by Sever Bronny
Raina’s cold gaze settled on the commander. “Cull the weak.”
“No … please, you can’t …” Squeaky’s voice was a whimper. The sword shook in his hands.
“Please don’t—” Bridget began to say but was met with a backhanded slap from Raina. The soldier’s jaw squared. “Remain silent, prisoner.”
“Surely there are other means—” Mr. Spigot said to Tridian.
The grizzled lieutenant also turned to Tridian. “Just give me the word, Sir.”
Squeaky began backing away. “No … please … you can’t do this … I’m a Legionnaire!”
The Blade of Sorrows nodded at his Lieutenant. “Make it quick.”
“But Sir—he’s one of our own!” Fatface said, yet when Tridian’s gaze fell upon him, he dropped his eyes.
“This is wrong,” Garryk muttered, shaking his head. “So wrong …”
Squeaky ran backwards into the darkness, disappearing beyond the light of their shining palms. Somewhere down the corridor between the stone armies, he tripped and fell, weeping and blubbering to himself.
“I shall help you find the coward, Lieutenant,” Robin said.
“I forbid it—” Mr. Spigot said.
“Apprentice, you will help the lieutenant find Squeaky,” Tridian only said, turning his flat gaze upon Mr. Spigot. “That is an order.”
Robin’s face lit up with a malicious smile. “Yes, Sir!”
“I’m coming too,” Temper said.
Mr. Spigot could only watch as they ran off with the lieutenant.
“Come out, you coward, and face your fate—” Robin called.
Garbled pleading, crying and begging was heard from the darkness. There was a clanging.
“See, I’ve even thrown my sword away!” Squeaky’s voice echoed, whimpering. “You can’t strike down an unarmed boy!”
“You are a man grown!” Temper’s voice echoed. “Die like one!”
“I can’t listen to this,” Bridget said, burying her face into Leera’s shoulder. Leera held onto her tightly.
Augum thought he’d take a chance. “Mr. Spigot, we can take them if we work together.” The expected smack from a soldier did not come, however. Instead, Tridian smiled gruesomely. “Why don’t you tell the boy why you will not be switching sides, Spigot.”
Mr. Spigot closed his eyes.
“Answer the commander!” Raina said.
Mr. Spigot raised his chin and stared coldly at Tridian. “They have … they have my wife and two daughters hostage.”
“Oh, let us not exaggerate now, my good man,” Tridian said. “They are in the service of the Legion.”
“Monsters,” Leera said, rocking a whimpering Bridget. “Monsters …”
“Found him—!” Robin’s mirthful voice called from the other end of the room. Two fiery lights converged somewhere amongst the forest of stone warriors.
“Please, no …!” Squeaky’s voice was a terrified yelp now.
Augum glanced around at the guards, contemplating his options. Was there a way to save the young soldier? Maybe get some of the older soldiers to fight each other instead?”
Raina saw him looking around and drew her blade. “This one is planning something. I see it in his eyes.”
Tridian focused his steely gaze upon Augum. “If he does anything, kill one of the girls.”
Boots drew his broad sword and positioned himself behind Leera, who still held onto Bridget.
“Hold him, Temper!” Robin’s voice echoed from the darkness.
“No …! Unnameables save me!” Squeaky wailed.
“I’m sorry, son,” the lieutenant said.
There was an agonized cry and a blubbering. “Momma …”
Robin cackled. “Look at that, he’s calling for his mommy!”
Bridget kept shaking her head while covering her ears. “Make it stop … please just make it stop …”
“Papa …” then black silence.
Augum and Leera exchanged a dark look as the doors groaned open. Nefra’s rattling laughter echoed in the darkness.
Games
The group reformed before the open doors. Robin had a victorious look on his pinched face. Temper was still breathing quickly.
Mr. Spigot took out his black book. He tried writing in it but his hand shook so much he only ended up putting it away.
“Let’s see what the hag has for us next,” Robin said as they paced through the doors, footsteps echoing.
They entered a massive room with an ornate gold and crimson wool carpet. The air here was sharply colder, frosting their breath.
