She cast one last glance over her shoulder. Teague had not moved at all, even when the glass broke; he was still staring at the Arbor, seemingly lost in a dream. She could not do anything for him now, she thought, except try to keep him safe until the very end.
III
When the Darkwater Lords rose out of the water, they rose as one, about a hundred warriors, green-skinned and broad-shouldered, dressed in their beautiful shell armour.
Dolosus hefted his sword in his right hand, waiting for them to approach. His sword was a little lighter than the usual Militis broadsword, as he had adapted his fighting manner following the loss of his arm. Before, he had used the standard thrust and parry, relying on his size and weight to gain control over his opponent, but now he kept his fitness at a higher level and his weight down and moved more quickly, relying instead on his speed and a greater variety of sword movements to keep ahead.
He felt healthy and ready for this battle. Though the swim from Darkwater had been long and tiring, his transformation back into earth elemental had somehow rejuvenated him, and he felt stronger and more alive than he had in months.
He looked along the line of knights, seeing Procella, Valens, Grimbeald, Gravis, Niveus, the Hanaireans and all the others he had known in his time at Heartwood who were still alive, all there readying themselves for the first contact, and pleasure surged through him that he was included in their ranks, that he was one of them. This was why he had returned, he thought: for the companionship and the feeling of belonging he just hadn’t had in Darkwater.
The first group of Darkwater warriors advanced quickly, engaging the ring of Heartwood knights in the outer circle, and then suddenly more emerged from the water that had fallen on the inner circle, and in seconds one came towards him, and their swords met with a mighty clash.
One of the water warriors landed right in front of Dolosus, and he prepared himself to fight: feet spread wide, knees bent a little, sword across his body, on the balls of his feet so he was ready to move in any direction. The warrior turned to him and drew back his sword, and then… He stood, dropped his sword arm and stepped back.
Dolosus did not waste the opportunity and swung at him, cutting deep into the weak space between the warrior’s helmet and shoulder guard, biting into his neck. The warrior shuddered, then melted into a puddle at his feet.
Dolosus stared at the water, puzzled, but there was no time to think on the matter because there was another warrior, and another, springing up in front of him.
He turned and did the same: spread his feet, readied himself for a blow; but again, the same thing happened. The warriors turned, saw him and stood to attention, lowering their weapons. Again, he took the advantage and swung his blade; the first he cut through the arm and then stabbed in his stomach, just below the shell breastplate, the second he got in the top of the thigh. Both warriors melted away, leaving him standing, hardly even out of breath. He swung his sword, growling, not satisfied by the easy deaths. He wanted a fight!
Ahead of him, across the channel, a vicious battle was going on, with the knights in the outer circle engaged in bloodthirsty fights, and so he pushed his way through, swinging his sword and cutting down water warriors until he found himself in the middle of the fray.
He yelled at the warrior nearest to him and the warrior turned, raised his sword. But then he saw who he was fighting and lowered his sword, stood to attention. Dolosus swung his weapon, cut up into the invader’s armpit. Again the enemy gurgled and died.
“Fight me!” he yelled, spinning and approaching someone else, but every time it was the same. They would prepare to fight, see who it was and then lower their weapon, even though it meant certain death.
Dolosus roared, a flailing fury in the centre of the outer circle, warriors falling every which way from his blade. He fought for a long time, but every time he felled one of them it seemed two more sprung up in his place, and none of them would fight him.
After a while, he stopped fighting. He stood in the centre of the invaders and watched while they attacked his friends, but he found he could not raise his sword to help them. He felt sickened by the killing fury he had just experienced. There was no joy in taking a life in such way, no satisfaction. He could slay these Darkwater warriors forever, and still they would rise up and defeat Heartwood.
One of them rose up beside him, and he turned, saying, “I will not fight you.” Then he stopped as he looked at the golden sash across the warrior’s chest.
“Father,” he gasped.
Dolosus stared at the High Lord of Darkwater, feeling all the energy and enthusiasm he had received on returning to Heartwood drain from him.
“What, not happy to see me?” said Thalassinus, with absolutely no humour in his voice at all.
“Are you here to kill me?” Dolosus asked, conscious that all around them were the sounds of battle, and yet feeling as isolated from his companions as surely as if there were a brick wall between them and him. He kept his weapon across his body, his weight on the balls of his feet. If Thalassinus intended to strike, Dolosus was not going to stand there like the High Lord’s warriors and take it without fighting back.
“Of course not,” said Thalassinus mildly. “You are my son; why would I want to kill you?”
Dolosus’s eyes narrowed. “I am not going to stand by and let you destroy Heartwood.”
Thalassinus gestured to the warriors fighting around him and said, “They will not stop you; you have seen that already. Why do you not continue to hack them down where they stand?”
Dolosus said nothing. He realised Thalassinus was banking on the fact that he would have no stomach for a mindless slaughter.
The High Lord looked pointedly at the sleeve of Dolosus’s tunic, where it had been tucked under and sewn just above his elbow. “Are you enjoying being a cripple again?”
