hole. Pull down as many loose blocks as necessary but find a stone that'll hold. I'll stay behind, for the moment, to set fire to this pile."

  There was an awkward pause as the others looked at one another and at John. Set fire to the pile? What was the Mage talking about? You could make fire stones flare up just by thinking. But ... furniture? Bedding? Anyway, even if Mage-magic could cause the furniture to sprout flames, what good would that do? The guards could just scramble through the cool, magic fire ....

  It was amazing what could be said with a look!

  Then came the other look. The one that said, no matter how foolish a Mage might seem, you did not question a man of awesome power. The look that John had been counting on!

  Responding to orders, Coluth and the sailors turned. As one, raced back for the tower room.

  The sailors ... but not Golden.

  "Fire?" Golden said, his elegant eyebrows raising. "Do you wish me to collect fire stones from hall torches?"

  "The kind of fire I'm talking about doesn't need fire stones. It's not the sort of magic fire this world understands," John continued -- knowing, at the same time, that anything he said would be meaningless to Golden. "A different kind of fire. A lethal kind this world knows nothing about." Damn Golden, anyway! John didn't have time for this!

  "But without your crystal ..."

  "What about my crystal," John said, feeling that, even though the attackers were clawing at their throats, Golden was about to say something too important to miss. At the same time, John was intensely aware of the sounds of the chase, finding that the guard noise seemed to have grown ... weaker.

  John smiled. Apparently he was not the only one who could get lost in the maze of Hero Castle.

  "Great Mage ...," Golden began, the young man's voice cracking in his throat.

  "Go on."

  "Great Mage ... seeing that your arrest was imminent ...."

  "You knew I was going to be arrested?" In spite of John's best intentions to view Golden as a friend, the suspicions John felt toward Golden came flooding back.

  "It was only at the last. When I saw that the sub-Heads of the squads of guards were from the bandit pack. Those who attacked us in the Malachite forest. Also, that the soldiers at the quay wore the green uniforms of Malachite."

  Of course! John had sensed something was wrong at the dock, just hadn't had the wit to figure out what. Now that he thought about the officers, he'd been uneasy about them. As for the soldiers being dressed in green military tunics, John had been in this world long enough to know that everything was color coordinated!

  Stupid!

  But not Golden. Golden was anything but stupid. "Continue."

  "Great Mage ... fearing for you ... unable to protect you, I ... took ... your golden crystal. Escaped with it." Saying that, Golden looked stricken, hurrying on. "But never fear, it is safe."

  So that's what happened to Melcor's crystal. Golden had it. Why was John not surprised? Golden had always been a tricky piece of work!

  "You have the crystal? Maybe this is the time to hand it over." Though John hated donning the magic gem, the sounds of the pursuers had grown louder again. If fire failed to discourage them, a couple of crystal blasts, would. Unless Pfnaravin was leading them in person, Pfnaravin with the capacity to produce counter blasts!

  "It is safe, never fear. It is just that ... I hid it ... in Xanthin Palace."

  A bitter disappointment ... though John was bound to be out gunned in any magical confrontation with an experienced Mage like Pfnaravin. "You did your best," John said to a clearly anxious Golden. "It was quick thinking to save the crystal as you did."

  Except for the fact that there was no sun in this godforsaken land, Golden's smile could have been described as beaming. When Golden smiled that way, the swarthy-skinned youth was at least handsome enough to be the king he claimed to be.

  "Thank you, great Mage."

  "For now, go back and help the others. I've got work to do here."

  With a low bow, a much relieved Golden did a crisp about-face and retreated down the hall, Golden forever moving with the grace of the trained athlete.

  Unexpectedly, John heard another crash in the tower room behind him! At least the sailors were attempting to carry out John's orders.

  Delay no longer possible, it was time to see if the plan, on which so much rested, worked.

  Fishing out his lighter from its small, inner pocket, John strode to the jumble of furnishings; spun the spark wheel, and touched the slender blue flame to the corner of a blanket at the bottom of the furniture pile. .... Saw the flame catch and grow.

  Yes!

  If the bedding burned, the furniture would, as well. No way the guards could get through what would soon be a flaming mass. John smiled. What a surprise awaited them! First, to see flames rising from something other than fire stones. After that, attempting to force their way through the flaming barricade, to experience real fire!

