“I wasn’t sure how they would prepare them,” Timothy said. “But as I watched them clean their catch this morning, I noticed that it was their custom not to remove the sharp fins that run down the length of the fish.”
Caiaphas looked at him, and Timothy could tell that he still did not understand.
“They leave the fin on, Caiaphas,” he said, stressing his every word. “A fin that is extremely sharp—almost knifelike.”
Timothy moved himself around so that the plate was behind him.
“What are you doing?” Caiaphas asked as the boy leaned backward toward the plate.
He could feel the hot flesh of the fish beneath his fingers and he carefully began to move his bound wrists so that the fish’s razor-sharp dorsal fin would be between them. It took some time, but his persistence was rewarded, and Timothy managed to sever the rope tied to his wrists.
With a grin he held the pieces of the rope up for his companion to see. Caiaphas watched in disbelief as Timothy picked through the remains of their meal, retrieving the fin that was still attached to the fish’s spine.
“They followed their customs, Caiaphas,” the boy said. “They’re not used to having prisoners, except in their fishing nets.”
“Timothy Cade, you are truly an amazing individual,” the navigation mage said as the boy went to work cutting his restraints. “I am honored to be acquainted with you.”
Timothy sawed through Caiaphas’s ropes in half the time it took him to do his own, now that he could see what he was doing. When he finished, the navigation mage slowly brought his fingers up to look at them.
“Are they broken?” Timothy asked.
Caiaphas nodded. “Some, I’m afraid. I will not be much help to you in this escape.”
The music from the village had grown softer, and it seemed to Timothy that the fires burned a little less brightly. They didn’t have a moment to spare. If they were going to flee this place, they had to do it at once. Timothy immediately went to work on the door, the fish fin cutting through the rope that held it with ease.
“You go first,” he said to Caiaphas as he pushed the door open. “I’ll help you down.”
The navigator moved toward the door and began to slip over the edge of the cage. Timothy grabbed hold of his wrists, using all his strength to allow the man to gradually lower himself toward the shallow lake water below. When Timothy could hold him no longer, he let go of Caiaphas’s wrists and the mage splashed down into the thigh-high water.
They both paused, listening for any sign of alarm from the Lake Dwellers, but there was no response.
“Come on, Timothy,” Caiaphas urged, and the boy lowered himself from their hanging prison to land in the cold water beside his friend.
“And now?” Caiaphas asked as they moved up onto the shore.
“We get away from here,” Timothy said, sliding into a pocket in his pants the fish fin knife that had given them their freedom.
They ran toward the darkness of the woods. “And once we are away? Do you have any idea where we should go?”
“I’ve given that some careful thought,” Timothy said as they fled the Lake Dwellers’ village.
“We need to find Lord Romulus,” he rasped, the very name weighing heavily upon his heart. Finn had told them that the region of Yarrith Forest beyond the Lake Dwellers’ encampment was controlled by the Legion Nocturne, but Timothy had hoped they would be flying above it rather than traveling through it on foot.
“The Grandmaster of the Legion Nocturne hates me enough that he may kill me on sight, but I also think he is honest and true to the ideals of Parliament. He may be our only chance of escaping these woods alive.”
Timothy was cold and growing colder by the minute.
He and Caiaphas had been walking steadily for hours. He blew warm air into his cupped hands as he followed the navigator, each of them alert to the sounds around them in case they were pursued. They had headed deeper into the Yarrith Forest, walking through the night, moving upward into the colder, mountainous regions in their search for the city that was home to Lord Romulus and the Legion Nocturne.
Caiaphas paused and turned to face him. “Are you well?”
“I’m fine,” Timothy said, trying with all his might to keep his teeth from chattering, but not altogether successful. “I’m just cold.”
“Here,” Caiaphas said, throwing an arm around his shoulder and pulling him close. “Let me share some of my warmth.”
The two started to walk again, more slowly as they continued side by side but still making adequate progress through the dark woods.
