by Stefon Mears
“Here!” Qalas called. He’d shifted some of the rubble in front of a stone hearth, and revealed an iron door set into a stone foundation. “If you ever need to find this without me, stomp until you feel stone, then more until you hear iron.”
Cavan stomped around a few paces while the others watched him, curious. The stone spread well beyond the iron door, but not throughout the first floor. This was never a house with a stone foundation. This was a house that was built partly on a slab of stone, and not in a way that would have strengthened the design.
Cavan sighed relief.
“You saw the doll,” Ehren said.
Cavan nodded.
“No other farms are nearby.” Ehren put his hand on Cavan’s shoulder. “I don’t think anyone lived here. The duke is a man who pays enough attention to detail to enamel his whole castle to conceal facts about his wards. He probably had the closets stocked with clothes and the larder with food before he set fire to the place.”
“That does sound like him,” Qalas said. “At least, from what the guards say. They say he knows who gets drunk on their shifts and who doesn’t. And that those who do always get the worst assignments.”
“Well, if we’re all satisfied that we don’t need a round of blessings for the restless dead,” Amra said, “can we see about getting into the tunnels before the sun sets?”
Qalas took hold of the door’s handle and yanked.
It didn’t budge.
Amra looked at Qalas, one raised eyebrow saying more than words ever could have. Enough that a bead of sweat broke out on Qalas’ brow.
“No one ever said anything about it being locked,” he said defensively.
“You mean the guards didn’t give you all the details you’d need to break in?” Amra fluttered her eyelashes. “I’m shocked. Shocked, I say.”
“There must be a trigger,” Ehren said.
But Cavan had already figured that much out. The door had been concealed under rubble, but it was built into a stone foundation. A stone foundation near a stone hearth.
Focused attention, first skill of a wizard, and useful for so many things.
Cavan didn’t interrupt the argument brewing behind him. He just stepped around it to the hearth. Large stones, all mortared together. All browns and grays, originally, but mostly soot-blackened now. But the mortar, that hadn’t burnt away…
There. Down near the bottom, on the right hand side. One stone, in place but not held there by mortar.
Cavan kicked it gently. It popped in and out with a click, and the argument behind him stopped when a grinding sound came from under the door.
“Try it again,” Cavan said, smiling.
Qalas pulled.
The door came right open.
* * *
Cavan had never been in a mine, but the tunnel was what he imagined one might look like. Hewn into dirt and rock, reinforced with wooden beams. Barely enough room for a tall man like him to stand and narrow enough that he could touch the sides. If they had to fight in here, daggers would be their best weapons.
He still hadn’t spotted any torches when Ehren closed the door behind them. That grinding sound came again, blessedly quiet — considering the circumstances — but it added a sense of finality to the pitch darkness.
Qalas started to say something, a tight sound in his voice, but he didn’t get a syllable out before Amra hushed him.
Mines were unknown to Cavan, but dark tunnels under castles and keeps? Cavan, Ehren and Amra had seen their share, and Ehren had long ago proven that Zatafa offered a better solution to the darkness than any spell Cavan could have managed.
Ehren whispered sibilant syllables in Penthix, and the sound slithered around Cavan as the words drifted away.
A moment later, the tip of Ehren’s staff gently touched Cavan on the forehead, and it was as though dawn had broken here in the tunnel. Warm, gentle light seemed to surround him, easing into every crack and crevice and chasing away the shadows.
Cavan could watch Ehren work now, as he tapped Amra’s forehead next.
“I love this trick,” she whispered with a smile, but Ehren scowled at hearing his prayer called a trick.
He ignored her and tapped Qalas on the forehead last.
“Wha—” was as much question as he got out before Amra reached up and clapped a hand over his mouth.
Qalas’ eyebrows came down and his halberd hand twitched, but held still. He raised his free hand in surrender. Amra took her hand away.
“There’s no light to give us away,” she whispered. “Zatafa’s blessing” — Cavan noticed that Ehren looked mollified by her words — “just lets us see as though the sun was shining down here.”
Qalas’ eyes widened, the pupils so huge on a thin band of blue iris was visible. He started to say something, then clamped his lips closed and nodded.
The four of them followed the tunnel. Qalas in front, in theory because he might have known any of the guards they encountered. In truth, Cavan suspected, Amra wanted him in front in case this was all a trick to get Cavan where the duke wanted him.
Cavan didn’t want to believe that.
Side tunnels began branching out every few hundred feet, leading one direction or another. Down a few, Cavan could even see intersections with other tunnels.
“This place is a warren,” Ehren said softly. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”
“I’m sure,” Cavan said, just as quietly. “I’m betting we’ll take no turns, and that when we get to the end there’ll be dozens of possible tunnel entrances to choose from.”
Qalas gave Cavan a look, as though Cavan knew something he wasn’t supposed to.
“Old wizard trick,” Cavan said. “If you know the secret, the path is easy. If not, you get lost and never find your way out.”
Qalas looked from Cavan to Amra to Ehren and back, then shook his head. “You guys are scary.”
Amra fluttered her eyelashes and gave him a smile. Qalas hesitated, as though he wasn’t sure if she was flirting or menacing, which, in Cavan’s opinion, proved he was paying attention.
