Inside they made their way down the long central corridor to a stone stairway. They went down past the kitchens and then past the storage areas. They were already underground and out of sight of any of the people moving about their business in the palace, but still Tiberius held Lexi close. She liked feeling his arm around her. His confidence made her feel safe, and their cavalier trek through the earl’s palace made her feel reckless and wild.
There was a heavy door at the bottom of the stairs. A large wooden latch held it locked in place. Tiberius lifted the latch and pulled the door open. The hinges grated, making an awful groaning sound. Beyond the doorway, the stairs continued spiraling down, only the passage was much darker than before. Light was shining up from somewhere below, but it did little to illuminate the dark stairs. The air seemed damp and cold. Lexi could hear water dripping somewhere below them. The well polished stairs had become rough and slightly less even.
They moved more slowly as they descended, and Lexi held onto Ti’s waist. She normally felt comfortable in tight spaces, even in the dark, but there was something about the dungeons under the earl’s palace that made her feel afraid. She realized that if she had been caught stealing, she would have been locked away in a wretched place just like the dungeon, and that truth made her feel weak.
When they finally reached the bottom of the stairs, they could see the a lantern and the open space that was once used by the dungeon’s jailers. Beyond the open area was a narrow hallway with doors made of rusty, iron bars. Someone was moaning in pain from one of the cells. Lexi felt Tiberius’ body stiffen when he heard the moan. The skin on Lexi’s arms and neck prickled and made her shiver.
Tiberius led them forward, past the dull light of the lantern and into the row of cells. The first cell was empty, and Lexi saw that there was nothing but rough stone in the tiny space. She guessed that if she stood in the middle of the cell, she could still touch both walls. The ceiling was low, and there were no windows. A person locked inside the cells would soon forget the beauty of sunlight. Even to someone accustomed to darkness, the way Lexi was, the horror of the dungeon cell was terrifying.
At the next cell, they saw the person moaning. To Lexi he looked like a miserable beggar. The man lay curled on the cold stone floor, his clothes in ragged tatters, his skin so pale that it seemed to glow wherever it wasn’t covered with dirt and blood.
“Oh God, Robere,” Tiberius said. “What have they done to you?”
The man flinched, then opened his eyes. Looking at them with an uncomprehending stare. Tiberius shook the metal door, but despite its rusty condition, it held firm.
“We’ve got to get him out of there,” Tiberius said.
“Here, I can unlock the cell,” Lexi said. “Give me your dagger.”
She drew her Wangorian dagger and used both knives to work on the cell’s massive lock. The large keyhole allowed her to use the daggers together; Ti’s narrow, almost delicate blade worked as a counter to her curved Wangorian weapon. The tumblers in the lock grated as they moved, and the noise seemed loud in the dungeon. Finally there was a thunk, and the cell door swung open slightly.
“You did it!” Tiberius said with excitement.
“Of course,” Lexi said, handing Ti’s dagger back to him.
He hurried into the cell, but Lexi stayed in the corridor. Tiberius had to stoop a little inside the cell, and there wasn’t much room to move around in. Lexi couldn’t bring herself to step inside. All she wanted was to get out of the wretched place.
“Bring him out,” Lexi said. “We can carry him up the stairs.”
“No,” Tiberius said. “I need to heal him. He’s been tortured.”
Lexi wanted to argue, but she knew that Tiberius was doing what was best for the old man. Still, she couldn’t help but shudder as she waited in the dark corridor. She could hear Tiberius murmuring his spells; the chant was completely foreign to her, yet it was comforting at the same time. The cadence of Tiberius casting a spell was steady and reassuring. She had feared magic when Tiberius had first shared his desire to become a wizard. And she had felt uncomfortable whenever he cast his spells at first. She had no qualms about breaking the law, but magic wasn’t just illegal in Avondale—it was reviled. But over time she had seen Tiberius do things that defied explanation. And she had come to associate his magical ability with his strength. Magic had become part of Tiberius, and it was a part of him she loved. She knew he was bringing the first comfort the old man had felt since he’d been locked away in the awful dungeon.
