by S. K. Holder
Skelos was heading for the door when a translucent figure sprung from a shadowy corner of the vault room. The figure belonged to one of the Traceless.
‘Can I offer you my assistance?’ A voice purred in his ear.
Skelos froze. ‘What part of me is visible?’ was his first thought. He held up his arms and looked at the floor. He saw nothing between. No robes. No feet, solid or transparent. ‘You can see me.’
‘No, but I know you’re there and that you’re not one of us. Are you ugly in appearance? Or perhaps you have an ugly character. Are you after a potion? I can get you one if you’d like.’
‘I can find my own potion.’ Skelos was hopelessly optimistic. All the potions bottles were unlabelled. You had to rely on someone else to tell you what was in them, or simply take a risk and drink.
‘We help you. You help us.’
The door swung shut. Skelos tried to push it open. It held fast. There was no door handle or visible key. This was a terrible idea. But it wasn’t my idea, was it? It was my traitor niece. She had me believe that she was trying to help me when all along, she was trying to get rid of me. But to what end?
‘I only help myself,’ said Skelos. ‘I’m not in the habit of making deals with non-human entities. My soul is not for sale.’
The Traceless faded from view. Skelos did not move. There was little point. The Traceless would only follow him and taunt him until it got its way.
‘Did I say I wanted your soul?’ said the Traceless. ‘We require something of far more value than that.’
Far more value? Skelos wondered if they knew about the Avu’lore, if they could see it. If they take it, then I have nothing. Skelos focused on one of the cubes. Inside it was a breastplate, etched with gilded flowers. He hoped that if he stared at it hard enough, the cube would break or the Traceless One would go away. No such miracles occurred. He would have to strike some kind of deal with the Traceless, even if it were a lie. ‘Name your price.’
‘The Map of the Other Worlds. It can transport you to any world at any point in time you desire.’
Map of the Other Worlds. What nonsense! ‘Did no one tell you? It doesn’t exist, not in this world or any other.’
‘We have heard whispers of beings who have arrived here from Other Worlds. Last night, we heard whispers of a map that will lead us there.’
‘Whispers from whom? The local gossips on the market? I don’t have time to indulge in myths and fairy-tales. I need to leave the kingdom, post-haste. You will have to find the map yourself.’ He slammed his fist down on the Cube of Armour. If all else fails.
‘It resides in a place we cannot enter.’
Skelos had always believed that the Traceless could get into anywhere in Narrigh. Evidently, he was wrong. ‘And what place is that?’
‘Callawly Castle.’
The mention of Callawly Castle made Skelos’s skin prickle. What was it about that old ruin? ‘The map resides within Callawly Castle. Where?’
‘It’s hidden within a painting; hidden by the one they call the Maker. An invisible dome has been cast upon the castle to prevent anyone from entering. We have never come across such a powerful enchantment. The spell can only be broken by a mortal being.’
Could they be talking about my painting? If the Traceless couldn’t break through the dome, then it would have been created with science, not magic. He assumed it was a magnetic force-field, designed to repel anything that tried to cross its path. Skelos didn’t need spells to break through the force-field, but that wasn’t the issue.
He couldn’t afford distractions. He had to put Callawly Castle, Osaphar, and Amelia out of his mind and concentrate on finding the final Shard. And the last Shard is within my grasp, I can sense it. I’m not about to let it slip through my fingers again. How would the Traceless ever find me? They don’t know what I look like. They don’t even know my name. Furthermore, the Traceless think the Maker is real, which means I truly would be wasting my time.
‘I’ll do it, but you have to understand, I work alone. I know the castle and the safest way to get there is underground. I’ll need more Invisibility potion, lots more and a Summoning Spell.’
‘Very well. You have one hour.’
One hour. Is that all? It wasn’t a lot of time, if he really intended to go. ‘Yes, yes. Just give me what I need and open the wretched door.’
‘If you break your word Skelos Dorm, we will find you and we will take your soul.’
FORTY
The Kingdom of Baruch was on fire.
Drone Elves circled the sky, hurling fireballs. They shot through open windows and doors, sending the buildings occupants spilling into the streets. Flames licked the walls. The buildings splintered and cracked.
