Taliesin walked through an arched entrance and was aware of a slight vibration in the atmosphere as she left the underworld and entered the domain of the ancient gods. She saw a wide staircase before her, lit by torches. The stairs, cut into the rock ages ago, spiraled upward into the mountain, and as she took the steps three at a time, torches appeared on the walls. She counted one thousand stairs before she arrived at an ornate, turquoise door, but, as a Wolfen, she was not winded from the climb. No guards were present at the door, just as none had been at the pier or in Heggen’s war galley. There was no door handle or keyhole, for magic was required to open it; with a wave of her hand, she said, “Open,” and watched and waited.
The door groaned as it opened inward.
On the other side of the door was a long corridor lit with torches. The ceiling was painted blue with white clouds that moved as she walked under them, as if it were the sky. She smelled the wind and the rain and the magic. Statues cut from marble and obsidian lined either side of the corridor; black on her left, and white on her right. They appeared to be Lorian, and the males, clad in togas, had well-defined physiques, yet wore expressions of sorrow. The females, similarly dressed, were slender and exceptionally attractive, and appeared quite fierce. In place of the eyes were rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. A statue of a young male archer, with pointed Lorian ears and eyes, made her pause to admire its beauty. He held a slender bow in one hand and at his feet lay a fawn. She wondered if the statues had been real people who were turned to stone, for any artisan would have had to toil for years to create such beauty. She counted one-hundred and fifty statues by the time she reached the end of the hall and stood in front of an iron door, engraved with unusual symbols, which again lacked a handle and a keyhole.
“Before I open this door, I should check the map,” she said to the Raven Sword. It hummed in response, so she quickly removed the Deceiver’s Map from her pouch, gave it a shake, and turned it into a small board. The likelihood it would show her the location of enemy guards, if there were any, seemed slim, but she had to try. The blue light from the sword shined upon the map. The map had tricked her in the past, but it worked without deception now that the Eagle lord was dead, and a detailed schematic of the mountain palace appeared. She had three thousand more steps to climb before she reached the next room, filled with stolen treasure from countless kingdoms. The treasure room had a door that led to a courtyard. Guards waited in the courtyard, and more were positioned throughout Mt. Helos, or stood outside the palace. Some guarded smaller buildings made of marble, and others, towers. A massive wall surrounded the entire city of the gods, and there were more guards on the battlements, though the map did not indicate exactly what species they were. It also showed living quarters, barracks, a library, and an armory.
“Show me Roland,” Taliesin said.
A small cell at the top of a tower appeared, with Roland’s name written below in tiny, red letters. Zarnoc, Ismeina, and Mira were a level below. Shan Octavio, Jaelle, Tamal, and the Nova brothers’ names also appeared. Hawk, Tamblyn, and Sertorius were in the tower prison, and Varg, the giant black wolf, kept watch outside the goddess Mira’s cell. She expected no less from Ragnal’s remaining pet wolf, and he was not alone, for Wolfmen stood guard inside the prison tower. She noted their tiny footprints showed them pacing without rest, forever mindful of their duties.
“You’re being quite helpful, map,” she said.
Almost immediately, more names appeared; Midus, the four-headed dog, patrolled the largest courtyard with more than one hundred Wolfmen. The lack of devotion Midus had shown to its prior master upset her. She liked dogs, but this one had not defended Stroud to the death, as it should have, she thought. At Raven’s Nest, many of the clan had owned dogs, mostly strays found abandoned along the road. A shaggy, red brute named Falstaff had followed Master Osprey everywhere and died trying to protect him from Chief Lykus. War dogs were loyal, and Falstaff had been a hero in her opinion. Yet Midus lived, and she meant to kill him.
“Anything else I should know about?”
Another two hundred guards stood along the outer walls. Some guards flew over the palace, but the map did not show what type of creatures they were. The Traveling Tower stood in the courtyard where Midus waited; she had a place to fall back to, if necessary. The Maeceni armory drew her attention, for it was situated on the northern side of the palace, not far from the tower prison, and within it were all sorts of magical weapons, including Moonbane, Graysteel, Brightstar, Retaliator, and the golden lute Eevhass.