Then she heard something else. There wasn’t much sound in the dungeon, just the steady drip of water; Tiberius’ magical chant was barely a whisper, and the prisoner’s moans had ceased. Occasionally she heard the sound of scurrying rodents, but she had known the sounds of rats running through the darkness all her life—so much so that the sounds hardly registered to her mind. But the new sound she heard was clear. It was the sound of a boot on the rough stone floor. She didn’t have to turn around or see in the darkness to know someone was behind her. She had just put her hand on the handle of her dagger when there was another tell-tale scrape of leather on stone.
Instantly she dropped to one knee, spinning around and slashing with the dagger. The man behind her jumped back into the gloom of the corridor, avoiding her blade. Lexi could see that he was nearly as filthy as the man in the cell. Lexi didn’t know if the man was an escaped prisoner or the old man’s jailer, but she could see the small blade he carried in one hand and the rope looped around one shoulder.
“More guests,” he said in an excited whisper. “Welcome, welcome.”
“Tiberius,” Lexi said, but she could hear Ti chanting his spell. He didn’t break his rhythm, and she knew he wouldn’t be able to help her.
Lexi backed up, and the man advanced slowly toward her. He didn’t look big, but he looked insane, and Lexi knew from experience that some people were much stronger than they appeared, especially those who had gone mad. The man grinned, revealing blackened teeth.
“I thought you were just another servant,” he said. “They bring my food and sometimes steal a glance at my guest. But you’re different. You opened his cage. That’s what made the difference. You won’t be able to do that when I’m finished with you. Do you know how many bones are in a human hand? Twenty-seven bones. When they’re broken, the hand swells up sometime three times the normal size. Some people beg for me to cut their hands off once I begin breaking the fingers. It’s a shame, really, but you don’t need hands down here.”
Lexi’s flesh was crawling, and she had an almost overwhelming urge to run. She was in the larger room now, and as the man emerged into the light, she could see that he was naked except for a ratty cloak and boots. His body was filthy, and his hair hung in greasy strands. He had what looked like a healer’s cutting instrument in one hand, and the other was curled into claw. His fingernails were long and ragged.
“You want to take my only friend away. That isn’t nice,” he said. “Now come with me, and I’ll treat you right. I have just the place for you. It has a bed and a chair. We’ll make each other comfortable.”
“Shut up,” Lexi said, keeping her dagger held in front of her.
“There’s nowhere to run,” the man said. “And no one can hear you scream down here.”
“Go back to your hole, or I’ll kill you,” Lexi threatened.
The jailer just laughed. It was a wild, high-pitched cackle that was frightening to hear, but it galvanized Lexi into action. She lunged forward, striking hard with her dagger, but the man was surprisingly fast. He dodged away, then countered, slashing at Lexi with the small blade he carried. Lexi slid to the side, avoiding the blade, but the man snatched her wrist with his filthy claw, holding it so tightly that Lexi couldn’t pull free and couldn’t slash at him with her dagger.
He dropped his own weapon and brought his own fist around in a punch designed to knock her senseless, but Lexi dropped to her knees. The man grabbed her hair and tugged her wrist around
behind her, but not before she was able to snatch up the small blade he’d dropped. He pulled hard, wrenching her right arm and pulling her hair so hard she was forced backwards. She screamed in pain and anger, but he was tugging her back down the dungeon corridor. If he could get her into a cell, she knew he could lock her inside, and then she would be helpless.
She slashed at the hand that was pulling her hair. She felt the small blade dragging against bone. The man howled, letting go of her hair. She felt the spatter of hot blood on her scalp but she couldn’t think about the horror of it. She spun around, relieving the pressure on her arm and shoulder and driving the little blade straight up into the wild man’s armpit.
His scream made her blood run cold, but she knew she couldn’t stop until the man was dead. She had seen insane people fight though pain that would cause most people to pass out, yet they hardly seemed to notice it. She couldn’t take any chances with the jailer. He was stumbling backward, further into the dark corridor, and pulling the small blade free. Lexi wanted to flee, but instead she followed the man, keeping her dagger ready to strike.