“Aren’t you the littlest bit cold?” Timothy asked his friend.
Caiaphas pulled him tighter. “Not really,” he said. “You must remember, as a navigation mage I must sit out in the cruelty of the elements as I pilot my craft. My body has grown used to the variances in temperature. It is all part of becoming Caiaphas.”
“Becoming Caiaphas?” Timothy asked. “Isn’t Caiaphas your name?”
The navigator stopped walking for a moment, checking their surroundings before continuing. He did this from time to time, verifying that they were indeed moving in the proper direction.
“I gave up my name long ago,” he explained to the boy. “To be a true navigation mage—to be Caiaphas—one must renounce one’s identity.” He pointed to the veil that still covered the lower portion of his face. “It is why we wear the veil. Once the level of Caiaphas is reached within our guild, you are forever and always a navigator, nothing more and nothing less.”
Timothy was in awe. There was still so much he didn’t know about the world that had become his home. “I had no idea. Did it bother you—to give up your name?”
“To be Caiaphas is a great honor,” the navigation mage said, and Timothy could see the hint of a proud smile beneath the blue veil. “I gave away something quite small for something much greater.”
The farther they traveled into the higher elevations, the colder it became. Despite Caiaphas’s efforts to keep him warm, Timothy found himself growing more and more uncomfortable.
“Do you have any idea how much farther we have to go?” he asked, hugging himself against the bite of the wind whipping through the trees.
“It’s hard to say. I’m used to navigating from my perch atop a sky carriage. It’s quite different from the ground.”
Timothy stamped his feet, attempting to bring some feeling back into his numbed appendages. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to go before the cold started to have a genuine effect upon him, but he didn’t want to think of such things. They had come too far for him to be brought down by a change in temperature.
“Let’s keep going,” he told his friend. “I’m warmer when I’m moving.”
They talked as they walked, mainly to take their minds off the dropping temperature. They discussed what they would say once they were in the presence of the Nocturne Grandmaster. Lord Romulus despised Timothy. They would need to be extremely convincing if they had any hope of Romulus listening, and not killing them where they stood.
They climbed higher and higher still into the Yarrith mountains, and as if the cold weren’t bad enough, a light snow began to fall. He had never experienced winter, but knew that depending on how quickly it fell, snow could prove quite a hindrance.
“Hold on, Timothy,” Caiaphas urged. “We must be very close by now.”
Timothy wanted to believe him, but fatigue and bitter cold were making it difficult for him to remain confident. The snow began to fall harder and started to collect in the crooks of the tree branches and on the leaves scattered on the ground. He found himself slowing down, his limbs growing heavier with each step they took.
Caiaphas slowed his pace, urging him to continue—to not give up. Gently, he took hold of the boy’s arm, with a damaged hand, and helped him along. Timothy was grateful, for he wasn’t quite sure if he could have done it without his friend’s assistance.
“I’ve decided that I don’
t really care for snow,” Timothy said over the moan of the wind, and Caiaphas chuckled briefly as they marched on through the accumulating conditions.
Visibility had become nearly nonexistent, and Timothy tried, through squinted eyes, to see where they were going. He prayed silently that they might find a cave or some kind of natural shelter where they might wait out the storm.
Timothy stopped short, attempting to focus through the swirling flakes of frozen rain.
“We must keep moving,” Caiaphas yelled over the wailing winds, attempting to pull him along.
The boy pointed to a spot in the distance. “I thought I saw something. Over there, moving through the woods.”
Caiaphas looked through the swirling snow in the direction of Timothy’s gaze. “I don’t see anything. The storm is playing tricks on you. We must keep moving.” And Timothy started to walk again, following Caiaphas—Right into the path of the creatures advancing on them through the blinding storm.
Chapter Nine
They were extremely tall beasts, with four legs and two arms, their bodies covered in heavy fur, horns protruding from the sides of their square heads. The monsters roared as they advanced, and Caiaphas threw himself in front of Timothy to protect him from attack.
