by Frewin Jones
“And once in the Palace, what then?” asked Sancha. “Where do we begin the search?”
“We must go by stealth to the Royal Apartments,” said Cordelia. “And down to the dungeons below, for it is there that our father will have been imprisoned, be most sure of that.”
“And Eden also, pray it be so,” added Sancha.
“Then let’s go,” said Titania. “Follow me, and keep to cover.”
“Hang on,” Tania said. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for just a few of us to go down there, at least till we know what we’re up against?” She looked at her mother. “It’s crazy for us all to go—and it’s especially crazy for you to risk it. If something bad happens to you, how do we get Oberon free once we find him?”
“You’re wrong, Tania, if you think I have any special powers to help liberate the King from the Sorcerer King’s enchantments,” Titania said grimly. “The strength that we have between us may be enough to defeat Lyonesse, but it cannot be used until after Oberon has been set free. So long as he is imprisoned in amber the bond between us is severed and the power of the Sun King and the Moon Queen is broken.”
“Then it makes even more sense for you to stay clear of the Palace,” Tania urged. “We think he’ll be in the dungeons, but what if he isn’t? What if it takes us a while to find him? We could run into all kinds of trouble.”
“A smaller group would be less likely to be seen, Your Grace,” Edric said. “If the King is too heavily guarded, we may need to make our way up into Anvis, to Caer Ravensare, to fetch reinforcements.”
“Let us hope that is not the case,” said Titania. “Every hour we lose only helps the Sorcerer King to tighten his grip on the land.” She looked thoughtfully at Tania. “You have a good head on your shoulders.” She sighed heavily. “It burns my heart to send my children into danger, but I will do as you say and remain in the forest.”
“Not alone,” said Cordelia. “I will remain with our mother lest the enemy come upon her by stealth.” She drew her crystal sword. “They shall not harm her while I stand at her side.”
Sancha swung the backpack she had been carrying off her shoulder and held it out to Cordelia. “Guard our mother’s crown till we return.”
Cordelia took the bag. “I will.”
“Then it is agreed,” said Titania. “Edric, Sancha, Tania, and Zara will go to the Palace, and Cordelia and I will wait here and pray that you find the King and return safely.”
“A party of four, with but two swords,” said Zara. “Who of us will go unarmed into such peril?”
“I’ll do without a weapon for the time being,” said Edric, holding out his sword for Tania. “I’d rather know that you’d be able to defend yourself.”
“I also will forbear a weapon,” said Sancha. “Let Tania and Zara be our warrior maidens.”
Tania took the sword from Edric’s hand and stared out toward the smoke-hazed palace. What harm had the Sorcerer King done in that sad, defiled place? She tightened her grip on the sword hilt, pushing away her fear as she prepared to confront the horrors that she knew must be lurking in the palace.
“Ready?” Edric asked her.
She nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. She had to be ready.
The Realm of Faerie needed her—what other choice was there?
II
Tania and Edric and the two princesses made their way stealthily down through the orchards and vineyards. The evil power of the Sorcerer King had wrought havoc here, too: Tania saw fruit hanging wrinkled and rotten from the trees, and the grapes were shriveled on the vine, gray and furred with mold. The foul stench of decay hung in the air, a miasma of bitter and sickening odors that came from the putrid juices and the maggoty pulp.
They reached the vast palace half a mile or more from the Royal Apartments.
“I’ll go first,” Tania said as they passed under a tall, arched entranceway. “Keep in single file behind me. Zara, you guard the back. Edric? I don’t know my way around this part of the palace—how do we get to the dungeons?”
“I’ll explain as we go along,” he replied.
She looked into his eyes for a moment, gathering her courage for what was to come.
“I love you,” he murmured softly, holding her gaze.
“I love you, too,” she whispered with a smile. “Let’s go.”
