“Many more than that. There are dozens in this room and even more in the chambers beyond. They are forced to protect the High Priest. That is the nature of the enchantment.” Skera-Kina’s voice was emotionless. “The spirits have a direct order to kill anyone who attacks the High Priest with any spells. Between the spirits and his personal guard, he is well protected from both physical and magical attacks.”
“It is evil,” Tallin spat. “It’s an abomination to trap spirits in this way.”
“Evil? Is that what you call it?” Skera-Kina replied with a smile. “Are you shocked? There are good reasons why Balbor has never been conquered. Our magic is not like yours. It is stronger. We are not afraid to use spirit magic to protect what is ours.”
“Spirit magic is dark magic. It is the magic of death. Trapping an unclean spirit is a gamble, even for a mageborn as powerful as you. It’s an evil thing to keep a spirit trapped in this way.”
Skera-Kina shook her head. “Only a weak-minded person would think that. Spirit magic is useful for many things. The spirits are bound to their duty, and they shall be trapped here until the god of death chooses to claim them for his own guard.”
She gestured for Tallin to step forward, and he went, stepping cautiously over the still-quivering tiles. “Now, the High Priest wishes to speak with you, and I shall not keep him waiting any longer.” She pointed to a black spot before the door. “Kneel here in front of the door, with your eyes down.”
Tallin shook his head. “No. As I told you before, I don’t kneel to anyone.”
“Don’t be a fool,” she snapped. “You know that we can force you to do anything we want, right?”
“You’re certainly welcome to try.”
Skera-Kina glared at him briefly, then buried a curse under her breath. They were interrupted by a clicking sound. Skera-Kina paused and looked expectantly at the door. After a few moments, a stick-thin old man appeared in the doorway, surrounded by armed guards in brightly-colored clothing.
Skera-Kina bowed deeply. “Your Grace.”
The High Priest had been tall once, but was now stooped. His dark robes hung loosely from his withered frame. The priest’s eyes were a piercing blue, and his face and neck were creased like an old map.
At first, Tallin assumed that his skin was naturally dark, like a desert nomad’s, but upon further inspection, he saw that it was simply the effect of his warding tattoos. They were extensive and were even darker than Skera-Kina’s.
“Your prisoner isn’t kneeling, Skera-Kina.” Given his frail appearance, his voice sounded surprisingly strong. The rebuke reverberated in the open space.
“Begging your pardon, Your Grace,” she said. “This prisoner is obstinate. He refuses to kneel and claims that he doesn’t kneel to anyone—not even his own king.”
The High Priest raised one eyebrow. “Is that so? Why is that? Are the Dragon Riders considered gods now?”
“No,” replied Tallin. “The Dragon Riders do not purport to be gods or kings. We are independent of any political leadership.”
The old man chuckled. He sounded amused, rather than angry. “Heh, heh! Such lively talk for someone in your position.”
Skera-Kina spread her hands. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. He is impertinent and bad-tempered, even more so than the other prisoners.”
The High Priest looked thoughtful for a moment. “That reminds me—what about the other captives—the elves and the old woman? Have you questioned them?”
Skera-Kina shook her head. “We tried, Your Grace. The dwarf-woman is uncooperative, and the elves have been subdued through iron poisoning. They cannot speak.”
The High Priest nodded and stepped back. “Fine. I shall question them myself. Bring them to me. They are more likely to be cooperative when their friends are present, don’t you think? I can use various forms of…persuasion with the others. You may leave this one here with me.”
Skera-Kina looked alarmed. “Are you sure, Your Grace? This prisoner is very powerful. I would advise that you wait—”
“No one asked for your advice, Skera-Kina,” the old man sneered. “I’ve considered the matter. I shall use these four prisoners as bait… to lure other dragon riders to Balbor. When they arrive, their dragons will be captured and bred. We will finally have Balborite dragon riders again, as it was in the ancient days. This has always been my plan. It is time for Balbor to return to its former greatness.”
“Your Grace,” Skera-Kina implored again. “I understand your plans, but the prisoner...”
