by Ben Hale
The next two floors contained magical secrets from throughout earth's history. The Staff of Ages, the Xorilik, and even the depleted amplious were said to reside within its walls. Every surviving artifact, weapon, or map that was too dangerous for the public Recollection was held there.
The last level was the most curious, because no substantiated rumors existed about its purpose. Some said it held the fabled Maruk. Others said it was used for magic experiments, or contained nearly extinct creatures. The Swordsman knew one thing for a fact—it was guarded more than any of the other levels. That alone was reason enough to suspect the Sword of Elseerian's presence.
If he was honest with himself, the Swordsman was apprehensive about this mission. To be caught inside the Vaults would mean instant banishment—and the stripping of all his magic. The thought caused him to shudder and think of his younger brother.
Robert had been born without magic of any kind, an extreme rarity for children with two mage parents. Despite their closeness in youth, the Swordsman's magic had been a wedge that Robert had been unable to overcome. Two years after the Swordsman had enrolled at Tryton's Robert had disappeared.
The Swordsman's lips tightened as he recalled the moment he'd come home to find his brother gone. He'd searched for him, of course, but to no avail. Wherever he'd gone, he had chosen to live among the aurens. The Swordsman hadn't seen him since, and suspected that he had died as an auren.
The Swordsman shifted his weight, annoyed at himself for getting distracted. It was a luxury he couldn't afford, especially on this mission. To occupy his mind he counted the guards again.
Six trios of guard rotated on the lifts, and their path was always the same. Up the ascending lift, down the descending shaft, they repeated the process several times per hour. They were well trained, and stood with their backs to the wall, allowing the slower air to gradually move them up and down. Every spot on the shaft was visible by at least one set of guards.
To complicate matters, the two shafts were filled with monitoring motes, meaning the Mage Technology Bureau could see every angle. In the three thousand years since the Spirus had been built no one had breached the lowest Vaults, in spite of a handful of attempts.
The Swordsman watched the descending guards from his vantage point on the ceiling. Imbued with an almost daylight brightness, the domed ceiling in the shaft was only broken by an ornamental trio of spikes that descended from its center. The Swordsman had used an enchanted wedge to split the stone, creating a tiny crevasse in the middle of the spikes.
Due to the brilliance of the ceiling, no one ever looked at the light. Even if they did his form would be impossible to spot inside the center fixture. But the position had its disadvantages. Because of the glare, he'd been forced to cast a vision weakness spell on himself. It had kept him from being blinded, but made the task of finding a hole in the guards’ rotation difficult.
The Swordsman had waited for hours, but was content to wait more. Patience had always come easy to him, so the time did not concern him. He ate and drank without leaving his hide. At one point he dozed for a couple of hours and then resumed his watch. An hour later he spotted what he needed.
The time was just after midnight, and the change of the guard had caused several of the soldiers to bunch next to the first level. Chatting and laughing as soldiers were prone to do, it gave the Swordsman the opportunity he'd been waiting for.
Without hesitation he slipped from his hide, wrapped himself in his cloak, and dropped. In preparation for this mission, he'd had the enchantment on his cloak altered. For the moment it appeared vague, white, and shrouded in fog. Like a wisp of smoke, he plummeted down the center of the shaft.
He blew past the chatting guards in a fraction of a second, and passed any monitoring motes just as quickly. Like a blob of vapor that had fractured off the corkscrewing lift, he fell where the lift spun the fastest, and where the support for passengers was nonexistent.
The corridors to the various levels blurred past him, and billowing air flowed through his clothing, chilling him to the bone. From the moment he'd let go, he'd discarded all thought of consequences, the fall, and his brother. In their place his mind focused on one thing, counting.
One . . . two . . . three . . . four. On the count of four he flared his cloak and bent his knees. At the same time he dropped his eye weakness spell and cast his most powerful strength spell in his core and legs. Then he braced for the impact of a two hundred foot fall.
He struck hard, eliciting a grunt of pain as he rolled to absorb as much force as possible. Limping to the side he wrapped himself in his cloak, calling on its magic to return to shadow.
His body faded into darkness as a single guard turned to look down the shaft. Seeing nothing to interest him, he turned back to his companions. A moment later the group separated and the new guards fell into the rotation.
The Swordsman smiled in the depths of the shaft. Human weakness was the best one to exploit. He dropped his strength spell and cast a healing enhancement on himself as he waited. It wouldn't work as fast as healer's magic, but it would have to do. By the stabbing ache in his leg, he guessed he'd sustained a hairline fracture from the landing. The wound would slow him down, which was something he could not afford if he was discovered. Still, it wasn't too bad considering he'd fallen so far.
He gave the spell thirty minutes to work, and took advantage of the time to reassess his new position. He stood below level six, in the shadows at the bottom of the lift. His position was further obscured by the turning vapor, which dissipated as it hit the floor around him.
A trio of guards rotated to the bottom, their feet passing above his head. They stepped off at level six and strode away, the sounds of boots striking the stone fading with them. Satisfied, the Swordsman moved on. The pain in his leg had reduced to a dull ache, allowing him to move unhindered. He moved one step at a time, cautious and wary.
