Edge placed a calming hand on the dwarf’s broad shoulder. “Okay, best friend. How do you plan to help?”
“I’m comin’ with you, of course,” said Lenny.
Edge straightened. “You are?”
“’Course I am!” said Lenny. “Ain’t gonna let you go off after Jhonate without my hammer and my cookin’!”
“She’s called Sar Zahara now,” Deathclaw pointed out. He folded his arms. “And as much as your ‘cooking’ helps, we must move swiftly. Your presence would only slow us.”
“Why you ungrateful, scale-faced, bird-lickin’, noseless, baby-handed . . !” Lenny began and Deathclaw tucked his regenerating hand under his other arm. “. . . tree-climbin’, slimy, no-good, dirt-dragon! This ain’t the first time you’ve said somethin’ like that and you’ve always been wrong before. The only one slowin’ you down is you by hissin’ complaints when we could be on the road already!”
“We will be riding Rufus,” Deathclaw said patiently. “It will be uncomfortable enough with Fist, Edge, and I.”
The dwarf jerked a thumb at the large warhorse that stood not far behind him. “I got my own ride. He’s already loaded up with everything we need fer a long journey.”
Edge’s eyebrows rose as he noticed the burn scars on the horse’s neck and realized who it was. “Is that Albert?” Albert was an Academy-trained warhorse that Edge had known as long as he had known Lenny. He had thought Albert had been retired. He walked up to the horse and gave him an affectionate rub. “Isn’t he old for this kind of journey?”
“Old? I think you mean experienced,” said Lenny. “Don’t worry ’bout his age. Me and Bettie been feedin’ him elf-grown hay and with that saddle we made him, he runs as fast as any racin’ horse. Does that ease yer mind, Deathclaw?”
The raptoid had no rebuttal this time.
“Is Bettie okay with this?” Edge asked.
“Don’t matter if she is!” Lenny barked. Then he shrugged. “But yeah. Soon as I told her it was Jhonate, she gave her blessin’. ’Sides, she knows I ain’t been on the road fer a long time. My feets have been itchin’ fer a while now.”
“Fine,” said Deathclaw and the raptoid headed into the cave.
Lenny scowled after him, but Edge gave the dwarf a comforting smile. “You know he’s just putting up a front. Deathclaw likes you, but he’s never been comfortable expressing the way he feels.”
Don’t speak for me, Deathclaw hissed through the bond.
“I, for one am happy to have you along,” Edge promised, patting the dwarf on the back.
“Ooh! Me too!” huffed Rufus smacking the dwarf on the back with his much larger hand.
Lenny stumbled and grunted, his gap-toothed grin returning. He grabbed Albert’s reins. “Let’s go, then.”
Chapter Ten
Lucinder - Knight
The rooms that housed Khalpany’s hidden prince were luxurious as one would expect. Each room was spacious with high ceilings, and brightly lit by a series of glowing orbs. The walls were made of stone and mortar, but there was nary a bare wall to be found. Some walls were covered by tapestries and paintings of Khalpany’s past princes. Others were hidden by bookcases.
Some of these bookcases were new to his rooms. They had been moved in over the last few days now that Lucinder was no longer allowed in the small library. Every shelf was overflowing with old tomes. Most of them were histories, but there were a good number of fanciful stories as well, allegories and fables designed to keep his young imagination lively. For all his parents’ attempts to keep Lucinder away from any true life experience, they seemed to want him to have an active mind.
Lucinder couldn’t see the luxury around him. He was aware that a commoner would think his life beyond lavish, but in Lucinder’s mind these were the trappings of bondage and servitude. Even the silken sheets on his huge downy bed were little more than shackles and these shackles chafed more of late.
Ever since Nurse Deena’s unfortunate attempt to free him from this place, a vague certainty had arisen in Lucinder’s mind. He was being groomed for something other than an eventual kinghood. As for what that something was, none of the possibilities he could think of were good.
Along with this certainty had come a brooding melancholy and with this melancholy came an unending headache. At night, the ache was a constant dull throb that he could feel even in his dreams. During the day it was worse. Sometimes it brought sparkles to the edges of his vision.