The High Priest’s voice was cold when he spoke again. “Do not question me, Skera-Kina. Fetch the other prisoners. Leave this one here. My personal guards are with me. They can handle him.”
Tallin felt Skera-Kina’s hand tighten reflexively on his shoulder. He swiped an errant red lock behind his ear and lowered his head, suppressing a smile. This old fool was so used to everyone hanging on his every word that he ignored even sound advice!
“Please be careful with him, Your Grace,” Skera-Kina warned one last time.
The priest looked Tallin and down and, when their eyes met, Tallin could see boredom in the old man’s eyes. “Somehow I don’t think he’s going to be much of a threat. Now go. You risk my displeasure if I have to ask you again.”
She cleared her throat and bowed. “I hear and obey, Your Grace.” Reluctantly, she exited the chamber. Once she left, the High Priest smiled and turned around. A casual flick of his hand indicated that Tallin should follow him. A guard sealed the metal door behind them.
Tallin and the High Priest walked together through a large chamber lined with slender white columns, each lit with a giant red candle. Dozens of armed guards lined the walls. They stood and watched, with bored expressions on their faces. One of them even yawned as Tallin passed by.
Tallin and the High Priest continued down an ivory-colored carpet and stopped in front of a huge, elevated dais with a gilded chair. The same swirling tiles were underneath Tallin’s feet. The tiles stretched far into the shadowed corners of the room.
The High Priest went up the steps and sat down in his chair. He saw Tallin staring down at the tiles. “Ah, so Skera-Kina told you about the spirit tiles, didn’t she? It’s quite an clever spell, isn’t it?”
“No. Spirit-magic is evil and unnatural.”
The High Priest chuckled. His eyes danced with wicked glee. “You are too soft, dwarf! The spirits serve an important purpose. They protect me as well as anyone else inside my chambers. Even the smallest spell upsets them, and any spell cast directly against me would mean instant death. I’ve seen them in action several times—it’s really quite entertaining.”
Tallin wondered what kind of man would find the sight of spirits devouring someone alive entertaining. But then, what kind of man was the High Priest of Balbor? The High Priest was not mageborn and had simply inherited his position from his father. He probably didn’t understand the consequences of such a dark spell.
“How long have spirits been trapped inside these floors?” Tallin asked.
The High Priest shrugged. “I cannot say. The tiles have been there for the entirety of my tenure, that of my father, and of his father before him.
Tallin’s eyebrows shot up. “These souls have been trapped inside this floor for hundreds of years?”
“Yes…much longer than that, I suppose,” he grunted. “Why does it matter?”
Tallin paused, forming a plan. It was a gamble, but he had to take it. “It matters—because spirit prisons become increasingly unstable over time. They eventually falter if the spirits aren’t fed regularly or released.”
The old man laughed and pointed a bony finger in Tallin’s direction. “You’re lying, trying to frighten me! It's not going to work though.”
Tallin shrugged. “I’m not lying, and today you’re going to find out why this type of magic is so dangerous. These shadow-
spirits are going to blot you out of existence.”
The old man’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’re trying to unsettle me, but it’s not going to work. I think it’s time for you to kneel. Guards! Help this prisoner to his knees!”
The guards closed in on Tallin from all directions. He raised a glowing hand defensively.
The priest wagged a bony finger at him. “Don’t try it! Remember, to attack me with magic inside these chambers means instant death!”
Tallin looked down. The tiles were already swirling wildly at his feet, vibrating underneath him. Tallin lowered his hand and snuffed out his magical bolt. The tiles stopped moving. The priest wasn’t lying about that—the spirits were agitated by any type of spell. Tallin lowered his body into a fighting stance, ready to do things the hard way.
The old man cackled. “Ready for violence then? Good, that is the Balborite way! The god of death can call for us at any time! Only through our strength do we feed him the blood of others and appease him. For you, the god of death is near!”
