by Mark Dame
“I never even imagined a place like this,” Flyn said.
“Wait until you see some of the halls in Kridheben,” Sigrid said.
Flyn stepped out into the room, looking for guards as much as to take in the beauty. The flickering light of the torches cast dancing shadows on the black marble, giving the illusion that the columns were moving. The dark ceiling was mostly hidden in shadow, with only occasional flickers of light reflecting off the marble.
He tried to step softly. Every scuff of their feet echoed in the massive room. He dared not try to talk for fear his voice would carry throughout the hall, alerting anyone who may be hidden in its dark shadows at the far end.
They reached the central staircase without seeing any guards. With one last check, Flyn began to ascend the stairs, the others close behind.
The staircase was tiled in with the same black marble as the floor. Its handrail appeared to be made of gold. The posts placed every ten feet were topped with large red gems that Flyn didn’t recognize. The massive structure was twenty-five feet across, with a five-foot, marble-tiled column in the center. The steps were not only wide and deep, ten feet across and three feet deep, but tall as well, at least twice as tall as a normal step. Sigrid especially struggled, from her injury as well as her height.
The climb took them several minutes to reach the opening in the ceiling, a hundred feet above the floor. Above them, the stairs continued to climb, the way lit by torches along the curved walls. They stopped to rest before continuing. Sigrid was breathing hard, in obvious pain.
“Are you going to be okay?” Flyn whispered.
She nodded, her jaw clenched, holding her side where the orc had struck her.
They sat on the stairs for a short rest, sipping water from their waterskins. Flyn was examining the ceiling, now only a few feet above their heads. It was covered in thousands of small black tiles. He marveled at the amount of work it would have taken just to place them all, wondering how they had done it, a hundred feet off the ground. Another question for the dwarf.
“Everybody ready?” Flyn asked after a few minutes.
They were stowing their waterskins when they heard a noise below them.
Two orcs walked out of the hallway they had come from. They were arguing with each other, their voices echoing throughout the chamber.
“I’m senior guard, you go,” one said.
“That why you should tell the captain.”
“Me in charge. You go. Now!”
“Don’t yell at me when captain mad you not go to tell him about guards leaving their post.”
The orcs put their torches in brackets next to the opening, then one started toward the stairs. The other stood by the opening to the hallway.
Flyn gestured to the others, pointing up the stairway. They started up the stairs again as quickly as they could, staying close to the central column to avoid being seen by the orcs below.
In a few steps they were above the ceiling, closed off and hidden from the guards. Flyn kept a quick pace, hoping to stay ahead of the orc coming up the stairs behind them. The others followed close behind, Harvig helping Sigrid. In spite of her obvious pain, she pushed on.
After a few minutes, Flyn was unsure how far, maybe forty or fifty steps, they reached a landing with a door. The stairway continued on the other side of the landing.
“Which way?” Flyn asked the others, keeping his voice low.
“We’re probably on the main floor,” Sigrid said. “I would guess that’s where the pig-face behind us is headed. Besides, we’re looking for one of Jarot’s personal servants. I would guess they’re upstairs.”
Harvig nodded, Randell just shrugged.
“Okay, we’ll try the next floor first.”
They could hear the orc on the stairs behind them now. Flyn raced up the steps as fast as he could without making noise. The staircase made a full turn before coming to another landing, identical to the one below. They stopped and listened.
Below them, Flyn heard the door at the first landing open, then slam closed. Exhausted, he collapsed on the stairs.
“Let’s keep moving,” Sigrid said after they had rested a minute. “No telling when more of them pig-faces’ll come along, and I don’t want to be in here any longer than I have to.”
“Sigrid’s right,” Harvig said. “The longer we’re here, the more likely we are to be discovered.”
“Why don’t we split up,” Flyn said, still trying to catch his breath. “We’ll be able to cover more ground and we’ll be less likely to be seen if we aren’t running around in a big group.”
