Though in cat form and though she was probably safe from notice and capture, she avoided direct contact with the troll soldiers as much as possible. For a moment, she was once again tempted to morph into a human just for the pleasure of pushing as many of Marquart’s minions as she could get her hands on over the waterfall’s edge and watching them go splat at the bottom. Perhaps later, perhaps after this quest was all said and done and her family and the dragons were safe.
Instead, she watched and waited, darting ahead and ever closer to the castle with every opportunity afforded her. Through a copse of trees, across an outcropping of rocks, down one path, and then around a bend in another road she ran. Each step of her paws drew her closer until, finally, Castle Kuropkat’s outer bailey came into sight. She did stop then, and she stared open-mouthed and slack jawed.
Oh, my God Draka, what the VoT had Marquart done to her home?
Kitrina couldn’t tear her gaze from the fountain in the center of the garden. The one where the large bronze warrior had stood silently for centuries watching over Castle Kuropkat and all of its inhabitants. He wasn’t there now. His body laid in pieces, his weathered face broken, and his appendages no more than scattered piles of rubble. And in the midst of all that wreckage stood six bigger than life barbarian soldiers, guarding a single, suspended golden dragon’s egg.
The egg hovered a few feet off the ground. The crackle and hiss of a magical bluish aura surrounded it, telling Kitrina all she needed to know. There was a spell upon the dragon’s egg, a powerful one, and not one that would easily be broken or gotten around without damaging the precious contents inside.
Off to the left, in the periphery of her vision, stood a dark green female dragon, and Kit’s heart went out to the creature who was obviously the egg’s mother. She looked so defeated. Tears filled her big diamond-colored eyes to overflowing and leaked down the green scales of her cheeks.
No, not Jade, not her child. Kitrina’s heart skipped a beat. Of all of the female dragons in the covey, why did it have to be Jade’s egg that was threatened? Hadn’t she already paid a high enough price, and for long enough?
Jade, Obsidian’s love mate, and a covey favorite who had finally produced a viable egg. Even though she’d valiantly tried season after season without success, she always kept her head held high and had never given up hope.
Now, that same dragon slumped just out of the reach of the barbarian guards, her once majestic wings folded in surrender, her sharp as razor claws completely retracted, her head hung low.
Though Obsidian had had no choice but mate with every female available and ready in order to preserve and increase their species, Kitrina knew, though his loyalty belonged to her and his covey, his heart, his very soul, had always belonged to Jade and Jade alone.
What would he do now if it were demanded of him in order to keep his and Jade’s child safe? Their male offspring, their future? But then, what could they both possibly be capable of that they’d never been before, now that their son, their very species, and the magic the dragons brought with them to Albrath was in danger?
Kitrina didn’t wish to contemplate the possibilities. But for the first time in her life, she felt fear instead of comfort at the thought of what Obsidian, her friend, her confidant, her protector from the moment of her birth was capable of.
Perhaps she should wait for Zander to arrive. In her heart she knew he, Leeky, and all of her pseudo cousins would be right on her heels and would be here any time now. Perhaps it would be wiser to sit here and wait at least a little while longer before making her move? After all, wouldn’t she be silly to go rushing headlong into danger without…backup?
Then Jade emitted the most sorrowful sound Kitrina had ever heard. Not a wail precisely, more a deep, soulful hurt-filled moan of loss. Kitrina could not wait the passing of one more grain of sand through the hourglass to act.
She shook her head and tucked away her fears. There was no more time for trepidation, no more time for delay. In her heart and with the words of her blood oath forever burned upon her soul, she was now and would forever be a Paladin of Albrath. After all, she was the first-born daughter of Uthiel and Briarlarn Dragonheart, not a coward and not simply a female to be placated and pampered and ignored. She wouldn’t shame those who needed her help with her silly apprehensions, not any of them, not her parents and certainly not the dragons who were counting on her help.
