Red Jade: Book 1: Journeys In Kallisor

by Stephen Wolf

  “Anyway,” Grenthar grumbled at last, “because you made it through successfully, apparently my traps are not enough. So you will help me to devise better ones.”

  “Ha!” she barked. “I will not.”

  He ran up to her and shouted, “You will or you die!” He trembled in his anger.

  “How?” she breathed.

  It took a few moments for him to pull back. “You will run it again and again with the improvements that I make. And you will keep doing so until you die or until you claim that crystal.”

  She couldn’t help herself; she had to ask: “What happens if I take the crystal?”

  “Then you leave with it, of course.”

  She didn’t believe him quite so readily. He was too shrewd to just let a prize of that nature go. She assumed that if she claimed the shard either she would be detained and new traps would be created or she would have a second gauntlet to face on her way out. Perhaps both. She needed to be ready for the worst.

  “I won’t be able to help you in my present…living quarters,” she ventured.

  Grenthar laughed. “Smart, you are. It’s no wonder you made it as far as you did. No, you will be relocated to a new cell. But don’t doubt that you will have no chance of escape, except through that jade.”

  “What accoutrements will I have access to? If I’m going to really make your traps better, I need to be able to do as much damage as possible. No?”

  The master thief smiled maliciously. “Oh yes, you will have a full complement of weapons and armor for this task. You see, no one will claim that prize after all I went through for it. And I know some of what you are capable of, and I will know if you are holding back in your attempts.”

  “No. I won’t,” she said confidently. “I will take that jade and escape with it. For Dariak and for Gabrion.”

  “Good then, my pet,” Grenthar declared. “To your new quarters then, and your new profession, trap springer.”

  She was hoisted up by the guards after the bindings were removed, and then she was taken to a new holding cell that at least had some light. She was surrounded on three sides by stone and the fourth by a solid iron door, with barely a finger’s breadth of space between the floor and the iron. And because Dariak had been working with her to sense the energies around her, she also knew that magical barriers had been put into place.

  The only thing that gave her any hope at all was the scratch the jade had given her chest when she was captured. Though it had essentially healed by now, something about it remained with her, and she could feel it. The iron door itself seemed to have a pulse, and she instinctively knew it was because of the jade. Folding her arms and legs and opening her thoughts to her surroundings, Kitalla spent the next few hours in very deep meditation, reaching for and feeling the energies around her.

  Chapter 23

  Prisoners

  Dariak awoke one morning to a wild reptigon being brought into his glassy cell. He sprang from his bed and instructed the hunters to place it in a cage in the spell room. They left him then, glad to be rid of the beast, and locked the door, resetting the magic barrier that kept him detained within.

  Part of him didn’t really care. He gathered a few of his things and rifled through a set of notes he had made for himself, and then he glanced out the side wall to ensure that at least two mages were present for the viewing. Over the past weeks, he had learned that if his spells were not observed, he didn’t receive his food and water. He had also discovered that if more than one mage was impressed by his work, then the food quality would skyrocket. For one particularly crafty spell, in which he had used sawdust and his candle-flame spell to generate a sizzling firestorm, he had earned a small bottle of wine as a bonus. While the firestorm itself hadn’t been utterly impressive, it was the creative combination of such a simple spell and component that had caught their attention.

  Excited about the prospect of attempting a new spell, Dariak hurried his way into the other room, listening to the reptigon as it hissed angrily from its cage. He had spent a long time communing with his jades, which had purposely not been taken from him, and he knew that the structure of the serpentine’s spine would suit a spell such as this. He looked over the cage toward the observers in the other room watching intently from beyond the thick, magic-proof glass. Today there were four watchers, which suited Dariak perfectly. As usual, they all had parchment and quill in front of them, and their bodies were covered from head to toe in thick cloaks that left even their heads in deep shadow. He understood that they wanted to remain anonymous in case he ever escaped, but still, it seemed overly dramatic to him at times.

  He cleared his throat and his thoughts. He needed to remain focused here. Dangerously, he was combining the effects of three major spells, linking them with the components of lesser incantations. As always, he had already supplied a written description of the spell, required components, and the intended effects the day before. Glancing back at the viewers, he was admittedly surprised there weren’t more of them.

  Dariak placed his spell components out on a small table set there for that purpose. He opened a jar of spiders and took two of them, then mashed them together as he spouted his web-binding spell, casting it toward the reptigon. “Naarestigar engor shai!” The slithering body was locked in place, its legs twitching to be free.

  “Selucia froell nikrobar shath!” This new spell was water based, and it coerced the creature’s blood to flow in terse lines. This was why he needed the wriggling animal, because its spine would more readily adjust to the demands of the spell.

  He took a short length of rope and knotted it numerous times along its length, making the rope as sturdy and immobile as possible. Because of the web-binding spell already in place, this spell added to the pinning effect, becoming a potent alternative to a true paralysis spell.

  Dariak stepped forward quickly and opened the cage. If he cast the next spell with the reptigon locked inside, then the creature would be crushed to death.

