Knight of the Blue Surcoat - IN EDITING HELL - SLOW

Chapter XX: A Game of Souls

Orlando pushed himself to a sitting position, his head spinning again. "Then test me, fiend, and see if I lie."

The creature inhaled, his eyes shutting and his beast's fur standing on end. "Sent for love." The breathy voice reeked of old blood. "Loving wrong is his crime."

Hades crossed pale grey arms, stalking back and forth before them, his frame rippling and folding like a desert mirage. "This is not my arena. Perhaps you should fight the lad for his heart, m'lord. If he survives you, set him free; if he fails, take his heart with my compliments."

The jackal-man snarled. "I cannot die."

"Then he wins if he strikes you seven times."

Another snarl from the beast, this time at Orlando. "Agreed."

Orlando staggered to his feet. "Wait, Hades, uh, Lord Hades, I have no sword."

The lord of the underworld smiled a pale skull grin, his frost-colored eyes glittering with mirth. "Look at your hand."

Orlando held a wicked steel blade. The hilt was obsidian, cold as death, and the blade itself winked with icy malice. His left arm held a shield of ironclad ebony, carved with death's own face.

Orlando bowed. "Thank you, sir."

Hades laughed and raised a hand. "Begin." He turned in a swirl of indigo wrappings and was gone.

Orlando circled the jackal-man, waiting for it to make the first move. The beast gnashed his fangs and raised a sword of rotting metal, hilt wrapped in burial rags. It charged with a howl, and Orlando jumped aside. I'm fighting Melora-fashion. Smiling, he dodged another blow. His sword snaked under the rotting blade, catching the beast's shoulder.

Blood ribboned, and a distant voice said, "One."

Moments later, it intoned again, "Two."

Orlando ignored the phantom pain. In the dream world, he was tireless, sleepless, and possibly deathless. Knowing his strength fortified him, and he scored a third hit on the furious beast. The jackal-man retaliated with a storm of blows, breaching Orlando's guard to cut his arm. Orlando bit through his lip in pain, answering with a fourth hit.

Five through seven scored, and Orlando cast down his sword. "Surrender."

The jackal man sagged against the wall, his black tongue licking his wounds. His flat eyes regarded Orlando with hatred, but he made no move to resume the attack.

A door creaked open, though Orlando couldn't see it. A tall woman glided in, robed in night. She stopped in front of Orlando and inclined her head. Deep brown braids swung forward, and she raised her face to reveal eyes of sparkling sapphire.

"Greetings, fair youth. My lord bids you choose a prize from his treasury. Anything in this world can be yours, for he is lord of wealth as well." She gestured with her graceful crescent-moon hand. "Come with me."

Orlando followed the woman, though his wounds smarting and his face dripping with sweat. "Tell me, Lady, have you anything to free me from this place?"

She turned back, eyes darting over his face. "A key. If you can find it, you may claim it."

Orlando frowned. "How will I know it?"

She smiled, and a vague look crossed her face. "Where does your heart truly lie?"

Orlando followed her again, puzzled by her response. How was that supposed to help him? After several more paces, they stopped at a great door carved with grotesque monsters and solemn men. The woman pressed it with her slim hands. It opened, soundless under her light touch. "Come."

Orlando entered a room so vast, it could have easily contained both his father's palace and the Red Hall. He gaped at the arching ceilings covered in stalactites. Glittering dunes of gold and silver, coins and goblets obscured the floor. Where could Orlando find a single key among the rivers of jewels flowing in this underground hall?

He looked to the lady, who nodded her understanding. "The treasure you seek lies beyond, there." She indicated a small path winding through the gold. "At the end of that way, you will find it. Touch only what you intend to take, for the first treasure your hand brushes will be what remains with you."

Orlando bowed. "Thank you."

"Return to me here when you have what you seek, and I will guide you."

Orlando turned from the starlit woman and carefully trod the narrow pathway through the glittering hills. He ignored swords and daggers, helms and cuirasses, though they were exquisite. He passed by coats and capes fit for an emperor and goblets of precious stone.

The path ended in a smaller chamber. Orlando ducked through the priceless scarlet tapestry that was the door, careful not to touch it with his hands. He blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the sudden torchlight. A row of thrones lined the wall. In each sat a frozen woman, or the likeness of one. Orlando stared at them, fear prickling his spine.

He crept closer, his footsteps soft on beds of carpet and bolts of velvet. In the light, he made out the women's noble features and fiery hair, and recoiled in revulsion. Each woman was a perfect copy of Melora, down to the way she pursed her mouth.

"Tricks all around," muttered Orlando, remembering the woman's question. "Where my heart lies, indeed." He studied the figures, trying to spot a difference. "Where my heart truly lies?" Orlando frowned. "Does she mean Melora at all?"

Think, Orlando.

Orlando walked down the row, staring into each frozen face. They still looked the same. He sighed and buried his own face in his hands. Through his fingers, he glimpsed a small casket open on the ground in front of him. A skull was all it contained, cushioned in purple satin. Orlando frowned and stepped closer. The skull held something in its teeth. Orlando knelt to see it was a tiny key, shaped like a spear with a cross on the end.

"A key in the jaws of death, buried in the Underworld," muttered Orlando. He hadn't expected the solution to be so . . . literal. "Clever. I don't think they wanted me to solve that."

He snatched the key and turned, but the ground shook beneath his feet. A terrible scream rent the stillness, and Orlando slammed against the wall, key in hand.

He awakened with a jolt, his body sore as if it had all been real. Something was in his hands, something slimy, cold, and hard. Orlando shuddered, tasting blood where he'd bitten through his lip.

He felt the strange object he was still holding; running his fingers over its dips and grooves. It was an arm bone. Orlando cast it aside with a silent growl. Laughter crackled around him as the bone smacked into a wall.

"Round one may go to you, my dear," said the Destroyer's voice, somewhere nearby, "but forever goes to me!" She laughed again, a keening mewl that pounded through Orlando's skull, as her words echoed in the dark.

Forever.