The Dragon's Eye: Sequel to Where the Stairs Don't Go (The Corridors of Infinity Book 2)

by Shae Hutto

  “Anyway,” interrupted Amanda, “Where are the royal family kept, do you know?”

  “Oh, of course,” replied Naomi. “If you go out that door and down the hallway to the dining room, you can leave the dining room on the south side and it’s just a short walk to the throne room.”

  Amanda looked confused. “Maybe you could come with and show us?”

  Naomi lifted the hem of her skirt to reveal a wooden leg. “I’d just slow you down, being a gimp and all,” she said with a sour look at Stan whose mouth dropped open in astonishment.

  “You could fit your whole foot in there, Stan,” said Amanda and hit him on the back of the head. “We’ll find it,” she said to Naomi. “Thanks for your help.”

  “My pleasure. Have a cookie?”

  Amanda looked at the cookies that looked very much like fingers, down to the almond sliver finger nails and some red pastry filling oozing out of the severed ends.

  “Uhm, no thanks?” she said in case they weren’t actually cookies. “I just ate.” Her stomach rumbled to remind her that she hadn’t eaten anything in many hours. Naomi looked crestfallen and offended.

  “Good luck to you then,” she said and returned to her baking, clearly dismissing the rude duo.

  “I’ll have a bite of your foot, too, Stan,” murmured Amanda as she pushed him out the indicated door and down the hallway to the dining room. The castle seemed deserted aside from the sounds of isolated people in the distance hurrying away. It had the air of a ship, sinking and abandoned. They saw no one but came across numerous dropped and discarded items left by people in a hurry to exit the castle; presumably before it was invaded or leveled by dragons.

  They crossed the dining room, stopping briefly to grab some cold fried chicken from an abandoned feast on the massive table. The portraits staring down on them gave her the creeps and they didn’t linger long under their gaze. They got a little turned around and confused after the dining room. Stan wanted them to go right and Amanda wanted to go left. They compromised and went through a door in the middle of a corridor. To their surprise, it led to a richly upholstered waiting area. The only other door was covered by a curtain. Through it, they discovered an audience chamber with a high vaulted ceiling. Torches burned along the walls amid a collection of war banners, shields and weaponry. At one end stood what was obviously a pair of thrones. Arrayed around the thrones were what looked like glass coffins. Inside were the royal family. There were three cases lying on cushioned benches, each with an adult adorned with costly royal regalia. One was obviously the king. Presumably, the other two were his son and daughter.

  Amanda approached and examined the people through the glass. They didn’t appear to be breathing, but their skin looked pink and healthy. Despite their complexions, they were as still as death. Amanda knocked on the glass and got no response. Just as well, she thought. Had the King opened his eyes, she would have leapt clean out of her skin. Amanda moved her inspection from the King to the glass case that surrounded him. The glass looked seamless and there didn’t appear to be any way to open it. She knocked again for lack of anything better to do. Stan was looking at the princess through her similar glass display case.

  “She’s beautiful,” he said. “How do you think we get the glass cases open?”

  Amanda answered him by hefting the turnip cart and smashing it on the prince’s case which shattered into a million sparkling shards which rained down on the prince, the floor and Amanda. One razor sharp dagger of glass sliced open the prince’s rosy cheek. No blood oozed out from under the finely sliced flap of facial skin.

  “You trying to give me a heart attack or what?” exclaimed Stan after the glass had stopped bouncing and pinging off the fine marble floor. “That was enough to wake the dead.”

  Amanda leaned in to get a closer look at the prince. She wrinkled her nose in disgust as she caught a whiff of something that wasn’t so fresh. She poked the prince in the face with her finger. His skin felt waxy and was losing its rosy hue as she watched. The coloring slowly faded to white and then turned the yellow of old parchment. In seconds, he went from looking like a young man in repose to a month-old corpse. The smell got worse.

  “Oh, great,” said Stan with irritated sarcasm. “You killed him. How ‘bout you don’t bust that cart over anyone else’s head until we wake ‘em up?”

  “I don’t think I killed him,” said Amanda. “I think they’re already dead.”

