by David Combs
The thief’s intuition and vigilance soon rewarded him. Just as he was about to take the final step, he spied the thin gossamer strand of a tripwire as fine as spider silk. A more brash intruder would have disregarded the line as nothing more than one more cobweb draping through the hallway, which was totally believable given the condition of the surroundings. The experienced thief, however, saw the filament disappear into a thin crack in the wall. With a small pair of razor sharp scissors that he had tucked into a pouch, Galen snipped the wire. He listened intently for the sound of any backup mechanisms tripping, but the corridor remained as still as it had been for centuries.
His painstakingly slow progress carried him past all manner of lethal devices tucked away to dispatch the unwary. Spray nozzles were nestled in between mortar joints. Darts, arrows, and spears were poised to strike from all different angles. Pressure plates were hidden among the stone floor ready to launch everything at anyone foolish enough to rush blindly into the hallway. Galen couldn’t help but admire the extreme caution Kellen must have taken to protect this route into the heart of his home. Ambrose’s efforts were far more commendable than those used by Tarnath’s aristocracy.
Galen finally reached the far end of the corridor and passed through an archway. A new corridor branched away that marked that he was now in the main living area of the keep. Plush red carpeting covered the cold floor, and oak paneling lined the walls. Torches and candles flickered along the walls and tables of the elegant passageway.
The thief hugged the left wall of the passage as he padded softly forward. He remarked several ancient paintings that lined the walls of ancient elven kings and warriors, many of them slashed or marred as if someone in a rage had defaced them. One grand picture frame held tattered remains of an elven knight in resplendent armor. Galen gasped when he recognized the armor from the body of Gilgorad back in the tomb inside the cathedral in Khasharsta. The sight of the elven hero’s portrait made the thief wonder again about the fate of his friends. He would give anything for Nestor beside him again with Shadow Reaver in hand, and Tyrell’s growing magical powers blasting through Kellen and his guards.
“I never cared much for that particular likeness,” said Kellen suddenly. Galen spun around to see a doorway across from the Gilgorad’s portrait that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Ambrose lounged in a great cushioned armchair before a roaring fire. “Come in, little thief, and let’s chat. You and I have so much more in common than you might realize”
Galen entered the room, gripping the hilt of his sword more tightly. He was momentarily taken aback as he registered the lavish furnishings of Kellen’s study. Ancient books from long gone empires filled bookshelves that had been artfully carved from the wood of a myriad of forests. He recognized opulent trappings and fabrics on the couches that he had only read about during his tutelage in the thieves’ guildhall. Gold and crystal decanters sat on a tray between the fireplace and the vampire lord. Kellen swirled a ruby liquid in a crystalline glass that appeared so delicate that the thief feared even his feather-light touch might shatter it.
“You and I should not be enemies, Galen,” said Kellen softly. “We are both creatures who thrive in the darkness. We have abilities when we are in the shadows that place us far above normal men.” The vampire looked up at the thief. “Do you realize the empire that we could forge together? Were you and I to pool our resources, riches such as these,” he said with a wave of his hand, “would be yours for the taking.”
“And all I would have to do is serve a devil, condemn my soul, and forget the thousand injuries that you’ve inflicted on those close to me.”
“Grudges are beneath men such as us, Galen. They show how foolishly we cling to mortal attachments.”
“Then why did you destroy the portrait of Gilgorad out in the hallway? That seems very much like a grudge to me.”
Kellen gave a snort of laughter, dismissing the notion with a wave of his hand. “A fleeting moment of temper from ages past. I have grown beyond such childish tantrums.” The vampire lord leaned closer to Galen, and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Join me, Galen, and all you desire can be yours. I can create for you an army of master thieves, an infantry of barbarian foot soldiers, and a council of wizards to advise you, if you wish.” Kellen’s lips curled back to bare his fangs in a wicked grin. “I can give you a thousand Lorelei’s to pass away your idle hours, but do not deny that there is a blackness in your soul now that mirrors my own. You are a creature of darkness, regardless of what you believe, and such a burden will catch up to you, and drag you down unless you embrace it and bend it to your own purpose. Even if you manage to defeat me, would that make you whole again? Use that fury within you and make something for yourself.”
