by Sandra Kopp
The men drifted back to their places. Raquella found a stick to bite down on, then took a deep breath and signaled she was ready. Charles supported her as Hans grasped the arrow and began to pull. Pain twisted Raquella’s face. She panted as the sweat beaded on her forehead. A tiny whimper escaped her throat as the arrow pulled free and then she collapsed in Charles’ arms. Hans tore a strip from his shirt and bandaged her shoulder.
Charles lifted her to a nearby log with her back to the path and propped her against it. “Keep quiet,” he instructed. The girl nodded.
Marcos, meanwhile, took Hans aside. “Were we wrong?” he asked. “Should we have spared them?”
Hans looked at him gravely. “Had we done so, they would have killed us. I guarantee it.” Pain filled his face as he turned away. “This evil she spoke of. . .” His voice trailed off.
“I know.” Marcos looked down, equally stricken. “It inhabits. . .my sister.”
Bertrand, noting Raquella’s wounds had been attended, slipped over to Marcos and Charles. “What do we do with her now?”
Charles thought a moment. “Take her with us. We can hardly leave her here.”
“She can ride with me,” Hans told them.
Bertrand fixed Raquella a hard stare. “Someone else takes her weapons, though.”
“We’ll put them on Patuka,” Charles said. He walked to the horses, removed Davon’s weapons from Patuka and loaded them onto Trevor. Hans carried Raquella’s gear to Patuka and loaded it.
“There. That should do it.” Hans gave Charles a wink. “You ready?”
Charles nodded. “Aye.” He glanced around, frowning at the absence of the Little People. “Where is Myan’s group?”
“They’ve gone ahead, scouting for tracks,” Marcos told them.
“Good.” Charles glanced at the sky. “Still a couple of hours till noon. I’ll ride in front again. We’ll see if Trevor detects his master.”
The company mounted and fell in behind Charles. Trevor trotted alongside Vitimihovna, ears erect. After a quarter mile, however, his ears relaxed and his head hung a little. Charles could only surmise the horse no longer sensed Davon’s presence.
The Little People had split into two groups in order to study the ground on either side of the path but now converged before the group, shaking their heads.
“No more tracks,” Myan said gruffly. “Just. . .” he whipped his hand upward and made a whooshing sound “. . .gone.”
“Spirited away,” Charles muttered.
“Much as I was.” Hans edged Parsius beside Charles. He pursed his lips. “I would say continue to the castle. That’s probably where we’ll find him.” He bobbed his head backward. “That’s probably where these were going.”
Understanding that Hans referred to Raquella, who had mounted behind him, Charles nodded and waved the party forward.
Mason, meanwhile, kept a wary eye on Raquella. While she appeared docile enough, his prior experience with the Rauths warned she posed danger, perhaps certain death to all of them. He wondered that Hans would allow her behind him on that horse. Yes, they had taken two knives from her, but Mason wagered she had at least one other hidden on her somewhere. He stayed behind Hans, never taking his eyes off Raquella.
The path meandered among the austere pines into a glade and then toward a denser grove of ancient cedars. Mason cast an upward glance as a bird flitted between branches. At the same time a subtle move of Raquella’s left arm yanked his focus back to her. He sharpened his gaze, guiding his horse to the left so as to better observe her.
She kept her upper arm still while her forearm moved to her stomach and then up. Instinct spurred Mason to action. Charging forward, he seized Raquella’s arm and pulled her off Parsius. A strange hawk-like cry erupted from Raquella’s throat. Squirming and twisting, she broke free of Mason’s grasp and hit the ground, stumbled and fell onto her back.
The struggle brought the rest of the group to a halt. “What’re you doi—” Hans began, but stared, aghast, at the defiant Rauth. Raquella’s eyes flashed and her face had transformed into almost the shape of a crow’s. Clutched in her left hand was a short blade fashioned into a treacherous-looking three-inch claw. Her mouth gaped wider than humanly possible. An otherworldly scream started forth, but Mason whipped out his sword and lopped her head off her shoulders.
Hans exhaled loudly, a look of horror on his ashen face. “Of all of us, I should have been the first to expect that.”