“But you and Sigrid don’t know what Brenna looks like, and you are the only one who knows what Kel looks like,” Randell said.
“That’s why I think we should go in two groups,” Flyn replied. “Me and Randell in one group, Harvig and Sigrid in the other.”
“And how will we know Kel?” Harvig asked.
“Based on what I’ve seen, you’ll know him. He doesn’t look anything like an Ilfin. He looks more like me.” Flyn described Kel to Harvig and Sigrid. “Besides, I don’t expect to find him here. He’s probably locked up in a cell somewhere. I’m hoping we’ll find Brenna and she’ll be able to help us find Kel.”
“A good plan, lad,” Sigrid said.
Flyn cracked the door and peered out. A hallway, lit by torches, extended in both directions. The wall opposite the door was lined with windows looking out to the night sky. Other doors were spaced along the wall with the door to the stairs. No one was around.
“You two go left,” Flyn said to Harvig and Sigrid. “Randell and I will go right. We’ll meet back here.”
Flyn and Randell drew their swords and slipped through the door and down the hallway.
The floor was tiled with the same black marble they had seen in the rest of the citadel. The walls were painted light gray, though Flyn couldn’t tell what they were made of. He ran his hand along the wall as they walked. It felt like stone, only it didn’t have the cool feel of stone. And it didn’t seem as solid.
“What do you think these walls are made of?” he asked Randell.
Randell put his hand on the wall.
“I don’t know. It’s not stone and it doesn’t feel like wood. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
“This whole place is like nothing I’ve ever seen,” Flyn said.
Randell nodded.
They moved on down the hallway, stepping as quietly as they could. At the first door, they paused.
“Ready?” Flyn asked Randell.
Randell nodded.
Flyn lifted the latch and pushed the door open.
Behind the door was a large, dark chamber. The light from the hallway only lit up part of the room, though from what he could see, it appeared to be a study or library of some kind. One wall was filled with books and scroll cases. The opposite wall was covered with strange paintings that looked almost lifelike, though Flyn had no idea what they were paintings of. In the middle of the room was a large table with no chairs around it. The only chair seemed to be the one behind the desk at the other end, in front of a large window that filled the entire wall.
The table was taller than a normal table, its top five feet from the ground. The desk and chair were also oversized, too big for even an orc. Not that he imagined orcs used desks very much.
Flyn closed the door and they moved on to the next one.
Most of the rooms were studies or meeting rooms, all of them larger than Flyn’s entire house, though none as large as the first room. No one was in any of them. Flyn was beginning to think that this was a working floor and, being night, no one was here.
The second to last room wasn’t a study. As soon as Flyn opened the door he knew. First, the rumbling sound of heavy snoring, then the foul stench of orc hit him. He pulled the door closed as quickly as he could without slamming it.
“What is it?” Randell asked.
“Orcs. I don’t know how many, but more than one. I don’t think I woke a
ny of them up.” Flyn’s heart was racing. “Give me a minute before we go to the next one.”
The last door was different from the other doors. This one was barred on the outside.
Flyn looked at Randell. His heart raced again, though this time from excitement. Together, he and Randell lifted the bar and set it aside. There was no other lock. Flyn lifted the latch and pushed the door open.
The dark room was adorned with none of the finery of the libraries and meeting rooms they had thus far investigated. A row of beds ran the length of the room on each side. Flyn and Randell stepped inside to get a better look and found that on the wall above each bed was a metal ring with chains. The other ends of the chains were attached to the ankles of prisoners who lay sleeping in the beds.
They approached the first bed. The prisoner was a young woman, about the same age as Flyn. Her straight, dark hair, high cheek bones, and thin nose made her distinctively Ilfin. Not that he expected to find any Andor prisoners besides Kel. He looked up at Randell.
“Is that her?” he asked.
Randell shook his head.
“What do we do?” Flyn whispered. They had never discussed what they would do with any other prisoners they found.
