“Quickly!” Dra’kor begged.
Another bolt of lightning crackled from the clouds and struck the high turret at the back of the castle, sending a shower of blue sparks radiating outward as the bolt zigzagged toward the base. Dra’kor grabbed Sheila’s hand and pulled her urgently toward the heavy doors of the inner Keep.
The thunder boomed, hurting their ears and the next bolt hit the street in front of them and raced along the road in their direction sending its tentacles searching for flesh to scorch.
They jumped up the remaining stairs, taking them two at a time until they made the top and stepped over the threshold between the doors just as the sparkling bolt fizzled out.
Dra’kor heard the men on the turret laugh, “Run! Run! Run for your lives ...”
They entered the dimly lit foyer and Dra’kor pushed the fist thick oak doors shut one at a time against their protesting rusty hinges. They heard the next bolt hit outside, but had no idea that it marked the exact spot they had been at a scant second before.
Dra’kor ran to the wall where the thick oak log used to bar the door was leaning against the wall and knocked it to the polished stone floor where it crashed with a resounding thud. He lifted an end, grunting to get it off the ground.
“Damn thing weighs too many stones for me to lift,” he groaned. He tried to drag it to the door.
He yelled to Sheila, “Help me with this. We need to bar the door.”
Sheila looked up from her daze. “What?”
“Help!” he screamed.
She seemed to snap out of it and pushed on her end as Dra’kor strained to keep his end off the floor. The two struggled to get the giant heavy beam into place on the floor in front of the iron brackets on the door. They used their legs, strained their backs and then used their shoulders to slide the beam up the rough-hewn door inch by inch. The beam dug deep into the meaty part of Dra’kor’s shoulder making him grind his teeth against the pain. He couldn’t imagine how Sheila kept her side up, she was half his size.
“On two” He grunted as he looked to Sheila for confirmation.
“One ... Two ...” he quickly counted and they gave it their all as they hefted the four stone weight slab of iron wrapped wood over the brackets. It slid resoundingly into place, leaving them relieved, but bruised and bloodied, knuckles raw.
Dra’kor collapsed onto the floor, his arms spasming from the strain, his legs like rubber. Even Sheila was tired, and could feel her knees tremble.
“Were going to die in here,” she mumbled to herself.
“We don’t have much time to rest,” Dra’kor said wearily, trting to regain his feet, but was unable.
“We need to rest a little,” Sheila said in resignation, the long day catching up.
“We haven’t the time ...” Dra’kor pleaded.
“We can only do what the body will do,” Sheila shot back bitterly, then apologized almost immediately.
Dra’kor pushed her comment out of his mind, pushing himself up to a seated position against the door.
“I’m scared ...” Sheila confided.
“Me too,” Dra’kor replied in a whisper.
They sat in silence for several minutes before Dra’kor struggled to his feet.
“We need to make sure there aren’t any other ways in,” Dra’kor panted as he took off up the stairs. “Help me shutter the windows.”
The two met up in the main room several minutes later. “All the windows are shut,” Sheila said.
“I think the bell tower is above us. Someone is ringing the bell.”
“Or something...please don’t go ...” Sheila begged.
“We’ll go together,” Dra’kor declared. “But first we need to get a fire going in the hearth. I don’t want any visitors.”
Sheila stared despondently half-heartedly tossing a log into the hearth. The two worked together to stack wood high in the charred space before Dra’kor lit the pile with a simple spell of fire. Once Dra’kor was satisfied that the fire was burning hot, he motioned for Sheila to follow him upstairs.
They made their way up the several circles of stairs before they reached the top. The door to the roof was shut and barred from the inside, making Dra’kor more than a little uneasy.
“How do you suppose whoever is up there barred the door?” Dra’kor reasoned out loud.
“Maybe someone barred whatever is outside from getting in here,” Sheila offered.
Their eyes met.
Silence. Then they heard scraping above, like nails being dragged across old wood, and the bell rang softly a single tone.