On this bright morning, his open window was letting in brain-piercing light. Lucinder was slouched in a chair with his back to the window. He stared at the pages of the book before him, but didn’t register the meaning of the words. Not even the bold adventures of Sar Gander could keep his attention.
The room’s sullen silence was broken when a small rock soared past his shoulder and clattered across the stone floor. Blinking in surprise, Lucinder braved the morning sunlight long enough to turn and look towards the window.
A man was crouching on the window ledge. His tunic was emblazoned with the emblem of House Drelbach and tied around his waist was the long yellow sash that identified him as a member of the palace staff. He was motioning at Lucinder.
The servant’s appearance in this place made no sense. There was a sheer drop of at least forty feet beyond that ledge. Despite the sparkles that flared in his vision, the prince squinted in an attempt to make out the man’s features. Slowly, the man’s crooked grin came into view.
“Sir Bertrom!” Lucinder said, bolting out of his chair.
The named warrior made a shushing motion and pointed to a small metal cube that was sitting on the windowsill next to him. It was emitting a soft glow that Lucinder could somehow see despite the brightness of the morning sun. Sir Bertrom beckoned him closer, his mouth moving soundlessly.
Lucinder stepped closer, his curiosity piqued. When he was just a few feet away, he could suddenly hear what the man was saying.
“ . . . yes, I’m still talking. Still talking. Wave if you can hear me.”
The teenager blinked. “What?”
Sir Bertrom’s grin broadened. “You can hear me now?”
“Yes,” said the prince hesitantly.
“Good! I’ve been crouching here for a good five minutes trying to get your attention. I finally had to chip a chunk of stone free and throw it at you,” said Bertrom.
“Why didn’t you just come in?” Lucinder asked.
“Because the floors in this place are monitored. Deena told us about it. If anyone comes in here that isn’t familiar to the spells, the guards are alerted,” he explained. “They sometimes listen in too, which is why I brought this little cube with me.”
Lucinder had momentarily forgotten about his headache. “It’s casting a spell of silence.”
Bertrom nodded. “Exactly. By the way, it would be good if you don’t step any further away. The spell this thing casts only works in a very small radius, which is a good thing really because that means Sren or any other wizards won’t notice it unless they’re really close.”
Lucinder blinked at the smiling man. This was all so strange that he began to wonder if he hadn’t somehow made him up in his mind. “But . . . what are you doing here? What about your wounds? I saw Warwielder Ghat hit you.”
“Yeah, that was not my most shining moment,” Bertrom said with a bit of embarrassment. “He very nearly killed me. I managed to escape, but just barely.” He showed Lucinder his right forearm and the red scar that had come from the orc’s axe. “Luckily, I have some friends in this city. Have you seen Ghat since then by any chance? I’d love to hear if he managed to get his hand put back on.”
Lucinder grinned. “You cut his hand off?”
“I did. That’s how I got away. Lopped it off and kicked it into a cesspit.” He shrugged. “He lunged for it and I ran.”
The teenage prince couldn’t help but laugh at the visual. Enormous Ghat in his blood red armor sprawling onto the ground and pawing through sewage looking for his l
ost hand. The exertion caused his headache to flare again and Lucinder winced.
Sir Bertrom’s expression turned somber. “Now that I’ve answered your questions, I have some for you. I wasn’t able to catch what happened after I fled, but I heard that Mistress Dagger and your nanny were captured. Do you know what happened to them?”
Lucinder hesitated to answer. “I . . . Priestess Sren threw something at me and I blacked out. When I woke, I saw their bodies, bloody and . . .” His face turned red. “N-naked on the ground.”
Bertrom’s brow furrowed and he pressed, “They were dead?”
Lucinder grimaced. “I’m not sure. They weren’t moving when I first saw them, but then some men came in and carried them away and I-I thought I saw Nurse Deena move. Maybe?”
The named warrior chewed his lip in thought. “Where were they when you saw them?”
“Underground. Deep in the mountain behind the palace. It’s that room where I-.” He clamped his mouth shut. “I don’t think I’m supposed to talk about it.”
