Marciano paused, his right hand resting upon the back of a chair for support. It'd be a long time before he was at fighting speed again. If ever. The prisoners bumbled behind him, coming to a stop, each watching the solitary man praying at the table. They seemed to shift away, as if they could sense the madness the same way animals could.
Coughing into his fist did nothing. Whistling under his breath did nothing. Tapping his shoe's toe against the chair's leg did nothing.
"Why have you brought us here?" the young boy who played a convincing elf a lifetime ago piped up, his voice much lower than Marciano remembered. He had no idea what the child had to do with this sword, or this tower, but somehow the General was not unsurprised to see him again. The gods worked in ironic and cruel ways.
Slowly, the praying man dropped his hands to the table and bowed his forehead to it. Finishing, the grinning visage of Vasska took in his newest toys. He surveyed the boy who tried to square off against the mad Emperor but after a few moments the kid blinked. The girl didn't even play the game, and the priest with them didn't seem to have a concept there was a challenge at all. Only the sandworm dared look back, staring into the void with all the resolve of a man who'd faced down worse in his life. This standoff could last for days.
"Sir," Marciano cut in, stepping between the two, "I have the sword."
"Let me see, let me see," he bounced up and down on his heels, clapping his hands.
The General felt the boy recoil at the Emperor's outburst but shrugged it off, it wasn't his place to teach the child how to keep his head. Instead, he stepped forward and laid the sword upon the table.
Vasska's thin fingers pulled back the leather wrapping as if he were unveiling a present, and he gasped at the piece of metal shining below, "It's beautiful." The Emperor ran his finger along the grip and the crossguard, covered in jewels, before dancing across the inscription. Tears fell freely from his eyes as he covered his mouth in joy.
"That isn't yours," the boy snapped at the Emperor. Vasska quickly covered the sword up in the leather and turned his maddening glare upon the child, "None of this is yours. You have no claim to this tower!"
Slowly, Vasska moved around the tables, his fingers steepling and bouncing against each other as his thoughts churned and bubbled beneath that foaming brain. Marciano felt himself shifting closer to the child, absurdly wanting to protect a boy who seemed dead set on getting himself killed. His soul was too burdened for this.
The Emperor paused and leaned his narrow backside against the table, as if he were about to have a friendly chat with the people he had brought before him in chains. His eyes searched over the people in the group. In Avarian he chuckled to himself, "A Dunner killer, little more than animal. A white witch, from the sea dominion. And a," he paused momentarily at the man in blue who stopped his assessment of the hall's ceiling at the eyes landing upon him. Vasska clicked his fingers against his mouth, "Most curious, a priest of Hospar."
The priests all turned at that, glaring upon the intruder into their circle. The man in blue shrugged his shoulders and waved meekly, uncertain what all the attention was about. "They shall live," Vasska said dismissively, waving his hand as if he'd pardoned men caught stealing bread to feed their starving families. "A new order is coming and it will bring a peace none have ever known. And these shall be some of the first to know it," he said eyeing up the white witch like a pig to the slaughter. She in turn hissed and spat at the ground.
"But you," Vasska rose quickly from his seat, his feet clipping across the stones until he was inches from the boy's face. His tongue switched to Ostero, and grew about twenty decibels louder as he tried to overcompensate for his lacking translation. "You son of Ostero, child of the cold," he glared at the child that met him eye for eye.
The boy should have shirked back, dodged his eyes and looked away, but he met the Emperor on his own battleground. The inky madness that consumed Vasska's brain sat nestled squarely inside his eye and the child got a full dose of it, but did not shudder under the weight. Instead he rose up, his chains jangling. The Emperor chuckled before bringing the back of his hand against the boy's cheek, collapsing the exhausted child onto the ground, blood dribbling to the stones from the rings of Avar. Marciano touched his own face in sympathy.