“Garryk, do you have any information on this room?” Mr. Spigot asked.
Garryk flipped through the pages. “Pretty sure this is the Hall of Ceremony, sir. It is the center of the castle. To the left is supposed to be the soldier and servant quarters, the training ground, the arena, the dungeons and cellar. Ahead is the throne room, the royal dining hall, the library, the royal quarters and guest quarters. To the right is the smithy, laboratorium and spawnery.”
Augum hoped not find out what the spawnery was.
“The recipe, Wart,” Robin said. “Where is it?”
“I … I don’t know, perhaps the library. Bahbell is supposed to have the greatest—”
“And in exactly which direction is that again?”
“The map here is old, but …” Garryk struggled with a foldout in one of the books. “It’s to the right of the throne room, which is straight ahead.”
They walked along on the sprawling carpet, footfalls softened by the ancient, stiff wool.
“So quiet,” Fatface whispered.
Raina gave him a hard look.
They came upon an even larger pair of doors, these ones made from bronze. On the face of them was a powerful figure, standing tall, fists clenched, a cape billowing in an invisible wind. His face was chiseled and stern, eyes two black orbs staring off at an unseen enemy. Mr. Spigot, Robin and Temper’s shining palms cast moving shadows on the raised bronze, giving the figure a squirming depth, as if ready to come to life and attack.
Skull-shaped torch sconces protruded from the walls, protected by cages of human ribs. Adorning strips of human spines ran vertically in between. The bottom trim looked to be made of bony fingers and toes.
Mr. Spigot slowly shook his head. “Ghastly …”
“I think it’s great,” Robin said. “I want a castle like this. Well, open it already, Wart.”
“I’ll try.” Garryk took a deep breath. “Entarro!” but as Augum expected, nothing happened. No, Nefra wanted to play her twisted games …
Sure enough, the echoed rattling came again, this time from the darkness behind them.
“Unworthies … Each door has its price …”
“And what is the price on this door, hag?” Tridian called. Augum noticed something odd about the Blade of Sorrows’ breath— it did not frost in the frigid air.
“An ancient test of cunning …”
Robin’s face twisted. “What does that mean?”
“I’ve read about this somewhere,” Garryk said. “An ancient test of cunning is answering three riddles.”
“And what if we get them wrong?” Fatface asked, voice quivering.
No one had the answer to that.
Tridian’s soulless gaze fell upon the trio. “They will answer.”
Robin and Temper exchanged gleeful looks while the trio exchanged anxious ones.
The rattling returned. “I am a coil, sometimes woven … a traitor’s neck is best broken … what am I?”
Augum, Bridget and Leera huddled close.
“This one’s easy,” Leera said. “It’s got to be rope.”
Augum nodded. “Agreed, but let’s pretend we’re having trouble with it and talk about our situation. Look, I think if we separate ourselves along with Garryk and the books, we have a chance of finding the recipe first.”
“Just what I was thinking,” Leera said.
“Yes but we’ll have to do it in
a way that forces Garryk to come,” Bridget said. “Otherwise they’ll take revenge on his family for changing sides. Either that or we steal the books.”
“Both work,” Augum replied. “And the Orb of Orion?”
“I—” Bridget began, but she was cut off by Tridian.
“Enough already. Your answer.”
“Rope!” Augum called into the darkness. “The answer to the riddle is rope!” His palms sweated waiting for the reply.
“Correct, Unworthy.”
The trio breathed an audible sigh of relief as the rattling returned.
“I end lives, wither mountains, move the sun and moon, am never now but always soon … what am I?”
The trio again conspired together.
“Death,” Leera blurted.
Bridget shook her head. “Is death always soon though?”
“In this place it is …”
Augum shrugged. “This time I have nothing.” To him, the riddle was gibberish.
“Wait, that’s it!” Bridget said. “Time. And what I tried to say earlier before Tridian cut me off is that I managed to cast Object Track on the Orb of Orion when Raptos battled the Blade of Sorrows.”
“Excellent,” Augum said, “but will it work with the Sphere of Protection spell on it?”
