by Kay L. Ling
“Yer not very big,” he observed in a deep voice. He smiled at her unpleasantly. When she didn’t say anything he looked down at the beetle. His initial glance turned into a glowering frown as he crouched down to get a better look and saw that the bug had been fried to cinders. She’d give anything to know what he was thinking. He stared at the blackened bug quite a while before he stood and met her unwavering gaze. Something flickered in his eyes. Wariness?
“I hope that wasn’t a family pet,” she said with all the nonchalance she could muster. “It was bothering me.”
When he touched the carcass with his foot, it crumbled into a heap of ash. His hands twitched nervously and then his fingers curled into fists. “Not a bad trick,” he said in a voice that wasn’t altogether steady. “They say ya got powers, but that won’t help you. I’ll shred yer meat from yer bones. Think you can get outta here?” He looked decidedly uncomfortable as he wet his lips. His voice lowered to a threatening growl. “Wouldn’t try it,’ if I was you. Ya met yer match.”
She was amazed to see fear in the breghlin’s eyes, but maybe she shouldn’t be. He knew what Sheamathan could do to him. He wasn’t sure what Lana could do, and he didn’t want to find out. She studied him thoughtfully. Bob? Nate? Bruce? He looked surprised when she said, “My name is Lana. What’s your name?”
He scowled. “None of yer business, but my name is X.”
Chapter 16
Raenihel woke on hard ground, lying on his back. For a moment he didn’t know where he was. The early morning sky along the horizon glowed red and orange. He blinked and looked again. It was morning, and he was outside in an unfamiliar place. Sitting up with a groan, he rubbed his eyes. It all came back—Lana and the Challenger’s blade and the journey to Shadowglade. Yes, he remembered drifting off to sleep after keeping watch through most of the night. He had slept fitfully, disturbed by troubling dreams.
Cautiously he crawled to the edge of the embankment so he could see the castle and the surrounding land. Lana hadn’t returned. Was she still waiting for an audience with Sheamathan? It wasn’t likely. He ran a hand through his long, white beard. Something was wrong. He could allow more time, trusting that she was resourceful enough to overcome whatever difficulty had waylaid her, or he could go look for her. He knew what he should do. After all, he had brought her here under false pretenses, letting her think they had come to gather gem specimens, while all along he had planned to take her to Shadowglade to confront the woodspirit. He was not proud of that, but two worlds were in danger. He would wait until midday, and if Lana hadn’t returned by then, he would do his best to find her.
Even at this distance, he could feel Sheamathan’s influence sapping his strength and making his mind sluggish. The closer to the castle he went, the harder it would be to keep a clear head, and that realization brought a new pang of fear. He moved away from the embankment and turned his back on the castle. If only he could turn his back as easily on the problems the castle and its mistress represented.
When a gnome stood in Sheamathan’s presence, and she exerted her full influence, she rendered him witless and paralyzed, as she had done that horrible night when he had first met Lana. No, he didn’t want to go into Shadowglade, but there was no one he could send in his place.
Sitting with his back to the castle, he thought about what he must do. A small meal of nuts and venison would put him in better spirits, he told himself as he dug through his pack. Midday, he would take a deep draught of fialazza for courage and set out in search of Lana. If anyone saw him before he reached the castle, he would pretend to be completely under Sheamathan’s control, on an errand in her service. Scouts had found such a gnome once, far from the castle. The gnome’s mind had become so dulled by Sheamathan’s control that he had wandered off and gotten lost. The poor fellow had fallen into a pit, and had no idea how long he had been there. It was a wonder one of Sheamathan’s pets hadn’t eaten him.
Raenihel chewed a piece of venison and stared blankly ahead. He would fix his mind on Lana, her gems, and the Challenger’s blade and fill his mind with positive thoughts to help him resist the woodspirit’s power. He must find Lana. Meeting her had given him hope for the first time in decades, and he couldn’t let her journey to Shadowglade end in disaster.
Periodically throughout the morning he scanned the land between himself and the castle, hoping to spot Lana, but not as much as a shadow moved across the dry, cracked land.