"You, child of Edric the Foolish, shall die by my hand," Vasska hissed to the boy struggling to his shaky knees. Then, as quickly as the anger appeared, it passed like a wandering cloud. The Emperor turned to his fellow priests who were scrabbling about looking for the holy scepter of slaying, before turning back to Marciano and reverting to proper Avarian, "But not today. Take them to the dungeon."
Marciano bowed slightly, and curled his good hand around the boy's arms, dragging him off to his stay of execution.
"Mind the big rocks!" the voice called cheerfully out of the darkness.
Ciara cursed as her forehead met with another woefully misplaced brick dangling from the ceiling. She'd been crouching in a half stoop since they broke into the passages. Every hundred feet or so the Caretaker would hover his hand over an indentation in the wall and a soothing white glow would spring up, just in time to illuminate the chest she was about to smash her shins into.
"Couldn't they have built a taller ceiling?" Ciara mumbled back, afraid of the horn sized welt hatching beneath her forehead.
"No, no, waste of negative space. Very bad planning," he said 'planning' as if it were a demon's name. "Dwarves would never have with that."
Ciara laughed at him, which caused the lantern to swing back and the pulled skin of where an eyebrow should be to rise. Her chuckles died in her throat and she sputtered, "You cannot be serious. Dwarves are a myth."
"Shh shh shh," the Caretaker jumped up and down, able to pass more easily amongst the roads of the height challenged.
"What?" she looked behind her, expecting ravenous hordes of gnashing teeth, tentacles slapping against the walls, or perhaps a really peeved off gnome in a dressing gown holding a dripping bathing sponge. Only the faint glow of magic and a gaping maw of miles of masoned cave answered back.
The Caretaker turned back, his hands pushing against the wall as if he were checking for something. He laid his bat ears against it and then licked the red stone, a purple tongue darting out like a lizard. Ciara didn't hide her disgust, and he didn't care.
"Abandoned," he declared after holding his finger up to test for any underground bellows. "Good. Never tell something it's a myth," he waved a warning finger at her, then fell back on his heels and said to himself, "I fear I no longer have the dexterity to deal with any dwarf ambushes."
"Masters of combat?" Ciara asked, her hands batting at the ceiling in front of her to search for more marker stones.
The Caretaker giggled, "No. Well yes, but not in their home. Makes too much mess, and is an unnecessary waste of air. Practical. Very practical. Sounds familiar, eh?" he nudged the air beside him and it didn't answer back. "Dwarves do not attack with blade or hammer, they trap you under forms and red tape until you've signed every atom of your body away," he answered Ciara, his momentary invisible friend forgotten.
"That sounds...unpleasant?"
"Yes," he nodded his bulbous head, the sheafs of white hair dancing in the motion, "many prefer death to a Dwarf audit. Ah, this way!" he spun about to the right, his beak sniffing the air, and dashed down a new pathway that looked like the other five he already turned them down.
Ciara sighed and followed, trying to rub the small of her back with one hand while keeping the other extended against any flying Dwarven clerks. It had to have been hours, maybe even a day. Time didn't really exist when all you could measure was the beat of your heart or the pound of your foot. Or the mutterings of a mad monster to some invisible friend that always walked to the right of him.
The Caretaker would scuttle ahead of her quickly, his voice dropping low to talk to the ether, but the acoustics of the stone road amplified even his most breathless aside back to her. On the plus side, she hadn't heard an
y mention of him trying to rip out her intestines and wear them as a hat. It was mostly talk about "getting close, not certain to be ready, but can't start without the bridegroom." Or "she left it in the back hamper, I always sort my socks proper." If he did finally turn feral, Ciara suspected her best move would be to throw her socks at him and run.
Her hastily slapped together scabbard bounced against the narrow walls and she tried to grab the slipping sword. It was built for someone much rounder than herself, even the narrowest of belt holes was too large and kept trying to slide past her armored hips. She used that as an excuse to hide from the glaring omission of having no plan, no army, and no idea where she was.
