by Lyndon Hardy
“Well enough, lord Festil,” Vendora said softly. “We need time to assess our situation. Lord Feston, continue to conduct yourself as you have. I appoint you commander of whatever forces remain. See that order is established and the entrances to these dungeons well guarded.”
As she spoke, the queen looked around the high and windowless walls of the chamber and reached behind her for a cloak that was not there.
“Here, my fair lady,” Feston said dramatically, releasing the clasp of the cape of the man who stood near and whirling it about her. She clutched it eagerly and drew it tight while her eyes darted again about the room.
Alodar and the others caught her mood and somberly shifted about as the reality of their plight began to sink in. They were safe for now, true, but in the long run what did that matter? A desperate attempt to break out was the best they could devise. Their lives were at stake and no glimmer of hope could credibly present itself.
No glimmer, unless indeed the castle possessed one more secret defense to aid them. And if he could find it and thereby save the queen, ah, who would be the hero then? Oppressed by their trap as were the others, but grimly determined, he headed into one of the passageways to search again for some clue.
Alodar flicked back his cape and sat to rest on the rust-encrusted slab in the center of the chamber. He glanced over to the wall where Vendora huddled in the cape Feston had given her two days before. Her shoulders stooped and her hair lay tangled and matted against her brow. She listened half attentively as Feston squatted easily at her side, telling her small talk of the four guard detachments under the towers.
Alodar sighed. Their band was so small and their fates so intertwined that the formalities of rank had begun to give way. But he did not want to approach the queen himself until he had some positive news of discovery to present to her. He dug his gouge into the soft red rust beneath him for perhaps the tenth time and left another shallow furrow beside the others. The fresh cut revealed nothing new, only rust deeper still. Perhaps the whole slab was rotted through and would soon turn to dust.
“Marking off the hours, journeyman?” a voice asked over his shoulder, and Alodar turned to see Aeriel taking a place beside him. The dagger at her side clanked against the slab and Alodar glanced down at the bare blade and stubby hilt.
“Are you left-handed?” he asked as she followed his gaze downward.
“No.” Aeriel laughed. “It is but my nature. The fair lady insists that I wear the badge of office as do the others of her court, and so I must. And were the blade of any value I would carry it properly; but it is only a useless symbol, so I display it accordingly.”
“A magic dagger and of no value,” Alodar said, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.
“Costly enough in coin or barter,” Aeriel said. “Enough so that a craftsman could never hope to own one. Yet not so dear that the nobility would be likewise denied. It is the perfect token for one to declare that he is wealthy. But for its utility as a weapon—here, judge for yourself.”
Aeriel withdrew the dagger from the loop at her waist and passed the hilt to Alodar. He wrapped his hand around it and immediately pursed his lips in surprise.
An electric tingling pulsed through his fingers and shot up his arm. He felt goosebumps pop out on his chest and back. For a moment his eyes watered and his tongue felt dry.
“It is magic, there is no doubt,” Aeriel said. “What else gives one such a feeling? Though you do get somewhat used to it after a while.”
Alodar nodded and tightened his grip on the hilt. His fingers and thumb slipped smoothly into small indentations in the grip, and the pommel snuggled comfortably against the base of his palm. The dagger felt like a natural extension of his arm, as if custom tooled to fit his hand and no other.
He reached out with his index finger to test the point which looked surprisingly blunt and frowned in puzzlement when he made contact with the cold gray metal.
“Yes, that is why it is so absurd,” Aeriel said. “And the edge of the blade is the same. Impossibly dull and unyielding to any grinder’s stone.”
“Cannot the magicians give it an edge as well?” Alodar asked as he handed the dagger back, releasing his grip reluctantly. “With a feel like that one almost would be tempted to take on a swordsman.”
“As I understand it, the ritual is set,” Aeriel said. “Any change destroys the symmetry of the whole. Either one accepts a perfect hilt with a blade of no value or a dagger with no magical properties at all. And of course, if such a dirk as this could cut, the magicians’ price would preclude it from the baubles of the nobility.”
“You speak most strangely of your peers, my lady,” Alodar said with the beginnings of a smile.
“I did not reach the council of the queen by adhering to what convention would expect of me, Alodar,” she said. “Had I thought and acted as the rest of Vendora’s childhood friends, then now I would be no more than a lady-in-waiting, concerned with pretty needlework, rather than affairs of state. Let the likes of a Festil be guided by tradition, rather than what each situation uniquely demands. I will not be frightened by an idea, just because it has not been previously recorded in the sagas.
“And as proof of that,” she continued, returning Alodar’s smile, “please call me Aeriel. There is no need for ceremony for one who seems to work so diligently in our cause. I could not but notice that you react to our situation in a different way than most everyone. Rather than moping about when free from a turn at guard, you have been examining each mortar joint with that small glass of yours. Do you still carry out the queen’s commands of now so long ago?”
“Yes, I still look for a key,” Alodar said. “But as yet I have found none. I am beginning to think that there is nothing in the passageways to aid us. The answer must lie in one of these three chambers under the keep. So I visit each in turn, hoping for some inspiration.”
“And which is next?”