The fog was still dense enough he had to push his way through it, but he didn't force it. There were sure to be monitoring motes even this low—especially this low—and if he were spotted now his attempt would be over before it began.
He came to a halt next to a shallow opening in the stone wall. Designed as an escape for the wind and solid vapor, it satisfied the same purpose for him. He slid into the gap and worked his way until he found a steel barrier that led to a maintenance room. The room was dark, so he dropped his healing spell and cast a light magnification charm. His eyes tingled as the room brightened.
The Swordsman eased his way to the door and examined it. Its position could only mean that it led to the sixth level. The purple lines around it indicated warding against intrusion. He pulled a black stone from a hidden pouch and set to work.
Fused with techno warnings, the door also bore a handful of sound spells. If the door was opened without disabling them, they would emit a high pitched shriek that would alert everyone up to the battlemage headquarters. They were also interlocked, meaning if one didn't possess the disabling key all would be activated as if just one was tampered with.
He held the black stone to the bottom corner of the door and activated it by touching a rune. Ink magic poured from inside it, blotting out the sound trap placed there. It didn't deactivate it; it merely encapsulated it with its magic. Once that was done, he slid the black stone around the exterior of the door, doing the same with the other traps. Last, he covered the sources of techno magic. Like a coiling black snake, the void of light wove through the traps, blotting them out.
Next he donned a pair of black spectacles. With his magically enhanced vision and the enchanted viewer, he blurred the metal door into its basic elements, allowing him to see through it. The enchantment was highly effective for seeing behind wood or metal and was one of his most useful tools.
He checked both directions to ensure they were clear. Then he touched a second rune on the black stone. In an instant every trap around the door was flooded with anti-magic. Not a peep escaped. Fast yet cautious, he slid
the door open. Then he darted through and gently closed it. He took his finger off the mark on the stone, allowing the spells to activate once more.
The down time would have been only a few seconds, but if they were good, the sentries would come and verify it. The Swordsman took the next few seconds to scan his new surroundings, looking for a place to hide.
He stood in an enormous, vaulted corridor. At least thirty feet in height, the tunnel extended away from the lift into darkness and was interspersed with intricate columns down its center. Ancient carvings graced the exterior of the pillars, as if mythical creatures stood together in support of the ceiling.
The air smelled musty and old, indicating the route was rarely traveled. The ground was rough-hewn rather than smooth, and appeared to be carved from the rock itself. Doors of varying sizes dotted the hall, with some almost touching the ceiling. They too appeared older, their wood graying from age.
A cascade of footfalls echoed faintly, causing the Swordsman to dart behind the nearest pillar. In seconds two guards appeared and went straight to the maintenance door. The one wearing purple-veined gauntlets waved his hand, disabling the traps. Then he opened it and checked the room. Once satisfied it was empty they searched the corridor.
Their thoroughness caused the Swordsman to frown. The implication of further such diligence did not bode well for him. He silently scaled the pillar as they approached him. Reaching the ceiling, he wrapped himself in his heat shielding cloak.
A light from below caused him to peek out from under his cover. The second guard had lit a fire falcon within his hand. Tossing it into the air, the miniature firebird flapped to gain height, and then soared between the columns, searching.
The Swordsman had seen the spell before, and it was one of the reason's he'd purchased his cloak in the first place. He'd been discovered the last time the firebird had been used and didn't want a repeat of that event. He tightened the cloak around him and thought cold thoughts.
Sparks and tongues of fire cascaded off its wings as it approached, lighting the area. It circled the column the Swordsman was using, and flew within a few feet of his head. Then it passed on. The Swordsman maintained his position for another fifteen minutes before the guards relented and dissolved the falcon. The hall was plunged back into darkness as the spot of light faded into ash. Oddly, the guards departed in the opposite direction from which they'd come, and headed away from the descending lift. Their path suggested that another route led to the ascending lift.
The Swordsman waited another five minutes, and then slid to the floor. He kept his eyes wide as he worked his way down the corridor. Several times he spotted blots of purple to indicate the location of a monitoring mote. Each time he climbed to the ceiling and scuttled past it. The shadow gauntlets he wore allowed him to grab and hold the darkness itself, and the monitoring motes could not see him at that angle.
The corridor boasted numerous doors and energy barriers on either side, and he checked each one with his penetrating vision spectacles. The first contained an enormous gold hourglass, but instead of sand it held a shimmering blue liquid. After that he passed three in quick succession that held weapon displays. Even in normal vision the enchanted artifacts glowed with imbued magic.
The value of such items held no sway over him, except for a handful of swords that hovered on a rotating display. He resisted the urge to break into the rooms and test their balance. His own sword was more than adequate, and he couldn't risk being caught.
He reached the end of the corridor and paused. His forward path didn't continue, but it intersected with a matching corridor that went in both directions. Equally as large, the new tunnel had a slight curve. He turned right first, and it soon became apparent that he now walked in a great ring that circled the center lifts. Gradually it curved clockwise until he estimated he stood exactly opposite the entrance corridor.