  “What makes you think you didn’t kill him?” asked Stan incredulously. “He looked alive, just like the other two until you smashed his case. Now he looks dead as a doornail. Ergo, you killed him.”

  “Don’t go all Latin on me, Stan,” said Amanda. “Claire said this Queen witch woman is a master of illusion. What if they’re dead and she enchanted the cases to make them look alive?”

  “Then what are we doing here?” he asked. “I thought I was supposed to wake them up or some crap.”

  Amanda retrieved the sax from the floor where she had placed it before picking up the turnip cart. She tossed it to Stan who looked panicky for a second before catching it with both hands.

  “So, get to waking, Prince Charming,” she said. “You want to kiss this dude and see if that helps? You might want to hold your nose. He’s a bit ripe.”

  “Funny,” said Stan as he put the sax on a leather lanyard around his neck and adjusted the neck piece. He started leafing through the folder of sheet music he had purloined from the library.

  “Are you going to play Wake Up by Rage Against the Machine?” asked Amanda, only half joking. When he looked lost, she offered to play it on her iPhone.

  “Uh, no thanks,” he said. “I think we’ll save that one for last. I’m going to start with some jazz.”

  “What? No!” protested Amanda. We don’t want them to chill out or dance or something. We want them to freaking wake up. At least play Avicii’s Wake Me UP.”

  “I don’t know it and it’s not in the sheet music.”

  “Can you improvise? Because I have it on my phone, too.”

  “I guess I can try,” he said without much enthusiasm. Amanda un-synced her phone from the isolation circlet. She played him the song and he asked her to play it again. He started playing along and Amanda had to admit that he was good. She felt herself being affected by the music and started to feel energized. She fumbled with the switch and turned on her circlet and was rewarded with silence. He played the song by ear but not all the way through, because it was clear to both of them that it was having no effect on the sleepers. “Well, that was terrible,” he said. “I’d rather play some jazz.”

  “I’m sure you would,” she replied as she turned off the circlet. “But I’d rather you didn’t.” Her inaugural experience with the saxophone was still fresh in her memory. “Gimme that,” she said and grabbed the folder of music from him and began leafing through it. “Well, what have we here?” she asked rhetorically as she held up a saxophone arrangement for Edvard Grieg’s Morning Mood and another one from Rossini’s William Tell Overture, called Morning Song. “Play those,” she said and handed it to him. He looked at them, shrugged and nodded. He placed the sheet music on the throne and started to play. Amanda caught the opening notes of the first classic song made famous by Bugs Bunny cartoons and felt the need to rise and greet the morning even though the sun wasn’t quite up yet. She quickly muted the world again, and consequently, didn’t hear the Queen enter the throne room.

  “What have we here?” asked the Queen with obvious pleasure. Stan’s music screeched to a halt. Amanda saw the anxious look on Stan’s face and spun around and unmuted her circlet.

  “Aw, hell,” she said.

  _________________________________________________

  As Roger and Gardener crossed the eastern side of the castle yard with an unconscious Nick on the marine’s shoulders and a blood-spattered Weenie at their heels, they moved further north to avoid one hellacious light show some wizard was putting up somewhere near the south gate. It loo
ked like he was sparing no effort. Fire and lightning sprayed about indiscriminately and the din was deafening. They didn’t want to get anywhere near that guy. The show ended when Connix swooped down out of the inky black night sky. They didn’t see what happened when he landed, but the fireworks stopped, so it was a good bet the wizard had some sort of tragic end of life experience.

  Fortunately, their little detour to the north brought them close enough to a door into the castle that they were able to spot it without too much difficulty. The few people they encountered on their way fled before they could get close enough to be a threat. The door was illuminated by two flanking torches that were starting to burn low and gutter. The door was unlocked and they wasted no time entering the great stone pile. Once inside, Gardener set Nick down for a minute to rest. Roger promptly picked him up and slung him over his own shoulders.