Connor hadn’t seen one Darque Goblin the whole time he had been in the Great Northern Crater and he had only met one of the Gamnod people. Now there seemed to be thousands of them.
Guards on horses charged at an army of Gamnod soldiers dressed in slate-grey armour. A screaming throng of Baruchians scattered to clear a path, but Connor couldn’t see where they had left to run when all around them was chaos. Noises rang in his ears: whizzing and whooshing sounds, thudding hooves, stomping feet, clashing steel, running water.
A horde of Darque Goblins in mail, set about smashing up the marketplace, sending trestle tables and benches toppling over. The fine wares of cloth and leather were trailed through the white sand. Fruit and vegetables were mashed to a pulp.
Yate, the goblin, jumped down from Connor’s back and together they ran for cover, diving under a fallen wagon. Two young boys, pushing a wheelbarrow, were in the process of filching the last of the wagon’s grain.
A Drone Elf landed with a thump close to the wagon, its blue wings broken. It vanished in a flash of white light.
‘My thanks,’ said Yate, his goblin eyes shining. He crawled closer to Connor ‘I couldn’t be more indebted to you. I would have recruited you to our cause if I’d known you were going to be such a formidable player, unlike that Citizen girl. The Worral stone belongs to you. You’re a Dream Emissary. Don’t deny it. You were going to remove the cage bars with your mind.’
Connor suddenly felt a surge of importance. He had a real super-power. He bet no one else had an ability as unique as his. ‘I don’t think it works on real objects. I mean, I don’t know how it works. When I close my eyes, I can see a keyhole-of-light and when I go through the keyhole, I can push things away with my mind.’
‘Interesting.’ He nodded at Connor’s chest. ‘And that’s a fine piece of armour. Looks good on you. Where did you get it?’
Conner ran his hand over one of his puny biceps. He had rescued Yate from the dungeons. He was practically a super-hero.
‘A super-hero? Get a grip,’ said the Authoritative Voice.
Connor stopped feeling up his bicep. ‘Erm…I found it in the Royal Halls. I think the Maker left it for me.’
The goblin smiled and put his finger to his nose. ‘I get it. Your secret. Your business. Do you think you can get any more?’
‘No.’
Yate was regarding him with an enthusiasm that was beginning to make Connor feel ill at ease. He presumed that once he had rescued the Sentinel he would be free to look for his brother and find his way home. At one point, he had deliberated asking Yate to help him. It was becoming apparent that the Sentinel considered him to be somewhat of an asset to the Sighraith Band. If he wasn’t careful, the man would drag him into battle and take his armour for himself. He wouldn’t be much of a super-hero then.
He heard a thud and an ear-splitting crack above him. Something had fallen on top of the wagon. The vehicle groaned under its weight. He pushed himself up on his elbows. ‘I have to find my brother.’
‘You have a brother here in Narrigh? Is he gifted too?’
‘I don’t know.’ Connor shuffled away from Yate on his elbows. He was annoyed with himself for telling Yate about the keyhole-of-light, particularly when he didn’t understand it. He
had to remind himself that he was only a Citizen in a game, outside of it he was an ordinary boy.
Yate started to move out from behind the wagon. Connor yanked his scrawny arm. ‘Wait? Where are you going?’
‘I got the Plowman’s Touch. I’m going to find a Goblin Magi to heal me. It won’t take long. I’m a Darque Goblin remember. If I die I can be resurrected, but you can’t so stay here. If you see trouble coming, use your armour. I’ll be back, then we’ll go look for your brother.’ He ran out from under the wagon.
‘Where have I had that before?’ Connor clung to the wagon’s large back wheel, contemplating his next move. He couldn’t sit around waiting for Yate to return. He would return to the Royal Halls and ask the Maker for help.
A group of Darque Goblins were trying to bring down a Rogghorn by lassoing it with ropes. One jumped on his back and immediately fell off. Another found himself squashed under the Rogghorn’s tail.
Connor watched Yate run towards the goblins. A purple aura shot from a Drone Elf’s hand, blasting him in the chest. He fell straight on his back.
‘Yate!’ Connor scrambled out from under the wagon, his bag swinging from his hand.