The cold steel of Galen’s sword hilt bit into his hand as he realized that he clenched it in a white-knuckled grip of hatred. The thief looked Ambrose directly in the eyes, his fury offering him immunity to the hypnotic fires that flickered within Kellen’s dark gaze. “If there is darkness in my soul, it is only because you have placed it there.” He pointed the tip of his blade at the vampire’s chest. “I will use that anger for my own purposes, and right now, my only purpose is to avenge Lorelei, Tyrell, and Nestor.” The thief brought the sword around in a fast overhand chop that cleaved through the back of the chair that Kellen barely managed to spring out of and cross the room to safety.
Galen and Kellen slowly circled each other. Ambrose snatched a small footstool from the floor and whipped it at Galen’s head, but the young thief ducked under the makeshift missile while lunging forward with a thrust of his blade. Kellen batted the sword away from him with a quick slap of his bare hand.
With a snarl, Galen leaped forward, his sword humming through the air from the force of his swing. Kellen, anticipated the move, however, and caught the thief with a sharp backhand smack that rocketed Galen across the room. He crashed into a sculpture near the doorway, crumpling to the floor. Though he coughed from the dust of the smashed artwork, Galen’s rage pulled him back to his feet and he charged in again against his foe.
Kellen nimbly danced away from each broad swipe of Galen’s sword, but soon found himself out of room behind him. Galen grabbed the edge of a bookcase, and with a mighty heave pulled it over on Ambrose. He quickly leaped onto the back of the shelving and stabbed furiously through the wall of books to get to Kellen. The vampire roared after one such thrust, and Galen smiled grimly to himself knowing that he had scored a hit.
Suddenly, the bookcase bucked and Galen again felt himself thrown through the air. He crashed against the fireplace hearth as Kellen, fueled by his supernatural strength, hurled the bookcase against the wall demolishing it into kindling. The vampire turned with hatred burning in his eyes, and Galen felt the air tingle with magic. A gout of flame shot from the nearby fireplace, but the thief’s lightning reflexes saved him as he rolled away with only a singed cheek.
“You should just lie down and die, Thale,” snarled Kellen. The vampire lord bore no trace of humanity now as he faced the young thief with fangs bared and naked fury glowing within his blood red eyes. “Do you not realize that your doom awaits you? You are but delaying the inevitable.”
“I’m not about to make this easy for you.”
“You have no chance of defeating me alone!”
“And yet, I’m still standing.” He gave his sword a deft twirl in his hand. “What else have you got?”
Kellen threw back his head and roared. With supernatural speed, he shot forward, grabbing Galen by the throat. Effortlessly, he lifted the thief from the floor and hurled him onto a couch across the room. So great was the force of Kellen’s throw that the couch’s back and side shattered, spilling Galen to the floor. Waves of agony screamed up the thief’s back, but he saw Kellen coming forward. Using the cushions of the couch, the thief rebounded forward and answered the vampire’s charge with a slash across Kellen’s ribs.
“You fool,” growled Kellen. “Your weapon cannot do any lasting damage to me!” He lifte
d his hand from the wound and tasted his own blood. Galen looked at the rapidly closing cut and realized that the vampire spoke the truth. “You can cut me a thousand times, and I will simply heal as fast as you can bring your blade to bear.”
“Let’s see if you can heal without a head,” snarled the thief. Galen drove his knee up towards Kellen’s stomach, but the vampire caught his leg and shoved him away. The rogue tripped over the broken remains of the couch but used his momentum to turn the fall into a backward somersault. Back on his feet, Galen slashed furiously as Kellen reached for him, his sword cutting deep into the vampire’s outstretched hand.
Kellen jumped away, but Galen pressed his attack. Wild swings kept the vampire lord retreating step after step. Valuable decorations were smashed with reckless abandon as the two foes danced around the room. Galen feinted suddenly, forcing Kellen to realize that the thief’s wild onslaught was not so wild after all. With a flashing backhand, Galen’s blade sliced across Kellen’s neck in a white-hot lance of pain.
