by Victor Kloss
Elessar raised his sword and advanced, almost casually.
Ben knew without checking his pouch that there was only one spell that could help him. It was a spell he had been saving for just this sort of occasion. He pulled it from his pouch and squeezed the pellet against his hand. A blue-tinted sword materialised in his hand. This was no useless wooden stick like the spell he had cast on his exam. Ben could feel the perfectly balanced weight in his hands, and the edges gleamed with a sharpness that could probably cut the air. The moment his hand squeezed the hilt, Ben felt a powerful, almost pleasurable jolt in his mind and then throughout his body. Memories from his dad suddenly became accessible – memories about swordsmanship – tactics; technique; knowledge; experience. The sword, a foreigner just a moment ago, suddenly felt like an extension of his arm.
“Run, fool boy.”
Ben glanced back. Dagmar had managed to sit up, her back to the wall, but she was in no state to do anything. Her spellshooter hung down in her limp hand, and her shirt was torn at the shoulder, revealing a strange birthmark that looked remarkably like a bird.
Ben frowned. That was significant, but he couldn't remember why. Natalie's voice came to him, almost unbidden.
“The only thing of interest I found was that Charlotte had a peculiar birthmark on her right shoulder shaped like a bird that seems to have passed down the generations. It could provide evidence of their heritage, if we ever found someone.”
The shock of the revelation nearly cost Ben his life. Elessar came forwards and attacked. Ben brought his sword up just in time to deflect the strike. Elessar appeared in no hurry to end the fight; he was content to prod and probe, which was just as well, because Ben was having trouble focusing on the fight.
Dagmar was Charlotte Rowe's descendant.
Dagmar was a Guardian.
Suddenly, Dagmar's behaviour in the last couple of weeks started to make sense.
“I have been looking forward to this moment,” Elessar said. “Ever since you embarrassed me at the Floating Prison, I have been thinking about how best I could gain retribution. Then I remembered how much you cared for your parents, and how hard you tried to find them.”
Ben didn't reply, but his body stiffened. Elessar seemed more intent on talking than fighting, which suited Ben perfectly, as he was more intent on listening than blocking.
“As you know, we put considerable time and effort into capturing your parents,” Elessar said. “Well, I am happy to report that two weeks ago, we finally caught up with your dear mother.”
“No.” Ben's voice was a choked whisper.
“Needless to say, there was much we wanted to know about Elizabeth's Armour,” Elessar said, continuing in a conversational, almost jovial manner. “We have some of the finest torturers in the Unseen Kingdoms, and it wasn't long before your mother was singing to our tune.”
Ben felt sick. His world spun and it took great effort to keep his sword aloft.
“She told us about Elizabeth's Boots, how they are protected by a forreck, and how they tried seeking help from Lornor Taren. As it turns out, we are a big client of his, and he was most obliging. He told us of the solar eclipse and that the last remaining forreck was likely beneath your Institute. It was just a matter of working out how to get down here, which, I admit, took a bit of work, as most passages were meant only for Guardians. Dagmar made things difficult. I think she knew what I was up to. I guessed she was a Guardian, and I knew all about you, of course, from your parents.”
Ben was having difficulty taking everything in. Pictures of his mum being tortured kept floating before him.
“You didn't mention my dad,” Ben said.
“Ah, yes. Your dad. His attempt at rescuing your mother was doomed from the start.” Elessar's expression became slightly irritated. “Through some extreme good fortune, your father managed to penetrate King Suktar's palace and reach your mother. Of course, it was a suicidal mission. Once you are inside, there is no escaping. Your father decided to delay the inevitable by casting himself and your mother into the void. We wait for their return so we can finish the interrogation. It won't be long.”
“The void?”
Elessar shook his head. “My apologies. With all this talking, I've lost track of time. I must be off.”
And with that, Elessar attacked in earnest.