They moved forward, Tania in the lead with her sword ready, Edric close behind, and Sancha and Zara at the rear. Tania brought them to a halt at every corner and intersection and doorway, judging the safety of the next open space before moving on.
It filled Tania with sadness and dismay to see her home so empty of life as they made their way through the great staterooms and banqueting halls and chambers. A few days ago these rooms would have been filled with people, but now they were deserted and ominously still. A creeping dread grew in her as they moved cautiously along the desolate halls and across forsaken courtyards silent under a smoke-hazed sky.
They passed the open door of a small private chamber where the signs of violence were all too obvious: A table was overturned; a window was shattered. An arrow jutted from the doorpost and a fine tapestry had been slashed by a sword.
“Do you think everyone got out safely?” she whispered to Edric.
He looked at her with hollow eyes. “No,” he said softly. “I don’t.”
She shivered. “Me neither.”
“I know our quest is to find and rescue our father,” Zara hissed. “But I would gladly meet with our enemy and pay them back for what they have done here!”
“So would I,” Tania said between gritted teeth. “But we can’t.”
“Nay,” said Sancha. “We four against ten score Gray Knights? Cordelia may think those fair odds, but I do not.” She stared down the long curving corridor. “We are nearing the Royal Apartments. My heart tells me that we shall encounter the filth of Lyonesse soon enough.”
It wasn’t long before they came upon more signs of the brutal revenge of the Gray Knights of Lyonesse: spatters of dry dark blood, broken Faerie swords lying on the rich carpets, a torn and bloodied cloak strewn on a stairway, a woman’s shoe fallen on the parquet floor of a ballroom. Tania’s chest grew tight and a bitter taste filled her mouth as she gazed at the forlorn slipper. People had been killed here, she felt certain of that. Part of her wanted to turn and run from this dreadful place—but a stubborn determination made her stay despite her fear.
It was clear that fighting had taken place in this room. There were no bodies, but among the upturned furniture and trampled ornaments, Edric and Sancha found undamaged crystal swords. Tania looked apprehensively at the discarded weapons, wondering how they had come to be lying there. Had trapped Faerie knights thrown them down in surrender—or had they been pried from dead hands? She shuddered and turned away. She would have a chance to avenge their deaths, she promised herself.
Several doors led out of the ballroom. “Which way now?” she asked.
Edric pointed to open double doors at the far end of the room. “A corridor leads from there,” he said. “If we follow it to the left, it’ll take us to a stairway and then out to a courtyard you’ll recognize.”
He was right. When they came out into the open, Tania remembered the wide grassy courtyard very well. The last time she had been here, children had been playing—Faerie children with their childhood wings.
Now a blackened pile of burned furniture was heaped in the middle of the courtyard. Wisps of smoke still snaked up into the dull brown air. The grass was burned and parched. Every window that overlooked the courtyard had been smashed and as they skirted the reeking pyre, broken glass crunched under their feet.
“This is our home,” Zara said, sobbing, under her breath. “See what terrible things they have done to our home.”
Sancha put an arm around her shoulders. “The Sorcerer King takes pretty revenge for a thousand years imprisoned,” she said. “But he will not prevail. This evil will be defeated, never doubt that.”
&nb
sp; Tania looked at her sisters for a moment, pierced by Zara’s sorrow and disturbed that Sancha’s hopeful words sounded so unconvincing. “He’s free now,” she said. “Why doesn’t he just go? What’s the point of all this destruction?”
“The Sorcerer of Lyonesse is a creature of lust and anger and greed and fear,” Sancha replied. “He dreads light and laughter and beauty. He is tormented by joy and grace and compassion. While the Realm of Faerie survives his heart is burned by it. He has to destroy us utterly.” Her eyes were huge and dark. “He is other than we are, Tania—he is a monster.”
“I want to kill him,” Tania said, a white-hot rage filling her mind. “I want to find him and kill him for what he’s done here.”
Edric took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. “We can’t fight them all,” he said. “We have to find King Oberon, that’s the most important thing.”