When the sun beat down directly overhead, a blazing orb in the cloudless sky, he knew he could wait no longer. He sighed in resignation and looked for somewhere to hide his belongings. It wouldn’t do to walk into Shadowglade with a backpack full of supplies. A few hundred feet away he found a crevice large enough to hold both backpacks. He threw Lana’s in, and then rummaged through his own and took out anything he couldn’t do without: food, fialazza and a knife.
His wineskin felt about half full, so he would need to drink sparingly. Water was too bulky to carry without his backpack, so he must leave it behind. He took several gulps of water, followed by three sips of fialazza, and then slipped the leather cord around his neck and hid the wineskin inside his tunic. The pouch of nuts, a few pieces of venison, and his small knife fit into his pockets. He dropped his backpack into the crevice and kicked red dirt on top.
Taking a deep breath to steady his shaking hands, he headed toward the embankment. How many of Sheamathan’s hideous creations roamed between here and the castle? Pythanium were nocturnal creatures, he reminded himself, but there was no telling what else was out there or, for that matter, inside the castle itself. He dreaded going into the castle. Even if he could slip inside unseen, he still had to locate Lana before Sheamathan’s pets or the breghlin found him. It seemed like an impossible mission.
He half-walked half-slid down the steep embankment, raising a cloud of dust that stung his eyes. When he reached the bottom, he dusted himself off and cautiously scanned the desolate land. Most of Sheamathan’s abominations hated daylight, so they would look for places to hide from the midday sun. He must steer clear of the wider crevices.
Fixing his eyes on the castle, he walked with sluggish, halting steps, as if he were under Sheamathan’s control. The deception came easily. Her evil presence made his body feel heavy and unresponsive and his mind cloudy. By the time he neared the castle it would be nearly impossible to keep his mind on his mission. What would become of him if he truly fell into a trance? Shaking away the uncomfortable thought, he concentrated on Lana and the Challenger’s blade. He felt certain it was her destiny to help his people and her own. She had gem powers, and now she had the Challenger’s knife. The knife was a powerful weapon. He, a lowly gnome, had used it to kill a pythanium. There was no telling what a human with Lana’s gem powers could do with it. She would learn its secrets and master its powers.
Squinting his eyes against the sun’s glare, he tried to keep a watchful eye out for danger. The midday heat made him increasingly tired and weak, and between the physical exhaustion and Sheamathan’s oppressive control, it was all he could do to make his feet carry him forward.
When he finally approached the open drawbridge, he kept his head down and walked with slow, shuffling steps. If anyone stopped him, he would babble incoherently and pretend to be harmless and dim-witted. He paused for a moment, fighting an urge to turn back. No, he must see this through. His heart beat faster as he stepped onto the drawbridge.
With a strange detachment he listened to the hollow thumps of his footsteps on the aged, splintered gray timbers. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He was grateful for the knife-edge of fear that twisted in his stomach. It helped clear the fog from his mind. Once he reached the castle and found a way in, he would find a good hiding place and have a calming drink of fialazza.
He reached the end of the drawbridge without seeing any guards. Wetting dry lips he continued along the front of the castle, fighting the impulse to look up. If anyone was watching from the watchtowers he must look as if h
e belonged here.
The castle’s side wall was impenetrable—no doors, no way inside. Somewhere, there must be a servant’s entrance, he thought in frustration. If not on the side, then perhaps in the rear.
When he reached the rear wall, he was relieved to see three doors: farthest away, two massive, recessed doors made of rough-hewn timbers, and much closer, a little door, half off its hinges. What a strange little door, he mused. Providence had provided a way inside and he was grateful. Pushing the door open farther, he stooped and went through, leaving the door open for light.
The narrow, stone-block room looked like part of a storage cellar. Its low ceiling provided adequate room for him to stand. Shelves along the walls on both sides held a variety of tools, crocks, red clay pots, and wooden kegs.
He crept forward and came to a small arched opening between two groups of shelves. Probably another storage room lay on the other side. A few feet away, at the end of the room, stood another door. Later, he would see if it was locked, but now he must rest and drink some fialazza. From here, he could see both doors. If anyone came in, he would crawl through the small arched opening and hide.