— Chapter Thirty —
Elizabeth's Boots
If Ben hadn't gained his dad's knowledge through the spell, he would have been dead within seconds. Elessar's sword was a blur, but Ben blocked, parried and read Elessar's feints. The two of them danced all over the cavern floor. Occasionally Dagmar came into view, and Ben saw her watching in astonishment.
Elessar was no longer smiling; there was even a look of anger in those purple eyes. But Ben's sword arm was starting to tire, and his parries were starting to slow, some deflecting Elessar's blow by inches. Elessar could sense he was close and attacked with renewed ferocity.
Ben ducked another blow and felt the sword slice a few strands of hair. If he didn't change something rapidly, Ben knew he would be dead within minutes. He had one option left – an option that he knew his dad used rarely because of its risk.
Stepping inside Elessar's latest strike, Ben attacked. He gave it everything, his own sword cutting and slicing. Elessar retreated in surprise. Ben pressed forwards and with a flurry of moves his dad tried only in emergencies, he penetrated Elessar's defence and nicked the elf's slanted ear.
Elessar gave a cry of pain and annoyance. Ben tried to push home his advantage, but the pain seemed to energise Elessar, and he blocked everything Ben threw at him. After a moment of frenzied fighting, they both retreated a couple of steps, panting.
“You're almost spent,” Elessar said, twirling his sword slowly, a triumphant smile playing across his lips.
Ben didn't answer; talking would only expend unnecessary energy. But beneath his grim, determined exterior was a growing desperation. Elessar was right. Ben was having trouble lifting his sword. How much longer could he go on? Three minutes? Five at the most? He glanced at Dagmar; she was sitting up, looking on with quiet desperation, clearly unable to help. Ben thought about running, but he couldn't abandon Dagmar or leave the boots at the mercy of Elessar. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to climb the rocks before Elessar caught him. There were the spells in his pouch, but there was nothing that would be of any use to him now.
“Goodbye, Ben Greenwood,” Elessar said, and he came forwards again.
The sound of soft footsteps made Elessar pause. They were coming from the tunnel Dagmar had been trying to block. Charlie and Natalie? No, that wasn't possible.
Elessar was no longer focusing on Ben. His purple eyes were trained on the tunnel, his mouth open slightly, his empty hand glowing with energy.
The forreck emerged from the passageway and stopped, surveying the scene that greeted him with almost human-like intelligence.
“No,” Elessar whispered, the blood draining from his face. He raised a hand, as if silently praying for the forreck to stop. Such was Elessar's shock that Ben was momentarily forgotten.
Ben took his sword and made one last attack. It was a last desperate attempt that he fully expected Elessar to block, even though he wasn't looking. But the sword reached Elessar's belly unopposed and sank deep into the elf's flesh.
Elessar groaned, and stared down at the sword, his hands gripping it feebly, too late realising his fatal mistake. Ben removed the sword and stepped back. Elessar fell to his knees, what life there was in those evil purple eyes slowly fading, and collapsed in a pool of his own blood.
Ben was breathing hard. His hands were sweaty, his heart thumping against his chest. He had just killed someone. A flurry of emotions washed through him – horror; regret; dread – but these all passed quickly. Killing an enemy, one as evil as Elessar, was no crime – quite the opposite, he kept telling himself.
“Ben. Do not move.”
It was Dagmar's voice. He turned, and foun
d that she had struggled to her feet and was staring hard at the forreck. The forreck, however, did not return her gaze. It was staring right at Ben.
Ben forgot all about Elessar.
The forreck was a thing of terrifying beauty. It was the size of a tiger, with the blackest fur Ben had ever seen that contrasted with the white stripe that zigzagged down its back and covered its tail. Its eyes were green and impossibly large. Though the forreck was standing still, Ben could feel the strength and power emanating from its limbs and in its poise.
With impeccable timing, Ben's sword spell disappeared with a blink, as did the vast knowledge on swordsmanship he had borrowed from his dad. Moments ago he knew twenty different types of ripostes; now he barely knew how to hold a sword. But that didn't concern him. Even with the sword and his dad's vast array of knowledge, Ben knew he would be ineffectual against a forreck.