The blood oath she’d sworn burned with a vengeance in her veins as she scurried across the bailey and right between the feet of the barbarian soldiers. Her heart pounded furiously in her cat body as she skirted past one obstacle then another in the crowded and cluttered courtyard until, finally, her paws took her straight up the steps of Castle Kuropkat and through its wide open doors.
Oh, yes, the time for fear and contemplation was long over. The moment had arrived for action and, if need be, sacrifice.
Kitrina took a deep breath and forged ever forward. She would not cower in the shadows for the dropping of one more grain of sand, and she would not hesitate the passing of another heartbeat to do her duty. Her family was being held hostage somewhere in this castle against their will, and there was a baby dragon, still in its shell, being held captive in the courtyard who needed her help.
By God Draka, she was going to do whatever it took to complete this quest or, with her very last breath, die trying. And when the smoke had cleared and the danger was past, she’d see them all safe and sound, and…hopefully happy, no matter what trials and tribulations her own future might hold.
Chapter Fifteen
Zander and his companions skirted the boundaries of Castle Kuropkat lands as quickly as they could without revealing their presence to the horde of troll soldiers patrolling the perimeter. It was imperative they get to the portal and welcome the, hopefully, already waiting Sarco, Graydon, Gareth, and the contingent of elfin soldiers they were bringing along with them before alerting Marquart and her army of their impending arrival.
Their luck had run out, however. The moment the portal came into view, Zander’s heart pounded in his chest. For there, directly in front of the gateway between Castle Kuropkat and the rest of Albrath stood only his two half-barbarian, half-halfling cousins Ten and Levin…alone…not an elf in sight.
Alone that is, except for the troll soldiers who were now advancing upon Ten and Levin’s position.
The two brothers stood back to back with their booted feet planted firmly upon the ground and their swords held ready, high above their heads, as more than two dozen trolls rushed toward them.
Zander ran, as did the rest of his men, but there was probably no way he was going to reach his cousins before they were cut down. Still, he desperately tried. He redoubled the cadence of his sprint, his heart pumping, his feet pounding the ground, and his blood burning with a lust for death as it coursed through his veins.
Then, suddenly, the portal burst wide open, and Uncle Sarco, cousins Graydon and Gareth, and an entire contingent of high-elf soldiers spilled through.
The trolls began backing away even quicker than they’d been advancing, but it did them no good. Screams of agony and rage rent the air as the trolls were trapped between Ten, Levin, and the elves before them and Zander’s men behind. Swords, daggers, staffs, wands, and flaming balls of fire quickly sliced through the troll numbers until not a single one remained standing…or breathing.
“Well, what the infested, unshaved hoochy-coo of a backwards-strolling ogre streetwalker with an insatiable appetite for bald-headed dwarf dandies in lime green G-strings do ya make of that, lads?” Leeky wiped the blood from his dagger with the fingertips of his black-as-the-night, go-to-warring gloves. “If’n Marquart didn’t know we was here before, she’s sure ta know it now.”
Zander ignored Leeky for a moment and glanced toward Sarco. “Thank you for coming, Uncle.”
Sarco chuckled. “Did you think for even the dropping of one grain of sand that you could’ve kept me away even if you’d wanted too? Uthiel Drag
onheart’s my friend, he’s family. Many has been the time we’ve come to each other’s aid over the years. Family sticks together, nephew…always has, always will.”
Zander smiled. Then he turned toward his half-barbarian, half-halfling cousins. “Ten, Levin, where’s Asla?”
They answered in unison. “Up at the castle, where you told us to send her.”
Zander nodded. “Do you think she’s responsible for these soldiers being here?”
They both shook their heads.
“I know you don’t completely believe us yet,” Ten said. “But Asla’s no traitor, Zan. She’s on our side, Kit’s side. It was Asla who helped us get safely through the portal in the first place. She went through ahead of us and distracted the guards so we could get a jump on them. This mess,” he gestured toward the carnage at their feet, “was simply a case of wrong place, wrong time. I can guarantee you, those trolls just happened along while we were waiting for Sarco and his soldiers to arrive. Another few grains of sand dropping, and they would’ve never even seen us.”