A Drone Elf went through Yate’s pockets. When it was satisfied they were empty, it took to the air and Yate, the goblin, evaporated in a ring of white smoke.
Connor saw his chance to flee. The Darque Goblins had managed to get the Rogghorn under control and were not paying him any attention.
Connor skirted around a warrior, who was tearing at the wings of a Drone Elf to stop it making off with his sword. He ducked under the arm of a man wielding a giant axe dripping with blood.
Enemies came charging at him: Drone Elves, Darque Goblins, Gamnod warriors, and some scruffily dressed people that he thought might be members of the Sighraith Band. He used his armour to blast a path through them, sending them scattering and dropping like lumps of wood.
Dark clouds roiled across the sky, merging with the fiery red smoke. Most of the Drone Elves had landed within the city and were fully engaged in battle.
Connor knew he wasn’t far away from the Royal Halls. He could see its golden turrets in the distance, shrouded in a black fog. The problem was there were so many obstacles preventing him from getting there. The battle raged in the square. Many of the side streets and alleys that branched from it were quiet. To the east, further out of the city, stood a single stone tower. He thought if he climbed it, he might be able to navigate a safer route to the Royal Halls.
The world seemed to darken further. Connor felt the raindrops on his head. They spattered his armour. He saw a smear of black clouds. He stared at the wriggling ‘raindrops’ on his chest. A chill went down his spine. They weren’t raindrops. They were maggots. Maggots and rushing water!
One of the buildings on the opposite side of the street exploded in a blaze of blue light, blowing out the windows. The debris showered the road. Connor ran into a doorway for cover. He found the door locked. He sunk to his knees and wrenched open his bag to check if the Kherrin Mawk was okay. One of its eyes had rolled into the back of its head and its tongue was lolling. Connor thought it might be kinder to let the creature go than bash it around in his bag. He set it on the ground. The Kherrin Mawk licked his boot. ‘You’ve got wings. Why don’t you fly?’
A shadow fell over him. Connor’s heart lurched. His head snapped up. A tall Silver Rider blocked his path. He could see the colour of the Silver Rider’s eyes through the slits in his helmet. They were green.
Connor leapt to his feet. He took a deep breath, preparing to use his armour and found himself crippled by a coughing fit. His armour failed to produce a shock-wave.
When the last spluttering cough had died in his throat, he rushed at the Citizen like a charging bull. Osaphar caught his arms.
‘Get off me! I’m not going back to Odisiris.’ Connor shut his eyes, trying to search for the keyhole-of-light that might set him free, but there was no light, only dark. He couldn’t focus. He tried to prise Osaphar’s fingers from his waist. He bit, kicked and punched the Citizen, but Osaphar would not let him go.
‘Let him go. You’re scaring him,’ said a voice more familiar to Connor than his own. His eyes flew open. He held his breath. He could hardly believe it. Standing behind Osaphar was his brother, Luke.
FORTY-ONE
The winged-beasts brought down races from both factions, trampling them with their claws and spearing them with their tusks and beaks. Some of the Dal-Carrion carried off their prey, others tried to dig up the earth to bury them and found it dry and cracked. As they rapped their beaks on the ground, their terrified victims had ample time to escape.
One of the Dal-Carrion smashed into a burning roof and caught on fire. It dropped to the ground like stone, setting alight a cart stacked with barrels and the hair of a woman who was hidden amongst them. A Baruchian guard appeared with a bucket of water. He flung it over her. A Dal-Carrion then swooped down and snapped the guard up in his beak with the bucket still in his hand.
The Plowmen were on the loose, touching anything that moved, hindering the progress of all six races. Connor saw two Plowmen crushed under the weight of the winged beasts as they thundered through the streets.
Connor held the Kherrin Mawk in his arms and watched the battle from the window of a tower situated close to the Bank of Pular. For the time being, he was safe. His brother had found him. However, his brother’s behaviour had crushed any elation he had felt about going home. Luke was acting weird. He was wearing Citizen clothes and had two companions with him, a girl with almond-shaped eyes and long black hair, and a boy, not much older than his brother, with hair as thick as a lion’s mane and a grim countenance. They had escorted him to the high tower and left him there, all alone. Luke had asked him if he was okay. That was all. And Luke didn’t seem happy. He was stern, distant. Connor didn’t like it. In fact, he had started to think that Luke might be an impostor; a shape-shifter like Yate.
