by Victor Kloss
“I'll be fine,” Joshua said. “You just make sure you stay alive long enough so I can take him down.”
“Fine by me,” Ben said.
The stone soldier stopped, twenty paces from them. His eyes were grey, and there was a life, of sorts, in them, though Ben knew it wasn't real.
“This way is barred,” the stone soldier said in a monotone that reminded Ben of an old computer. “Please return from whence you came.”
“I've come to see Baron Vongrath,” Joshua declared. “It is of utmost importance.”
Ben wasn't even sure the stone soldier heard Joshua. He waited a moment, without batting an eyelid, before speaking again.
“This way is barred. Please return from whence you came.”
The stone soldier spoke in exactly the same tone, with precisely the same inflection, his eyes showing the same casual, impassive expression.
“I'm not sure he's listening to you,” Ben said.
Joshua tried again, taking a step forwards to emphasise his point. The stone soldier didn't react at all, and replied again.
“This way is barred. Please return from whence you came. This is your last warning.”
Ben felt his stomach threaten to exit through his mouth. He brought his sword to bear. “Get ready – he's—”
The stone soldier launched forwards in a grey blur, his short sword sweeping in an arc, and forcing both Ben and Joshua into an immediate block. Ben went right and Joshua left in an attempt to surround him. But the soldier was not human, and it became immediately clear he wasn't subject to things like the resistance of gravity. Ben and Joshua attacked at the same time, but somehow the stone soldier was able to block both advances, twisting and turning with stunning speed. Ben pressed forwards, cutting and thrusting, but his every move was blocked with the shield. The soldier jumped back suddenly, and Ben and Joshua almost collided into each other.
To Joshua's credit, there was no fear in his eyes, just single-minded determination.
“Can this thing be killed?” he asked.
“Yes,” Ben said. “We just need to cut its head off.”
“Is that a joke?”
“No.”
The stone soldier attacked again, cutting off their chatter. They were both forced backwards until Joshua launched a risky counter thrust, and grazed the soldier's underbelly. The soldier stopped, and looked at his stomach with an expression of mild interest.
“Has to be the head,” Ben repeated, panting slightly. “Our only chance is routine 3A.”
Joshua barely had time to give him a look, before the soldier came again. Ben tried another audacious move, but the soldier was ready, and ducked, stabbing at Joshua, who cried out in pain, clutching his shoulder.
Again, the stone soldier stepped back, after the brief flurry.
“Why doesn't he just finish us?” Joshua asked.
“I think he's doing what he's programmed to do,” Ben said. “He's giving us a chance to escape. You were right: the baron isn't all that bad, it seems. But I can't take many more of these attacks. We need to execute routine 3A before—”
Ben got no further before the stone soldier attacked again, nicking Ben's wrist and Joshua's arm, before backing away again, and inspecting them both with that same expressionless stare. The soldier showed no sign of weariness – indeed, he had no lungs.
“Who's going to be the victim?” Joshua asked.
The two of them were now only just about holding on to their swords, and Ben's vision was starting to blur.
“Me, of course. You need to speak to the baron.”
“Are you sure about—?”
“Yes!”
Ben didn't wait. It was now or never. He lurched forwards, and gave an exaggerated stumble. The stone soldier stepped in and launched a stab right into Ben's stomach. Ben twisted as best he could, but the sword still found its mark, driving into Ben's ribs. He screamed and fell, but even as he did so, he was aware that Joshua had leapt high, and got a clean strike on the stone soldier. With a mighty sweep, he carved right into the stone soldier's neck, and took the head clean off.
Ben was vaguely aware of Joshua's face in front of his, and that he was mumbling something urgently.
Everything went black.
— Chapter Twenty-One —
Caught Red-Handed
Ben woke to the smell of strong herbs and the throbbing of his ribs. He was lying on a chaise longue in a small but comfortable room, filled with jackets, coats and scarves that hung on the wall.