“She put on a good act.” Bertrand glanced back down the trail. “She didn’t scream long, but I wonder if still she managed to send a message.” He glanced around the group. “I think we can expect more company. Drag her off the road and out of sight. Then let’s get out of here.”
Mason and William O’Dell dismounted and dragged the hapless girl deep into the shrubbery.
“That’s good. Come on, let’s move,” Bertrand ordered.
The two emerged and mounted their horses. Launching into a gallop, the troop thundered down the trail.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Thunder echoed throughout the stone corridors as the castle doors closed with a dull thud. Arris paused, took a deep breath and let it out. Not quite like a casket closing, he thought, but close. He resumed walking, slowly and deliberately, his green right eye and brown left eye absorbing every detail.
He had entered a cavernous vault composed entirely of translucent rose quartz polished to such a degree it looked like ice. No carpets adorned the floors, nor did the walls contain a single tapestry, painting, or the battle weapons favored for display by so many of Epthelion’s monarchs. The same steady hum and heartbeat rhythm he had heard outside prevailed here as well, only louder, and with a lulling quality Arris found rather soothing. Nevertheless, he kept his guard up, half expecting the wizened guardian of his vision to appear.
I hope not to fight another giant serpent. I’ve done that twice already and have quite tired of it.
After walking some hundred feet, he discerned a massive, intricately-carved arch.
So. . .this must be. . .the foyer? No, simply a hallway. Zounds, what kind of castle is this? It’s more a tomb than anything.
He passed under the arch and found himself in a room large enough to contain his entire house, but devoid of any furnishings or decorations indicating its purpose. Arris pursed his lips as he looked around. His keen eyes spied depressions spaced some ten feet apart in the walls all around. Arris approached for a closer look.
The rounded niches were thirty inches high, twenty inches wide, and eighteen inches at their deepest. They formed an oval at their tops, and the bottoms had been carved square to form a shelf. The same intricate carving decorating the arch graced the rock surrounding each niche.
“Hmpf.” Head cocked, Arris studied the first one, absently tracing a finger along the labyrinthine design. He did not remember hitting anything other than smooth stone, but suddenly he heard a peculiar scraping, like panels sliding, and then the room’s rosy hue darkened. Arris turned.
Crimson veins interlacing the walls pulsated slightly as endless waves of flickering light resembling cold flames traveled upward. A long curved staircase ascended to—somewhere. Arris saw no evidence of a floor above, neither could he see the stairs’ landing.
How different from my vision. I wonder if the old man awaits.
He glanced down, patting his sword to ensure it was there and began to climb, keeping near the rail to steady himself. Almost immediately a strange, dizzying sensation overwhelmed him, as if the entire structure had lifted and begun to move. For a moment he stopped, gripping the rail as he tried to steady himself and then, as quickly as it started, the feeling passed. Arris resumed climbing.
The stairs continued long after Arris expected a landing. He began to wonder whether they led into a tower. Were that the case, he’d be climbing all night.
Finally, he saw the end, still several steps up. Arris heaved a sigh of relief and pressed on. He noted now the circular walls surrounding
him and discerned he had, indeed, just entered one of the towers. He noted also innumerable figures now embedded within the stone, and slowed his pace in order to study them. A lump formed in his throat.
Some resembled warriors in full armor. Others looked more like courtiers. A few steps farther he saw the old man from his vision.
Zounds! Arris drew a shaky breath and put his hand in his pocket, squeezing the sapphire gem that nestled there. Do these all spring to life when I set this stone?
He continued higher, praying again that fate would spare him having to dual a snake. The walls had cleared, except for two figures situated by themselves near the landing some fifteen feet up. Arris quickened his pace, his gaze riveted on the pair. Somehow they seemed familiar.
He suddenly gasped and launched himself forward, bounding up the remaining steps two at a time, then stood on the landing, incredulous, chest heaving and perspiration beading his forehead. Angyar and Davon were embedded upright in the stone wall, posed as if running toward him, yet meeting his gaze through half-closed eyes as if just awakening from sleep.
No! This could not be! Surely his eyes deceived him.