“We need help Ringerike. Call to Calaburn,” she said. “Tell the Draconus sword to be ready for my signal. I will summon it as soon I open this door and climb the stairs.”
The Raven Sword hummed softly in response. She kept her eyes on the map and smiled when the tiny sword emblem, hidden behind a bookcase, gave a little shake; Calaburn was ready and waiting. With a satisfied nod, Taliesin put the map away and stared at the iron door. As she prepared to wave her hand to open it, she noticed a live fawn beside her; the same fawn she had seen lying at the feet of the boy with the moonstone eyes. Her stomach turned at the sound of movement and voices behind her, as every statue came to life.
“Stop her!” someone shouted.
“No time to get friendly, little guy,” Taliesin said. She waved her hand, and the door opened. The fawn darted through ahead of her, and she followed and slammed the door shut.
Taliesin stood in a large chamber filled with treasure. Large trunks and containers were overflowing with gold and silver coins, enough to make Bonaparte green with envy, and spread across the room to a door on the far side. Angry voices and shouts behind the door she had closed set her in motion, and she darted around statues and treasure chests while the blue light from her sword shone on the door on the far side of the room. The fawn scampered over the floor strewn with coins to lead the way.
When halfway across the treasure room, Taliesin heard the door behind her crash open, and a fireball splashed the wall ahead of her and toppled an ivory statue. She dove over a chest and landed in a pile of coins. As she scrambled to her feet, Ringerike deflected an array of bright flashes fired in her direction; the statues had turned into their true forms, Lorian and Hellirin magic users. They were angry, as well as a little rusty, but she noticed their aim improved each time they directed a dark spell in her direction. She waved her hand, and a wall of coins floated into the air. As the fawn brushed its nose across the exit door, it opened, and she sent the wall of coins flying toward the magic users, ran through the door, and slammed it shut behind her.
“You’re not so bad,” Taliesin said as the fawn nudged her. “I need to seal this door. Pity they don’t know I’m on their side, little guy; I don’t mean them any harm, and I could use their help.”
She held Ringerike to the side as she lifted her left hand; a burst of magical energy flowed from her fingers and spread across the door, which merged with the wall and vanished. She turned toward a marble staircase and ran up, chasing after the fawn, grateful to be surrounded by the blue orb. Ringerike hummed, certain Taliesin was about to be attacked and eager for battle. Concerned now that the sword had warned her, she lost count of the how many stairs they climbed.
She heard loud screeches as something pursued her. Whatever made the sounds were not human, fairy, or darkling, but something horrible. Not bothering to slow, Taliesin raced after the fawn as the noises grew louder. When she knew her pursuers were close behind, she released Ringerike, and the sword flew into the air as she continued to climb. She knew the sword battled whatever monsters followed, and, from the sound of the shrieks and growls that filled the stairwell, she knew they were Heggen’s servants.
“Raven Mistress,” sang out an evil female voice. “We are coming for you.”
Taliesin glanced over her shoulder, missed a step, and fell on the stairs as Ringerike came into view. The sword battled creatures bathed in black shadows, with multiple heads and large jaws. No longer protected by the
blue orb and relying only on her dragon armor, she steeled herself to keep from showing any fear as the shadowy forms glided toward her. When they attempted to surround her, she heard the fawn bleat and lifted her right hand into the air.
“Ringerike! Come to me!”
Blue light shined upon Taliesin, and the fawn ran to her and pressed against her legs, as the sword returned to her grasp. She swung the blade at the shadows, and was surprised when she cut through flesh and green blood splattered the walls. She scooped up the fawn with her left arm, and red dragon scales covered its body as she continued battling her way up the stairs. She hacked and cleaved through meaty tissue, and tentacles with large suction cups plopped onto the stairs and rolled downward into the gloom. The darkness closed around them, and she shook the sword in the air and shouted.
“Go back to the shadows, foul demons! Return to whence you came!”