Dolosus flushed. He swung his sword at Thalassinus, who met it with a parry that made the two weapons ring. “I am not a cripple,” Dolosus snapped. “I can fight as well as any knight in the Temple.”
“As well as when you had two arms?”
Unbidden, the memory flooded his head of how he had felt when he first transformed into a water elemental. He remembered looking down and seeing his hand back in place, and the thrill that had run through him at the thought that he was whole again. He looked at Thalassinus, who was smiling slightly, and he wondered whether the warrior had somehow stimulated the memory to return.
“Do you want me to show you how well I fight?” Dolosus asked, raising his sword.
Thalassinus just smiled, however. “Do you really want to kill your father?”
Dolosus felt Damaris stir within him, and he knew he would not be able to bring himself to do it.
Inside him, he felt something flicker, like the sun filtering through clouds, or a candle flame fluttering in the wind. It was Damaris, fighting to get out and take hold of his form and change it to a water elemental. “No!” he cried, trying to concentrate on the ground beneath his feet, but all he could think of was water, the feeling of cool blue liquid flowing through his fingers, and the beautiful green of the deep.
Dolosus felt Damaris shifting inside him. He felt his loyalties being torn and twisted between Thalassinus, his real father who had promised him a kingdom and who had the power to make him whole, and Valens, his adopted father who had taken him in and given him a place he could think of as his own.
He felt completely divided. How could he fight against his natural father? How could he turn his back on the chance to rule Darkwater, that beautiful, glittering jewel under the ocean? And how could he pass up the chance to have his arm back again?
And yet, the thought of leaving Valens to die made him ache inside. He could see him now, fighting in front of the Arbor. The Imperator was clearly favouring his right leg, and Dolosus’s trained eye could see his reactions were slower than the other knights fighting around him. Still, his experience kept him ahead of the game, and Darkwater knights fell continua
lly to his sword.
Thalassinus stood in front of him, the first signs of anger showing on his face as he saw Dolosus looking at Valens. Damaris pushed his way through briefly, and his body contorted as the two elementals fought for dominance.
Through his pain, Dolosus saw Thalassinus turn away from him and march towards the Arbor. Heartwood knights stepped in front of him to stop him, but he swept them away with one swing of his sword. Dolosus watched, frozen with pain and indecision, as the High Lord of Darkwater crossed the channel to the inner ring. Someone stood in front of him – was it Gravis? But Thalassinus swung his sword and cut him down.
“No!” Dolosus twisted inside and fell to his knees. He saw Thalassinus walk up to Valens.
Valens wouldn’t know this was the High Lord of Darkwater, Dolosus realised. He tried to shout to him, but Damaris clenched his throat, forced him to keep quiet.
Valens turned and saw the warrior approaching and spread his feet, his injured right leg slightly behind him. He raised his sword, ready for battle.
IV
The moment the oak doors of the Temple shut behind him, Chonrad felt he was in a different world. The Temple had been unusually busy and noisy, the atmosphere filled with nervous tension, but here in the corridor between the Temple and the Domus, it was completely quiet, the only noise a muffled knocking as the doors were barricaded from the other side.
Chonrad hefted his sword in his hand, taking a few moments to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He did not have a torch with him, as he did not want to attract attention, just in case there were any Darkwater Lords lurking around. After a while, he began to make his way along the corridor, feeling for the door to the Domus once he realised it didn’t matter how long he waited; he wasn’t going to be able to see any better in the inky blackness.
When his hand finally rested on the handle, he listened at the wooden planks and then, hearing nothing, quietly opened the door.
The Domus was empty, the moonlight that peered from behind the clouds shining bright on the puddles lying on the grass square in the centre. He moved silently along the colonnade, watching carefully for any signs of movement, but there was nothing. He was completely alone.
He made his way around the loop of the colonnade to the Armorium and paused in the doorway. Seeing no sign of movement inside, he walked into the Armorium. A lamp burned over near the steps leading down to the Cavus, and he guessed Fionnghuala and Bearrach had left it on for whoever came next.
Picking the lamp up, he quietly descended the stairs, his leather boots treading carefully on the uneven steps. His heart was thumping so loud he thought anyone hiding nearby would easily be able to hear it.
At the bottom he found himself in the Cavus, which was also empty, save for the piles of books and parchments that were scattered over the floor. He saw the hole in the floor immediately, though, and went over and bent down, shining the lamplight onto the steps. There was no sign of movement. He began to descend once again, the steps spiralling deep underground.
His boots made no noise on the steps. Everywhere was silent.
It was only when he reached the bottom he realised he had been holding his breath, and he let it out with a rush. He was in a small room, with nothing in it except a door on the opposite side. He went over, seeing as he approached the words Bearrach had described: You Need the Key.
He stood before the door. There was no handle. He stared at the letters, wondering how he was to open it. He put his hand onto the door.
The moment his fingers touched the wood, a glow emanated around the edges. He snatched his hand back, and the glow faded. Cursing, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he put his hand back.
The glow appeared immediately. It deepened, the door seeming to vibrate under his hand, as if it were humming gently. Then, slowly, the door swung towards him.
