He contemplated how best to dispose of him so he could make an easier escape. He hadn’t told him yet that his part in their carefully planned theft was clearly over. He was useless to him now and nothing more than a hindrance. He thought of merely leaving him behind and running ahead, but he didn’t want to risk his colleague shouting out and alerting others out of spite, nor did he want him to be captured and reveal any information about their plans. For now, he would merely help him along until an opportunity presented itself to get rid of him.
The structure of the bottom floor of the keep went in a long winding loop down the hallway they now traversed. Their footfalls echoed faintly on the stone beneath them. Light orbs spaced at even intervals along the ceiling revealed the wide hall. In the deep stone recesses, the air smelt of rot, but it was a comfort compared to what they had left behind. The path turned right at a corner and continued on for another long stretch. They turned right at yet another corner after that and then eventually entered a massive stairway in the center of the next stretch of wall on the left. There was a slight scratching sound as their feet anxiously scraped along while they made their ascent, proceeding as quickly as they could up the steps.
When they got to the floor above, the layout became different. A straight hall led for a good distance to the next set of stairs on the opposite side. Several open doorways to their right were cut into the stone wall, revealing a vast and enormous chamber densely packed with a wide array of rows upon rows of immensely tall bookshelves. The odor had changed from a damp, cool smell of decay to the dry, musty smell of old paper, parchment and wood.
The ceiling inside was high enough to accommodate the shelves but only barely, and light orbs illuminated the gaps between each one. By what means the shelves were held in place, regardless of whether they were leaned against walls or standing in the open, he didn’t know. Each shelf was so tall that it seemed absurd that it didn’t fall over. All but the ones against the walls had no backs to them, allowing one to see through to the other side. Books at the top could only be reached by either using mobile wooden-stair platforms with wheels on their bottoms, ladders, or by levitation of the desired volumes.
In the less tightly packed sections where there was more room between bookshelves, there were tables and chairs for study. A smaller light orb hovered several feet in the air above each table, scantly bobbing up and down an inch or two from their positions, though by no means in unison with the others, and provided enough light for reading. This deep library housed the more advanced texts for instruction though none which were magically dangerous in and of themselves were kept here. Those were held in the vault.
Now that they had what they wanted, it seemed like they just couldn’t get out fast enough, like the keep was almost sucking them in to prevent them from leaving. Even though it was still kept invisible by his touch, the quill pen in his hand felt like a red flag that gave immediate testament to their violation of The Crafters’ Vault, justifying their immediate destruction.
They bounded quickly up the next set of stairs, which turned around to face the opposite direction once with only one stairway landing in between. Their steps and their slightly quick breath echoed as they passed through the enclosure. Upon emerging at the top, another hallway went off to their left. This floor was another library level, and the same stale air greeted them. They ignored the area as they hurried onward to make their escape. The floor above that, was also another library section. Gadrale seemed to hold more books inside the keep and elsewhere than there were people, including the outside city.
A right turn at the corner end of the hallway followed by another took them to the next staircase going up. Soon they were on the floor that was second below ground level. It was arranged differently, and was little more than an access hallway with closed doors that granted entry to the vast and deep chambers of the external basement level to each side.
The chamber that the doors on their left entered was the way they had come in and the most ideal place for them to get out, yet they couldn’t. Past the doors, ramps would lead up through the lower recesses of the basement to the external shafts. Though he said nothing to the other, he felt his anger and frustration mount since he knew that they couldn’t go this way now. His friend’s appearing and disappearing leg prevented it. Very few people, if anyone, would be standing guard in those vast empty, and ramped storage areas but only because they didn’t need to. The geomancers left their elementals, creatures with arms and legs who were made entirely out of rock, to stand about and guard the area. With the wounded legs occasionally flickering and showing their existence, there was no getting past them. Neither one of them even thought to try; they just kept going toward the next set of stairs, the way normally used for entering or leaving these lower levels.
His fellow had just cost him a direct escape. He couldn’t dispose of him with magic, that would only destroy his own spell shroud. If only he had a knife, he thought, if only he had a knife. The insufferable dead guard on the bottom floor had one, but he was not going all the way back down for it. Probably still clenched too tightly in the bastard’s cold, lifeless hand. Somehow he knew that it would be.
Each new floor from that point on that they approached had to be done so with caution. Their elaborately contrived plan had originally sought to bypass these levels entirely in order to avoid as many wizards as possible. At the time, the one on the bottom floor was thought to be of no consequence. They hadn’t anticipated having to risk running into more wolves on the upper levels. Their error of misjudging his strength had cost them far too much.
Holding their breath to mask any noise, they peered past the edge of the stairway leading to the first floor below ground level. Seeing no one, they let it out and kept going at a hurried pace. This floor was little more than a storage area for food and other supplies. A multitude of aromas from different barreled goods permeated the air despite being locked behind closed doors. He distinctly smelt potatoes and onions among the mix. Several hallways branched off from the main intersection, leading to the door openings of the large cellars. Jeanette had once told him that there were other rooms just below ground level, used for laundry, but that they did not connect with the main series of floors leading down.