  “No time,” he said and hurried off down the hallway. Gardener followed. Roger rapidly took several turns and quickly realized that he was now lost and that he recognized the hallway where they were. In front of them was the broken door leading to the tower apartment of the Queen. Roger stood contemplating the doorway and wishing there was someone to ask for directions. In the still and quiet, he caught the faint sound of a saxophone muffled by untold turnings and stone walls. Weenie picked his ears up and eagerly ran to the next intersection.

  “Woof,” he urged them impatiently.

  “We’re right behind you,” Roger assured Weenie as he started after the Dalmatian.

  “Should you wish to sell your dog, I would be most inclined to purchase him,” remarked Gardener in appreciation for the dog’s intelligence and penchant for saving their bacon.

  “I would rather sell me own sainted mother,” said Roger.

  “Woof,” Weenie admonished them because their conversation was making it tough to hear. He stopped and cocked his head, listening.

  “Sorry,” mumbled Roger and shut up when Weenie shot him a reproachful look. The music had stopped and they were once again at a loss for a direction to take. There were no conveniently placed signs directing to the royal family. The stone corridors were a jumble of smells and Weenie was catching no scent of anything familiar. They all listened intently. It didn’t take long and the sax started up again, this time playing something pretty modern. It was a little louder and clearer and the music was lending vigor and pep to the party. When the music stopped again, they all came to a halt to wait for it to recommence. This time, when the music started, they all recognized the Morning Song, and it was encouraging both wakefulness and a happy outlook. They hurried, aware that they were close. The music stopped in mid-phrase with a jarring honk, but they were already close and could tell the music was coming from behind a door near the end of the stone hallway where they stood amidst tapestries and murals. It didn’t take them long to cover the distance and rush through the door.

  The throne room reeked like roadkill. More alarming than the foul odor was the tense standoff under way inside. Near the throne and the glass entombed royal family, Stan crouched behind Amanda who was standing tall and proud, resplendent in her scarlet dress, pointing a wicked looking blaster pistol at the other end of the throne room where the Queen stood defiantly, flanked by two halberd wielding guardsmen and two wizards in robes of scarlet and grey. Roger would have had a hard time deciding which woman looked scarier and he was certain that both women were completely nuts. Neither looked their way or acknowledged their presence. Roger slid Nick to the ground and drew his sword with a metal on metal rasp. Gardener drew his behind him. Weenie was emitting a growl so low and quiet that it reminded Roger of the hum of powerful electrical equipment. It reminded Gardener of the hum of a large angry bee hive.

  Roger studied the wizards and wished Nick was awake. Weenie studied the wizards and decided which one to kill first.

  “You may all leave,” declared the Queen in a regal, ringing voice full of authority. She waved one hand in a gesture of laconic dismissal. “Leave the Horn, the Eye and yon dark minstrel and you may all go. I promise no harm will come to you.”

  “You may not leave,” sneered Amanda. “Tell your lackeys to clear out and I promise I’ll only kill you.” Amanda seemed very calm and self-assured. The Queen’s eyes widened, not at the refusal of her ridiculous offer, but at the violence behind Amanda’s words. Her eyes narrowed down to slits of determined malice.

  “Very well,” she said. You’ve made your choice, girl. Now you must lie in it.” Amanda frowned at the inconsistent metaphor. The Queen made a minute gesture with one finger. All hell broke loose.

  The Queen was protected by a magical shield that caused blaster bolts to ricochet off, burning and gouging holes in the masonry and threatening to set tapestries and flags ablaze. A hail of deadly magic flooded toward Amanda who was apparently impossible to hit as she danced and flowed from side to side, ducking, bobbing and weaving as she fired again and again, always getting closer to the Queen. Stan darted behind the massive throne and crouched out of sight and just in time; a flaming lance of magic ripped a huge chunk off the golden throne, leaving a blackened, melted hole in one side.

  Swords met halberds with a great ringing and clashing. Gleaming white fangs met the soft flesh of a wizardly neck and there was suddenly less magic being hurled at the elusive crimson ghost that was Amanda. She shot the second wizard in the face with the pistol and his shield was much less effective than the Queen’s. The bolt caused the unfortunate wizard’s head to disintegrate messily.