“The second level, the one with the pillar.”
“Good, let me go with you.”
Alodar blinked, but then quickly nodded his agreement. The two left unnoticed out one of the passageways to the towers. They trudged along in silence for awhile, and then Alodar decided to make the best of his opportunity.
“How fares the queen under our duress?” he said.
“Alas, she lets her fate weigh heavily on her shoulders. As you can see, she broods too much to conduct herself as her station requires she should.”
“But if somehow we are indeed rescued?”
“Ah, she would return to her former self in an instant, full of glory. And ample gratitude for the man who saves her.”
“Regardless of station?” asked Alodar.
“Yes, regardless.” Aeriel laughed. “I see the queen interests all men in the same way.”
Suddenly, before he could continue, the ground shook with a long rolling wave; the torch lights blew wildly and flickered dim. The narrow passageway roared with the sound of crashing stone, and the shock, muted and stretched by the thick walls, echoed for several moments.
Aeriel reached for Alodar’s arm. In the quiet that followed, he muttered, “The second one today. It only can mean that they are toppling the towers, one by one. Either our remaining defenders above give them difficulty or they seek to level Iron Fist on some mad craze. It is well that they have not yet discovered any entrances to these chambers.”
Aeriel released her grip and breathed deeply. “Come,” she said. “We were going to the second level.”
They reached the tower in a short while. Descending through a hole in the floor, they climbed down to the next landing. Retracing their steps one level down, they returned to a chamber under the keep. It was deserted and built similarly to the ones above and below, except that instead of a slab or water pool, a massive stone column ran from floor to ceiling.
“It certainly is not needed to support the vault,” Alodar said. “The other two chambers have the same span and the ceiling runs free from wall to wall. Y
et strength is somehow the essence of that column. Look at it, not a seam anywhere, a monolith of granite. It could withstand the blows of many a mangonel and give up not a single chip from the shock.”
“If it does not support, is it indeed even secure?” Aeriel asked.
“Yes, the base penetrates below floor level. From the look of it, it also projects up into the ceiling as well.”
Alodar stepped back to survey the column but found himself instead watching Aeriel as she inspected the stonework. Her eyes darted first to the ceiling, then to the floor, and finally scanned the length slowly for any crack or seam. She looked back at Alodar when she was done, and her eyes widened as she realized what his focus of attention had been.
“Excuse my boldness, but you are most pleasing fair,” Alodar said without thinking.
“Oh enough, Alodar.” Aeriel raised her hand as a slight color came to her cheeks. “I have seen the effect of the queen on too many men not to know what truly constitutes beauty. Let us concentrate on our search.”
Alodar nodded and motioned to the archway, suddenly pleased with himself for what he had said and the reaction it had caused. Without another word, they left the chamber and returned to the flanking tower. As they began to climb down to the bottommost level, the ground shook again like a blanket snapped taut on a newly made bed, and the rumble echoed about them so that neither could speak. As the reverberations died, a man-at-arms poked his head through the opening to the level above.
“Lady Aeriel, come quickly to the queen’s bidding,” he shouted down. “A strange occurrence in the central chamber.”
Alodar and Aeriel quickly reversed direction, following the man back to the queen. Everyone of their small band was there, filling the room, and all heads looked anxiously upwards towards the huge vault of the ceiling. Vendora was where Alodar had seen her last, but now she stood propped against Feston, leaning heavily on the arm he wrapped around her.
A sudden streak of motion caught Alodar’s eye. He turned his head upward to see several large drops of opaque liquid ooze out between two of the massive stones. They fell and spattered against the rusty slab at the chamber’s center and added to the messy orange slurry of their predecessors.
He frowned in concentration. Nothing from thaumaturgy certainly, he thought. But what had Periac told him of the other arts? What would seep through what no mason could chisel in a week?
“Solvent!” he yelled as the answer struck him. “And it looks high grade. Everyone out! The ceiling is going to collapse. That is how the towers were toppled. They are dissolving the mortar between the stones.”
No one moved. All were transfixed by the slowly increasing tempo of the drip and the widening pool on the chamber floor. Before Alodar could say more, the giant keystone in the center of the vault began to slide slowly down and away from the rock which surrounded it. It gathered speed; with a cascade of liquid on every side, it fell away entirely, into their midst. With a resounding crash, it hit the slab and sprayed liquid and splinters of rock in all directions. The crowd screamed and sprang alive, bolting for the passageways, shouldering one another aside in their haste.
Alodar and Aeriel moved to one side to let them pass, their eyes on the queen across the chamber. Feston, with his grip still on Vendora’s arm, spun her towards the nearest exit and pushed her ahead. Periac recovered his balance from a brushing blow and plunged after the queen. Festil immediately followed, almost catching the thaumaturge’s cape with his long running stride.
Alodar looked again at the ceiling. Through the new opening, Bandor’s men were lowering a rope ladder and several were making ready to descend. He glanced over his shoulder into the passageway from which he had just entered and then hesitated no longer. Grabbing Aeriel’s hand, he raced across the room, avoiding the many small pools of solvent which were now working on the seams in the floor. As he passed the slab, his eyes was caught by its now shining brilliance. The bath had cleaned away the rust and a good portion of the iron as well.