“I don’t know.”
“We can’t leave them here.”
“We may have to.” Randell moved to the next bed.
Flyn looked down at the sleeping girl in front of him. Leaving her would be as cruel as imprisoning her himself. There had to be some way he could help the others, but he didn’t know what.
“Flyn,” Randell said in a loud whisper.
Flyn looked up. Randell was already halfway down the room. He was beckoning to Flyn.
He felt another pang of guilt as he stepped away from the first bed. He wondered what would happen to her after they left. Nothing good, he was sure.
Randell was waking the woman on the bed in front of him. She rubbed her eyes and looked up at him in a sleep-induced stupor.
“Brenna,” Randell said again. “Wake up.”
She bolted up in her bed and stared at the two men.
Flyn was stunned. Her raven hair fell about her shoulders, framing her smooth, pale face in the dim light. Her eyes were blue as ice, yet burning with fire. She wore a sleeveless frock made of rough linen. Even in the unflattering garment, he could see she was tall and muscular.
“Randell?” she said. “Is that really you?”
“It is,” he replied. “We’re here to rescue you.”
Brenna looked at Flyn.
“M-my name is Flyn,” he stammered.
“Is Gudbrant with you?” She turned back to Randell.
Randell bowed his head and shook it.
“Where is he? What happened to Gudbrant?”
“Later,” Randell said. “Right now, we need to get you out of here.”
“They keep the key for the shackles on a hook by the door,” she said.
“I’ll get it,” Flyn said, happy to have something to do.
He ran back to the door and found the key ring hanging next to the door where Brenna had said it would be. It held a single key. Flyn grabbed it and hurried back.
“I don’t suppose you have a spare pair of boots?” Brenna was asking Randell. “They don’t give us shoes. I guess they figure it’s harder to run away barefoot.”
“Here it is.” Flyn held out the key.
“Thanks.” Brenna grabbed the key and unlocked her shackles. “Ugh. I hate those things.”
Freed from her shackles, she stood up and wrapped her arms around Randell.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she said.
Standing, Brenna was even taller than Flyn. Her long arms and legs were covered in bruises and red welts that appeared to be from a whip. He felt his heart ache to think of the orcs beating her as they had him, though she didn’t seem to be letting her injuries bother her. She stood tall and determined in front of him.
“What’s wrong with your friend?” she said to Randell.
Flyn realized he had been staring at her. He turned away, glad for the darkness that hid his blushing.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to stare. I was just noticing how much they’ve beat you. I’ve suffered orc beatings myself, so I know what you’ve been through.”
“They keep trying to break me,” she said. “I won’t let them. I actually expected them to grow tired of it and kill me by now.”
“I’m glad we got here first,” Flyn said.
Brenna smiled at him. He felt himself blush again.
“This is Flyn,” Randell said. “He’s looking for a friend the orcs brought here a few weeks ago.”
“Good to meet you, Flyn,” Brenna said. “And thanks for helping me. How do you know your friend is here?”
“He was captured by orcs who took him to Gurnborg,” Randell said. “We tried to rescue him there, but found out from another prisoner that he had been brought here.”
“They usually only bring prisoners here if they think they are of special value,” she said. “What’s special about your friend?”
“He’s an Andor,” Randell said.
Brenna looked at Flyn, then back to Randell.
“He’s an Andor too?” she asked, pointing at Flyn.
“He is,” Randell replied.
“I’m sorry, Flyn,” she said, shaking her head. “There was an Andor brought in a few weeks ago. Jarot took him somewhere and when he returned…”
“What?” Flyn said. “What happened to Kel?”
“He was changed,” she replied. “Jarot did something to his mind. Now he’s one of Jarot’s advisors.”
Kel? Helping someone as evil as Jarot?
“No,” Flyn said. “That can’t be true. Not Kel. He’s one of the kindest people I know. He would never help someone as evil as Jarot.”