He stepped back, removing his hand and letting the door fall completely open. He waited for a moment, heart pounding, then went forward and looked through the door.
In front of him was a corridor leading to the left and right, disappearing into darkness. He listened, but could not hear a thing.
Where was Nitesco, he wondered? Had he been down this way? If that was the case, if he, Chonrad, was supposed to be the key, how had Nitesco got the door to open? Lifting the lantern high in his left hand and holding his sword in his right, he stepped into the corridor.
Left or right? Right, he thought. He walked down the corridor, making sure the door remained open behind him.
He walked twenty yards or so, the corridor bending to the left around the corner. In front of him was a fork in the corridor. He took the right again and went down another twenty yards. He came to another fork. Here he stopped, holding the lamp aloft and peering down the corridor. Was he going to find another fork twenty yards down here?
A rope, he thought. He should tie a rope to the door and then he wouldn’t lose his way.
He turned and went back up the corridor. He kept to the left, then left again. He turned into the tunnel where the door was.
Except the door wasn’t there. He ran up the tunnel and stood in front of the wall. Definitely no door. He looked up and down the corridor. Had he come the wrong way?
But he knew he hadn’t. He turned to look back down the corridor. He forced himself to stay calm. If this was indeed the fifth Node, then from what he had heard from the others who had activated the Nodes, there would be some sort of trial he would have to undergo. And no doubt this was part of it – a conquering of his fear of being lost underground in a giant maze. There was no point in panicking. The door had disappeared, and giving in to his fear would not open it again.
He turned and sighed. Left or right? He decided he would pick right again and keep choosing the right path. As he began walking, he wondered whether Nitesco was lost somewhere in the labyrinth. Would he be able to find the young Libraris? He sincerely hoped so; he didn’t like the thought of him being left in such a dark and lonely place.
As he walked, he began to think about what he might find at the end of the maze, presuming he did eventually find his way to the middle, or the end, whichever came first. If the fifth Node was down here somewhere, what would it look like? The others had said the spirit, or whatever it was in the Node, had appeared as members of their family, or figures from their past. Who would appear to him?
He did not think he had any terrible issues with people that needed resolving. He had had a good-enough relationship with his parents and got on well with his children. He supposed it could be his dead wife, Minna, who would come to talk to him, but he didn’t think they had unresolved issues. Their marriage had been pleasant enough, and he did not think she had been disappointed; he had never been unfaithful to her, had been kind and gentle, and although he had never fallen in love with her, he knew she hadn’t with him, either. Theirs had been a marriage of convenience that had suited them both at the time, and he could not imagine she would reappear now to accuse him of anything.
The corridor forked again and he continued right. Logically, he thought, this should mean he was following the outside of the maze which, if it didn’t eventually lead him back to the beginning, should take him further in. Of course, that would not work if this wasn’t a logical puzzle, which of course it wasn’t, because the door had disappeared when he had gone back to find it. He sighed. Presumably, then, it didn’t matter which way he went.
Still, at the next fork he continued to go right.
He walked for about fifteen minutes. The corridor continued to bend around to the left, and he took the right fork each time. The maze showed no sign of ending, and he had no idea how far he was from the beginning, or if indeed he was just circling and had passed the hidden doorway several times.
Eventually, he stopped. He checked the lamp, making sure it wasn’t going to go out on him. There were still a few hours of burning time left, he calculated. He walked until he came to a fork. He sighed. There seemed no point in continuing to try
to be logical. Logic was clearly not the way to the centre of this maze.
He chose the left fork, and started walking.
He began to lose track of time. He felt as if he had been walking for hours, but the candle did not seem to burn any lower. His legs began to ache, and he wished he had thought to bring a drink with him. His mind wandered, and he started to feel as if he was in a dream. It was quite stuffy in the passages, and he wondered if it was the lack of air that was making his head fuzzy.
After a while, he stopped and decided to sit down for a while. He had to think of another way to get through the maze, he told himself, but he was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open, and he couldn’t seem to get his brain to function. Breathing seemed difficult, and he wondered if there were some sort of poison in the air.
He was going to die in the maze, he thought. He was going to die, and the knights who were probably engaged in battle above his head would all die, and that would be the end of that. He thought briefly of Procella, and wondered if he would ever see her again.
It was then he noticed the tiny pinpoint of light ahead of him. He stared, blinking, trying to get his brain to work. The light danced, moved away from him, then moved back. It seemed to want him to follow it, he thought.
He pushed himself to his feet. It was difficult to move, as if the air had grown thick and he was swimming through honey, but eventually he stood, and he began to shuffle down the corridor towards the light. As he neared, it danced away again, and he continued to follow it down the tunnels, no longer thinking about whether to go left or right, but just blindly hoping the light was not an attempt to lure him farther away from his goal but was in fact someone or something trying to help him.
After a while, the tunnels seemed to change. The slope of the ground began to lead downwards, taking him farther into the earth. They still twisted and turned, however, and he thought he was still going round in circles, just going deeper and deeper.
He turned a corner, and then stopped with a gasp.
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