“Hold!” bellowed one of the ghastly beasts, and Timothy saw that these were not monsters at all, but armored soldiers on horseback—soldiers of the Legion Nocturne.
“You are trespassing upon the game preserves of Lord Romulus, Grandmaster of the Legion Nocturne,” said one of the soldiers from atop his steed, his voice echoing through the metal of the helmet he wore. “A crime that is punishable by death.”
The legion drew their weapons; even over the howl of the winds, Timothy could hear the swish of the razor-sharp swords as they were pulled from their scabbards.
“Please,” he cried over the winds. “We mean no harm. We’ve come seeking an audience with your master—with Lord Romulus.”
“Audience with the Grandmaster?” one of the soldiers scoffed. “Why would he speak with the likes of you, lad?”
Timothy moved closer so that he could be seen better. “This is Caiaphas, navigator for the Grandmaster of the Order of Alhazred, and I am Timothy Cade—the Un-Magician.” He hated to use the insulting title, but it was one that had stuck with him, whether he liked it or not.
“Timothy Cade?” a soldier asked, glancing around at his brethren.
“He says that he is the Un-Magician,” said another.
The lead soldier moved his horse closer to the boy, the animal’s large head mere inches from Timothy’s face.
“If you are lying to us, boy,” he growled, “we’ll feed you both to our horses.”
The great beast snorted, and Timothy felt the warmth of its powerful exhalation on his face, but he did not flinch or move away.
“I’m telling the truth,” he said. “I am Timothy Cade, and I need to speak with Romulus right away. Lives depend upon it.”
“Yes,” said one of the soldiers, grinning. “Yours.”
With those words, the horsemen reared back upon their powerful steeds and began to turn. All save two of them, who spurred their mounts toward Timothy and Caiaphas. They had no chance to react, never mind object, as powerful arms pulled them up to sit behind the two riders. They were forced to hold on for dear life as they galloped at a breakneck pace through the woods.
The storm seemed to be lightening a bit, and from his place at the back of the steed he saw Lord Romulus’s city coming into view in the distance.
Caiaphas was right, he thought. They hadn’t been that far away, but the question still remained: Would they have made it to their destination in the snowstorm? Timothy wasn’t sure, but he was grateful that Lord Romulus’s guards had stumbled across them when they had.
He had heard the name of Romulus’s city mentioned once or twice before, and searched his mind for it as the place came more clearly into view. It was awesome to behold, a vast, sprawling empire, seemingly built onto the side of a mountain. From what he could discern, the structures were made entirely from stone, yellow lights burning in many of the windows, and Timothy wondered if they were lanterns of ghostfire that he was seeing. And then he remembered the city’s name.
Twilight.
Up a winding path toward an enormous stone bridge that spanned a yawning chasm, they rode, galloping toward the great gates that began to open wide in welcome for the patrol’s return.
The horses came to a sudden stop in a courtyard, multiple sentries all adorned in fur and armor converging on them.
“Inform Lord Romulus that we have brought Timothy Cade, the Un-Magician, and that he requests an audience,” the captain of the patrol proclaimed.
Two of the sentries bowed their heads and were gone in a flash with the message. Timothy was helped down from the steed by the captain, and directed toward a large door in the face of an imposing structure of gleaming black stone.
“That way,” the captain of the guard said, placing a gauntleted hand against the back of his head and pushing. Timothy turned to scowl at the man.
“Lord Romulus hates to be kept waiting,” the soldier said. “And if you are who you claim to be, he will be most anxious to speak with you.”
Caiaphas joined him, and the two walked toward the impressive door, which swung open as they approached. There was another armored guard waiting on the other side, and he directed them down a long passage with the point of his sword. The Legion Nocturne was rare among the guilds of Parliament in that they forged their own weapons and hunted without magic. It was their tradition. Somehow Timothy felt he understood them more than he did other guilds, and yet he feared them more as well.