"We are arrived!" he called triumphantly, pausing before one of the brick indentations in the wall that looked just like every single other they'd passed.
Ciara stepped into the freeing higher ceiling, and looked up. Blackness answered back. She glanced over at the Caretaker who grinned and hopped back and forth like he needed to visit the little monster's room as he whispered to his friend, "yes, of course I remembered. I always remember. Aside from the time I forgot. You always bring that up."
"Uh, your friend is being awfully shy," she started, trying to break the monster out of his trapped psychosis. "Maybe he'd like to speak up."
The black eyes snapped to her. Ciara shrunk away as she only saw her own reflection swimming in the monster's dark orbs. His mouth rose, a section of the teeth glinting in the dancing lantern light. "Ha ha ha!"
"Ha ha ha?" Ciara answered back, afraid for her, well, at most he could reach was her stomach and maybe gnaw on her legs.
"'He?'" the caretaker repeated back, "Oh you've done it now. She really hates you now."
Ciara gulped and tried to steady the pounding ricocheting through her limbs. But the Caretaker placed his gloved hand upon her forearm and said through his ungentlemanly snorts, "It's all right. She hates everyone. Now, step onto the platform please."
He ducked into a bag dangling off his midsection, digging through piles of what looked like quills for something. Ciara shuffled on her feet without moving, afraid to ask what the platform was.
"Ah!" the claws hooked around something not much larger than an eye. Gods, I hope it's not an eye, she thought, shrugging sore shoulders as he looked over at her. "A bit more to your left," he pushed with his hands and she tried to shuffle away. "No, your other left. By the sprites, did you change cardinal directions again as well?"
The Caretaker grabbed onto her dangling sword and pushed her into the middle of the indentation. He handed her his lantern and nosed over to the sides, crouching down a bit. Ciara raised the lantern up, trying to find something within the utter darkness above. A small breeze, broken free from the real world swatted at her frizzing hair. She could about imagine the look of horror on some of the lady's faces in her state.
"Now it is always a trick," he muttered, his fingers pushing and pulling on various knobs attached to the wall. Some slid out easily, others required a hard yank. A few refused to budge on principle alone. "Most likely locked off when they ran underground," he muttered to the girl, "I need to find a derivative of, blast it, take this Base 12!" He poked and prodded some more, before falling back on that old standby of kicking. Something ground within the wall and a drawer popped out with a small circular hole cut inside.
"Ah!" the Caretaker exclaimed, holding up his hopefully not an eyeball and looking at the girl, "You may wish to hold onto something."
Ciara looked around at the stone enclave, barely large enough to house more than three people, and as smooth as a princeling's chin. She shrugged at the monster and gripped onto herself. He bared his teeth in that smile and dropped the ball into the slot. It rolled deep into the drawer and pulled it with. Gears ground inside the walls, then picked up steam until gears all around her were chugging and huffing their way into service. A smell, like old lamps on their last burn filtered into the cavern. Ciara looked over at the panel beside the Caretaker just as a button lit.
"Going up?"
The ground sprouted wings, rising as quickly as it should fall, flying past the stationary walls. Ciara teetered on her feet before ending on her knees, trying to keep her stomach out of her throat. The Caretaker leaned upon his hip and looked at his wrist, as nonchalant as if he were waiting for tea. The occasional picture, done in luminescent paint, whooshed past as their platform rose to the gods, but they moved so quickly it was nothing more than a lined blur.
Ciara waited for her life to come flashing before her eyes, they always said that would happen just before death, but all she got was the sight of the monster tapping his foot in impatience. "Why can't this thing go any faster?" he muttered to his friend, as if a body could take much more without exploding.
Bong!
It rattled through the chamber like a priest late for his services and trying to make up for it. The kind of "bong" that nibbled on your soul until all that was left behind was a man who glared at kittens.
A strange voice, garbled by chewing rocks, muttered something after the bong and the lift slowed as quickly as it started flying, coming to a cautious stop. Ciara released her death grip from the smooth floor and looked up at the monster. His smile dropped as he looked up at a flashing symbol above the entryway to the chamber then back to the control panel.
