Tower of Doom r-9

by Mark Anthony

  "I found this peculiar item in a forgotten room deep below the keep," Caidin went on casually. "The creature within is a fire elemental. Oh, it looks small and harmless. Of course, it has been imprisoned for centuries. I imagine that, if it were released, it would be quite… annoyed."

  Fear clawed at Jadis's throat. King Azalin sometimes summoned fire elementals to dispatch his enemies. When the magical creatures were finished there was little left of their victims but ashes.

  "So you see, my lady, since the jar is out of your reach, and you couldn't possibly hope to catch it before it crashed to the floor and shattered, you would do well to obey me." Jadis glared at him. What was she to do? Once he knew where to find the courier, what reason would he have to let her live? "I will withdraw to allow you to consider your answer." Before she could utter a word in protest, he backed from the room and shut the door. The lock made a grinding sound. Jadis swore a bitter oath. She was trapped. In the corridor outside the sitting chamber, Caidin jerked aside a purple curtain. Perched on a wooden stool in the alcove beyond was his gnome lackey. "Keep an eye on her, my faithful little worm," Caidin commanded. "With pleasure, Your Grace!" Pock bent forward to peer through a small crevice in the stone. He recoiled in sudden surprise, making a nauseous sound. "Er, kitty isn't so very pretty anymore, is she?" "No, she is not. But she is still dangerous, Pock. And clever. Make certain she does not escape. She has some knowledge that is… most important to me." "Don't you worry, Your Grace," Pock chirped happily. "I'll watch her like a hog!" A scowl crossed Caidin's face. "You mean hawk, don't you? The phrase is, 'Watch her like a hawk.' " Pock's purple face wrinkled in puzzlement. He shrugged. "I hadn't thought of that, Your Grace, but I suppose I could give it a try." The baron bit his tongue. What was the use? "Just keep an eye on her, Pock!" "Aye, aye, Your Grace! I'll keep an eye on her just like a-" 4 Caidin pulled the curtain hastily shut. He did not want to hear any more. There were other things to worry about besides Pock's stupidity. Turning, he strode purposefully down the corridor, his glossy black boots beating a sharp tattoo against the stone floor.

  He had an uprising to crush.

  Jadis's mind raced. There was no time to spare. With every passing moment, another part of her body ceased to function. She had to return to Il Aluk before it was too late.

  "Keep breathing, love," she said hoarsely, willing her lungs to continue their laborious work. "Just keep breathing."

  She gazed about the chamber, searching for anything that could help her. But she could see no way out of the trap.

  "Wait a moment, love," she whispered thickly through numb lips. She had an idea.

  As swiftly as her clumsy body allowed, she set to work. After much laborious contortion, she managed to shrug off her heavy woolen dress without taking her weight off the chair. To that she added her soft doeskin boots, and all her jewelry-gold rings, bracelets, even earrings. Every last ounce was crucial. She piled everything on the cushion beneath her. Then, with painstaking care, she began to inch her way out of the chair.

  At first Jadis thought it was going to work. She made it far enough that only her right hand was resting on the chair. Then she heard a faint grating of stone on stone. Across the room, the wooden shelf tilted slightly. The fire elemental shimmered inside the magical jar. Desperately, she lunged back into the chair.

  It had almost been enough. Almost. If only she could add a little more weight to the chair. It was a useless thought. There were no other objects in reach, and she had removed every last item of adornment from her body. There was nothing else she could leave behind on the chair.

  "No, love. That's not true, now is it?" A thought flickered through her mind. It was such a ghastly thought that she almost laughed aloud. In dread, she realized that she was going to do it. What other choice did she have? It was either this, or death.

  "Come now, love," she murmured reassuringly even as she shuddered. "It won't really hurt, now will it?"

  Jadis looked at her left arm. The flesh was darkly bloated and utterly lifeless. She raised her right hand, focusing her willpower. Sharp talons sprang from the tips of her fingers. She swallowed the taste of fear. With slow, painstaking motions, she used the talons to rip the useless arm from her left shoulder.