He got his balance back and lurched toward her again, his face twisted into a snarl of furious hatred. Lexi brought her curved blade up in a powerful thrust that landed deep in the insane man’s throat. The blade stabbed up through his chin, mouth, and brain before wedging into the thick bone of his skull. Blood poured from his mouth and nose, then the man fell onto his back.
Lexi took several steps backward, trying to catch her breath. She had a stitch in her side, and her heart was pounding, but she also felt a sense of euphoria. She had killed the man, protecting herself and Tiberius. She was just turning to go back and check on Ti when she noticed the small handle of the healer’s blade that was sticking out from between her ribs. The stitch in her side flared into an excruciating pain, and she could tell the blade had been slammed deep into her body. Crimson bubbles suddenly began to fill her mouth, and she lost her balance, falling hard on the stone floor.
She felt weak, and the dungeon seemed to grow colder. She could feel the blood running down her side, soaking her tunic and woolen pants.
“Tiberius,” she said, her voice weak even in the silence of the dungeon. “Help me.”
The corridor began to spin around and around her. The darkness loomed up, and the light faded. The pain was so intense, and she still couldn’t catch her breath. Then her head hit the cold floor. She couldn’t lift it, and she knew that she was dying.
Chapter 14
Rafe
Rafe lay on the deck waiting. He was hidden behind the command platform and could just see the large, bulbous sail of the other war ship approaching. His father’s plan had been to lure the other ship close and then storm the ship by climbing the rope ladder with several of his best soldiers. It was a bold plan, but instead of both men climbing back down to the lookout tower above the city, Rafe had stayed on the ship. Grentz had lowered one of the slain crewmen and then climbed down the ladder. Their hope was that the other crew would assume that Grentz had lowered down the man who had attacked the first ship with him, leaving the war ship unmanned.
Rafe’s job was was hold back the king’s soldiers until Grentz and his own fighters could climb back into the ship once the fighting began. It was a dangerous task, since the soldiers from the other ship would almost certainly be armed and prepared for an attack of some kind.
The war ships, like the larger sky ships, had sails that protruded from their sides like huge canvas fins. Those sails were adjustable, catching the wind to propel the war ships and allowing the crew to steer the airborne vessels. They also kept the ships from maneuvering side by side. Instead the approaching ship had to swing around so that the bow of each ship was close enough to the other that ropes with grappling hooks could be tossed over and used to pull both vessels close together.
Rafe waited impatiently. He had both swords ready, but he needed several of the enemy crew to board his ship before he showed himself. His battle cry would be the signal for his father to scale the rope ladder that was now securing the first war ship to the watchtower. He remembered how agile and strong his father had seemed during that first climb, but now it seemed less impressive. Rafe couldn’t help but fear that his father would be slow to arrive and that something might go horribly wrong. Rafe wasn’t afraid of the men about to board the ship he was holding, but he feared he might be pushed back. What if the rope ladder was cut while his father was climbing it? What if his father was killed just trying to climb into the war ship? Rafe had spent his whole childhood trying to please his father, and now, waiting for a fight, all those old worries came back and filled him with doubt.
The metal hooks that were thrown onto the ship crashed hard against the wooden deck. Rafe knew it was almost time for battle, but he forced himself to relax. He wanted the other soldiers worried and tense. They had certainly seen the bloody bodies on Rafe’s ship. He wanted them to be afraid.
The hooks were pulled hard, the metal points biting deep into the wooden railing. Rafe peeked out from his hiding place to watch the other ship pulling itself close. There was a crash as the two vessels came together. Rafe felt the entire ship shudder, and then four soldiers, each with swords drawn and shields held high, jumped onboard the ship. Rafe knew that eight men remained on the other ship, almost certainly watching and waiting. Rafe needed to give them a reason to stay close, even if they saw his father and the men from Avondale climbing the rope ladder. If Rafe killed the enemy soldiers too quickly, the other captain would almost certainly throw off the lines that held the ships together and sail away. Rafe and the men from Avondale would struggle to sail the war ship and really had no chance of boarding the other ship without crashing both.