Zander nodded again. “Well, then, I guess we’d better get moving before more of them decide to show up.”
Walaford Titwilder poked him in the shoulder, then pointed to the dead troll soldiers littering the ground. “What d’yout think about me procuring one of their uniforms. Bet I could easily pass myself off as one of them if need be? Might come in handy. Yout can never tell.”
Zander grinned. “I like how you think, Wally. It just might at that.”
****
The inside of the castle was even worse than the outside. Tears stung Kitrina’s cat eyes as she passed through the entryway of what used to be her lovely home on her way to the dungeon, the most likely place she’d find her family.
Wilted flowers lay scattered throughout the hallways and shards of glass from various broken vases cluttered the floors. The once lovely tapestries she, her mother, and both of her sisters had so diligently stitched and lovingly placed on the walls had all been yanked down and trampled upon. Though it was probably an improvement over her own needlework, to see her mother’s intricate handiwork so callously used stung her heart.
In the great hall, the huge trestle table was the only thing left standing and around it sat at least a dozen barbarian soldiers and…and…of all people, Asla’s father, the Baron Fistslammer. The man sat at the very head of the table, swilling Castle Kuropkat ale, eating Castle Kuropkat food, and issuing orders from Kitrina’s father’s chair, as if he belonged there…as if it were his place…his right. And Asla sat at his right side, looking as regal as any lady of any keep had ever looked.
Kit wanted to kill him. She wanted to kill them both. She wanted to sneak behind Ambrose Fistslammer in her cat body, leap up, and slash his traitorous barbarian throat with her sharp claws and teeth before he had the chance to know what hit him. And then she wanted to repeat the process with his daughter. Instead, she completely skirted the great hall and headed toward her mother’s solar, toward the stairs that led downward.
There would be time later for revenge against Baron Fistslammer, Asla, and Marquart…hopefully. If not by Kit herself, than certainly by Zander when he got his hands on them. Either way, the baron, his daughter, and the troll would all pay for their treachery, someday, somehow.
When Kit entered Briarlarn Dragonheart’s solar, it took her a moment to move. Couches had been ripped to shreds, bookshelves overturned, and carpets slashed. Even Mother’s delicate elfin china with its dragon’s breath and cherry blossom pattern, a wedding present from Grandpa Midan, which had always been saved for only the very most special of occasions and guests, had been smashed and scattered. The very same china that would’ve come to Kitrina on the day she wed. The tears did fall then, fast and hard.
Kit stopped in the middle of the room swiped her cat paws across her cat eyes and shook the fate of the family heirlooms away. Determination instead of loss and self-pity filled her. Things were only things, no matter how precious, and as such could be replaced. Family couldn’t. And it was her family, not the things they’d collected over the years, who needed her to be strong now.
Kit scampered toward the stairs that would take her down into the very bowels of the castle. Down to the long-unused-for-anything-other-than-storage dungeons.
****
How strange. The stones of the stairway leading downward chilled the pads of her paws, and Kit shivered. She couldn’t remember the squares of granite ever being so very cold before. At least not since Mother had gotten her way and Father had weatherproofed the entire keep.
Well, the steps were cold as death now, and Kitrina couldn’t be sure if it was due to nature or dark magic. She didn’t dwell on either possibility, however. It didn’t matter which was responsible, because either way she was still going down the stairs. Her family was there, she could feel it, feel them, and something as silly as cold feet wasn’t going to stop her from getting to them.
Onward, she ran.
It was dark as night, but with Kit’s cat eyesight, she could see well enough. Even though it had been years since she’d last played games with her pseudo cousins down here, every crack in the walls, every crevice between every stone upon the floor looked and felt familiar. Even the scent of the dusty, musty air brought back feelings of nostalgia. She shook them away. This was also no time for a walk down memory lane.
Forward, and as quietly as possible, she crept the narrow passageway, past one open cell and then another. The long rusted open metal bars of each one gaped just as they always had. Boxes, crates, trunks, sacks, pots, and baskets of goods still cluttered their floors.