He pulled out the wineskin and sat in front of the opening. After two sips he felt his muscles relax. Sheamathan’s presence didn’t seem quite as oppressive. Another sip brought new energy and heightened awareness. And then he sensed someone close by.
A scuffling sound, not far away, made him tense with alarm. A muffled voice said, “Something’s here.” Raenihel held his breath and strained to hear more. Another muffled voice whispered, “What is it?” Raenihel looked around, frightened and bewildered. Where were the voices coming from? The first voice answered, “Dunno, but something’s blocking our door.”
Something jabbed Raenihel in the back and with a startled cry he bolted to his feet.
No longer muffled, a high-pitched voice said, “Sorry, but we didn’t know somebody was sittin’ there!”
Raenihel asked cautiously, “Who’s there?”
“Just Greg and me.” A pause followed, then, “Who’s there?”
The voices didn’t sound dangerous or threatening. He answered, “Raenihel. Raenihel the gnome.” He paused uncertainly. “What are you?”
Soft laughter followed and the sound of scampering feet. What emerged from the hole made him step backward.
“What we were is human boys, but you didn’t ask that. What we are is rats, as you can see.”
His revulsion gave way to pity. He found himself at a loss for words. The huge rat that had spoken began to laugh. Being turned into a rat was hardly a laughing matter, and he stared sadly at the creatures before him.
The rats were a foot high and a couple feet long, not including their long, hairless tails. The one that had addressed him was brown, and heavier than its gray companion. Both rats looked at him with bright, black eyes, their long whiskers twitching. Raenihel let out a long, expressive breath and, finally finding his tongue said, “I’m very sorry for you.”
The gray rat made a movement rather like a shrug and said in a high, squeaky voice, “Hey, it ain’t so bad. After a while you get used to being ugly and repulsive. Jordy here was kinda ugly and repulsive to start with, so it wasn’t much of a change for him.”
Jordy let out an aggravated squeal. “Hey, being a rat suits you to a T. It wasn’t much of a change for you, either.”
Raenihel fought back a smile. He was interested in their story, but if they bickered the whole way through, he had a feeling it would be a very long tale. “Well, now,” he said, trying to steer the subject to the matter at hand, “I wonder if you know anything about a friend of mine. I think she’s being held here—a young human woman. She arrived the other day and probably met with Sheamathan.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Greg said, sitting back on his haunches. “Slow down. We rats are none too gifted with brains, you know.”
“Speak for yourself,” Jordy growled. “Me, I got more brains than a rat’s likely to need in three lifetimes.”
Greg sputtered, but answered Raenihel’s question. “Well, if she’s here, she’s probably in the dungeon. And yeah, somebody came through the other day. We heard a voice. Not sure if it was a woman. Figured someone wanted us to do something, so we hid.” He appraised Raenihel with keen, black eyes and said, “You need any help looking for your friend?”
Raenihel considered. “Well, the castle is vast, and it would be helpful to have someone who knew his way around this maze.” Immediately he cringed at his choice of words.
“Sure, we rats are good with mazes, so they say,” Jordy said, frowning in self-pity.
“Forgive me. I meant no offense.”
“Forget it,” Greg said. “We make a lot of rat jokes ourselves.”
Jordy grunted and switched his hairless tail irritably.
“Are you volunteering to help find Lana?”
“Sure,” Greg said. “Sounds like fun. Besides, what’s the worst that can happen once you’ve been turned into a rat? It sorta colors the way you look at life and danger, if you know what I mean.”
“And what about you?” Raenihel asked the other rat.
Jordy snorted. “I’m in. Where Greg goes, I go. I’m not sittin’ around this, um, rat hole by myself.” He showed his teeth in what might pass as a smile.
Oh, dear. This would be a memorable experience.
“So, let’s get going,” Greg said.
Jordy lifted one of his pink, front feet in protest. “Wait. Gimme a minute to round up a snack.”
“He’s gotta get some cheese outta his mousetrap,” Greg said sarcastically.
Raenihel grimaced as the rats scampered into their hole. Maybe their help wasn’t worth the price.