He stopped when he reached a corridor that extended back toward the center. Considering his options, he turned into it, and followed it back to the wind shafts. He wasn't surprised when it ended at the ascending lift.
It was a good layout, and resembled a giant wheel with only two spokes to its center. To get out of the Vaults would require circling halfway around the ring to reach the exit corridor. It also explained why the two guards had not returned to the lift that had brought them.
Marking the location of his escape, he withdrew from the greater security of the lifts and searched the remainder of the doors in the exit corridor. When he reached the ring, he again turned right and checked the other half of the circle. One by one he looked through the doors with his enchanted spectacles.
One was filled with what looked like tiny stars. Another held only a brown rock the size and shape of a fist. It quivered when he looked at it, so he didn't linger. The door after that was much larger, and hid a room filled with water. Massive dark shapes moved through the liquid, causing him to flinch and turn away. Next held only a book, and after that a small silver pendant hanging from a statue's neck.
At each room he was left disappointed. There was absolutely no evidence that the Sword of Elseerian had been moved there. Dust lay in front of many of the doors, implying it had been some time since they had been opened.
Then he found an additional corridor extending out from the ring. For now, he bypassed it, and completed checking the circle. When he reached the entrance corridor he turned back. He returned to the only offshoot that extended out from the wheel.
The differences in the walls were immediately apparent. Smooth rather than rough, the tunnel appeared far newer, and clean. No dust had built up in front of any of the doors, and the quantity of the monitoring motes increased significantly. It took him an hour to check every room.
He paused at the large portal at the very end. If the Sword wasn't inside, it meant it was higher within the complex, or not in the Vaults at all. He peered through the door with his spectacles first, and was surprised by what he saw.
Huge and cavernous, the room on the other side was a sprawling cave. It was difficult to make out details due to the thickness of the door, and everything appeared blurred through his glasses. Shelves lined the room, and enchanted objects filled them to overflowing. A handful of gigantic columns stretched to the ceiling. There was also an enormous object lying across the floor. It extended toward the door, further blocking the view. He squinted, but it was impossible to discern what it was. The Swordsman frowned. He was going to have to get a closer look.
He checked the door. Black and rough, it was evidently imbued with anti-magic. Anything but his spectacles—which used the flaws in the metal itself—would be ineffective. He shrugged and leaned close to the center of the door, where a large sphere extended. Runes, symbols, and numbers filled its surface, and he recognized it for what it was, a combination lock.
He cast a hearing spell on himself and set to work. The sphere spun freely as he worked it, moving like it rested in a bowl of water. He verified each symbol in sequence, and then moved on. Even with his enhanced hearing the mark of success was muffled. Like water filling a glass, he heard the shift. Then he watched as one of five empty cylinders around the door began to glow.
He started again, and over the course of the next hour managed to find the correct sequence. As he had with the maintenance door, he disabled the sound traps as well as the nearest monitoring mote. Then he dodged through and reactivated them. The moment he was inside he spun—and froze.
Facing a dragon.
Chapter 38: Ancient
He stared at the massive jaws, open and ready to tear him asunder, but the creature did not move. After a long moment he realized the dragon was fashioned of polished black stone, and slowly released his held breath. Opaque eyes stared at him, daring him to move.
He did, and eased a step to the side. His heart hammering in his chest, he took another step and examined the statue from his new perspective. Smooth and sleek, the gigantic creature appeared even larger than he'd read about, and the detail wa
s stunning.
Spikes protruded from the end of its tail, and its huge claws appeared to grip the stone floor as if they had tightened into it. Its jaws bore teeth that were as tall as the Swordsman, and were wrapped in double rows through the enormous mouth. The sheen from them made it clear they were razor sharp. A trio of horns protruded from its skull, and swept back and up. The only difference between the statue and the real thing was the lack of scales.
The Swordsman had no doubt it was not truly stone. The posture, the form, it was too visceral, too . . . organic, and yet it was undeniably fashioned of rock. He swallowed as he mentally listed the possibilities.
The dragon could be a guardian, a magically suffused living creature that could turn to flesh at will. He doubted that, as the enchantment to do so had been lost for eons. It had also never been done to a dragon . . . as far as he knew.
The more likely possibility was that it was a sentient. Much like the golems created by stone mages this was entity—yet much more complex. Rather than one purpose it would have many. It would have taken fifty stone mages a hundred years to create such a creature, and it had undoubtedly been done a long time ago.
The Swordsman took another step, but the dragon remained still. With great effort he tore his gaze from it and looked at his own position. As he'd seen from hall, he found himself in a massive chamber. Gold, weapons, and enchanted objects lined the walls.
The Swordsman's gaze flicked between the dragon and the objects as he fought to contain his fear. Without moving, he peered around the room, straining to find what he sought. He enhanced his vision further, but still didn't see the Sword.
Then he spotted it. Behind the dragon's haunches, a large pedestal sat with a unique blade floating above it. Wreathed in white light, the black weapon was at odds with its display. He leaned forward, and was just able to make out the distinctive dragon carving on its surface, as well as the blue gem on its pommel.