Ben sat up, groaned, and promptly lay down again, his head spinning. He inspected his chest, and saw a tight bandage, stained red, strapped tightly around his torso. The memory came flooding back, bringing renewed pain that made him clench his teeth. He took several deep breaths, and was about to take another attempt at getting up, when he heard voices.
"…One can never be too careful in this day and age, and there are just so many fascinating creatures to see, especially in the lesser-known Unseen Kingdoms. I have an expedition going to Tripmandu next week, you know. Hoping to find some genuine capriats. I know they're only supposed to be a rumour, but I have it on good authority that they really do exist.”
The voice was clear and well spoken, reminding Ben of nobility.
“That sounds fascinating,” Joshua said.
“Oh, it will be. And I can arrange for you to come. You will see some remarkable things.”
“Thank you, I would like that.”
“Right. We’d better wake your friend up. I expect he will be eager to get home and get that nasty gash seen to. My doctors aren't a touch on the Institute's.”
Ben managed to get to his feet just as Joshua and Baron Vongrath entered the room.
“Ah, you're up already, I see. Well, out with you, boy. Can't have you clogging up my cloakroom now, can I?”
The baron wasn't quite what Ben expected. He was small, with a receding hairline and a hooked nose. His mouth was so large it seemed to encompass half his face, and there was a cheerful air about him that Ben took to, despite his blunt manner.
“Yes, sir,” Ben said. Any attempt at walking with haste was put to bed, as his ribs started aching upon movement.
“Steady on, I don't want you dropping dead before you reach the front door,” the baron said with a little chuckle.
Ben didn't want to make a scene, and steadied himself. He could feel Joshua and the baron walking behind him, and desperately wanted to know whether Joshua had received the invitation to Vanishing Street. The temptation to stop and ask was overwhelming, but he knew it would be silly. It was clear that the baron placed a good deal of emphasis on class, and Ben didn't exactly score well on those stakes, so he kept his mouth shut.
“Give my regards to the council,” the baron said, as a butler moved to open the front door. To Ben's surprise, the baron turned once more to him, and gave him an approving nod.
“I watched your fight with my stone soldier,” the baron said. “You performed admirably. It's been some time since I've had genuine intruders, and it was amusing to select a few of my playthings to come and greet you. Count yourself lucky that you piqued my curiosity, else I might have sent some of my more formidable pets, which would have left you in pieces long before you reached the cliff.”
“Thank you,” Ben said, managing to keep his voice respectful with some effort.
“Don't forget the date!” the baron said with a cheerful wave, as they left. “You won't get another one.”
“I won't,” Joshua said with a smile, patting his pocket.
Ben and Joshua followed the butler outside into the frosty night air. The butler had a torchlight, allowing the rather unpleasant view of the rock's edge in the distance.
“Please tell me we're not going down there,” Ben said with a shiver.
“Absolutely not,” Joshua said with feeling.
They followed the butler a little way, until he suddenly stopped, and pointed the torchligh
t on the ground below.
“Please stand inside the circle, masters,” the butler instructed.
The circle was formed of stone slabs that were marginally different from the rest of the cliff's surface. Ben and Joshua tucked themselves into the centre. There was a sudden shudder and a jolt, almost throwing the two of them off balance. The butler remained unmoved and unconcerned as the circular platform started descending into the cliff, with slow, mechanical whirring noises. They emerged several minutes later from the door that had been barred to them without the ID card.
“You made it!”
Natalie's voice had regained some of its vigour and energy, though she and Charlie were still sitting against the cliff wall. She struggled to her feet and was about to give Ben a hug, but stopped the moment she saw his blood-stained top.
“I'm fine,” Ben said, raising a hand. “Well, fine-ish. I just need a bed, and maybe some heavy painkillers.”
“Well, it won't take us long to get home,” Charlie said. He pointed to a small chariot pulled by a couple of grey Pegasi that stood nearby. “We knew you'd succeeded the moment this carriage arrived,” Charlie said.