  “Sascrellia gorgola nuichi kasroth nyie,” he spouted next, shoving pieces of flower buds into the creature’s mouth. At once, the beast began to grow in size, keeping its form and intellect as it went. The forked tongue lashed out angrily, yet also with expectant hope, as its prey now seemed much smaller than before. Dariak’s hands and arms whirled about, already into the next phase.

  “Fabronie gravila martell breq!” It was the vocal component of the Shield of Delminor, which he hadn’t uttered aloud in a very long time. But because he said it aloud and used a spot of mud to amplify the effect, he was able to send its energy outward and affect a desired target, rather than keeping it attuned to his body until he was struck. The projection component of the spell was relatively new to him, though, and something he had learned during his stay in the glass rooms.

  The mud patch fluttered in the air as it drew toward its destination, the reptigon’s fangs. Upon impact, the grossly oversized teeth became extremely heavy, dragging the reptigon’s head to the floor with a loud thud.

  Dariak pulled out a dagger and sliced his finger alongside the edge. This was an offensive spell he rarely used because it both cost him the dagger and hurt terribly within. He had only used it once in combat, during the siege on Savvron. “Zharackatar impalliortus vreth coneai larrinkusa!” He threw the dagger outward, and it became a blur of smaller knives cutting and slashing at the reptigon, severing the teeth from its body, where they tumbled over. Searing pain laced through Dariak’s body, but he wasn’t done.

  He took an empty glass bottle from the table and set it on the floor at his feet. Then he snapped open a container of thick molasses and covered his lips in it, making sure he left massive amounts in place. Gently placing his tongue against the paste, he stretched his hands outward and pulled in slowly, curling his hands as he fought against the pain of the dagger-chain spell. When the molasses broke and entered his mouth, he muttered the words while st
ill drawing in his breath. “Compallionus vacutious exthelia imprixicon ferinai!” The fangs of the reptigon twitched and rotated around, and from deep within a thick, greenish ooze seeped out and arced across the room, landing into the glass bottle under the guidance of his fingers and hands.

  Dariak quickly sealed it and set it aside before too much air could contaminate it. He then recast the web snare on the beast, as it was starting to move again, and drove his dagger deep into its neck to kill it. He could have used another spell, but he was deeply aching inside, and he also wanted to save longer spell chains for the days to come.

  What he had now was a large container of reptigon serum that could be used as a spell component, a healing agent, or as a poison. Obtaining it normally was difficult, but this series of incantations had left him with a container similar to the extraction of nearly fifty beasts. Because he had used a vacuum-based spell to draw the serum, he had taken it all. Additionally, the water spell he’d used to pull it across the room kept it in its concentrated form, so when the engorgement spell wore off, its change in volume would vacuum seal the container without ruining its potency.

  The excessive ritual earned him a rich meal, which was brought in by a team of guards, rather than cast down the food chutes. The carcass was also removed at his request, but he refused to allow the mages to have the serum. He claimed he would need it for better spells. The hunger in their eyes was unmistakable.

  The vast drawings of energy, however, left him extremely weak, and he wasn’t able to work magic again for a couple of days. Luckily his reward had included cheeses and breads, and he wisely stashed them away with a cask of water. Despite the success of his complicated spell, he would not receive more nourishment from the mages until he used more magic.

  As he lay there three days later, noshing on a stale bit of bread, he wondered about his situation in more depth. Even in Hathreneir, he had never heard of a training ground such as this. Mages often used books and diagrams to learn spells, or they shared secrets with their friends or observed and absorbed spells from their foes. Nearly every mage kept notes, which became available to the populace at their deaths, unless they opened those pages to others during their lifetime. Yet a setup of this nature was unheard of. Practicing and creating great spells was left to theorists and wizened mages, not men like himself.

  And though mages weren’t precisely outlawed in Kallisor, he did feel restricted when it came to using his skills. Plus, the populace despised his kind. Just not in here. The blatant thievery of his spells irked him, but he also cherished the fact that he could push his skills to the limit. On a few occasions when his attempts had gone awry, healers had come in to seal his wounds and put him right again. He really had everything he could want here. Except for his freedom, of course.

  He thought of his quest as he rummaged for a wedge of cheese. He wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps and reunite the pieces of the jade figurine so that he could put an end to war. The enticements of the magic sessions, however, were diverting him well.

  Curious, he rose and thumbed through his journal with all his notes. He wrote in it every day, keeping note of the days passing as well as of all his spell ideas. He looked at the date and then had to look at it again. He had been there for almost six weeks already. Winter would be in full force, but he had no sense of it here in the tower. The realization of the spent time shocked him. He sat down but missed the chair and hit the floor. What kind of son was he to abandon his father’s quest so easily for this freedom to use magic without prejudice or restraint?

  He stood up, angry with himself, and started pacing furiously. The two observing mages lifted their hoods slightly, expecting him to start casting at any moment, but when he strutted from one end to the other without so much as a twitch of his mouth or hands, they eased back in their seats.

  Two pieces of jade were in his possession. The earth and water forces could be channeled through them. He needed to use that to find a means of getting out of this place. But the walls were all fortified with strong antimagic wards that would prevent him from using spells on them properly. Nonetheless, he needed a plan.