Visions of long ago games of hide-and-seek invaded her memory, and then she knew exactly where her family was being kept prisoner, where she herself would’ve locked them away if she’d been Marquart.
The Cell of Certain Death.
Kitrina shivered again, but this time it wasn’t because of the temperature of the room. How many times as a child had she found herself locked within the confines of the chamber christened the Cell of Certain Death by her best friend and Zander’s little sister, Mia?
Too many to count.
The Cell of Certain Death, though no one had actually ever died in it, as far as Kit knew anyway, was situated below the very last chamber in the huge dungeon. Smaller than the rest, the cell that housed its secret compartment was deceivingly innocent looking and completely empty of any debris, even dust. Its missing bars, its shadowed corners still almost deceptively welcoming.
The cell didn’t need bars in order to trap its victims, however. The stone floor itself was somehow spring-loaded and, with the weight of the very first step inside, gave way. Whatever or whomever had been unfortunate enough to trigger its latch found themselves falling into the dark, hidden-away space below. The only way out was for someone else to place enough weight upon the floor above to once more spring the trigger.
The chamber had probably been first used as a safe place for the lord of the keep to stash his most precious valuables, but to the children who had romped through Castle Kuropkat’s dungeon on their many quests and during their endless games of summer, it had been the spot that had been the most fun to lure their unsuspecting victims into.
Kitrina herself had spent the greater part of an entire day within the stiflingly confining walls of the Cell of Certain Death, and just because she’d been too smart for her own good while hiding from Ten and Levin. She’d probably be there to this day if she hadn’t been able to mentally alert Obsidian to her distress.
But then, if her family really was being held down there, how had Marquart come to even know of the chamber’s existence?
Then it hit Kit, the reason why she had known without a doubt exactly where she’d find her family was because Asla had all but told her in the cryptic warning she’d issued back at the Academy. But how had the barbarian female found out about the cell and its secrets?
Kitrina sighed. Ten and Levin must have confided in Asla about the Cell of
Certain Death in their innocent stories of growing up, in their stories of summers spent at Castle Kuropkat. Getting to know each other stories that all men and women share with the person they’re trying to woo, trying to impress. Never once suspecting, they just might be delivering a dangerous weapon right into the hands of the enemy.
With her sharp-sighted cat eyes, Kitrina scanned the dungeon, ever watchful for something, someone, or any sudden movement that shouldn’t be there. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, though, so closer to the cell she crept.
“Meow,” she signaled and was rewarded with the sound of human gasps coming from beneath the floor. Her heart raced. Yes, they were here. She’d found them.
Then her father’s warning filtered up through the stones. “Kit, run. Get out now. It’s a trap!”
She didn’t do as he’d commanded. She hadn’t come all this way to simply turn tail and flee. Instead, Kitrina shifted back into human form as she raced back to the cell that held the heavy sacks of grain and dragged one of them forward with her.
Though her naked skin was chilled due to the low temperature of the room, sweat beaded her forehead as she pushed, prodded, and heaved the sack up and onto a corner of the floor of the Cell of Certain Death. The stones suddenly gave way, and her father, her mother, and her sister Lara climbed up and out.
But where was Tawny? It was on the tip of Kitrina’s tongue to ask when her father pulled off his tunic and handed it to her. “Here, daughter, you need this more than I. It’s…cold down here.”
Blotchy black and blue bruises covered his chest, and one eye was almost swollen shut. Her heart ached for him, and Kitrina longed to wrap her arms around her father and ease his pain. She didn’t, though. She could see the determination gleaming in his eyes. Now was time for action. Later there would be a chance to tend to wounds, old and new…hopefully.
Kit nodded and gratefully slipped the warm, soft, doeskin shirt up and over her head. The hem of the garment struck her well below the knees. For a moment, she almost smiled. She must’ve really looked a fright for her father to give up his very favorite tunic. All naked and wild eyed to be sure.
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