With frightened shrieks and whimpers, the creatures flew off in every direction. She ran up the rest of the stairs and finally reached a large gold door with a handle. Taliesin set the fawn on the landing, turned the handle, and opened the door. Sunlight spilled into the stairwell, and the screeches and snarls silenced. She shut the door behind her and stared in awe at a magnificent city circled by clouds.
A platoon of guards marched past, and she moved behind a pillar, the fawn at her feet. They were not the usual type of guards, for they had wolf-heads on human bodies, and they patrolled the streets in small packs. Ragnal had brought the citizens from every dukedom to the city, and she sensed Varg had turned them Wolfen.
“There are far too many to fight,” Taliesin whispered. “Ragnal has done a fine job turning people into beasts. I will put an end to this, little friend. I promise.”
Guards in shiny helmets appeared in a courtyard bordered by beautiful potted plants. The Traveling Tower stood in the center of the courtyard, and the Wolf Clan she had turned into spoons now stood guard. The elderly, women, and children with wolf-heads snarled as they paused to sniff the air. Taliesin realized they smelled the fawn, not her, and called Calaburn to come to her, but the Draconus sword was unable to break free from the tower.
“Dim your light, Ringerike,” Taliesin whispered. “We can’t be seen.”
The sword’s blue glow vanished along with her protective orb, and she spread her raven cloak to cover her and the fawn as they ran beneath a covered arbor bordered by slender pillars that encircled the courtyard tower. The pillars stood twenty feet tall, and thick ivy wrapped around each one, as well as the underside of the arbor. They came to a halt behind a pillar as guards slunk past, and she felt the fawn press against her legs. Taking a deep breath, she peered around the pillar, and again summoned Calaburn. For some reason, though, the Draconus sword was unable to come to her; something held it back, though she was not sure what it was. She glanced at the upper windows of the tower, wondering why the sword did not come to her.
A large, four-headed dog with tan fur walked around the tower and lifted its head to sniff the air. She glanced at the little fawn and found it had reverted to a statue; so much for bravery, she thought. Instinct told her to seek higher ground before Midus spotted her or smelled the scent of her dragon armor. She sheathed Ringerike and flexed the fingers of the Lorian gauntlets before she placed her hands flat against the pillar. The gauntlets worked like suction cups and allowed her to climb the pillar. She found her knees and feet could also grip the stones, and was able to move forward along the underside of the roof. Scuttling forward, she had an upside-down view of the immense wall that encircled the entire city. Guards stood in a long line on the battlements, facing outward. She continued to move, and her nose was tickled by the pollen of the fragrant white flowers that grew among the ivy, and she sniffed to suppress a sneeze. The shadow of the Traveling Tower was a long finger that pointed in the direction she needed to go—east. The palace at the center of the city was made of white stone. It was a massive structure with pillars on each level and windows open to the elements. She guessed it had a hundred rooms, yet only six goddesses and gods lived there.
It made her sad to see the palace virtually abandoned and to know the residents were captured Caladonians bitten by Varg. Most who were turned were loyal King’s Men, which meant they would offer their support for Sertorius against the usurper, and they would join the cause and fight with her; at least this was what she hoped.
The four-headed dog vanished from sight as she circled the courtyard. Taliesin reached the end of the corridor, and with a yank of her hands, the gauntlets released and she dropped to the ground.
“Let me be invisible,” she whispered.
Taliesin glanced at her hands and saw her whisper had brought immediate success. No longer able to see herself, she left the courtyard and headed down a street. Abandoned shops and homes housed all manner of birds, nestled in the ivy which had run wild throughout the city. Doors were open, their entrances blocked by cobwebs or broken pillars that lay in the street. Some buildings had collapsed over time, and no one had bothered to repair them. She had memorized the schematics of the city and navigated a network of streets lined with temples with wild gardens and moss-covered statues. There were far too many decorative statues, and she wondered if they had been enemies of the Maeceni, like those in the mountain corridor, or even immortals turned to stone by Stroud and members of his family.