“Well, I know that the royal family has their own dungeon in the mountainside,” Bertrom said. “But I need to know more if I’m going to find them, Lucinder.”
The prince took a half step back. “You’ll only get killed too.”
Bertrom put a hand to his ear and motioned him closer again.
Lucinder returned to the field cast by Bertrom’s cube. “If I tell you more, you might get killed.”
Sir Bertrom sighed and shifted his weight gingerly as he stopped crouching and moved to sit on the window ledge. He let his feet dangle into the room, careful not to touch the ground. As he did so, some of the servant’s livery he was wearing moved stiffly and Lucinder realized that it wasn’t what it appeared to be.
The sash that was tied around his waist and dangling at his side was actually a belt and sword sheath. Some sort of illusory magic was hiding it. And the way his tunic bunched up in back when he sat told Lucinder that he most likely had something strapped to his back, probably his shield.
“I know you don’t know me,” said Bertrom. He slid the glove off of his right hand. “And I know that the only proof you have that you can trust me is the rune on this hand. And I also know that the only time you saw me in action was when you saw Mistress Dagger and I fail to help you. But listen, I’m a lot better at this kind of thing than I have shown you. Right now I’m the one who needs your help. Mistress Dagger and I have worked together for a long time and I . . . I can’t leave her in that dark dungeon knowing she could still be alive.”
Lucinder sucked in a deep breath. This man really was like one of the heroes in the stories. “The place where I saw her isn’t near any of the cells.”
“Describe it to me anyway,” he said. “If I can find my way there I might have a way to track where she was taken.”
“It’s a room carved from polished black stone. The center of the room sinks down a bit and in the middle of the depression is a pedestal. A . . . large silver bowl sits on top of it.”
Bertrom’s eyes widened. “Describe this bowl.”
The prince swallowed. The throbbing in his head was increasing. “It’s-. The inside of it is clean like a mirror, but the underside of it is carved with faces in pain and misery.”
“So the Dark Bowl is here.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “We hadn’t thought that the Dark Prophet would be so brazen as to bring it to the seat of power in Khalpany. This makes things even more dire than I had feared.”
“It’s been here as long as I can remember.” Lucinder looked down and he told Sir Bertrom his secret shame. “Every month, the guards come and take me down there. My parents make me approach the bowl and there is a black orb in the water. I pick it up and I hear a voice in my head. It tells me things.”
The named warrior’s expression was unreadable. “What does it say?”
“Wh-when I was little it was nice to me. It said that one day we would meet each other, and it would be my friend,” he said. “But now it sounds scary and last time . . . it said that there were only a few short weeks left and I would be ‘ripe.’” He swallowed again, but his mouth was dry. He looked up at the named warrior and saw pity in the man’s eyes. “What does it mean? What are they going to do to me?”
Sir Bertrom didn’t say anything right away.
“Are they going to kill me?” He asked, his lip trembling as he told the man the thing he most feared. “Did my parents raise me this long just to sacrifice me to the Dark Prophet?”
Bertrom’s eyes remained focused on Lucinder and he rubbed his chin. Finally, he beckoned the prince closer. Lucinder moved right to the window and Bertrom placed his hands on his shoulders.
“Whatever they have planned, we’re not gonna let it happen. Okay?” Bertrom gave him a comforting smile and waited for the prince to nod. “Now tell me about this black orb. What does it look like?”
“It’s uh, round and kind of wrinkled. I don’t know what it’s made of but it feels kind of slimy when I pull it out of the water. I think it might have once been an organ of some kind because some of the wrinkles on it might be veins.” He looked closely for Bertrom’s reaction. “Do you know what it is?”
“No, but I’ll look into it,” Bertrom promised. He sighed again and leaned out of the window to look down. “Can you leave your rooms?”
“They have me locked in most of the day,” the prince replied. “They come and get me when I’m allowed to leave.”
Bertrom nodded thoughtfully. “Show me your hands.”