  The Queen squawked indignantly as Roger took an opportunity to swing his sword at her head, hoping to dislodge it from her neck. She ducked back and he only succeeded in sending her crown and a large lock of her raven hair sliding across the polished floor. With a hideous rictus of a grin on her deathly pallid face, she raised one hand to smite him down and it was immediately gripped by bloody, slobbery canine teeth as Weenie clamped his jaws on the outstretched hand and shook his whole body back and forth in an effort to rip the offending appendage out by its roots. She screamed in pain and Roger prepared to take another swipe at her. One of the halberdiers took the opportunity to bring his blade down in a grand sweeping arc, straight at Roger’s oblivious head. Inches before it could cleave him in twain, the halberd stopped as Gardener threw himself in its path, sword upraised and braced with both hands to help absorb the awful force of the blow. At the same time, a flash of blinding light sent Weenie sliding limply into the corner, taking one of the Queen’s fingers with him.

  The halberd broke both Gardener’s sword and his wrist and buried itself in his uniformed shoulder. He grunted with both the effort and the pain of the impact. Roger abandoned his attack on the Queen and launched himself at the guardsman whose weapon was temporarily stuck in Gardener’s shoulder. Once again, Roger let loose an unearthly wail as he charged down the length of the halberd shaft and buried his sword to the hilt in the man’s neck, just above the sternum. He felt a momentary impedance as the tip struck the man’s vertebral column, but felt it find the gap between two vertebrae and continue out his back, severing his spinal cord. The man collapsed like a puppet with his strings cut and Roger was already pulling his sword out, his eyes looking for the next threat. Gardener fell onto his side and the halberd came loose with a clatter. The Royal Marine was bleeding and having very little luck in his efforts to get to his feet.

  The blaster pistol was depleted and nothing happened when Amanda tried to shoot the distracted Queen in the back of the head. In frustration, she threw the pistol at her instead. The pistol bounced off the Queen’s black head and she turned in anger just in time to catch Amanda’s open-handed punch on the side of her face. To Amanda’s surprised horror, the Queen grabbed Amanda’s punching arm as it continued on its arc and, with superhuman strength and speed, spun Amanda around and threw her across the floor. The Queen spit a gobbet of blood on the gleaming white floor and wiped her bloody lips on the back of one hand. The other hand was streaming blood and dog slobber and she held it we
ll away from her clothes with distaste. She walked toward Amanda who had scrambled to her feet and was trying to fight her dress into a more manageable arrangement. Amanda pulled a knife from a strap around one thigh and tried to look like she knew how to use it. From behind her she could hear the grunts of effort and metallic crashes as Roger fought the remaining halberdier.

  The Queen didn’t waste time talking to Amanda or taunting her. She launched a vicious round house kick at Amanda’s head, which she barely ducked under. As Amanda tried to come in under the Queen’s leg and stab her in the abdomen, the Queen knocked the knife from her hand with one fist and continued her spin, bringing her leg down low and sweeping Amanda’s feet from under her. The Queen was so quick, she looked more like a black blur as she spun. Once again, Amanda was sliding across the hard marble floor. The Queen advanced and Amanda barely had time to leap to her feet before she was frantically blocking punches and kicks that came faster than she had ever seen. Still, Amanda was fast, herself, and the Queen was getting frustrated at her inability to land a significant blow. As long as Amanda didn’t waste any effort trying to counter attack, she was able to block or dodge almost all of the Queen’s punches. A high-pitched scream and gurgle indicated that the sword on halberd competition was over, but Amanda couldn’t spare a second to see who had won the gold and who had died.

  Amanda messed up. She slipped on a puddle of blood and sank to one knee. The Queen finally managed to land a punch squarely on Amanda’s chest just under her breast and they both felt a rib give way. Amanda cursed hoarsely and scrambled back, holding her aching chest. It was the Queen’s turn to scream, this time in mortal, spine searing agony, as a flaming lasso of energy wrapped itself around her from behind. Claire jerked on the lasso, spinning the tormented Queen around to face her.

  “Are you wearing my clothes?” the Queen managed to gasp in indignation as she was turned to face Claire and saw the blue and orange riding suit Claire was wearing.