Timothy had started to regain the feeling in his feet and hands, and despite the uncertainty of their situation, was quite pleased to be out of the cold. At the end of the stone passage, another sentry awaited them. The man was huge, clad in heavy armor, and he stood with such unwavering attentiveness that he could have been some sort of intricate sculpture.
“Who seeks passage into the chambers of the lord and master of the Legion Nocturne?” the guard growled, his booming voice reverberating off the walls of the stone passage in which they stood.
“Timothy Cade and Caiaphas,” he answered nervously, uncertain if the fearsome sentry would allow them entry.
The armored sentinel turned his awesome bulk to face the metal studded door. He raised a gauntleted fist and pounded three times upon it.
THOOM! THOOM! THOOM!
“Who seeks passage into my chambers?” came an equally fearsome voice from the other side of the door.
“It is Timothy Cade and a Caiaphas,” the guard said.
There was silence that seemed to last for an eternity, and then at last the reply came.
“Grant them access,” the voice on the other side proclaimed, and the sentry pushed open the great door with a grunt and bid them enter the hall beyond.
“He is waiting,” the sentry said as they stepped into the room, and he closed the door behind them.
The room was huge. Its wood-beamed ceiling was at least thirty feet above Timothy’s head. On every exposed inch of wall there hung the head of an animal, many of them with large, curved horns. He presumed they were local creatures from the forest of Yarrith.
An enormous fireplace, constructed to form the face of a fearsome, screaming beast, stood across the room, a fire roaring in its maw. Timothy could feel the comforting warmth of the flames and had to fight the urge to He down on the floor and go to sleep.
“It is you,” said a voice from the other side of the room, and he and Caiaphas turned to see the grim visage of Lord Romulus. The mage stood up from a large, high-backed chair that could very well have been considered a throne.
Timothy had forgotten how large the Nocturne Grandmaster was. He was even bigger than the sentry that had allowed them access into the room, and Timothy had thought that man gigantic. Lord Romulus was nearly nine feet tall, and three and a half feet b
road at the shoulders. He was clad in armor of gleaming black, a cape of gray fur hanging from his broad shoulders to the ground. Upon his head was the ever-present helmet that concealed all the man’s features except for his eyes.
The Grandmaster came toward them, crossing the great room in three strides.
“How dare you come here?” Lord Romulus growled. “To my forest—to my home?”
Caiaphas stepped forward as if to shield Timothy from his wrath. “Greetings and many thanks to you, my Lord,” he said with a slow bow of his head. “Your hospitality is greatly appreciated this cold and stormy day.”
“I should have let the storm take you,” Lord Romulus snarled, looking past the navigator to glare at Timothy. “Should have let it take you both.”
Timothy guessed that the Grandmaster of the Legion Nocturne was still a bit upset from the last time they had seen each other. The boy had used his unique ability to cancel out the Grandmaster’s magic in front of the entire Parliament of Mages. It had been completely necessary, but Timothy could understand why Romulus was still perturbed.
“But you didn’t,” Timothy said, stepping up to stand beside Caiaphas. “And for that, we thank you—I thank you with all my heart.” He placed a hand, still trembling from the cold, upon his chest.
Romulus said nothing, choosing to only growl before abruptly turning away from them to pace about the great room.
“I have heard recent reports that you were missing and presumed to be dead,” the Grandmaster said. He spun around again to face them, his eyes blazing from within his horned helmet. “How easy it would be—and, might I add, quite pleasurable—to make those reports a reality.”
Timothy said nothing, depending on his faith that Romulus was primarily an honorable man and not a murderous monster like Nicodemus and Constable Grimshaw.
“Why do you continue to plague me, boy?” the massive warrior asked, clenching and unclenching his powerful hands, which were covered in studded black gloves. “The world has changed far too much since you have been in it—and there is nothing I’d like more than to forget that you exist.”
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