“Guess we’ll find out when there’s enough distance between us and the orb.”
“Enough already,” Tridian’s voice cut in. “Give us your answer.”
“Time!” Augum shouted into the darkness. “The answer is time.”
“Correct, Unworthy.” The rattling surged before calming. “And now the last. I am soft under my miniature sun, but hard when I am completely done. I emit no sound and hate to drown but wind and breath are often death.”
Once again, the trio converged.
“It’s some sort of bright … something,” Leera said.
Bridget absently tapped her chin. “What’s soft under a miniature sun?”
“A head?” Leera offered.
“But how’s a head hard when done?” Augum countered.
They thought about it some more.
Leera crinkled her nose. “I’m stumped.”
“Answer,” Tridian said.
The trio quickly threw around some more ideas, but nothing felt right.
“Answer. Now!” Tridian said.
“A candle—!” Garryk suddenly cried out into the darkness.
There was a quiet moment before the great doors began to rumble inwards.
Robin slapped the back of Garryk’s head, again sending his spectacles flying. “Wart, what are you doing!”
“Couldn’t help it, Honored Necrophyte, I knew the answer, and no sense—”
“Well yeah, obviously everyone had the answer except for the stupid gutterborns, but you forget you’re on our side.”
Temper stepped on the spectacles, grinding them underfoot. “Oops.”
Mr. Spigot immediately withdrew his black notebook. “What did I say? A mark on both of your records!”
“Whatever,” Robin muttered.
Garryk fumbled around for his broken spectacles. When he found them, he held both hands above the wreckage. “Apreyo.” Once mended, he put them back on his nose.
“Thanks,” Augum mouthed to Garryk when he had a chance. The boy quickly averted his eyes.
The group moved into the throne room. There was a stale rotten smell in the air, reminding Augum of Castle Arinthian’s crypt, except much stronger. The source of the stench was soon explained when Mr. Spigot’s light fell upon a skeleton, then a second one, and soon a third and more, until they stood before a field of them.
“So it’s true—” Garryk whispered, dropping to his knees and rifling through The Mad Necromancer, A Tale of Horror. He cleared his throat before reading. “… ‘and so it was said that the Deathlord’s faithful had been so overcome with grief upon their master’s passing that they entered his throne room and sacrificed themselves, so they could follow him into death’.”
Mr. Spigot raised his shining leaf-covered palm. The bodies piled higher and higher the further the light crept. “A monstrous thing, this is …”
“They call it loyalty, Spigot,” Tridian said.
“Idiocy if you ask me,” Leera muttered.
“Let’s go see the throne,” Robin said, kicking a corpse aside. The bones rattled and fell apart.
“You will respect the dead, Robin Scarson,” Mr. Spigot said.
“I’m a necrophyte, sir,” Robin replied mockingly.
“Then it holds doubly true for you.”
Robin curled his lip but stepped over the next body. But soon there were so many that it was impossible to move forward without stepping on an ancient skeleton. Before them rose a great podium, the steps littered with corpses. An enormous and elaborate chair loomed in the darkness, with a gigantic fanned backrest made entirely from bones and skulls. Augum imagined what it had been like to come here and face the Lord of Death at the height of his power, when kings and queens came begging for mercy …
“Beautiful,” Robin whispered.
There was a garbled tinny voice coming from somewhere in Tridian’s direction. He reached into a leather pouch on his belt and withdrew a small orb. Augum immediately recognized it as a seeing orb.
“I can barely hear you,” Tridian said.
“Can’t … Occi … cut-off …”
“Yes, I know. It seems the Occi hag has allowed only a few of us entry. Keep trying, maybe there is some other way in.”
“The castle must be interfering with the orb, Commander,” Garryk said. “It has ancient and powerful arcane enchantments beyond current unders—”
“Obviously, Wart,” Robin said. “Why don’t you stop boring us with your blubbering and just point us in the direction of the library.”
“Right, sorry. Uh, this way, Honored Necrophyte.”
“Ugh, why does he have to call him that?” Leera whispered to Augum. “Makes me sick.”