They could have attacked the second war ship outright, but that would have involved fighting in the air, which the king’s soldiers were trained to do and Grentz’s men were not. That risk was much greater, not to mention one or both of the ships could crash into the city. And even if the ships didn’t crash, the battle would be plainly visible from the ground below, causing the city to panic. No one knew that Rafe and Tiberius had returned to the city except for Grentz and the ailing earl. The people might have heard that Leonosis was now king, but Rafe doubted that very many would realize that something was incredibly wrong. And those that did probably wouldn’t realize that the entire kingdom was in danger.
The men moved steadily across the ship, checking the bodies of their slain comrades. Rafe was tired. He’d been up all night and he could feel his body growing tense as the time for action drew near. Finally, he’d waited as long as he dared. He stood up slowly, holding both swords low.
“You there!” shouted one of the king’s soldiers. “Don’t move, or we’ll cut you down.”
The soldier stalked forward, and Rafe noticed that the other three waited. They were cautious, and he had hoped for just such behavior.
“Drop your weapons!” the soldier bellowed as he approached.
Rafe ignored the order. He stood still, just watching the man, letting him get closer. He couldn’t shout for his father, not yet. If he sprung the trap too soon, the other soldiers might cut the rope ladder from the ship’s railing or flee back to their own ship. He needed them to feel like he was weak and afraid. They had hidden all the weapons of the first ship’s crew, so it looked like Rafe and his father had killed only unarmed men. The soldiers with their shields and swords would feel more confident and press the attack.
“I said throw down your weapons!” the soldier ordered again.
The man was six or seven paces away, too far to attack, and Rafe understood the man’s caution. The soldiers in Sparlan Citadel, like the men of the earl’s war band in Avondale and even Rafe himself, may have trained hard for battle, but most had never fought for their lives. Until the Tuscogee with the Hoskali, Rafe had never fought another man where death was a real possibility. And until the raid by the enemy Kepsmee led by the villainous Bu’yorgi, Rafe had never actually sl
ain men in battle.
Rafe raised his swords slowly and he saw the soldier facing him narrow his eyes. He was angry, but he was also afraid. Rafe’s swords were still red with blood from the men he’d killed.
“Your funeral,” the soldier said.
Rafe didn’t speak; he just waited for the man to attack and pretended not to notice the two other men moving slowly to circle around the fighting platform to attack him from the rear. The soldier in front of Rafe stepped forward, swinging his sword at Rafe, but even though he had a full-length blade, the sword wasn’t close enough to connect with his enemy. Rafe stepped back anyway, trying to look frightened.
“Drop ‘em, or I’ll butcher you like a spring chicken,” the soldier said.
This time he took several steps forward and brought his sword down in an overhead blow that forced Rafe to raise his own weapon to parry the attack. Rafe countered with a quick strike aimed at the man’s shield. He let his blade crash hard into the wooden shield, before quickly taking another step in retreat. He saw the other two soldiers hurrying around the square command platform. Rafe waited as long as he dared. If he was backed into the corner, he would have no room to maneuver, and the soldiers could attack simultaneously.
When the first soldier attacked again, slashing his sword low at Rafe’s thigh, the young warrior batted the enemy sword away and dove onto the command deck. He landed on his side and rolled quickly to his feet. Then, taking a long stride across the command platform, he jumped toward the fourth soldier, who was still waiting in the middle of the main deck. As he jumped, Rafe bellowed a savage war cry. The soldier raised his sword and shield to protect his head, but Rafe had not raised his sword to strike down as he fell. Instead he kept his arms out to either side for balance, landing lightly in front of the stunned soldier and going to one knee, before slashing hard with one sword and severing the man’s leg. The wounded man fell hard to the deck, screaming in agony.
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