He had no way of identifying Yate with all the Darque Goblins running around. Not all of them were wearing armour. Some had camouflaged themselves successfully. Others, in the panic and confusion, had made themselves more conspicuous. One of the goblins had turned bright green as it a stood behind a white stone pillar.
How did he know Luke was really Luke? He looked like his brother (only he was skinnier), but he didn’t act like his brother at all. Luke had told him to wait in the tower and Connor had obeyed. He hadn’t attempted to leave. He was afraid that if he tried the door and it was locked, he would lose hope. He would be lost again.
He left the window and seated himself on a chair. There were two chairs in the cylindrical room, a feather bed, and a table, under which sat an empty bucket.
‘I’m a prisoner,’ he told the Kherrin Mawk, stroking its back. He stared at the door, willing the doorknob to turn. How could his brother leave when they had only just found each other again?
He popped the creature back inside his bag and skulked over to the door. He reached for the door handle, his hand shaking. He was about to turn the doorknob when it started to turn by itself. Connor jerked his hand away and stumbled back.
The door opened and in walked Luke. He was dressed in a black vest and a pair of trousers cushioned at the knees. They were adorned with detachable pockets of different sizes. He wore a ‘blank watch’ on his wrist. He shut the door behind him.
‘Going somewhere?’ he said, pushing his tongue into his cheek.
‘No.’ Connor bowed his head in one sharp motion. He felt a tightness in his throat, a leaden feeling in his stomach. It now occurred to him that his brother’s distant behaviour was nothing but controlled anger. His brother would be furious with him for using his laptop without asking. The anger signs were there. Luke had dark lines under his eyes. His neck and head had sprouted inky blue veins and he had closed one of his hands to make a fist. He had put him in the tower so he could punish him when no one else was around.
Overcome with guilt and fear, Con
nor retreated to the chair, cradling his bag in his lap. He couldn’t muster the courage to babble an apology. It would just sound weak. He hadn’t just used his brother’s laptop to play the game; he had stolen his passwords in order to access it. He spoke to his bag. ‘How-how did you find me?’
He heard a screech on the stone floor. Luke had dragged up the other chair. He placed it in front of Connor and sat down. ‘Connor look at me.’
Connor continued to stare at his bag, watching the Kherrin Mawk squirm inside it. A fat tear rolled down his cheek. This was all he needed, to have Luke seeing him cry like a baby. He tried to stutter an apology, but all he managed to do was spray his bag with saliva.
‘Look at me.’ Luke’s voice was firm.
Connor raised his head and choked back a sob.
Luke wore a deep frown. He bit down on his lip and closed his eyes for a second as if fighting to form the appropriate words. ‘I’m not mad at you.’
‘You should be. I’m mad at me.’
He gave a long shaky sigh. ‘How can I be mad at you? I haven’t seen you in over a month. I thought you were dead.’
Connor sat bolt upright. A month was a long time if you were counting. ‘Is mum okay? Is she with you?’ He had a horrible vision of his mum staring out of the window, crying and thinking the worst had happened.
‘She’s at home, waiting by the phone. She’s not going to believe you’re in an online role-playing game, is she? Riley had a hard enough time convincing me and I play it.’
Connor brushed away his tears. ‘What did he say?’
‘He said you stayed up late playing the Quest. He fell asleep and when he woke up, he said you were being sucked into my laptop. The police thought he was on drugs and mum went ballistic. So he changed his story and said he was half-asleep and he didn’t really know what he saw. All he knew was, you vanished without a trace. Things have been pretty hectic at home. The police wanted to take my laptop as evidence. I gave them my old one and played The Quest of Narrigh every chance I got, until one night it happened. I was here, in the Kingdom of Baruch. It was surreal. Crazy. I guess that’s what happens if you play the game for too long, you end up in it. It’s not the sort of thing you can talk about, know what I mean? Why’s your bag moving?’