She passed several towers flying the Maeceni flag, white with a gold gauntlet holding a red rose, and arrived at the remains of a market. The vendor carts lay overturned and broken, and the merchandise left scattered across the ground. From what she knew about warfare and the remains left behind, it was obvious a battle took place a long time ago. The one thing the city lacked, given its high altitude, was snow and cold, brittle air; the air felt warm. The scent of flowers filled her nose, along with the odor of wet dog—the scent of the Wolf Clan.
Guards, no more than fifteen years old, stood at an intersection, looking as lost as she felt. They appeared awkward in their ill-fitting armor, and their weapons were on the ground. A number squatted in a circle and played a dice game, using bones as money. In their excitement, they had sprouted whiskers. She willed them to focus on the game, and none of the youths noticed her passing.
Her magic definitely worked on command, and the new sensation felt intoxicating. She felt certain she could put the guards to sleep if she wanted to. She tried her magic on two guards outside a temple to Broa and watched them sag to the floor. A number of older men in Bavol armor argued outside a closed shop over a skin filled with wine. She concentrated and entered their minds, compelled them to sleep, and they dropped to the ground. The wineskin fell beside one, and its red contents spilled onto the ground. She pointed at the cloak worn by another man and made it float in the air. She levitated all of the guards’ swords into the cloak, wrapped them tight, and with a wave of her hand brought them floating toward her. She grabbed one end of the cloak and tossed it over her shoulder, noting how quickly it vanished from sight.
“These will do for now, Ringerike,” Taliesin muttered. “Something keeps Calaburn from joining us, but we will get to that armory when our friends are freed.”
She walked through the city with long and quick strides. Guards, asleep at their posts, never noticed as she approached the tower prison. The closed door looked easy to open, but she hesitated—Varg waited on the other side. She walked to the far side of the tower, which rose one hundred feet into the air and was set with a number of barred, narrow windows. Glancing at the cloak filled with weapons, she willed it to float beside her, and she scaled the side of the tower. She moved to each window, finding nothing but skeletons, until she finally spotted Shan Octavio through the bars. The tall gypsy lord watched Tamal and Jaelle, seated on a cot, play with a deck of Tareen cards. The girl’s face was pale and dark circles hung beneath her gray eyes. She held up a card and showed it to her father and brother.
“It is the Messenger—we will have a visitor,” Jaelle said. She glanced at the wi
ndow, jumped to her feet, and pointed. “Someone is right outside the window, someone with a trace of Hellirin blood. I can smell it!”
“You’re downright spooky,” Tamal replied.
“Be still,” Shan Octavio ordered as he walked to the window, and his eyes widened as he turned his head to listen. Taliesin took a deep breath as a hand reached through the bars and brushed against her arm. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“It’s Taliesin. I’ve come to rescue you. I am going to hand you some swords through the window. Once I release the others, we’ll go to the armory and replace these with magical weapons.”
Taliesin opened the cloak with a wave of her hand, selected a sword, and handed it hilt-first to the Shan. Two more swords made their way through the bars and into his possession. His children stood before him, the cards left on the cot, and they took the weapons, their relief and joy evident on their faces.
“Get us out of here,” Jaelle said. “We’ll help you kill the guards.”
“Stay put—Varg guards this tower. I’ll return and unlock the door as soon as I release Zarnoc,” Taliesin said. “Be patient a while longer. The gods are not here, only the extended Wolf Clan. We’ll all be home before you know it.”
“Be careful,” Octavio replied. “This may be a trap, my friend.”
Taliesin crawled around the tower with the cloak of weapons floating beside her. She reached another window; the Nova brothers sat in this cell. Simoon sang in a soft voice, while Harmattan used a bone to attempt to unlock the door. Khamsin, the eldest, paced the cell, but Sirocco heard movement outside the window, silenced his brothers, and approached the window. He stared right through Taliesin and narrowed his eyes, and she noticed stubble covered the scar on his chin. She removed a sword from the cloak and handed it through the window. The gypsy grabbed the hilt and stood back.
“What sorcery is this?” Sirocco asked. “This is a Maltese blade. Who is out there? Are you here to help us?”
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