“What do you want to do?” Dra’kor asked.
“Can you use magic to see what’s out there?” she asked.
“Perhaps,” Dra’kor replied, closing his eyes and weaving his spell.
“There is nothing living outside,” he bluntly replied, feeling his magic returned his answer. “Best to just leave whatever is out there alone.”
Sheila understood and turned to start her slow trek back down the impressive spiral staircase. When they reached the main area, Dra’kor motioned that he was going to look around. Sheila sat down hard in front of the fire and buried her face in her hands. She curled herself into a tight ball and stared without focus into the dancing flames. She didn’t like being indoors, she didn’t feel safe, she felt trapped and the walls were beginning to close in. She shook her head violently trying to break out of her funk.
Dra’kor returned a short while later, his arms full of cheese, bread and dried sausage.
“At least we won’t die hungry,” he quipped sarcastically, dumping the contents onto the rug where Sheila was sitting. Before Sheila could reply, he hurried off into the back again only to return with two big goblets of wine and a clay jug.
“I don’t think the Lord will miss these,” he said, setting them down on the rug. “There’s a full larder in the back. It’s well stocked. I surmise we can survive here for months without ever going hungry.”
Sheila shot him a very weak smile.
Dra’kor joked. “We’ll get tired of drinking fine wine before we run out of food!”
He didn’t get a response. She just sat there listless and sullen.
Dra’kor arranged the supplies he had gathered neatly on the rug. He wasn’t paying much attention or he would have seen the furrowed brow on the half-elf and seen the sweat bead on her forehead as she fought her inner demons.
Sheila tried to feign a smile, but wasn’t up to the task. She simply reached for a loaf of bread and tore off a big chunk. She took a bite before reaching for a block of cheese. She held it to her nose and sniffed deeply, making sure it hadn’t gone sour.
The two friends sat quietly and ate. By the time they finished, they could hear the sound of scratching on the other side of the thick front door.
“You think we’ll make it out of here alive,” Sheila asked.
“I think so,” Dra’kor said, casting down his eyes. “er...I hope so. We have time, and plenty of food and wine. They’ll grow weary of their game...eventually.”
Sheila looked up with red swollen eyes. “I hope you are right.”
The East Tower
After Ja’tar and Zedd’aki had finished their morning meal, they retired to their separate quarters. Ja’tar sat on his bed and rubbed his burning eyes. He could barely keep them open and they burned something fierce behind the sockets. The bed was still unmade, the blanket and pillows scattered across the thin mattress. He hefted himself up onto the bed and tried to relax. The spell on his feet wore off and the healed blisters and cuts ached. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to sleep.
He tried to turn off the voices in his head. The most annoying was the small girl or woman who kept asking him for his help. She never said enough for him to identify who was talking, or for that matter, where the woman lived or what danger she faced. She was like an irritating gnat, buzzing by his face.
Duvall imagined herself standing and pounding on the surface of the stone, shouting at the top of her l
ungs at the mage she sensed in the room next door. Sometimes, she felt as if he heard her, but most of the time she knew he either couldn’t or thought he was going insane. The wards she had set those many years ago were still strong. She understood the irony of the whole situation. Her strength and paranoia were now the two things that prevented her escape.
Although Ja’tar slept, it was a restless sleep full of tossing and turning as his dreams kept him from the deep slumber he desired. He had visions of Men’ak in the mist world, thoughts of Ror and memories of the past. Men’ak seemed to be trying to talk to him, but he just couldn’t make out what was being said. Every time he thought he could hear him, the boy would fade into the fog. When he awoke, late into the evening, he wasn’t refreshed. He was weary, worried and he felt every year of his existence.
He met Zedd’aki down by the dining room where they garnered suitable snacks for their evening outing. Gretta always left plenty of bread, cheese, meats and meat pies out for the magi who stayed up late. The magi would fill their pockets and their packs with enough for the night, leaving only a few crumbs for who ever found this place later.