"Mages light your underwear! This isn't the right floor," he cursed, "It should be but a moment." The Caretaker kicked a bit more and pushed a few buttons. Before Ciara could rise to her knees the lift resumed its flight, spinning off into the ether.
As it Bonged again, and came to a much heavier stop, Ciara asked the Caretaker with her hands and feet still on the floor, "Have we stopped?"
"Yes."
"Is this where we need to stop?"
"Yes."
"Will we be moving again?"
"Hopefully not."
"Good!" she rose and looked around. The entryway was gone, replaced by a series of grooves carved into the stone. A crude ladder. Ciara squared her shoulders, trying to shake the past few miles out of them. She may burst into tears at the sight of daylight after this. Grabbing onto the grooves, she rose up, easily skipping past three or four on her climb.
The Caretaker hooked his lantern to his belt and followed suit, the light banging rhythmically against the stone. It wasn't much of a climb until she rose into a stone dome, her head gracing dangerously close to the top. There was no place for her to get off the ladder. "What do I do now?"
"Push!" the monster called from below, "When in doubt, push! Or pull. I forget which."
She sighed loudly enough for the babbling fool to hear and, hooking her feet into the narrow grooves, pushed her weight against the stone ceiling. Miraculously, it shifted and, like an egg cracked open, the top half tumbled to the ground on a hinge. Blissful air burst into her lungs. She forgot how cleansing the breeze off the frozen mountains was deep in the stale breath of the mythic stout folk.
Lifting her weight up, she placed her hands in the still melting snow and rose onto what for her was the real ground. After rising onto her fawn-like legs, she stretched and spun about searching the horizon. Her jaw skidded to the ground.
Framed by the setting sun, a tower encapsulated the landscape, less than fifty feet from their position. "How," she looked back around at the river bubbling beside without a care, and the open field, mostly free of its winter blanket. "How had no one noticed this? It's practically upon their doorstep."
"Humans notice something unordinary?" the Caretaker rose himself, and pushed the rock back into place where it blended perfectly with a few others positioned beside. "I am amazed you can find your own noses at times."
The monster looked up at the stones. It'd been centuries since he'd last seen it. He wondered if it still had those juniper bushes growing in the back that he planted. That was a disaster of a few decades in home brewing that ended in five deaths and a new tale of hell-mouths.
"Your Tower of Ashlan. Sorry, Ashar."
Ciara nodded slowly, looking at the magnificent specter before her. It made the Albrant castle look like little more than a summer home. Then, most every other castle, tower, keep, and wealthy pig farmer with a strange obsession about architecture did. "And how do we get inside said tower?"
The Caretaker's tongue licked across his mouth and darted back in, his fingers counting something against his wrist, "I had not formulated that part, yet."
"Perfect." She tried to rub her forehead, but got a burst of pain. More gingerly, she touched at the welt bursting beneath her skin.
"Pst!"
Ciara questioned just which god she must have insulted so dearly to have her life go so crushingly bad. Was it the time she was caught mixing the cheese with the butter on Oleo's Day? Or the wren hunt that ended in a pile of feathers adhered to a pinecone? It's not as if the knights noticed, as far gone as one can get before liquor leeks from your tear ducts.
"Pst! Pst!"
"Unless you have some incredibly clever plan to fight off hundreds of soldiers and get us through a closed gate, I'm not in the mood," she muttered to the Caretaker.
But the monster dropped his hand off his chin and said, "It was not I, me, or she," he nodded to his invisible, non-talkative friend.
"Pssssst!" Ciara's eyes snapped to a set of bushes clinging to the river's edge, that bounced with the impressive stage whisper.
"Whoever you are, we're armed and dangerous...probably!" She unsheathed the sword of Cas for the first time; it fit surprisingly well in her terrified hand.
The King's Blood Page 52