Brenna put a hand on his shoulder.
“Jarot has the ability to manipulate people’s minds. Especially if they’re already worn down. I saw your friend when they brought him in. He was scared. The orcs had tortured him. He kept pleading with Jarot to let him go. He just wanted to go home. The poor kid didn’t stand a chance.”
“Come on,” Brenna said. “Help me free the others.”
“We can’t,” Randell said. “We’ll never be able to sneak out with that many people. They’ll catch us for sure.”
Brenna looked around at her fellow prisoners, still sleeping in their beds, then back to Randell.
“We have to help them. I’m not going to just leave them here. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Please, Brenna. We have to go.”
“We can at least get them out of their shackles,” she said. “They’re smart girls. They can sneak out in small groups after we’re gone.”
Randell opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again when he saw Brenna’s glare.
“Okay,” he said, bowing his head. “But we have to be quick about it.”
He and Brenna set about freeing the other women, fourteen more in all. Flyn sat on an empty bed lost in his thoughts.
For weeks he had struggled and fought to rescue Kel from Jarot. He had tracked him to Gurnborg, then Uskleig. Somewhere within the walls of this citadel, perhaps only a few dozen feet away, was his best friend, his brother, now a tool of the enemy. An enemy neither of them had known about three months ago back on Trygsted. An evil they would still know nothing about if Flyn hadn’t talked Kel into his grand adventure.
And now Kel was gone. Or at least the Kel that Flyn knew. And the suffering Kel must have endured, the hopelessness he must have felt. All because Flyn had been bored living the life of a farmer. Kel had tried to talk him out of it, but Flyn hadn’t listened. He had never stopped to consider Kel’s opinions. Everything always had to be Flyn’s way. Come along, it’ll be fun. What Flyn had always seen as adventures, Kel struggled through just for a little bit of Flyn’s admiration.
Why?
Why did Kel look up to him? He certainly had
n’t earned it. He didn’t deserve a friend like Kel. Or Gudbrant, or the others who had risked their lives to help him along the way.
Why had he built that damned boat? His mother had told him no good would come of it, and she had been right.
“Flyn.” Randell was standing in front of him. “Time to go.”
Flyn picked up his sword from the bed and followed Randell to the door where Brenna was explaining the situation to the other women.
“Go in small groups,” she was saying. “Two or three at a time. Once you’re in the tunnels, look for scorch marks on the ceiling at every intersection and take the tunnel with the mark. We’ll wait for you outside until morning. After that, you’re on your own.”
A shout and a loud crash from the hallway interrupted Brenna. She and Randell hurried through the door. Flyn followed them.
At the other end of the hallway two orcs were attacking Harvig and Sigrid.
“Damn,” Randell said. “Brenna, stay here.”
Randell drew his sword and ran toward the battle. Brenna, unarmed and barefoot, ignored Randell’s request and ran after him. Flyn didn’t move.
The scene at the other end of the hallway seemed to be a dream. Just another piece of the horrible nightmare that had already seen the loss of two friends and would likely see the loss of more. Flyn wondered what would happen if he died in his dream. Would he die in real life? And then what? Would he go to Vahul? Or would he be doomed to wander for eternity, a lost soul. Certainly that was what he deserved.
Two more orcs had joined the battle. They had turned to face Randell and Brenna. Brenna had grabbed a torch from a bracket on the wall.
Harvig and Sigrid attacked the orcs while ducking and dodging their larger foes’ clumsy swings of their clubs. As they pressed forward, the orcs stepped back until they were back-to-back with the other orcs.
Randell attacked with his sword, his strikes deflected by the orc’s club. The other orc attacked Brenna. She ducked under the orc’s club and stabbed at its chest with the torch. Sparks flew, and flame erupted. The orc dropped its club and tried to beat the flames from its chest.
Flyn was still frozen, watching the battle, when the door next to the prisoners’ room opened. A large orc stepped out and looked toward the melee.