  The blaze was growing nicely now, licking into the hollow, upside down drawer of an overturned dresser. Blue and yellow flames were also spreading laterally, smoke from the fire licking at the low ceiling of the passageway.

  Nothing else he could do in the corridor, John trotted the short distance to the tower room to find ... a rope hanging from the hole in the roof, a grapnel soundly lodged at last. Standing beneath the breach in the tower's ceiling, were Golden, Coluth, and the sailors.

  Waiting.

  For what?

  "Well?" John said. "Is it safe? Can you climb the rope?"

  "Yes, sir," Coluth said. "Philelph and I have both put our weight on it -- together. It will hold any single man with ease."

  "Then what are you waiting for?"

  The delay had to be caused by something other than feeling safe where they were, for they could hear triumphant shouts from not that far down the hall, the guards closing fast.

  "We wait for you, great Mage," Coluth said. "The salvation of the band of Stil-de-grain rests with you, alone." Said as if this were a self-evident truth.

  "Salvation? With me?"

  "There is no other who can break the power of the Malachite Mage. It is all important that the young king be liberated."

  Time to confess.

  "There's something you don't realize," John said, puzzling out what he should tell them as he spoke. "Though few know it, this room is the bridge between this world and the next. It was from here that I left Stil-de-grain that last time. After the battle." The men understood. They knew he'd disappeared before. "Like the Hero before me, there are times when I must visit the other world. And this is one of them."

  "But ... how will we fight the new Mage, John-Lyon?" Coluth. Pleading. Not for himself, but for his ward, Yarro.

  "I go to renew my strength. To get ... ideas. Like the Hero went in the long ago to come back with all the ideas that built this civilization." Someone had told John that about the "Hero" on John's first trip here. "When I've learned what I need to know, I'll be back."

  "It must be?"

  "Yes, Coluth. It must be."

  "Then we will do what we can and wait for your return."

  "What you can do now, is escape. I'll need you all later." ............. "Go!"

  Though it was clear the others didn't like it, the Mage had given them a direct order.

  Nodding, Coluth motioned to Orig who, in a minute, was climbing the rope like the sailor-monkey he was.

  Behind them in the hall, was a burst of running and a shout ... followed by eerie s
ilence.

  Yes! The realization of what had happened was as clear to John as if he'd been there to see it. Racing around the bend, the guards had come to a halt before the burning furniture, a spookish sight in this world. One that had stopped them cold.

  There was still time!

  Orig already at the top of the ceiling, the old sailor elbowed his way through the irregular hole and onto the roof. Disappearing for a moment, the smallish man came back to stick his head back through the gap, a grin on his withered face. And just as quickly, was gone again.

  Receiving the signal that everything was as it should be on the roof, Coluth motioned to Philelph, the younger sailor seizing the rope and starting to climb, hand over hand.

  A scream penetrated the tower room, echoing around the room's hard walls, everyone paralyzed with fear! ... Until the sound's meaning became plain to John, John waving it off as if of no importance. Just another, painful lesson learned from John's world. That real fire ... hurt!

  Golden and Coluth now eyed each other, Golden bowing to Coluth, Coluth nodding back, grabbing the rope. Using his arms and both legs, the older man shimmied up, his men on the roof reaching down to help Coluth through the irregular, block shaped hole.

  Only Golden and John remained.

  "If anything ... happens ... if I don't return," John said to Golden, "you have the crystal. Use it to become the next Mage of Stil-de-grain."

  "No!"

  The passion of Golden's response stunned John! Never would he have expected Golden to refuse to obey a direct command.

  "I cannot be Mage," Golden continued in a softer tone. "I am Cleadon, son of King Cleadon. The exiled prince of Malachite."

  "I see," John replied. Not really seeing, but giving way before Golden's determination. "All right, then. Maybe Coluth could be Mage."

  Golden nodded.

  A bow, a turn, and with another of his amazing leaps, Golden was halfway up the rope and climbing with ease.

  Leaving John alone.

  Feeling empty.

  Lonely.

  Disillusioned.

  And cowardly. For John knew something few in this world did. That for the Stil-de-grain crystal to "work" for someone new, its former owner must be dead. With John living for, who knew how long, even with the golden gem, Coluth would be powerless against the magic of the real Pfnaravin.