Since they had not seen a single member of the Academy Guard anywhere, his tension eased, and he allowed the two of them to go more quickly again. He doubted there were any more. At this time of night, it was only to be expected. Most of Gadrale Keep was defended at the gate of the wall to the fortress or else by the enclosure of the walls and towers themselves. It seemed as though that was where the two of them would need to focus their concern next.
His friend was still leaving a trail of blood on the stone floor and seemed to be getting weaker as time went on; he held no false hope of him reaching safety to receive treatment. He had to think of how to get out himself. Perhaps he could even break from his companion when they came in view of the gate and run with the quill pen, leaving him to be slaughtered. An easy enough plan, all it required was that he witnessed his fellow’s destruction to make sure that he revealed nothing.
He relaxed further. Even with the losses their team had taken, and would take, this was going to be easy. Their lord would be pleased. Despite there only being one of them left to return to the others, their theft was already a resounding success. Gadrale Keep, though dangerous, was little more than a house of fools.
They steadily proceeded up the steps toward the ground floor. He knew from the layout information provided by Jeanette that the opening for the passageway toward the exit was down a hall on the right. He came to the top opening of the stairs with his companion and immediately took a right turn.
“What the…?” He suddenly heard a voice say from behind him. He froze for an instant and his pulse began to race. Immediately he pushed away from his companion while turning around to see a tall man with red hair, a red mustache, and the crimson wizard’s robes of a pyromancer.
The beast had c
aught sight of them.
Things seemed to be moving slowly. The red-robed man’s now angry blue eyes stared in consternation at his fellow’s flickering legs while his hands made their dreaded journey to a raised position. In a terrible grip of fear, he didn’t wait to see the result: he began turning as fast as he could to run but knew he would gain little distance before the attack came.
In his peripheral vision, he saw a bright flash from flame and heard his companion scream in fiery agony just before there was a hard exploding sound. Burnt pieces of his friend flew past him through the air, and something he thought was his arm along with other charred debris hit him in the back, momentarily causing a distortion in his own invisibility. He desperately hoped the fire wizard hadn’t seen it.
“Intruder!” He heard him yell loudly to alert others. “Intruder in the keep!”
Without looking back, he weaved, jumped and rolled to the other side of the hall, a thick bright streak of flame streaming past him as he did. In the mortal terror and panic of a hunted animal about to be killed, he quickly scurried to regain his feet and resumed his mad dash down the hall, not caring about the sound of his footsteps. Even as he ran, he could hear the man’s own hurried footsteps chasing from behind. He could hear the high-pitched screaming whoosh of another blaze closing in on him, and could feel the heat touching his back.
“He went this way!” He heard the same man yell again, fearing that a silhouette against any brief flames may have revealed him. He could hear more sounds of running and yelling, and it seemed that the whole fortress had awaken.
The hunt was on.
They would be shutting the portcullises to the gatehouse soon; he had to hurry. Blood raced through his veins, and his breath was heavy and seemed too noisy, but he dared not stop running even for an instant. He soon entered the vast communal dining area laden with rows of tables and benches for eating, and took an immediate right to dash out the main door. He saw the flash of light and heard the roar from another widely placed blaze with his name on it exiting the hall behind him. From the feel of the heat, he knew it had come out a good distance and was close. Faster, he told himself, faster. There was no room for any more errors; success or failure now depended entirely on him.
“Where are they!” He heard someone yell out to the red-haired pyromancer.
“I don’t know! They have a Seal of Cheated Light! I’ve been trying to expose them with fire but they seem to have outrun it!”
Another frantic person’s voice immediately added their opinion, “I hear heavy breathing and footsteps in that direction!” He pushed his body harder and harder for as much speed as he could possibly muster.
The door was just ahead of him, down the tunnel in his vision. He held the quill feather tightly in his left hand as his arms swayed, his legs pumped, and his breath was quickly convulsing in and out. Slowing down was death, stopping was death, and unbolting and exiting the iron double door at the end, revealing his position, held a good chance of the same.
He heard another whoosh from another streak of flame. It briefly lit part of the passage. Fear kept him running for the door, but fear was also greeting him as he got closer to it. Once he did, he wasted no time in unbolting the latch and pulling one of the heavy metal doors open. It made a deep, squeaky grating on its hinges, but they didn’t need the sound; they could simply look at the door as it opened.
“There he is!” He heard someone scream.
In a frenzy, he pushed himself through the small opening before bringing it fully open, desperately trying to get out as quickly as possible. His frenetic haste caused the door to close on him prematurely, and for a brief moment he was stuck, the tight pressure of the cold metal compressing his chest and not letting him breathe. There was another screeching whoosh of flame. In a panic, he shoved it again with all his might and scrambled outside. It closed behind him with a loud clank as he ran immediately to the right.