  It was easier than she would have thought, and indeed there was no pain. Again, she almost laughed aloud. Would not any wild animal caught in a trap chew off its limb just to gain freedom? The putrid flesh yielded easily to her sharp claws. Yellow liquid oozed from the appendage. In moments she reached the bone. Even dislocating the joint was not as hard as she feared. She used her talons as a lever. For a moment there was slight resistance. Then, with a wet pop! her arm fell free. 7u This time mad laughter did issue from her lips. "Oh, my king," she said exultantly. "What I suffer Willingly for you!"

  Setting the severed arm upon the dress, she carefully rose from the chair. This time the weight proved enough. The chair did not shift, the magical jar did not fall. She had escaped!

  Lurching toward the doorway, she tried not to glance at the oozing stump of her left shoulder. Aza- lin's powers were great enough to defeat death itself. He would be able to heal her. Extending a sharp talon, she easily picked the door's lock. Opening the portal, she took a step toward freedom.

  "Not so fast, nasty kitty!"

  Jadis spun around. A block of stone in the wall swung open, and a small fornri tumbled through. It wa§ Pock, the baron's cretinish gnome.

  "You're not going anywhere!" the gnome squeaked. "Baron's orders!".

  A feral smile twisted itself about Jadis's lips. "And I suppose you're going to stop me?"

  Pock drew a laughably diminutive knife from his belt, his pale, bulging eyes blazing. "Good guess!"

  Jadis's canine teeth lengthened into stilettolike fangs. She could tolerate this one distraction. It would be satisfying indeed to rend the wretched little gnome to bits. "Try then," she hissed.

  With a cry, the gnome lunged at her. As he did, Jadis's form undulated, molding itself into her man- ther shape-half woman, half cat. With an almost casual motion, she slashed at the gnome with her right arm. The purple knave moved more nimbly than she had anticipated. He ducked under her swipe and stuck his little knife deep into her side. Fiery pain shot through her body. She screamed in rage and amazement. Howling with fury, Jadis grappled the gnome with her one good arm. Shrieking, Pock struggled fiercely, biting and scratching. She tensed her arm to break his neck. In a desperate attempt to free himself, the gnome gave one last furious kick.

  The toe of his small black boot just brushed the wooden shelf upon which the magical jar rested.

  Time seemed to distort. Both Jadis and Pock watched in astonishment as, with terrible slowness, the jar slid over the edge of the shelf. Caught as they were in their violent embrace, neither could reach the thing before it fell. The jar struck the floor, shattering. For a fleeting moment the elemental flickered like a tiny, fiery dancer among the broken shards of glass. It was almost beautiful, Jadis thought dimly.

  Then all at once the elemental grew. Confined by the magical prison no more, the brilliant creature expanded outward. Searing waves of fire radiated from its lithe form as it whirled and danced. In the space of a heartbeat the entire chamber was transformed into a blazing inferno. Books burst into puffs of flame. Velvet curtains went up like paper torches. The marble floor darkened and cracked. Blistering, fire engulfed the woman and gnome as they clutched each other. Their screams rose in a shrill duet, but the sound was quickly drowned in the vast roar of the fiery sea as the elemental danced faster and faster.

  The throng that massed at the base of the tor was far larger than any that had gathered previously. Torch smoke rose in the air. In every hand was gripped some object capable of wounding, maiming,* or killing. To the rusted swords, scythes, and sharpened stakes had been added buckets of hot pitch and bottles of flammable naphtha. Only the very..young and the very old had stayed behind in the village. Jubilant shouts rang out.

  "The fiend won'
t stop us this time!"

  "There are too many of us!"

  "The baron's knights can't kill us all!"

  The dark chant rose. "Kill the fiend! Kill the baron! Kill the fiend!" The crowd started up the twisting road to the keep.

  The sound of thunder rumbled in the distance. Peasants toward the rear of the mob turned to see if storm clouds were approaching. Their screams brought the rest of the throng to a halt. AH spun around, gazing in horror. It was not storm clouds that appeared over the distant horizon, but dark, galloping horses. A score of riders thundered toward the village, bearing red-hot sparks of light. Torches.

  "Raiders!"