Kellen fell against his desk, clutching the wound in his throat. Silently choking, he grabbed a marble paperweight, hurling it at the thief. The missile, though small, was backed by the fearsome strength of a master vampire, and slammed into Galen with enough force to knock the thief off of his feet.
Galen felt as though his side was aflame as agony shot through his ribs. He tasted blood, and drawing breath was suddenly a battle unto itself. Kellen dashed out the doorway, leaving a trail of black blood behind. The thief struggled to his feet. “Where are you going, you bastard,” he snarled after the retreating vampire. Leaning against the door jamb, Galen watched as Kellen ran down the hallway that he himself had entered by. “You won’t get away that easily,” he gasped as he stumbled down the hallway as fast as his battered body physically could.
Kellen held a hand to his bleeding throat, dazed and awed by the thief’s audacity. Although he knew that his wound would heal, he had to keep Galen at bay long enough for his dark magic to do its work. Surely, the thief was close behind despite the grave injury that he had caused. Ambrose dared a glance over his shoulder to see Galen stumble out of the library. A cruel smile found the vampire’s lips as he saw the thief’s pallid face and the blood that stained the young man’s lips. Kellen turned and dashed down his hall of traps, leaping easily to the few safe spots that carried him to the far end of the corridor.
Galen reached the entry to the hall. Ambrose stood at the top of the short stairway that led into the tower. He started to yell out to the vampire, but a coughing fit choked his words. He spat blood onto the stone floor.
“Save your strength, little thief,” croaked Kellen through his still injured vocal cords. “What can you possibly hope for now? By the time you navigate the traps in the hallway, I’ll have spirited myself away so that I can recover from this little scrap.” He glared at Galen. “Your own wounds will not heal as quickly, I’m afraid.” Hoarse evil laughter floated down the hallway to Galen’s ears.
The thief’s head pounded. His own heartbeat thudded in his ears. His ribs hurt worse than any pain he’d ever imagined possible. Though his vision danced and swam in front of him as he tried to hold steady, he could unmistakably make out the form of Kellen Ambrose, standing at the far end of this dangerous hallway mocking him. Dammit, he was too close to lose now.
As a wave of fury passed through him, Galen stood straight and tall. His eyes squarely met the vampire’s own dark gaze. Kellen’s taunting laughter faded as he regarded the thief curiously. The young thief gave a quick salute with his sword, and then suddenly sprinted forward into the very center of the lethal hallway. Keenly honed reflexes and pumping adrenaline carried the thief down the corridor as trap after trap fired after him. Jets of poison gas, flaming oil, and burning acid filled the spaces where the young man’s feet had settled only a moment before. Crushing deadfalls, spears and arrowheads were all a footfall behind Galen Thale as he raced towards his foe. Pits, electricity, and even an old-fashioned bear trap sprang from secret mechanisms, but Galen ran on.
Kellen stood in shock as he watched the young man hurtling like a runaway comet on a collision course for him. When Galen reached the bottom of the short stairway, his leap carried him powerfully into Ambrose. He tackled the vampire, slamming them both onto the tower floor beyond. Kellen’s head smacked painfully on the cold stone floor, and he struggled to focus his vision. Galen rolled off the vampire, and regained his feet, sparing a quick glance down the hallway.
The corridor looked like a battlefield. Scorch marks and acid burns lined the walls. Chunks of stone from the walls lay powdered to dust on the floor. The air itself was choked with poison gas and the dust of broken masonry. “That was one hell of a ride,” he said with a chuckle as he stood over Kellen. “Did you really think I’d let you get away that easily,” he wheezed.
Kellen snarled and kicked the thief in the stomach. Galen’s already injured side exploded once again in pain as he fell to the floor and retched blood. His sword clattered across the stone floor. As Galen pushed himself to his knees, the dark shadow of Kellen Ambrose fell over him.
“You have led an incredibly charmed existence,” Kellen said as he loomed over the seriously injured man. “But you, Galen Thale, have caused me far more trouble than you are worth. It is past time for your good fortune to come to a smashing end.” Kellen kicked Galen in the ribs again, sending the thief flying into the tower wall. The vampire grabbed the thief by the neck, hoisting him into the air. “No one has ever dared to attack me in my home,” he snarled as he fired another thunderous punch into Galen’s side. Galen spat blood into Kellen’s face. “I am the lord and master of this fortress!” Another punishing blow snapped another rib. “I will suffer no one to injure me as you have tonight!” Kellen slammed the cutpurse against the wall.