He stopped suddenly and looked again. The shine was not from the iron alone.
“Look, Aeriel,” he exclaimed. “In the center of the iron, a disk of copper! It is not a solid iron slab, after all. Beneath the rust is this circle of copper in a yoke of iron. A circle at each level. The copper here, the column below, and a well at the bottom of it all.”
Three circles of the same diameter! One above the other. In a flash the castle’s secret came to him. He looked again at the rope ladder. Two men were already gently swinging on it. He grabbed Aeriel again and ran off after the others. He had the answer. If there was only enough time to use it.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Hero’s Reward
THE passageway blurred by and Alodar glanced back over his shoulder. Bandor’s men were already in the tunnel after him. He increased his speed; the drawn swords shining in the torchlight gave his legs urgency even beyond what he had felt two days before when the outer walls had fallen. He squeezed Aeriel’s hand tighter, and they rapidly closed on Vendora and the others up ahead.
They caught the queen just as they entered the small room under the corner tower. The panicked flight momentarily stopped in a mass confusion of waving arms and shouted directions.
“Up, up to the surface. It is our only chance,” yelled Festil as he tumbled Periac down from the stairs and started to climb.
“No, no father,” Feston boomed louder still. “See the stonework. We must go down.” As he spoke, he yanked Vendora out of the way of dripping liquid that began to ooze from the ceiling and pushed her through the opening in the floor.
Everyone clambered after. As Alodar brought up at the rear, he saw the small group disappear into the passageway that led back under the keep.
“We will make our stand around the pillar,” Festil shouted back to the three soldiers who now ran with him. They drew their swords as they raced, and Aeriel instinctively started to follow.
Alodar grabbed her by the arm and held her back. “Our only chance lies below,” he said. “Let us hope that Feston and the others can hold them off until the spell is finished.”
He plunged down to the bottom level, pulling Aeriel with him. The staircase seemed to spiral for an eternity and his heartbeat almost drowned out the clank of mail and shouts of the chase that now filtered down after them.
Finally at the bottom, he raced for the central chamber, scarcely noticing the diminishing noise as the hunters chose to pursue the quarry one level above. In a moment they reached their destination and saw the serene pool at the center. Alodar looked rapidly about. They were alone.
“Quickly, Aeriel,” he said, “your ring. No, no the unadorned one. Gold is not the best choice and we must at least make the shape as similar as we can.”
Aeriel slipped one of the rings from her finger and, with a puzzled expression, handed it to Alodar. Without pausing for explanation, he fumbled in a pouch at his waist and withdrew a small collection of coins.
“At least the copper will be right,” he said as he quickly tried matching the coins one by one to the shape of the ring. “Ah, this one jams in properly. Now fill the cup with the water from the well.”
Aeriel took the cup he whisked from his cape and dipped it in the pool. “What spell do you cast here, Alodar? I see that the coin in the ring is like the copper disk in the iron collar we saw bared above. But their intent I still cannot fathom.”
“The cool water of the well will shrink the metals slightly,” he replied, “and because they are different, the copper disk will slip free.”
“But what can we use for the energy source? There is naught here but stone and water,” Aeriel said, waving her arms about the empty chamber.
“You listened to master Periac well,” Alodar said, “but no source is needed for this spell. Rather, we need a sink to absorb the heat we extract from the hunks of metal two levels above. And the water in the well will serve that purpose for us. Now stand close to me, for in truth I know not all that will happen.”
Alodar glanced quickly into the four passageways, but no figures fleeing or pursuing showed in them, and he began the binding. When he was done, he thrust the ring holding the coin into the numbing cold of the water and held it motionless. Simultaneously the stillness of the pool was broken by the eruption of tiny bubbles all across its surface.
Alodar held the ring firmly, though his fingers began to ache with the cold. The simmer of the pool changed into a boil, growing more vigorous by the second, and the first wisps of steam crept upward into the already dripping air.
Alodar looked anxiously back and forth between the now scalding well and the placid ring. Was it cold enough? Was there enough water in the well?
The feeling left his hand and the opaqueness of the steam engulfed them; so the passageways were blotted from view and the oil lights in the wall became dim and diffuse.
Finally as the fog closed in, the copper coin dropped clear of the ring and gently fell to the bottom of the cup.
“Look to the ceiling,” Alodar shouted as he tore his eyes from what he held. Brushing aside the vapor, they could dimly see the round keystone at the center of the vault tremble and begin to move. It slipped down a foot and then another, increasing speed with each moment and heading unerringly for the well in the chamber’s floor.
“Why, it is not a stone at all,” Aeriel exclaimed. “Look, it is getting longer and longer like a giant column.”
“The column from the second level,” Alodar explained, “held in place by a copper cap in the yoke of iron.”
He could say no more before the granite cylinder fell into the concentric hole in the floor, missing the edge all around by mere inches. With a sharp crack like a giant bullwhip, it hit the water’s surface and drove the liquid downward. Aeriel stumbled to her knees from the intensity of the blow, and Alodar fell awkwardly over her, both flailing and grabbing for their ears in pain.