Fear is why, Augum thought. Plain old fear. He saw a bit of himself in Garryk. Back in the Penderson farm, he’d say “Yes, Mr. Penderson,” and “I’m sorry, Mr. Penderson,” but no matter how polite he was it hadn’t mattered, Mr. Penderson always treated him the same—with contempt.
The group moved away from the bodies, past a series of ornate benches and chairs and on to another bronze door, this one adorned with images of books and an engraved phrase.
“ ‘Nosiquos ani enitrios’,” Mr. Spigot read, raising a gray brow. “Garryk?”
“Back when I was studying to become an arcaneologist—” Garryk glanced at the Blade of Sorrows and adjusted his spectacles. “That is, before I completely devoted myself to becoming a necrophyte, I studied the mother tongue. I believe it’s ancient Tiberran, Mr. Spigot. Occulus himself was Tiberran, his wife a—”
“He’s asking what it means, Wart, not Occulus’ entire history.”
“Oh. Right. I think it means ‘Knowledge is Forever’.”
“Typical,” Robin muttered. “Just like in the academy, where everything has to be ‘knowledge this’ and ‘wisdom that’. Why can’t they write fun stuff?”
“Yeah, like directions to ancient treasure,” Temper said.
“Exactly.”
Leera rolled her eyes at Augum, mouthing, “Idiots.”
Augum would have thought that funny under a different circumstance, for he and Leera had once gone treasure hunting in Castle Arinthian. Except the way that treasure hunt ended was not exactly their proudest moment …
“Shall I try opening the doors, Mr. Spigot?”
“Please, Garryk.”
“Entarro!” but as expected, nothing happened except for Nefra’s tongue rattling again.
“A price, hag, we know,” Tridian said to the darkness. “What is it this time?”
A dim form briefly appeared in the darkness before them. The head squirmed as if made of snakes. There was a hiss and a green cloud suddenly shot at them. Everyone but Tridian coughed. The va
por felt harsh and bitter upon Augum’s throat, like overripe lemon. It made him feel lightheaded and nauseous.
There was laughter behind Nefra’s words. “You have been poisoned … those that will not eat the antidote … will die a most painful death …”
Robin’s face was as green as the cloud, while Temper smacked a hand over her mouth to keep inside whatever was trying to come up. Fatface already fell to his knees, retching.
“Well where is the damn antidote already?” Tridian shouted, but Nefra’s form had disappeared. Instead, there was a metal shuffling sound. A squat suit of dented armor materialized out of the darkness, carrying a covered basket. The helmet was made in the shape of a pointed skull. Secured to its waist was a wooden practice sword.
“He’s just like Fentwick,” Leera said, gasping for breath.
Robin couldn’t stop coughing. “What … is that … thing?”
The voice was a steamy whistle, as if garbled by eons of time. “Mine name doth be Horrick, foul unworthies.” He plopped the basket down. “Eat thou shalt, or perish.”
“The cloth—!” Spiller gurgled, pointing at the covered basket. “It moved …”
Fatface went purple. “Gods, no …”
“Thou shouldst best quicken,” Horrick wheezed, “lest thee poison runs its course.”
Tridian, the only one unaffected by the poison, strolled forward and uncovered the basket. What squirmed inside were giant white maggots with red snouts.
Bridget, Robin, Fatface and Spiller immediately retched.
Raina marched over to the basket, grabbed a maggot, and immediately ate it, hard face unchanged, as if it was nothing more than biscuit beef.
Augum grit his teeth and ran to the basket. He picked out three squirming maggots and hurried back to Bridget and Leera. “Make it quick,” he said, shoving one in his mouth. It rolled around on his tongue and he immediately expelled it, along with the contents of his stomach.
Leera’s eyes watered. “Graaaargh!” she shouted to boost her courage, before biting one in half. She chewed on it as if her jaws were made of steel.
Meanwhile, Mr. Spigot finished his maggot and was helping Garryk. Boots and the lieutenant finished theirs without too much trouble. Temper finally managed to get one down, but not without retching first. Robin was about to hurl when Tridian came up to him and closed his hand over his mouth.