His stare intensified. There was no mistake. Hard though he wished otherwise, the images remained. Arris studied them, searching for signs of sentience or recognition, but found none. If this was truly them, Anhuapta had locked them into some trance. This could be a trick, he reasoned, an attempt to shock him into acquiescence.
Arris exhaled and looked down, putting his hand to his mouth. How had Davon ended up here? Arris had watched him board the Lady Ashgard bound for Garris. Surely Davon had reached that destination, and surely he had left Garris for San-Leyon. But with who, and what befell him afterward? Laden with guilt, Arris could only shake his head. Ah, Davon, Davon! I should have stayed with you, should have protected you! It might be a trick but. . .his eyes wandered back to the frozen pair. . .I don’t think so. You really are imprisoned there.
The crimson vessels swelled as the hum and the heartbeat grew louder. Arris listened with bated breath. The sound now emanated from below. He dropped his hand and looked up again. The arterial system swelled and contracted ever so gently.
Arris’ throat felt suddenly tight. Blood vessels! A beating heart and the murmur of a functioning body. He stepped to the wall and cautiously placed his palm against it. It was smooth, cold and—soft? Arris recoiled.
This is no castle; it is a womb! His eyes traveled along the wall to the figures embedded farther down. These all wait for birth. . .when this stone is set! The revelation sent icy chills alternated with feverish heat racing throughout his body.
“Anhuapta,” he whispered, “does your perversion know no bounds?”
But what to do now? An upward glance told him he stood only a short way above the tower’s base. Here the staircase ended, and as far Arris could tell, empty space composed the rest of the spire. He could go no farther, at least, not now. The nagging thought that all could change in mere minutes permeated his mind. He pondered a moment, started to turn, and then on a whim warily placed his palm on the wall. He felt only cold, hard stone. Perhaps his imagination had tricked him. Arris returned to the staircase.
The descent seemed longer than the ascent had been. Arris began to run, fearing that perhaps the staircase had altered into a never-ending spiral. He reached the bottom at last, but as he leaped off the last step, a jarring thud shook the floor as if the structure had dropped several feet. Knocked off balance, Arris fell. For a moment he lay still, heart pounding as he waited. All remained quiet and he cautiously rose, surveying the cavernous room with consternation.
The embedded army now extended to this room as well, filling floor to ceiling in all four walls. They appeared to sleep, but all were armed and dressed for battle.
Arris drew a shaky breath and clicked his tongue. Once they awoke, he could never fight his way through them. If he reached the throne and set that stone they were his to command—but only if he first swore allegiance to Anhuapta, thus damning himself for eternity. Anhuapta could not be killed with sword or any other physical means, neither did Arris possess the High Arganian endowments necessary to banish him. He must rely solely on his wits, or trickery, which often worked as well as magic.
A plan took shape in his mind. Arris had entered the Corridor, which easily transported living creatures but lacked the energy to move giant structures. If he could open the Vortex, however, his plan might work. But could he protect Davon and Angyar while vanquishing the others?
He hadn’t much time. Surely Nedra knew he had entered her domain and would arrive with her own army to claim her throne. Either Arris must set the stone or Nedra, empowered by Anhuapta, would wrest it from him and launch a reign of terror unlike any in Epthelion’s history.
Arris scanned the room. Spying an arched opening in the opposite wall, he hastened to it. A fleeting glimpse at the other side revealed what he sought. He walked through the door.
The hum and heartbeat quieted. Silence reigned. A thin shaft of blue light emanated from somewhere above him, dispelling the rosy hues and revealing walls paneled in mahogany and graced with rich tapestries and velvet drapes of royal blue. At the far side a clear crystal staircase glistening with blue stars curved up through the ceiling. Mysterious blue light illuminated the opening.
Arris caught his breath. Alluring, seductive, and hypnotic, the light enticed him to climb. Where the staircase ended he would find the throne, the seat of all power—and the portal to Hell.