“The chariot will take you back to the station,” the butler said. He glanced at his watch. “If you leave promptly, you can catch the 12:07am back to Taecia.”
“Thank you,” Ben said.
The butler gave a bow, and then disappeared back through the door.
“So, did you get the invitation?” Charlie asked.
Joshua pulled out a lavish card with the baron's insignia and a clear date and time printed on it.
“A fortnight on Monday, 10:45am. Directions included. If we don't get there right on time, we lose our chance to get to Vanishing Street.”
“Just over two weeks. We'll be there,” Ben said.
The journey back to the Dragonway seemed to take just minutes compared to their arduous trek up to the castle, as the pegasi flew them effortlessly over the dark forest below. It wasn't long before the fort comprising the Dragonway station came into view, and they landed lightly in front of it.
Ben's ribs were aching like crazy, and he wanted nothing more than to get onto the dragon and rest, without having to worry about being killed or bitten or stabbed again.
His sixth sense flared seconds before he entered the Dragonway and stepped onto the platform. A flash of red diamonds and a terrifyingly familiar face made his stomach lurch. Ben barely had time to stop and stare.
“There he is!”
Standing on the platform was a thunderous-looking Draven and a delighted-looking Aaron, pointing at them like an excited child.
Ben and the others stood there, stunned, as Draven and Aaron approached them.
“You have been colluding with the baron without Institute authority,” Draven announced. “You are all in serious trouble.”
“Wait, Director—” Joshua began, but was cut off by a furious gaze.
“Ben Greenwood, you are to come with me. The prince wants to see you immediately. The rest of you, home. The council will see you in the morning.”
— Chapter Twenty-Two —
A Tight Spot
Ben was too weary to argue. He followed Draven and a smiling Aaron onto the dragon, sitting in between the two to prevent any further mischief, according to Draven.
“We'll sort this out,” Natalie said from behind. “Don't worry about it, Ben.”
“No talking,” Draven ordered. “You don't want to make things even worse on yourselves.”
Despite the pain and the injustice roaring inside his head, Ben still found himself drifting off on the journey back to Taecia. Dreams of the prince, of being stabbed by the stone soldier and even old memories of his parents filled his head until, after what seemed like just minutes, the dragon started its slow ascent up to Taecia station.
Ben stumbled out of the train and almost fell onto the platform.
“He can barely walk!” Natalie said. She had remained on the Dragonway with Charlie and Joshua.
“He'll be fine,” Draven said, though there was a flicker of concern when he saw the red-stained bandage. “You should be more concerned about your own predicament.”
Ben wasn't sure how he made it up the hill to the Institute, but he was certain Aaron played an unwitting part by fuelling his anger with constant chatter.
“I knew you were up to something,” Aaron said, shaking his head and giving a soft chuckle. “I just couldn't work out what, and I have to admit, it was starting to distract me from the apprenticeship. After you kept slipping my colleagues, I realised I had to up my game. It cost me a fair bit of money, but the pixie spies I employed worked a charm. They followed you to Casteria. As soon as I realised where you'd gone, I realised the severity of the situation. It wasn't hard to enrol Draven. He's smart, and has long suspected you were up to something.”
Confusion momentarily shone through Ben's anger. “What situation? What are you talking about?”
“Colluding with the baron, of course,” Aaron said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I don't know what your intentions were, but dealing with the baron without Institute authorisation is tantamount to treason.” Aaron chuckled again. “To think that I worried about you being a potential rival for the Spellsword Director. Now you'll be lucky if the Institute doesn't dismiss you.”
Ben gave Aaron a withering look. “You're mad, you know that?”
“No, not mad,” Aaron said, wagging his finger. His grey eyes looked almost eerily bright. “I'm just intelligent – and sometimes the boundary between the two can seem slim.”