Galen heard bones grinding against one another, and fought to keep conscious. He sensed rather than saw Kellen’s face so close to his own. In desperation, Galen drove his knee into the vampire’s groin, Ambrose’s grip loosening slightly. The thief fired off a punch to Kellen’s jaw, knocking him back. Lastly, Galen kicked out with all of his strength at the vampire’s knees, sweeping Kellen’s legs out from under him and dropping the fiend to the ground. Galen collapsed to the floor and dragged himself towards his sword.
The room swayed in Galen’s vision. His breath came in slow ragged gasps. “Get up,” he snarled to himself as he crawled across the dusty stone. His hand touched the cold steel hilt of his sword, and weakly he fumbled it into his grip. Painfully, Galen pushed himself to his hands and knees, when suddenly a boot heel stomped on his hands, shattering bones with a sickening crack. Too weak to even scream Galen looked up. Darkness loomed before him, like a specter of Death that the young thief knew he couldn’t drive away. The shadow bent close to him as icy fingers clutched at the front of his shirt. The specter growled softly, like a wolf before it moved in for a final strike. Are those fangs, thought Galen? Are those glowing embers eyes? He tried to shake his vision clear, but the darkness would not lift.
Kellen looked at the dying thief in his hands. He knew that nature would do its own work should he choose to throw Galen to the floor. That, however, wouldn’t begin to soothe the injury and insult that the young man had inflicted on him tonight. Ambrose slapped Galen across the face hoping that he might bring back some level of awareness to the rogue. Galen groaned weakly, and Kellen’s wicked grin bared his fangs in their full glory. Ambrose threw back his head and howled a monstrous bestial sound that tore the night. With a mighty heave, Kellen threw Galen’s limp form across the chamber again.
With a sickening thump, Galen slammed once more against the stone wall and then back to the stone floor. He knew his blood pooled around him. So close to death was he that he didn’t even feel the pain anymore. He waited for the divine servants of Alhambra to arrive, and carry him to the fabled Halls of the Dead. As a curtain of darkness fell over him, he saw through the haze a vision of being wielding a sword of flam
e that raced down the hallway of traps towards him.
“How strange,” came one fleeting final thought just before consciousness fled. “Who would have guessed Alhambra’s minions had red beards.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Nestor finished binding his cuts and scrapes, then peered down the dark corridor before him. The flickering torchlight revealed a narrow staircase that led up into darkness. He gripped Shadow Reaver’s hilt and looked at the glittering blade. “I don’t suppose you actually could do away with these shadows, could you,” he muttered. “Whatever’s up there waiting for us is more likely to be at home in the dark than I am.”
Shadow Reaver suddenly began to glow with a soft blue light that pierced the gloom.
“I’ll be damned,” whispered the surprised barbarian. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any other tricks up your sheath, then? Can you lead me to Kellen?” No sooner had Nestor voiced his question when he felt a pull, an insistence in the back of his mind that he needed to go up the staircase. “All right then,” he said as he began to climb the stairs. “I guess I’m taking direction from a sword now.” Shadow Reaver’s glow flickered a moment from peaceful blue to an angry red, then back again.
“Sorry, no offense intended.”
The stairway opened up into a dusty corridor stretching off into the gloom in both directions. Nestor considered each path, seeing no difference between the two. He started to step to the right when Shadow Reaver’s pull suddenly indicated the other direction. Smiling again to himself, the warrior went instead to the left. “We’re going to make one hell of a team, sword.” Shadow Reaver flashed briefly in a rainbow of color as if in appreciation of Nestor’s words.
Ancient doors lined both walls of the passageway. Large rusted iron locks adorned them all. Nestor brought his eye close to a crack in one door but saw nothing but blackness beyond. He pulled hard on the handle and could feel the aged wood give under his strength. With a snarl, he pulled with all of his might, ripping the lock and handle away from the door in a shower of rotting wood.