Out in the courtyard, he sprinted for the gatehouse, which rested between two tall square-shaped flanking towers. Larger white light orbs still kept the courtyard and many parts of the keep lit even in the nighttime darkness; a wizard’s stronghold like this rarely used torches. Both of the portcullises in the gatehouse were normally left raised and open even at night since the surrounding outer wall and gate of the campus normally kept intruders out. Professional infiltrations like his were neither commonplace nor expected. Tonight was different.
Panting from the effort, he kept running for his life, not caring about any physical pain, discomfort, or exhaustion. Failure was death, and so anything he felt was meaningless. Already, alerts were sounding all around the keep, and soon the portcullises would be closed to seal the intruders in.
“I hear something down there!” A soldier shouted from on top of the ramparts of the defensive wall.
Another voice from an officer immediately took action. “Archers open fire! Spray the courtyard!” Soon arrows were hailing all around him. They didn’t know where he was, they were just trying to get lucky, but some of the missiles were coming far too close. As he dashed on, a few more pyromancers who happened to be on the wall began saturating certain spots with wide downward spirals of flame, hoping to reveal him to the archers. He had to occasionally run around them, and stopped only when one burst right in front of him. He was so close to escaping.
“We can’t hit him!” Someone complained.
“Close the gate, you idiots!” Someone else shouted to the gate crew. There was a grating sound. Large chain links rustled and moved. A fast ticking sound was soon to follow.
The portcullises were being dropped.
Constantly trying to run beyond full speed, he managed to dash past the first one, but his luck was running out. The outer one was already falling at an alarming speed like the jaws of death trying to close in on its prey. He madly put every effort into his legs and made one last insane dive, launching himself forward with arms up to land and roll just as the metal spikes were coming down. They barely missed his flesh before clanking loudly into place, yet a fold in his left sleeve had been pierced by one. He hurriedly started pulling and tearing it.
It wasn’t just the central fortress that was transforming into a pandemonium. As the alert spread, he glanced away from where he was pulling his arm and saw Academy Guard wizards hurriedly patrolling the campus grounds between buildings with torches and hand-held light orbs. Apparently they had already realized something was amiss but didn’t know of his invisibility shroud yet. He pulled harder on his shirt sleeve, not wanting to be here to discover the more clever means they would use next in trying to ferret him out once word finally reached them.
He tore harder and finally ripped his shirt sleeve free. In no time at all he was back on his feet. The part of the outer wall where his team had entered was on the left side of the campus when looking out from his position near the gatehouse. This time instead of running, he walked quickly while trying to control the sound of his ragged breathing. He tried as much as possible to avoid getting close to the prowling wizards and sorceresses who were searching for him.
The circular lawn in the middle of the buildings had a cobblestone road running through its center, straight toward the gatehouse of the fortress behind him. On the other side of the distant stretch lay the iron bar gate of the outer wall. There were a few people in the open expanse of the lawn, but it seemed most were searching elsewhere. This was troubling since many of the buildings enclosed within the campus walls were not always so far apart, certainly not as far as he would like. He just wished that he could recover his breath faster and be silent once again.
He stealthily moved onward, passing by an unusually tall wizard’s tower which widely twirled and spiraled upward in a coil yet somehow maintained its structural integrity without collapsing. Thickly foliated stands of leafy trees stood to its sides save for the entrance at the bottom. Parts of it seemed like simple stone much like the fortress. Others appeared to be made of a smooth, glossy, wavy material that was gre
enish in places and opaque, rugged, dull silver in others. He didn’t bother to look up at the clear crystalline pointed roofing that he knew blanketed the very top. It was obvious to him that this was the notorious Tower of Prophecy where atmomancers were trained to read the arrangement of the stars in the heavens, attempting to discern what fate had in store.
He smiled smugly to himself while he moved along, wondering if the fools had foreseen this or the full fury of the coming storm on the horizon. His own sect had known for several millennia. About the coming of the dark one. The one who would rain death upon all the land yet also be death’s master. The dark but true beliefs of his cult were not widely shared, and they dared not worship openly.
The magic they used that was associated with it, necromancy, was also completely forbidden and punishable by death. Nonbelievers in fact frowned upon everything they did, even the necessary sacrifices of people which had allowed him to penetrate this far unseen. Gathering in secret, often at night in the forests, their numbers were few. It was therefore always more efficient to rely on captured heathens for use in their ceremonies.
And their children were often easier still to capture.
They had served their purpose and now he needed to serve his. He just hoped that the essence of the one shrouding him would be potent enough to last until he cleared the outer wall, the one thing foremost in his mind. He and the followers he led would be amongst the favored. The reign of the dark one was at hand.
He maneuvered through buildings and ducked through alleyways, slipping past prowling initiate wizards as well as their instructors. Soldiers ran past. Often he heard some of the people call out to him to surrender, promising that he would be unharmed if he did. When they did this, he sometimes ducked behind tress even though he knew they couldn’t see him, such was his fear, and he didn’t want to take any extra risks since his shroud’s time was running out.
Storm of Prophecy, Book I: Dark Awakening Page 3