Patrols came in groups of three. All short men, in chainmail, and all armed with short swords and small, round shields. Each trio was accompanied by an unarmed torchbearer, who wore simple linens, decent boots, and a backpack.
The patrols were easy to avoid. Cavan and his companions could see them well before they could be seen, so they only needed to find the nearest juncture and hide around a corner until the patrol passed.
Amra grimaced each time, no doubt irritated about hiding from a fight, but she never objected.
After the fourth such patrol, and well over two leagues of tunnels, Cavan finally whispered, “Where are the cells?”
Qalas stopped, and knelt in the dirt. He sketched a square and called it the castle. He reached a ways, drew an X and called it the tunnel entrance. Finally he drew a circle on the other side of the castle.
“That’s about where the cells are, I think. That way even if an escaped prisoner knows about the exit, they have a long run before they can escape. Plenty of time for the guards to release their dogs and … well, you get the point.”
“What else is down here?” Amra said.
“Not sure.” Qalas brushed away his sketch then tromped over it a few times to obliterate any sign of it. “Storage. And I think he’s got an alchemist who works down here somewhere. Inquisitor too, from what the guards said. I got the impression there was more that they wouldn’t talk about.”
“Torture, they’d talk about,” Ehren said, “but—”
“Let it go,” Amra said.
“Doesn’t matter,” Cavan said. “They could have a dragon’s treasure hoard down here for all I care. Let’s go.”
“Wait,” Qalas said, before Cavan could take a step. “Are we avoiding patrols to be smart or to avoid killing?”
“Both,” Ehren said.
“We reach those cells, there’ll be guards. Are we killing them?”
“We�
��ll make that call when we have to.”
“I should have brought my bow,” Qalas grumbled, but started to lead the way again.
The farther they went along, the more Cavan began to notice footprints along the side tunnels. Even occasional wagon ruts. They had to be getting close.
Another patrol passed. Or maybe it was a patrol they’d seen before, circling back through one of the side tunnels. Cavan wasn’t sure. The torchbearer looked familiar though.
Finally the tunnel took a slight curve to the left. Qalas slowed. Took his halberd on both hands. When he did, Amra drew her sword. Only a moment later, Cavan drew his, and Ehren readied his staff.
Qalas pressed his back to the inside wall. Cavan and his friends followed suit.
Qalas inched along now. Closer and closer.
Then he paused. Pointed to his ear. Amra nodded immediately, but Cavan had to strain to hear what they heard: people. The muddied sound of distant conversation. Something dripping. Someone groaning, weak, like for old pain that wouldn’t go away.
Qalas turned his head and whispered.
“We’re here.”
* * *
The dirt tunnel ended in a big gray stone room. Round, maybe thirty paces across. Ceiling maybe three times Cavan’s height. Torches in sconces along the wall, and a pair of guards playing cards at a small table beside two locked and barred doors.
Barred on this side, which meant cells on the other side, as far as Cavan was concerned.
The smell of greasy roast pork was in the air. After the cauterizing of Tohen’s leg, Cavan found that the smell turned his stomach.
He focused his mind elsewhere. He’d been right about the doors. From where he stood with his friends and Qalas, just at the edge of the tunnel’s curve, he could see three doors. The two beside the guard table. Another to his right from there — no lock or bar that Cavan could see. There was also an entrance without a door. Looked like stairs leading up. Good stone there too.
“Only two,” Cavan whispered.
“Four,” Amra corrected. “I hear two others. Probably out of sight to our right.”
“Echoes?” Qalas asked, but Amra shook her head. He started to say something else, but Cavan said, “Trust her hearing,” and he nodded.
Looking closer while Amra and Qalas muttered a quick exchange, Cavan noted that these guards had shields leaning against their table, but they weren’t armed with short swords. Maces, instead. Ridged to better dent armor. But then, Cavan wasn’t wearing armor.
He also noticed a hunting horn on the table next to the deck of cards.
“Can you put them to sleep?” Ehren whispered.
Cavan shook his head. “Not from here. And by the time I tried, they’d have too much fire in their veins.” He tilted his head, looking at the horn. “I can stop them from sounding the alarm though.”
“So we’re agreed then?” Amra looked at Ehren. “There’s no gentle path here?”
Ehren sighed and shook his head. “Try not to kill them. They aren’t hunting us.”
Amra only drew her sword and nodded at Qalas.
The two of them rushed in. Qalas turned swiftly to the right, halberd already in motion. Amra sped for the distant guards, only now looking up from their card game. Comprehension slow to dawn on their faces.
Cavan threw sand into the room and sucked in air as he mouthed, “Ulta na-sach.”
Silence pressed down on the room. Amra’s boots soundless as she ran. No clatter to the chairs as they fell backwards. Their guards scrambling for weapon and shield.
Not even a cry as Amra mashed her pommel against the chainmail coif protecting a guard’s temple. He went down in a silent heap.
Ehren rushed about the room, checking for other guards. Witnesses or aid. Cavan got into the room in time to see Qalas take a guard’s head with his halberd. Surreal in such silence. The momentary fountain of blood. The tumbling of the severed head. The way the body stayed standing. Didn’t fall until Qalas brought the steel-wrapped handle end around to thump the other guard into unconsciousness.