Dread settled like a heavy cloak upon his shoulders. His knees weakened and an icy sensation chilled his bones. As his heartbeat quickened, the castle’s ominous pulsation resumed, synchronizing itself to his, growing ever louder until its pounding cadence reverberated through every room. His mental horizons widened, revealing events outside the castle walls. A foe approached, traveling at the speed of a striking serpent. A small host followed, pursued by an army. Arris caught the fleeting stench of burning flesh and then blood—lots of it.
Resolutely he started up the stairway.
Nedra pulled her puffing palomino to a stop, so abruptly that Ian Abuttska, riding close behind, almost ran into her. For twenty hours they had ridden hard, stopping only to water their steeds and slake their own thirsts.
The early evening sun hung low in the sky. Nedra frowned and nudged her horse to the edge of the trees. She scanned the eastern horizon and, after a moment, sighed heavily.
Abuttska watched her warily. His legs, back and arse ached from the arduous ride and hunger made him shaky. She had to be as weary as he. Surely they would camp, for this spot offered everything needed for a good night’s rest. Trees, rocks and thick shrubbery afforded plentiful cover, and his keen ears had picked up the welcome gurgle of a clear, cold stream.
Nedra needed comfort. The poor girl had endured much. She needed a night nestled in a man’s strong arms; and Abuttska craved a night nestled inside her. She wanted him; he knew it. Why else would she have smiled so alluringly the previous night? She had seduced him into accompanying her. Just the memory of it aroused him.
He moistened his lips and cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind my saying, milady, I think we should call it a day. I will gladly find some venison. We can enjoy a fine meal and then. . .” His mouth widened into a leering, gap-toothed smile.
Nedra stared back in disgust, one side of her mouth curled back in an ugly sneer. “What talk is this? We’ve many miles yet to go.”
Abuttska sobered, his rising member deflated like a banner in a dying wind. “I merely meant we have traveled a night and a day with neither rest nor food. Our horses are dripping and famished. They’ll not carry us much farther. Also, you need to regenerate for the tasks ahead.”
“Regenerate!” The word exploded through her teeth and she looked askance, muttering, “Just how do I regenerate the power I lost when Anhuapta—”
“Tell me what you need.”
Nedra looked back at Abuttska. He earnestly searched her f
ace. “I’m here to serve you, milady. I will gladly provide whatever you need, no matter the cost.”
“No matter the cost,” she murmured. The seductive smile returned. With the agility of a cat she lighted off her horse and sidled toward him, moistening her full lips as she approached. The dart of her tongue fascinated Abuttska, who stared with undisguised lust. “Yes, Ian. There is something you can give me that will mean more than you could ever know.”
His passion rekindled, Ian Abuttska glowed.
Dawn ignited the eastern sky in flaming orange and red. Charles regarded the scene forebodingly. “That doesn’t look good.”
Edwin took a swig from his waterskin and stepped up beside him as he replaced the stopper. “Aye. Must mean a storm.” He cast a sweeping gaze toward the northeast. “You think we’ll need to go the entire way?”
“I hope not,” Charles returned glumly. “If I had my way, I’d have turned back already, but Trevor seems anxious to go on.” He rubbed his forehead. “I’d hoped that by now we’d find tracks again, but—” he waved a hand “—nothing. Just nothing. What could have happened?”
“Maybe we’ll find out soon.” Edwin pursed his lips, then turned as Hans emerged through the trees. “Hans, if we don’t find Davon and decide to seek him at that castle of yours, how far must we travel?”
Hans morosely shook his head. “Much farther than any of us wish. It sits between the horns of Fang Mountain.”
“Oy!” Edwin winced. “Well, let’s not think about that yet.” He glanced at the trail winding east through the forest, then started to speak again but Hans cut him off. “Let’s just pray we find him today,” Hans muttered, and walked away.
Edwin edged closer to Charles. “What’s eating him?”
Charles sighed as Hans disappeared through the trees. “I think he hoped to save that Rauth girl; but like Nedra, she was. . .” his voice faded. “Hans’ whole world is falling apart. He loved Nedra when first he saw her and even now would forfeit his own life to save hers.” He paused and then continued quietly, “I think what grieves him most is her willingness to kill without remorse, especially her allies and kin.”