  Walking back to his journal, he shook his head at the date and then flipped ahead to a random page, marking it with a single dot in the corner. By that day, he needed to make his escape.

  The trickiest part, he knew, was beyond fathoming a way through the magic walls. No, the hardest part would be gathering what he needed without the rest of the mages knowing. He continued pacing, pondering some options.

  Kitalla crawled on the ground in the most unlikely of situations. Razor blades whirled overhead and along her sides, effectively boxing her in. She kept her head down and turned to the side so her cheek dragged along the coarse floor and slowly pulled her body up with the smallest form of crawling she could muster.

  The task wasn’t easy on the best of days, but today she was bleeding in numerous places and covered with deep welts everywhere else. She suspected one of her ribs was also broken from a recent fall, but none of it mattered. She simply had to succeed.

  Ten. Nine. Eight more pulls. Seven. Six. Five. It was hard to count them, but doing so helped her ignore the pain lacing through her body. She knew she had to hurry, though, for a fiery wall was catching up to her feet, not that she could see it in her position. Four. Three. Two.

  With a final wrench, she pulled herself from the horrific gauntlet and sprawled on the ground. Ahead of her, she could see the pedestal with the jade upon it. She was so close now. Left arm out. Right knee up. Slide forward just a little. Right arm out. Left knee up.

  Then something she didn’t expect. From overhead, a heavy stone slab plummeted from the ceiling. She didn’t have the strength to throw her body forward across the threshold, so she pulled back. But not quickly enough. Her right arm dragged back too slowly, and the stone crashed down upon it, flattening and shattering all the bones from her elbow to her fingertips.

  She screamed. Her cry should have shattered the stone; it was so loud and heartrending. She couldn’t breathe or see or feel anything else but a horrible agony that she would never forget. Her throat burned raw as she continued to wail and her eyes drained of tears. She couldn’t move.

  Only two things saved her at that moment. The slab was on a cable system that kept it just a few inches off the floor, so though it had broken all her bones, it did not do even worse damage. Also, Grenthar had an elite team of healers nearby for such an occasion, and they started first with sending the thief into a deep slumber. She grabbed for the unconsciousness desperately, but even when she was no longer alert, her body still cried out in agony.

  It would take the healers a week to repair such major damage, if they could repair it at all. They had spent many days at the start of Kitalla’s tenure analyzing and recording the aspects of her body, which had helped to facilitate the healing she’d needed as she tested each of Grenthar’s horrific traps. They had also had much practice tending to the plethora of wounds she had already obtained on her passes through the dungeon, but whether they could ever properly restore her arm after this was a feat left unseen. If they didn’t succeed, her usefulness to Grenthar would be at an end.

  The wretched soul wished she could give up the fight and just let her quest be over, yet the fighter in her would not allow it. Nothing else had ever defeated her—nothing that came to mind right then, anyway—and she was determined to succeed again. She had touched the jade once, and it had scored her chest, leaving her with an odd sensitivity to metal and an irrational desire to steal the jade away.

  For Dariak, the weeks had blended together. Not so for Kitalla. She felt every terrifying moment of her new existence. Grenthar had started her small, testing single traps at a time, but he soon learned that she could conquer them rather easily, even when they were dangerous. He then added sets of traps to a room and pitted her against them. Even when facing off against two lupinoes in a maze-like labyrin
th that had little room to maneuver, she’d still succeeded. Fire-tipped arrows in a chamber with a chasm and teetering poles as her only footsteps were also no match for her, even when she traversed them a second and third time with no more light than the arrows themselves.

  Battering rams, fall-away floor tiles, whirling blades: she’d faced them all and lived. And so Grenthar added to the difficulty by stringing rooms of challenges together. Soon Kitalla struggled against two, then three, then four rooms of intensifying traps, all in the name of protecting his piece of jade. But she knew she had to press onward, for if she truly failed a task, she would be slain. And as the challenges became more lethal, she knew Grenthar wouldn’t even need to perform the execution, because the traps would do the work for him.

  The master of the gauntlet kept the healers ready in order to cure her ailments quickly so he could send her out again and again, as if delaying at all would put his merchandise at risk. Kitalla had believed she was better than anything he could throw at her, but that stone wall after all the other obstacles had shown her otherwise.

  As the extended healing period came to an end, Kitalla wondered if it was at all worth it. Her focus shifted from claiming the jade to wanting to send Grenthar through his own trials and see him fail within the first few seconds. Revenge against him was no longer just in the form of taking his shard. She wanted also to repay him for her injuries.

  Curled up in her cell with extra food to promote recovery, Kitalla rocked back and forth. Her arm was wrapped so snugly with bandages she couldn’t really move it. Everything still stung inside, like dozens of fire ants crawling up and down, and she wondered idly if that sensation would ever go away. She looked around the cell, wishing she simply had someone to talk to, to lament with, to scream at. But she had nothing. Instead, she shifted her aching body over to the iron door and pressed her face against it. Since touching the jade, the iron had seemed somewhat alive, and though she didn’t know if it was possible, she thought the door felt melancholy, just standing there for all its life with people banging their fists against it in futility.