The forreck still hadn't moved; it was surveying him, studying him. Ben wasn't sure whether to look it in the eye or to turn his gaze away in an act of submission.
His heart was hammering worse than at any time during the duel with Elessar. He wanted to wipe the sweat from his brow, but was afraid that any sudden movement might trigger the forreck into action.
“What should I do?” Ben asked, with forced calm.
“Don't move,” Dagmar said. “Even if it comes towards you.”
Even as Dagmar spoke, the forreck started a slow walk towards Ben. Its expression had changed, its green eyes narrowed.
“Uh oh,” Ben said, resisting the overwhelming urge to run. “You want me to stand here while this killing machine eats me?”
“If it wants to eat you, running won't help,” Dagmar said, her voice characteristically calm.
“So what can I do?”
“Nothing. You can do nothing against a forreck. Just stay still.”
The forreck walked like a natural hunter, confident and unhurried. With every step it took, Ben's panic grew, until the forreck was almost within spitting distance.
“I'm not going to stand here while it bloody eats me,” he said, his voice rising. Whatever Dagmar said, if the forreck attacked, Ben was going to run like hell.
“George!”
Dagmar's voice rang out with its accustomed authority, and Ben immediately looked around for the newcomer, but there was nobody about.
“George,” Dagmar said again. “This is your master speaking. Come to me.”
Ben could feel the forreck's breath on his face. He stood so still he was fairly certain even his heart had stopped. The forreck turned, almost lazily, towards Dagmar. For a full minute it kept flicking its gaze between the two of them. If Ben didn't know better, he would say the forreck was thinking, weighing his options. Eventually the forreck seemed to come to a decision and walked slowly over to Dagmar. Ben almost collapsed with relief, but his respite was temporary, as Dagmar was now in danger. The forreck stopped right in front of Dagmar, who Ben noticed was shaking just a fraction.
“I am your rightful owner,” Dagmar said, somehow keeping her voice level despite the proximity of the forreck. “I am the descendent of the Lady Charlotte Rowe. You are in the company of allies, not enemies. Be at rest.”
There was an eerie silence, as Dagmar and George, the forreck, faced off. The forreck gave a nod so subtle Ben might have imagined it, before curling himself up by Dagmar's feet. Dagmar reached out a hand and stroked George's forehead. He responded with a deep purring noise that sounded like a Ferrari in neutral.
“We're safe,” Dagmar announced. She looked visibly shaken, but recovered quickly, a feat made all the more impressive given her physical state.
Ben walked slowly to the forreck. He wanted to pat George but had a change of heart when George turned his green eyes Ben's way.
“So much for Lornor's data about the solar eclipse.”
“Actually, he was right,” Dagmar said, her hand still on the forreck's forehead. “Had it not been a solar eclipse, George would have killed us before I had time to call him to heel.” She motioned to Ben. “Come on, let's finish this.”
Ben was still full of questions, but he followed Dagmar through the small tunnel. It was dark, but not long and they soon emerged into a magnificent cave that even rendered Dagmar speechless. It was domed, with a spectacular ceiling painted with an intricacy worthy of a grand church. The walls were incredibly smooth and looked as though they were made of marble, and the floor had been lovingly cobbled. In the centre of the room was a pedestal, and on top of it were Elizabeth's Boots. Crafted of silver, they looked as if they had just come from the forge and not as though they had been sitting underground for the past five hundred years.
Ben and Dagmar both stared at the boots, lost in wonder.
“Now what?” Ben asked in a soft voice.
“The boots are no longer safe here. I will need to move them elsewhere.”
Ben got the feeling she had somewhere in mind, but felt now wasn't the time to ask. “Do you think George will be okay with that?”
Dagmar glanced at the forreck, who had followed them in.
“Yes, he has accepted me. I can feel it.”
Dagmar walked slowly up to the pedestal and almost reverentially picked the boots up. George watched with interest, but made no move to intervene.