A single guard advanced toward him. The guard was younger than Tallin but he had a protruding belly that suggested overindulgent drinking. “Show some respect, prisoner! Kneel before His Grace with your head bowed!” The guard reached out, grabbed Tallin roughly and tried to wrench him to the floor. Tallin jerked his arm away and stepped back. The guard swung wildly, aiming for his face, but Tallin ducked before the guard’s fist could make contact.
Tallin heard the other guards laughing behind him. It was obvious they didn’t get much excitement in their daily lives.
Suddenly, Tallin’s felt his dragon stone grow warm against his chest. His fingers fluttered upward to touch it, and he heard the faintest whisper of Duskeye’s voice. From somewhere far away, he heard his friend’s frantic voice.
“Hold on, Tallin! We are near! We’re coming to save you!”
The shock of hearing Duskeye’s voice left Tallin distracted long enough for the guard to twist himself around and hit him on the back of the head with his fist. Tallin stumbled and fell forward. The priest’s sneering laughter sounded behind him. “Don’t fight it! Just kneel, dwarf!”
The guard grabbed the back of Tallin’s shirt and dragged him across the floor.
Four more guards stepped forward to subdue him. Tallin knew that he was physically outmatched. Without his defensive spells, there was no way he could defeat all the guards inside the chamber. His strength was failing, and he had only just begun to fight.
Still, there was one thing he could try. Did he dare risk it? His mind raced. Skera-Kina said that the spirits would strike if anyone attacked the High Priest. But what if the spirits were freed? Would they react differently?
Tallin said a silent prayer and hoped that his faded recollection of his dark magic classes at Aonach Tower were correct. If the spirits did not react as he expected them to, he was a dead man. The gamble was desperate, but so was his situation.
“Kneel! Kneel before me, or die!” the High Priest commanded.
“Never,” Tallin spat. He touched his dragon stone and felt the magic pulsing within. It was now or never!
Tallin tore the glowing stone from his chest, groaning in pain as the implant was ripped away from his skin. He listened to the frightened murmurs around him. The guards stepped back, unsure of what to do. The tiles in the room quivered and hummed beneath Tallin’s feet. Instinct helped him push away his pain and fatigue.
The High Priest’s mouth dropped open. “W-what are you doing with that?” His tone had completely changed. Before, his voice had been full of arrogance and contempt, but now there was a hint of fear.
Tallin’s voice was low and steady as he replied. “I told you that spirit prisons become unstable over time. The bonds that hold the spirits inside these tiles become weaker and weaker as the years pass. After a while, the prisons can be shattered using a magical object—like the one I have in my hand.” He opened his bloody palm and revealed the glowing dragon stone in the center of it.
The priest’s eyes widened with fear. “Don’t try anything, dwarf! You cannot attack me inside this chamber!” he screeched. “You will die!”
“You don’t seem to understand. I’m not going to attack you…at least not directly. ” Tallin raised the dragon stone high above his head, ignoring the blood that ran down his arm and dripped off his elbow. He brought the stone down in an arc, shattering the tiles directly beneath his feet. The tiles exploded outward with a burst of energy. The reaction was so violent that Tallin was thrown back, and he slid into a darkened corner of the room.
The sharp odor of sulfur rose in the air. Tallin blinked, and his eyes slowly came into focus. One by one, grey shadows rose up from the shattered floor. The ghosts twisted in a macabre dance and moved slowly toward the guards and the now-trembling High Priest. Tallin held his breath, crouched in a dark corner of the room, and covered himself with a tapestry. His gamble had paid off. Now he just had to figure out how to stay alive.
The High Priest screamed, and the guards turned to run, but it was already too late.
Dozens of spirits filled the room. Some of the spirits left immediately, escaping through an open window, but a few stayed behind to mete out their long-awaited revenge.
Tallin hadn’t performed any direct spells against the High Priest, so while the spirits were now freed from their prisons, they were not compelled to attack anyone in particular. Instead, the spirits were now free to choose their victim. Tallin desperately hoped they would attack those who had trapped them for so long instead of him.
The spirits fell upon the terrified guardsmen first. The guards screamed as the furious spirits tore into their flesh. It was over quickly. Seconds later, they turned on the High Priest, who was now cowering behind his chair.