Greg and Jordy claimed to know every corner of the castle and every hiding place. Several months ago they had discovered the airshaft that led to the dungeon. When they were bored, they hid and listened to the guards. Greg said the dungeon had a network of airshafts. Vents opened in the ceiling of each central hold—cellblocks with a row of cells. Some cells had their own vents, he said, and you could look into them.
Raenihel felt like an awkward, oversized worm as he followed the rats. The airshaft was large enough for them, but he had to wriggle on his belly or crawl on all fours, keeping his head down. The rats could move much faster than he could, and it was difficult to keep up. He was much too old for this, he sputtered to himself. He should have found his own way to the dungeon. Once he found Lana, he wasn’t sure what he’d do, but he’d figure it out when the time came.
After what seemed forever, the rats stopped above the first cellblock. The airshaft passed over a vent hole a couple feet wide. Jordy, who had taken the lead, crouched beside the hole. Raenihel and Greg waited farther back where they could whisper without being heard.
“I don’t imagine he can see much through that hole,” Raenihel said.
“First, he’ll listen for anyone talking down there. Maybe he’ll hear her, or the guards talking about her. We rats have pretty good hearing.”
Trying to find Lana by listening at every vent hole didn’t sound very efficient, and it could take a long time. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a better plan. How many cellblocks were there? He was afraid to ask. His knees hurt and his back ached, but it was best not to think about that. In a couple minutes, Jordy scampered back to report.
“It’s quiet down there. I can see part of the hold if I stick my head down the hole, but I can’t get a good look without falling.”
“What if the gnome was to stuff you through so you could get a better look?” Greg suggested.
“Why not stuff you through?” Jordy retorted. His already high, squeaky voice went up an octave. “Maybe you don’t mind your whiskers getting whacked off by a sword. I’ve become a little attached to mine.”
“Okay, okay, don’t get hot around the collar. Oh, right, you don’t have one,” Greg said, snickering at his own dismal wit. Raenihel groaned inwardly. There was no end to their “we’ve be
en turned into rats” jokes.
Jordy continued to sputter, “If I show my face down there, guards will cut me to ribbons.”
“If they cut you to ribbons, I’ll wear one on my tail in your memory. Anyway, the guards are probably gone. What a coward.”
Tempers were rising. Raenihel said, “Maybe there’s another way.”
“Oh, I’ll go, I’ll go. Why not? I have nothing to live for,” Jordy said dramatically. “Always the hero, that’s me.” He walked down the airshaft. “Come on. Just be careful not to drop me. One shake of my tail means stop lowering me. Two means haul me up.”
Raenihel discovered just how heavy these oversized rats were once he held Jordy by the hindquarters and started to lower him headfirst through the hole. Jordy flicked his tail once, signaling him to stop. Hanging halfway through the opening, the rat should be able to look around the central hold, and with any luck he might see into the cells. Jordy flicked his tail twice and Raenihel pulled him up.
“Well?” Greg asked impatiently.
“Nothin’ down there. No guards. No prisoners.”
Raenihel said, “On we go, then.” He finally brought himself to ask the dreaded question. “How many central holds are there?
“Wouldn’t know for sure. Never counted them,” Jordy said. “Probably at least forty.”
Raenihel’s heart sank at the prospect of dropping the rat down dozens of holes. He said gloomily, “If that’s the case, we’d better keep moving.”
Chapter 17
Lana paced, trying to channel her nervous energy. Things weren’t going the way she had planned. Her idea of building a rapport with the guards, and then bribing or tricking them into letting her go, had fallen apart. She needed a new plan.
Breghlin were mean but they weren’t very smart, and better yet, her guards were afraid of her—even X—a fact that continued to amaze her. X was bigger and meaner than the rest and, if she was not mistaken, dumber, too. Somehow, there had to be a way to take advantage of that. Being nice hadn’t gotten her anywhere. Now, she’d try a different approach—fear. She would exploit the breghlins’ fear of gem powers. What had Jules said? Knowledge and power, bluffs and bargains. It was time for bluffs. She wasn’t sure what the bluff would be, but she would think of something.