“Evening,” Ja’tar half-heartedly greeted his friend as he walked into the room.
“Make sure you grab enough,” Zedd’aki commented. “Yesterday I was so hungry, I thought the spawn would hear my stomach growling and find us out.”
Ja’tar grunted, grabbed another two meat-pies wrapping them in an oiled cloth before putting them into his pack. “I feel exhausted ...” he grumbled, licking his fingers. Ja’tar pulled up a bench and plopped himself down across the table from where Zedd’aki was lounging. He absently kicked the packs out of the way, pushing them under the table with his feet.
“You look like halla!” Zedd’aki replied, without hesitation.
Ja’tar bit back his bitter response and just stared intently at the swirling pattern of the wood tabletop, tracing a pattern with his finger.
“So ...”
“So what?” Ja’tar gruffly replied, his sour mood getting the better of him.
“So, are you going to tell me what we’re doing here tonight?” Zedd’aki replied curtly, obviously irritated at his friends demeanor.
Ja’tar pulled his journal out of his pack and tossed it to Zedd’aki who bobbled it thrice before getting a good grip. Zedd’aki flipped it open, paged to the end, and read the notes he had written to himself.
“I wrote this?” Zedd’aki asked, running his index finger along the lines one by one. “It certainly looks like my hand.”
Ja’tar lifted his head slightly and glared out with one eye.
“How do we ...” Zedd’aki started to say.
Ja’tar motioned him to be quiet, by putting a finger to his lips, as a Sister of the Light, more commonly known as a White Sister, passed by. She wore the customary white robe that swept the floor as she moved across the room. Her hair showed a hint of gray. The black and red ribbons stitched to her belt let Ja’tar know that she was part of the inner circle and a member of the second band of passing. The half-inch wide red band meant she was Sho’car, second level—a competent magic user and assistant of the rites.
“Good evening Sister!’ Ja’tar said, with a smile.
“Keeper.” She replied with a courteous nod as she shuffled by. “Going somewhere?”
Ja’tar stood draped in his chape and frowned. “To the baths. My bones are tired.”
Zedd’aki added, “The lower levels are damn cold this time of year.”
Sister Margret nodded back. “Don’t stay up too late!”
“I won’t. You can join us if you’d like...”
She chuckled and rolled her eyes. “I’ll pass on the bath—maybe next time. I’m headed up to my room for some sleep.”
Ja’tar watched her walk out the main doors and head down the long hallway toward the living quarters. He turned to Zedd’aki and whispered, “By the Ten, what was she doing up this time of night.”
Zedd’aki turned and shrugged, but not before he looked at their packs under the table. “I don’t think she saw our packs. Maybe we lucked out.”
“We can hope, now what were you saying?” Ja’tar said, well after she had disappeared down the hall.
Zedd’aki stared after the comely woman. “It feels strange to have the Sisters in the Keep. They don’t usually spend much time here now that our numbers have dwindled. I see Gretchen every now and then, but only because she comes to see you.”
Ja’tar sighed. “This place isn’t as it used to be.”
“I think it was wise of you to summon them back ... given recent events and all,” Zedd’aki grinned back weakly. “Do we have any that are Pro’car?”
Ja’tar thought for a minute. “Yes, but not of the third level. Sister Taila is second level Pro’car.”
“You have to be careful of that one...”
Ja’tar smiled knowingly. “Now, where were we?”
“er...oh, yes! How do we know where to look?” Zedd’aki continued.
Ja’tar pointed to a particular passage. “You determined that the source of the glamour is somewhere in the east tower. Tonight were going to go and free this Keep of that vile magic.”
Zedd’aki’s mouth was ajar and he sputtered, “How are we going to do that?”
Ja’tar shrugged and threw up his hands, “If I knew that, well ... I’d be one of the Ten now wouldn’t I?”
Zedd’aki glowered at him.“Testy ...”
“Sorry. I’m dog tired ... I didn’t sleep well. And my bloody feet are killing me.”