Just that fast, the fight was over. Three guards unconscious. One very dead. Amra had one hunting horn in her hand. Qalas had the other, looking at Cavan as though wondering if he were responsible for the silence.
Cavan nodded.
Amra tapped her ear, and Cavan released the spell. Ehren muttered a prayer for the dead guard. Looking around by reflex, Cavan saw that this circular room had some two dozen exits. A few of them closed by doors, but most of them leading into wooden tunnels just like the one he and his companions had been following.
Similar enough that Cavan wasn’t a hundred percent certain he could lead them back into the right tunnel, if he needed to right now.
But leaving wasn’t what he needed anyway.
“We need to find the keys,” Cavan said.
“Oh,” came a voice from the staircase, “I don’t see why you’d need those. I’m only holding a few merchants and a smattering of bandits, and I doubt you have business with any of them.”
The duke stepped down the stairs and into the chamber.
The duke had the same height that the king and Cavan shared. Same strong chin and nose, as well. But any resemblance to Cavan ended there. Duke Falstaff of Nolarr had short-cropped blond hair, and hazel eyes that looked almost golden in the torchlight. He was dressed for war. Full plates of armor from pauldrons to greaves, all of it enameled the same dark blue as his castle, save for the sigil on his right shoulder: crossed black spears on a field of yellow.
At his belt he had a great sword of war, with a long golden hilt.
And the duke was not alone.
A young serving boy — a squire perhaps — stood beside him, holding his helmet. Dark blue enameled, of course, with great bat wings coming off the back.
And behind them, soldiers. From the three double rows Cavan could see, he guessed at least a score of soldiers. All armed with spears and swords, and armored with chainmail.
But worse than all of that, Cavan could sense an aura of power about the duke. Not the awe-inspiring might of Master Powys, but there nonetheless, and probably more than Cavan possessed.
“How did you keep it a secret?” Cavan said.
“None of my prisoners are secret,” the duke said with a smile. “Every one, tried formally and accounted for in the records. I promise you they’re all quite guilty.”
“No. Your training.”
The duke’s expression darkened. But before he could deny it, Cavan continued.
“You had an alert set up in the burnt out house, didn’t you? I was too worried about that stupid doll to notice it. You knew we were coming. You—”
“You’re veering away from the point, dear boy,” the duke said. “Which is that I have you here. Very much in my power.”
“Where’s Kent? And his wife? And Reed? And Alec?”
“They’re all very well taken care of, I assure you.” The duke shook his head, full of disbelief. “No wonder you failed as a wizard. It seems you cannot grasp even the most obvious situations.”
All humor dropped out of his expression. He snapped his fingers — quite a trick in those gauntlets — and soldiers began filing into the room.
“Drop your weapons and surrender or die where you stand.”
Amra held her sword higher, ready to fight. Qalas tightened, then loosened his grip on his halberd. Ehren looked at Cavan.
Cavan counted twenty armed soldiers then looked at the duke.
“So many men, when I’m the only one you need to kill.” Anger burned through Cavan, and he used it. Let it make his voice taunting. “Not swordsman enough to best me? Not wizard enough?”
“A sword is all I’d need to beat you. Wouldn’t even bother with my helm.”
Anger in the duke’s expression, and something almost petulant. As though he thought he was being so clever, hiding that he knew some magic, but never stopping to think that his secret would be out the first time he met another wizard.
Even half a wizard, like Cavan.
“Face me then. No need for anyone else to die.”
The duke looked around at his gathered men, all of whom had their spears raised in a two-hand grip. He smiled.
“It’s always the overwhelmed side that begs for single combat between champions. They cry honor. They cry tradition. But the truth is simple — they know it’s the only way they have even a prayer of victory.” He shook his head. “You’re outmatched here. Surrender or die.”
“If you think you brought enough men,” Cavan said quietly, “you didn’t. We’ve faced worse odds, and we’re the ones still here to talk about it.” Cavan pointed his sword at the duke. “And don’t think that armor will save you. It won’t.”
“Surrender or I’ll kill Kent and his family.”
“Not if I kill you first. If I surrender, you’ll kill them anyway, after I’m dead.”
“Fine then,” the duke said, shaking his head. Louder to his men, he said, “Kill them.”
* * *
Cavan half-expected the duke to walk away while his soldiers did his work for him. But he didn’t. He stood there to watch the show. Probably was the sort of child who caught flies to put them in spider webs, then stayed to watch the spider eat.
The fly didn’t have a priest of Zatafa on his side.
“Zatafa!” Ehren cried, thrusting his staff high while a dazzling sunburst of light exploded out from the end. Blinding all of their enemies at once.
Amra leapt on the attack, her unquenchable dark blade slicing through soldiers like so many well-cooked fish. Qalas followed her lead. Each of them starting from one end of the row of blinded soldiers, killing their way toward each other. The first few fell quickly, but then others gathered themselves enough to mount at least a token defense as they recovered.
Cavan ignored the soldiers. Barreled past them for the duke.