  With cries of fear, the people turned their backs to the keep, forgetting their rage of moments before, and surged toward the village. The marauders raced ahead of them. The dark horsemen moved swiftly through the streets, thrusting blazing torches into thatch roofs and tossing them into woodpiles stacked against timber walls. Swiftly the raiders whirled their mounts around and pounded away across the moor. By the time the screaming peasants reached their hovels, it was far too late. Countless pillars of scarlet flame rose toward the leaden sky along with howls of anguish.

  The village was burning.

  "Damn him to the Abyss."

  With hate-filled eyes Wort peered through the bel-v fry's rusted iron filigree. Columns of greasy black smoke rose from village below. For the last five evenings, Wort had watched in glee as angry mobs marched up the road to the keep. The folk of Martok had forgotten all about the daemon in the bell tower. It was the fiend in the Grand Hall they despised. Now there would be no uprising. The mysterious raiders- raiders Wort suspected were wearing coats of blue beneath their concealing cloaks-had seen to that.

  Wort's cry of anguish sent ghost-pale pigeons winging in all directions. He gripped his lank brown hair in twisted hands, pulling it out in clumps. Madness assailed his brain. He could not bear this. After all he had done, after all the dark deeds he had dared to commit, he could not possibly bear this- that once again his brother Caidin had bested him.

  "I should have let you fall, Caidin!" he cried wildly. "All those years ago at the cliff-I should have let you fall. I could have done so. I had the power, only I did not use it. What a fool I was to save you!" He sank to his knees, clutching his head as though it was going to burst. "I should have let you die, my brother!"

  Suddenly, as though drawn by an unseen force, his gaze flickered upward to rest upon an object half — brooding in shadow, half glowing in burnished light. The bell. His cries fell silent. The pigeons drifted to their myriad perches. All at once it came to him. He had wasted one opportunity long ago. Here before him was a second chance. He had been so caught up in the dementia of his desire to brand Caidin a monster that he had overlooked the obvious.

  The dry voice whispered in his mind. Ring it, Wort…

  He hauled himself to his feet. Eerie laughter racked his misshapen chest. "Yes, my friends," he cackled. "Let the bell toll one last execution-that of my dear brother. Then at last I will have one thing, one precious thing that he does not-life!"

  First he needed a token. Wort clambered down the ladder to his chamber below and threw open the lid of his trunk. He sifted through the ancient junk, then stood up with a gurgle of triumph. In his hand was a faded wooden soldier, in a moment of jealousy he had stolen the toy from his brother decades ago. For years Wort had been racked with guilt at this deplorable deed. Now he stroked the worn soldier fondly. Swiftly, he scrambled up the ladder to the belfry.

  "The end has come, my friends," he chortled. He placed the wooden soldier carefully beneath the sinister bronze bell. "This token belonged to my brother, you see." Wort tightly gripped the rope that hung from the cursed bell. "Now the spirits of the Bell of Doom will do what I myself should have done long ago. They will take the token and kill Caidin!" He tensed his arms to pull.

  "So, Wort," a darkly elegant voice spoke behind him. "That's how your intriguing bell works."

  Wort jerked around, the rope slipping from his startled hands. Tall, handsome, and powerfully graceful, Caidin climbed through the trapdoor into the belfry. A pair of knights followed in his wake, the heavy iron shackles they bore clanking dully.

  "No!" Wort cried in desperation, turning back to the bell rope.

  "Don't let him ring it!" Caidin thundered.

  Wort tried to grab the dangling cord, but a brutal impact from behind knocked him away. Another blow struck him forcefully from the side. He careened into the wall, his skull striking the stones with a resounding crack! By the time he shook his head clear, the knights had him. His arms were twisted cruelly behind his back, while hot pain shot up his hunched back. He fell to his knees. Cold iron clamped tightly around his wrists as the knights shackled him, looping the chains around a stout post. A look of smugness played on Caidin's face. More knights appeared through the trapdoor.

  "Remove the bell," Caidin ordered the new arrivals. "Transport it to my tower on the moor. And take care that it does not make a sound as you move it!"

  In minutes the knights had bundled the instrument carefully in wool and lowered it through the trapdoor. Wort could only stare in despair. It was over.