“Forget about it. Let’s get this done.” Zedd’aki said, in a gravelly voice.
Ja’tar leaned over and dug under the table for their packs. He flung his over his shoulder and hobbled to the door.
“You should numb up your feet, or this is going to take a lot longer than we have tonight.”
Ja’tar groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, casting a strong numbing spell on his battered feet. He knew he would pay by morning. All magic had a cost.
Zedd’aki picked up his pack, shouldered and chased after Ja’tar. They walked down the winding hallways toward the few classrooms that were still used. At the end of the main hall, a set of double doors made of ancient oak and decorated with fine steel were shuttered in front of them, blocking their way into the eastern hall. Ja’tar cautiously checked the halls for a late wanderer using a spider search spell, carefully woven to be undetectable. Getting no reply to his feelers, he cast the spell of loosening that he needed to reopen the section of the Keep that was shut to normal use. The doors had been sealed long ago when they no longer needed the space; however, Ja’tar couldn’t recall having sealed the doors himself and wondered if his father had closed them ... or his grandfather.
The doors groaned as the magic flowed over the locks and hinges. They crackled loudly, releasing the locks, which snapped open with grinding clatters. The dust that had gathered between the jamb and the heavy oak door released in a shower, creating particulate clouds that slowly sank to the floor, leaving a layer of fine powder on the polished marble.
Zedd’aki watched his friend work and threw his hands to his hips. “Can you make any more noise?”
Ja’tar gave him a foul look and flashed him an obscene sign.
“I guess this is just going to be a wonderful time for all,” Zedd’aki said, under his breath.
Zedd’aki used a simple enchantment to sweep the dust into a pile off to the side so that the mess wouldn’t garner attention, making it appear as if the staff had simply missed disposing of the pile during their daily cleaning.
Ja’tar grabbed the oversized iron handle and pulled hard with both hands. At first, nothing happened and he tried again, throwing his back into it, breaking the seal and letting the door creep open a couple of feet. The two walked through the arch into the silent hall on the other side and closed the door behind themselves, recasting the spell to hold it shut, just in case.
The air in the hall was sour and stale, caus
ing Ja’tar to wrinkle his nose before sneezing from the fine dust floating in the air. He wove a spell with his fingers, creating a flickering light globe that floated off the end of his hand, illuminating the long hallway. They squinted in the dim light, trying to see the end, but the hall was long and the light from the globe didn’t reach the far side. It filtered through the fine dust and made the hall appear cloudy. Ominous shadows danced across the rough stone walls as Ja’tar waved his light from side to side.
There were cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and the floor was a murky gray. Zedd’aki was tempted to clean the halls and prepared his spell, wiping the cobwebs off his face with his opposite hand. An odd shiver slid down his spine forcing him to frantically wipe his hand on his robe, to some extent successfully removing the fine sticky threads that agitated him so.
Ja’tar set a calm hand on Zedd’aki’s arm just as he was ready to let loose the spell, “We shouldn’t disturb this until we’re sure the glamour is gone.”
Zedd’aki looked up, caught by surprise and reluctantly released the energy of the spell into the air.
They walked down the long quiet halls pushing the fine threads of silken webs cast by the spiders that had made this place home out of their way. Their feet left footprints in the gray dust that covered the smooth stone floors. Ja’tar was unable to recall the last time he had wandered these halls, if ever. As far as he knew, these halls had been deserted for many centuries. He held his light globe aloft in front of them, its eerie glow lighting the pitch-black halls.
Zedd’aki glanced back over his shoulder, noticing the obvious trail they were leaving behind. He waved his hand in a figure-eight and watched the dust swirled, obliterating their footprints. He sent the spell rushing back down the halls to where they had started their journey. Satisfied that none would notice their intrusion into the closed sections of the Keep, he refocused his attention on where they were headed.
Ja’tar turned, sensing the magic. “What are you doing?”
“Covering our tracks,” Zedd’aki said, staring him in the face.
The Third Sign Page 24