“They are both light and yet feel stronger than steel,” Dagmar said. She stared at the boots, deep in thought. “I've put this off for too long.”
Ben watched in surprise as Dagmar took her own shoes off and put the boots on. At first glance they looked a poor fit for Dagmar's huge feet, but she put them on without difficulty.
Dagmar closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Such power. It's almost too much to bear.
“What sort of power do you feel?”
Dagmar opened her eyes, and properly scrutinised him for the first time since they had surprised each other in the cave. Ben could almost see the cogs turning inside her head, throwing out old conclusions and drawing new ones.
“How much do you know about Elizabeth's Armour?” Dagmar asked.
It wasn't an answer to Ben's question, but at least the conversation was finally going in the right direction.
“I know Queen Elizabeth entrusted a piece to each original director and that when Suktar comes back to power, the descendants entrusted with the Armour should re-unite to take him down.”
“What piece was your family entrusted with?” Dagmar asked.
“The sword.”
If Ben didn't know better, he would have thought Dagmar gave him an almost sympathetic look.
“Are you aware that Queen Elizabeth tasked you with re-uniting the Armour?”
“I am,” Ben said. He frowned. “Though my parents are doing that. I am just trying to help.”
“Your parents.” Dagmar nodded. “That makes sense now. I always had a feeling they might have been Guardians, but I was confused because of you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Only the youngest member of each family line is a true Guardian. The moment you were born, your parents relinquished that role.”
“No,” Ben said immediately. “That doesn't make sense. They have been searching for Elizabeth's Armour for the last two years. I know because they left me.”
Dagmar started stroking George absently. “I know you are young, Ben, but I'm going to be up front with you because I believe you can handle it. Your parents, I believe, were searching for Elizabeth's Armour because they didn't want to burden you with the task.”
“My parents,” Ben said, with a sudden urgency. Elessar's words came floating back to him, making his blood freeze. “Elessar said they have been captured and have escaped into the void. Do you know what he was talking about?”
The word “void” produced a rare look of surprise and dismay in Dagmar, her lips pursing. “That… that is not good news. The void is a sort of underworld, filled with terrible monsters and daemons. It can only be accessed through the very strongest spells, which transport your mind th
ere, while your body remains. Your mind forms a physical representation of your body in the void, enabling them to touch, see and feel. If they die in the void, they will not return to their bodies in the real world.”
“Why would my parents go there?” Ben asked in horror.
“They must have been desperate. While in the void, their bodies here cannot be harmed.”
“How can they get back?”
“I'm not entirely sure,” Dagmar said. “Very little is known about the void because it is such a dangerous journey. We do have a few Scholars who have researched the topic. I will ask them as soon as we return to the Institute.”
The more Ben thought about it, the sicker he felt. “Why would they even want to come back? They would just return to their bodies in Suktar's palace.”
“That is correct.”
Ben turned away, suddenly concerned that his emotions might get the better of him. He squeezed his eyes shut and had to take several deep breaths before he could face looking at Dagmar again.
“I am sorry,” Dagmar said. Her expression couldn't be described as soft, but certainly it wasn't as stern as usual.
Ben nodded. He needed to change the subject. “Those times we saw you in the Institute, what were you doing?”
“Searching for the Shadowseeker. Once I realised he wasn't after you, I figured he must be after the boots. I tried to flush him out. We met a couple of times, but he always managed to slip away. Eventually I realised I couldn't risk the boots anymore and would have to move them. I waited for the solar eclipse, but so, it seems, did the Shadowseeker.”
It was all coming together, but Ben's attention went back to Dagmar's words moments earlier, which suddenly seemed difficult to take in.
“So it's down to me to find the remaining pieces of Elizabeth's Armour and re-unite everyone?”
“It is,” Dagmar said. “Do your parents have the sword?”
“I think so, but I don't know where it is, and I can't exactly ask them right now.” He felt a sense of hopelessness engulf him. “Even if by some miracle I found all the Guardians and the pieces of the Armour, what do I do then?”