Their arrival at the Institute cut short their conversation. Ben estimated it to be somewhere around three in the morning, and yet the Institute looked almost as busy as usual, with members flying up and down the stairs, and talking as if it were three in the afternoon.
“I will take it from here,” Draven said.
The deflated look on Aaron's face was almost amusing. “Are you sure, Director? Is there nothing I can do to help? I may have some useful information.”
“No,” Draven said. “You've done enough. Get some sleep.”
Ben's smile at Aaron's disappointment lasted until he turned his attention to the grand staircase.
“I can't make it up there,” Ben said. “I'm exhausted.”
Ben expected the inevitable rebuff, but Draven looked at Ben's chest, and nodded. “We take the executive lift, just this once.”
Ben never got to see much of the ground floor, except the atrium, and he would have shown more interest had he not been on the verge of collapse. Draven led him through a secure door, along a hallway, and into a large shaft that ran all the way up the building. A soft spray hit Ben from overhead as he entered.
“You've done this before, right?” Draven said. “The spray is a basic levitation spell.”
It seemed an age ago when he first experienced the levitation at Hotel Jigona, but he remembered exactly what to do. Ben visualised being weightless, and his body started rising. It was far quicker than taking the stairs and, in less than a minute, they had floated to a door near the top of the building, upon which were the words Executive Floor.
Draven led them through into the rarely visited floor. Ben was now finding breathing difficult, and he barely noticed the expensively appointed décor, the plush red carpet or the gold trimmings on the wooden panels. He walked along in a daze, until Draven stopped by another door. This one said: Throne Room.
Draven grabbed the gold handle, and turned to Ben, his face even sterner than usual. “I'm only going to say this once: no funny business. The prince is under a great deal of pressure, and he wants answers. Do not mess around. Got it?”
“Answers to what?” Ben said, cringing as he spoke. He had a sudden desire to lie down. Anything to stop the throbbing.
Draven was either oblivious to or uncaring of Ben's agony, for he ignored Ben's pained face and opened the door with uncommon diffidence.
>
Ben followed Draven into the most lavish room he had ever seen, immediately reminding Ben of one of the royal palaces in London. There was so much gold, in the form of decorations and furniture, that Ben's eyes hurt. Expensive paintings lined the walls, and at the back was a large window that Ben imagined flooded the room with natural light during the day.
Despite the room’s extravagance, it was the throne chair bang in the middle of the room and the man sitting on it that grabbed Ben's attention. The prince had his eyes closed, and looked to be sleeping, the five coloured diamonds floating serenely over his shoulder. He wore a weathered brown cloak and his hair looked a little ruffled, as if he had not long come back from some travelling.
“Ben Greenwood,” Prince Robert said, opening his eyes.
Ben had forgotten just how peculiar the prince's eyes were, with their gold-flecked tint that seemed even more noticeable than normal.
“Your Highness,” Draven said with a bow. “I have, as instructed, Ben Greenwood. The young boy, Aaron, was correct – I found him at Casteria, colluding with Baron Vongrath.”
Prince Robert’s calm demeanour disappeared the moment he spotted the red bandage on Ben's waist.
“Draven, can you explain to me why Ben Greenwood looks as though he's bleeding to death and hasn't been treated?”
“I'm sorry, Your Highness,” Draven said, his voice flustered. “I assumed getting Greenwood was the priority, and his medical situation could be handled presently.”
“You thought wrong,” the prince said, giving Draven a stern look. “Go and get Wren, now.”
Ben had never heard anyone order Draven in such a manner, and he would have savoured the moment if he hadn't been ready to collapse.
Draven gave a stiff bow. “At once, Your Highness.”
He gave Ben a murderous stare, before disappearing through the door. Ben could hear him muttering down the hallway.
The moment Draven left, Prince Robert stood up, and pulled a sofa over to the middle of the room, unconcerned about the marks it was leaving on the plush gold carpet.
“Here, Ben, lie down, before you fall over,” the prince said. “I'm sorry about Draven.”