Tallin watched as one of the spirits floated up to the priest and poked him, only to be repelled by the heavy warding tattoos that covered the priest’s chest. It tried again, and the old man flinched, but the wards held. The spirit howled in frustration and retreated back to where the other spirits were waiting. The spirits ignored Tallin completely. Either they hadn’t noticed his presence yet or they had decided to leave him alone. Tallin gripped his dragon stone tightly in his palm, thankful that his plan had worked. He wasn’t performing any direct magic, so as long as he stayed quiet and out of sight, he was safe—at least for now.
The spirits huddled together and whispered to one another quietly.
On the other side of the room, Skera-Kina entered with Mugla and the elves behind her. The elves looked somewhat improved; the wire had been removed from their ears, but their eyes were still glazed over, and they were still shackled with iron chains. Skera-Kina’s mouth dropped open in shock when she saw the destruction in the room.
Mugla gasped and then breathed a sigh of relief when she spied Tallin hiding in the corner.
“Skera-Kina, help me!” the High Priest cried. “It is your duty to protect me!”
Skera-Kina frowned and stepped forward. “Yes, Your Grace.” She sounded frustrated. How many times had she warned the High Priest only to be ignored? She turned to the spirits and spoke without enthusiasm. “Leave now, darkshades, or I’ll be forced to destroy you.”
The spirits parted from their huddle, examined Skera-Kina up and down, and took a moment to determine their next move. Two more decided to exit, leaving only three spirits remaining in the chamber. The largest one spoke, its voice rasping and stiff. “This priest has kept us trapped against our will for centuries. His life is forfeit. His death belongs to us.”
Two spots of color spread on Skera-Kina’s cheeks. “I won't warn you again. Leave this place now.”
The other two spirits moved toward Skera-Kina, surrounding her. They reached out to touch her with their icy fingers, but she struck first, wrapping one of them in a thin whip of pure energy; it shot out like glowing string from her fingertip. She ti
ghtened the whip until the shade cried out in pain. The creature howled and strained against the bonds, but it could not break free.
The second spirit reached out boldly, striking a tiny patch of bare flesh on Skera-Kina’s shoulder. The area was small, but untattooed, so the jab drew blood. The spirit gave a squeal of triumph. Skera-Kina drew a sharp intake of breath, but she didn’t move. The third spirit stepped forward and struck her other shoulder, drawing blood again. She felt a searing burn strike her flesh. The pain was more intense this time.
The first spirit was still trapped in front of her, held fast by her magical whip.
Tallin watched as the cowardly High Priest stood back, cowering behind his chair as Skera-Kina suffered blow after blow without flinching. Her arms streamed with blood. She seemed reluctant to perform any more spells—she couldn’t risk drawing any of the remaining spirit creatures from their tiles.
She glanced in Tallin’s direction and saw him hiding in the corner. She said nothing, but implored him with her eyes.
Tallin decided he’d seen enough. He stood up, tucked his dragon stone into his pocket, and walked over to where Skera-Kina stood. Tallin reached down and pulled out the tiny light crystal that he had hidden in his boot and put it in the center of his palm.
“Attention, spirits! Do you know what this is?”
The three shades stopped moving and looked at him with their cloudy white eyes.
“It’s a crystal trap,” hissed one of them. “I can feel its power.”
Tallin opened his hand. A tiny purple stone glittered in his palm. “You’re right,” he said, without hiding his smile. “It’s a crystal trap. I usually use this stone as a light crystal, but it has other uses as well. For instance, it can also trap spirit creatures… such as yourselves.”
The smallest shade narrowed its eyes at him. “It’s a small trap—it can’t possibly hold all three of us.”
Tallin smiled thinly. “Perhaps you’re right. It may not be large enough for all of you—but it’s certainly large enough to hold one of you, maybe even two. So which one of you would like to volunteer to be trapped again? Or was hundreds of years imprisoned inside this floor long enough for you?”
Kathir's Redemption (Book 6) Page 2