“I know,” she said. She took a long, deep breath. “But I hate all this; I hate it so much!” She broke away from Edric, clenching her fist around her sword hilt as she made for the doorway that would take them back inside.
But there was no relief in here from the devastation of the Gray Knights. They were in the Royal Apartments now and the smell of burning drifted through the air. In room after room, ugly scorch marks blackened the walls and stained the ornate plasterwork of the high ceilings. Everywhere, furniture had been smashed; broken ornaments were strewn across the floors, tapestries and paintings and wall hangings torn down and ripped to fragments.
They came out into a lofty atrium where a grand oak staircase led to an upper gallery. They were halfway across the tiled floor when Tania heard from above the echoing sound of heavy footsteps.
“Gray Knights!” Zara hissed.
Nothing more needed to be said. They ran soft-footed back to the doorway through which they had come. Tania leaned against the open door, out of sight of anyone coming along the gallery. The sound of footsteps grew louder. She closed her eyes as memories of the Gray Knights of Lyonesse came flooding back into her mind. They were thin as ghosts, clad in mail that glistened with a sickly light. Their long wispy hair hung like cobwebs around their sunken, ash white faces. Their eyes were red as fire and their cruel mouths spread in perpetual lunatic smiles.
Tania’s heart pounded. It sounded as if several of the Gray Knights were marching along the high wooden gallery. What should they do if the creatures came down the stairs? Turn and run? Fight them?
But the clatter of booted feet receded and the ominous silence returned. Tania opened her eyes, shocked by how scared she had been. Edric was looking anxiously at her.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded, smiling to reassure him. “I’m fine.” What was the point of admitting her terror? “Where do we go from here?” she asked.
“Follow me,” he said. “It’s not far now.”
He led them across the atrium to a side passage. At the far end there was a stone doorway. The door itself was scattered in fragments across the floor of the passage. Tania saw that a narrow stone stairway wound darkly down. A reddish glow flickered at the bottom.
“This door was broken from the other side,” Edric said. “The Sorcerer King must have come this way when he was first released.”
“I think you are right,” said Sancha. “My skin crawls and the very air is tainted by the memory of his passing.”
Tania shivered as she stared into the gloomy well of the stairs.
“Wait here for me,” said Edric. “I’ll check it out.” He slipped through the doorway and down the stairs, his receding shape black against the red light. A few moments later his voice called up softly. “Come down; it seems safe.”
Tania led the way. Edric was standing at the foot of the stairs with a flaming torch in his grip. A long, low stone corridor stretched to right and left, lit by torches in blackened holders along the walls.
“We must be vigilant,” Sancha said. “If our father is here, then he may be guarded.”
Walking in a line, Edric first with the torch, then Tania, then Sancha, and finally Zara, they crept along the corridor, listening for any sound in the gloomy darkness. A black door stood open, bent and twisted on its torn hinges. Tania knew where they were: This was the Adamantine Gate, the entrance to the dungeons. Clearly some enchantment had blasted the stone door open, a deadly enchantment that had been buried for long ages in the shadowy place that lay beyond. Tania shivered, remembering only too clearly the endless maze of corridors and the low, barrel-roofed chambers with their terrible contents.
“There are no guards on the gate, at least,” Edric whispered. “That’s good.”
“I know the design of the dungeon,” Sancha said. “It was built as a maze, but there is a logic to it. Follow, and I shall lead us true.” Her eyes gleamed in the torchlight. “Fear not: if our father lies within, we shall find him.”
Tania felt the chill air of the dungeons crawl over her skin as she followed Sancha through the Adamantine Gate. There was a smell also: a burning, sulfurous stink. She had smelled it once before, when she had come to this dreadful place to rescue Edric from the Amber Prison into which Gabriel Drake had cast him. It was the stench that came when an Amber Sphere was broken open, and the dank air of the dungeon was heavy with it.