  "Now, my brother," Caidin said after all the others had gone, stroking his bearded chin thoughtfully, "I am curious to try out this bell of yours. Thank you for so kindly showing me how it operates. I'll need a token, yes?"

  In terror, Wort realized what his brother intended. He tried to scramble away, but the manacles bound him tightly to the wooden post. Quickly, Caidin searched the pockets of Wort's ratty tunic. After a moment he pulled out an object.

  "Ah, yes… this filthy little handkerchief of yours should do nicely." Caidin shot Wort a satisfied smirk. "I'll place it on the bell, and once I ring it… well, I'm certain you know what will happen after that."

  Wort gaped dumbly at the handkerchief in Caidin's hand. It was stained darkly with blood, but here and there remained a spot of its original color-lavender so pale it was almost white. It was the handkerchief Mika had used to bandage his hand that day in the woods that now seemed so long ago, when he had been pricked by the thorn. The object was not Wort's, but Mika's. If Caidin used it for a token when he rang the bell, the spirits would not come to kill Wort. Instead they would appear before Wort's mind reeled. Mika! Suddenly, in that one fractured moment, he realized a terrible truth. Whatever she had done, whatever she thought him now, what he believed her to be meant nothing. She was as far above him as the pale moon above the dark earth. She was and always would be-regardless of his fury, his hatred, or his sorrow-an angel.

  Desperation etched his voice. "No, Caidin! You mustn't ring the bell with that! That handkerchief is-" s — is Mika's, he was going to finish, but the back of Caidin's gloved hand knocked him forcefully to the moldering straw, silencing him. Caidin moved to the trapdoor, but once on the ladder he paused.

  "Farewell, my brother. As always, I am fortune's favorite, while you…"-cruel mirth danced in his eyes-"you are simply fate's bastard." Then he was gone.

  Dizzily, Wort sat up and stared after the baron, a single thought resounding in his mind. "I cannot allow you to kill an angel, my brother."

  His powerful arms flexed with uncanny strength, and iron began to groan.

  Nineteen

  "Wort!"

  Mika's cry reverberated upward through the dark shaft of Nartok Keep's bell tower.

  "Wort, are you there?"

  The plaintive echoes of her voice died slowly. The only reply was the soft rustling of countless pale wings. Clutching the mud-stained tatters of the lavender silk gown above her ankles, Mika stumbled desperately up the spire's twisting staircase.

  What a fool she had been to believe that Caidin would honor his word. Yet how could she have known what a fiend the baron truly was? She had been caught under Caidin's dark spell as surely as Wort was bound in thrall by the enchantment of the cursed bell. Mika quickened her pace, daring to hope she had not come too late to save her fr
iend.

  In truth, she had almost not come at all. Not long after leaving the cathedral, her pony had slipped on the muddy edge of the forest track and plunged into a deep ravine. Mika had suffered only scratches and bruises, but the poor pony had broken its neck. On foot, she had stumbled along the marshy bottom of the ravine for hours before she had finally found a place where she could scramble up the treacherous slope. By then dusk had spread its sooty mantle over the forest. She had spent a cold, frightening night huddled at the base of a tree, pulling the moss and leaf litter over her for scant warmth. At dawn she had continued on her way. At last she had reached the forest's edge, finding herself not far from the village-or at least what' remained of it. The village had been reduced to a smoking pile of ashes, but Mika had not stopped. She knew one thing only-she had to find Wort.

  "Wort, it's Mika!" she called out as she burst into his chamber. He was not there. Without hesitating she clambered up the ladder into the belfry. It too was empty. After a moment she noticed that iron chains had been looped around a thick post. Kneeling, she examined the chains. They ended in heavy shackles, but the thick metal was twisted and broken, snapped by some awesome force. She stood as sick fear overwhelmed her.

  The cursed bell was missing. Frantically, Mika searched the rafters to be sure. The place where it had hung was filled only with shadows.

  Yet something here did not make sense. The only person who could have taken the beH was Caidin. But if it was Wort who had been shackled to the post, what had happened to him? Hope surged in her breast.

  "Wort must still be alive! But where?"

  Instinct told her that if she found Caidin, she would find Wort as well. Whatever fateful web entangled the lives of the two brothers had not unraveled yet.