He did so, and the named warrior looked at his palms and the backs of his hands, then checked his nails. Lucinder cocked his head. “What are you looking for? Nurse Deena used to do that all the time, but I just thought she wanted to make sure I had washed for supper.”
“It’s an old Khalpan trick that the Dark Prophet’s priestesses like to use. They can place a small rune of spirit magic on your hands or under your nails and use it to track you.” He let go of Lucinder’s hands. “Let’s check your feet just in case. Take off your shoe and stick your foot up here on the windowsill next to me.”
Lucinder took off his shoe and put up his right foot. The named warrior checked it and shook his head and the prince lifted his left foot.
“There it is. Under the nail on your middle toe.” Bertrom pursed his lips. “That’s how they found us on our way out of the city.”
Lucinder peered at the toe, but he could see nothing. “I can’t remember Priestess Sren ever touching my foot.”
“It doesn’t do them as much good if you know about it,” Bertrom said. “Alright. I can’t get you out of here today, but at least we have a timeline to work with.”
“All the voice said is a ‘few short weeks’,” Lucinder said worriedly.
“So, at least two. Probably three or more,” Bertrom said and gave him a confident look. “Plenty of time. It’s going to be a big job, so I need to gather some help and make sure we have a better plan than last time.”
“But-,” said Lucinder.
“Don’t worry,” Bertrom chided. “Just be ready. And . . . when you start to doubt, I want you to know something. The reason that Dagger and I are here is because the Prophet sent us. He didn’t know exactly why at the time, but he sent us.”
“He did?” said Lucinder in awe.
“And not just that, but when we got to Hagenton and met with some of our friends, they put us in contact with Nurse Deena. You should know that she didn’t just come to us on her own volition. Someone high up in the palace sent her.”
“Who?” Lucinder asked.
Bertrom wrinkled his nose apologetically, “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. This person is in grave danger if they are caught. But I want you to know that I’m not the only person on your side. Okay?”
Lucinder nodded.
“Alright. Before I go, I need you to tell me everything you can about the dungeons in the mountain,” Bertrom said.
The named warrior grilled the prince for several m
inutes asking him for details ranging from the route he took when going to the Dark Bowl to the guards’ schedules. Once he had seemed to exhaust the prince’s knowledge, he said he would be back when he could and stood back up on the window ledge. He picked up the small cube and turned away.
“Wait. Sir Bertrom?” said Lucinder. “Remember when we first met and you said that your name wasn’t impressive?”
He paused and looked back into the room. “I’m okay with it, really. The Bowl named me what it wanted. I was just trying to make you feel at ease.”
“Well, it pricked something in my mind. I knew I heard it somewhere before and yesterday I looked it up and found it in one of the old Khalpan histories,” Lucinder told him. “Back in the early days of the kingdom, there was a special person on the king’s staff. He was called ‘the Knight Bertrom’ and he was basically the king’s personal problem solver. He would send him out whenever he couldn’t get things done through official channels. The Knight Bertrom was very well respected, and it was said that he never failed the king.”
“Hmph!” Bertrom said, his crooked grin returning at full force. “Well, that’s certainly how John uses me. Hopefully it rings true this time. Thanks, kid,” he said and dove off of the ledge.
Lucinder’s breath caught in his throat and he bent over the edge to see what happened to the man. Sir Bertrom fell all 40 feet, spread-eagled, but just before he hit the ground he seemed to slow just a bit, and he landed like a cat. Then he looked around to make sure he hadn’t been seen and ran out of view.
Chapter Eleven
Sir Edge – Generations
The portal was large and square in shape and shimmered with a soft blue light that illuminated the cave. A steady stream of mist pooled out from the bottom of it. On either side of the portal were two lodestones; triangular gray stones set in rectangular runes made of silver. These were the keys that held the portal open. If there was ever an emergency, the lodestones could be removed and the portal would close.
As Edge and the others stepped into the light, there was a brief flash and a disorienting lurch in their bellies. Then they walked out into a large ornate hall. The floors were made of polished marble, the walls painted white with gold filigree. Enormous pillars rose to the ceiling, each one covered in colorful murals.
Sir Edge Page 11