They came to the first of the prison chambers: long, low rooms with deep niches cut into the walls. When last Tania had been here, many of the dark niches had contained Amber Spheres—some so ancient that they were black, others less old and showing a faint orange light through the crust of years, and some where the prisoners crouched within were visible through the glassy surface, their limbs locked, their faces frozen, their eyes staring blankly.
But there were no spheres here now, just a scattering of yellow fragments that crunched under their feet, and everywhere the stifling odor of sulfur.
“What is that smell?” Sancha asked.
“The stink has been all around us since first we entered this forsaken place,” Zara said. “’Tis brimstone.”
“No, there is another smell,” Sancha insisted. “Worse than that.”
Tania sniffed. Sancha was right: There was a new smell in the air, quite different from the sharp stinging odor of sulfur. A smell that was like rotting flesh and putrescence—a smell that filled her head and made her feel sick.
They walked onward, more slowly now, and it was as if they were wading into a stench as thick as stagnant water.
“I cannot stand this,” Zara protested. “Let us go back.”
“No, we must keep going,” said Sancha, one hand covering her nose and mouth. “We are approaching the last few chambers.”
“Shhh!” Edric held up his hand, warning them to halt at a junction between several passages. “Listen!”
Tania held her breath. At first she could hear nothing apart from the sputter and hiss of the torch, but then other sounds came to her ears: a soft, rasping, slithering sound from an adjacent passageway, as if something was being dragged over the stones, and a sharp clicking like the rattling of impatient fingernails. No, it was too hard for fingernails…. It was likeclaws—claws on the stone.
It faded and she was able to breathe again. “What was that?” she whispered.
“I do not know,” Sancha said. “Some foul beast of Lyonesse, mayhap. Be thankful it did not come upon us.”
“How many chambers are there yet to search?” asked Zara.
“Few,” Sancha said. “Four, maybe five.”
They rounded a curve and found a body lying in the middle of the floor. It was a man, clad in the black uniform of a prison guard.
“His face!” Zara gasped. “Look at his face!”
Reluctantly Tania looked. Bathed in the ruddy torchlight, the dead face looked less than human, stretched and distorted like melted wax. The man’s eyes were wide open as though caught in a moment of absolute terror and his mouth was locked in a grimace of agony.
Sancha let out a breath. “I know this death-mask,” she said. �
�I have read of it in the ancient bestiaries in the library. It is called the rictus basiliskus. It is the look that is found upon the faces of the victims of a basilisk.”
“A basilisk?” said Edric. “How can a basilisk have got here? They only live in the far north.”
“Cordelia had a basilisk locked up in the menagerie,” Tania said. She thought back to her encounter with the strange beast in the wooden hutch. All she had seen of it was the glittering red eye that had peered out at her, draining the strength from her limbs, clouding her mind with darkness, until Gabriel Drake had pulled her away.
“It must have escaped and made its way down here to be out of the sunlight,” Edric said.
“Indeed it would do that,” said Sancha. “Those creatures thrive on cold shadows and bitter darkness. This dismal place would suit it well.”
“I shall be ready if it should come upon us!” Zara said, swinging her sword.
“There is no sword that could harm it,” Sancha said. “Its feathers are as hard as stone, and where its flesh is bare of feathers, it has scales that would thwart the keenest of blades.”
They moved even more cautiously now, waiting at every corner, ears straining for any sound, eyes constantly staring into the dark tunnels, seeking out any movement in the flickering torch-flame. It wasn’t long before they encountered another dead guard—face-down, thankfully. But they heard nothing of the creature and saw nothing but leaping shadows on the walls.
Sancha came to a halt in a long, low chamber. She turned, her face drawn and pale, her shoulders slumped. “We are done with our search,” she said, her voice full of despair. She pointed to a tunnel mouth. “That way leads us back to the Adamantine Gate.” Her voice cracked. “Alas, but our father is not here!”
