Kastali Dun
Claire raced through the keep as if the Vodar were already nipping at her heels. Her heavy skirts twisted about her ankles. With Saffra in the lead, she and Desaree struggled to keep up. All the while, a number of horrible scenarios flooded her mind. How long did they have before the enemy arrived? Minutes? An hour, perhaps?
Given Saffra's obvious distress, there wasn't a moment to spare. "We must warn Commander Daxton!" she called over her shoulder. It was easy to see why Dax was her first thought.
They plunged down a set of stairs and raced through an open courtyard. It wasn't until they had reached the second level of the keep that Claire stopped them. "Wait...wait!" she gasped, clutching her side. Commander Daxton's quarters were on the second level; they were nearly there. At Claire's insistence, they came to a stop. "Even if we find Dax," Claire said, "how will he know what to do? Where to go?"
"The Vodar are after the Stones," Saffra said.
"Right," Claire said. She blinked several times, trying to think. "That does not exactly help us. I don't know where..." The words died on her lips. What had happened to the Stones? Come to think of it, no one had bothered to tell her. "I don't even know where they are..." she said at last. Fear gave way to frustration. After everything she had given for the damned Dragon Stones, she never thought to follow up on their safety. She had merely handed them over. Her shoulders slumped.
"I saw the Vodar flying into the castle," Saffra said, her voice reassuring. "That means they are hidden within."
Claire's eyes widened. "Talon's Shields! If the Stones are in the castle, the Shields will know where."
Saffra slapped her hand to her forehead. "But that's it!" she cried. "You! You can warn them, Claire." She pointed an accusing finger at Claire. "Use your mind! Use telepathy. Tell them what I saw."
The blood drained from Claire's face. "I—I can't! They don't know about me...I can't give it up." She looked from Desaree to Saffra, pleading.
"You must!" Saffra said.
The wrong secrets breed folly, Claire...
Cyrus's voice was not reassuring. Claire shook her head back and forth until her brain felt dizzy. Her ability to communicate with the Drengr was her secret—hers to give when she was good and ready. She couldn't bear to do it now, not when... "The king doesn't know," she said. "I can't tell his Shields. If I speak to them...If I say anything..."
Saffra gave Claire a displeased look. Desaree remained silent. Claire gazed back at them, unwilling to budge. They both knew her secret ability would save them time—but they also knew she would not concede.
Claire took a deep breath, trying to think of a better way to help them understand. Then she realized something they hadn't yet taken into account. "It's nearly dark. We've gone in the wrong direction. Commander Daxton won't even be down here. He'll be in the dining hall. The Shields, too."
"Gods above!" Saffra cried. "Yes, we must go to them." She grabbed Claire's arm and Claire grabbed Desaree's. They changed direction to the dining hall where dinner was promptly held when darkness fell.
Unfortunately for them, the dining hall was on the main level of the keep. The keep's tiers were designed to withstand sieges by creating varying levels through which one could retreat to safety, beginning with the bottom-most level. For Claire, Desaree, and Saffra, that meant many flights of stairs.
When they reached the dining hall, they were panting and gasping for air. The dining hall's doors were already closed. By rule, they were not to be opened for late-comers. The king himself followed this ruling; he ate dinner alone in his tower when he could not be on time. Closed doors or not, they had to act! Before the guards realized what was happening, the ladies pushed the doors open. Ignoring the surprised protests from the two guards, they scurried inside.
They were greeted by silence. Claire did not care about the questioning eyes that followed them. She led the charge, racing down the main aisle towards the head table where Bedelth, Jovari, Koldis, and Verath sat. The four of them rose at once; it was obvious that something was wrong.
Whispers echoed through the hall as Claire took the dais steps two at a time, hoisting her skirts to her knees. She stopped at the table, clutching her side. "The...the Dragon Stones..." she gasped, trying to keep her voice low to avoid mass panic. "The Vodar...you must...they are coming...Saffra's vision." She could hardly speak, and certainly not coherently. She stepped aside, hoping that Saffra might do better.
After several rushed exchanges between Saffra and the Shields, the peril was finally understood. The Shields failed to hide their agitation as they rushed around the head table and fled the hall. Verath had the good sense to summon to his side several higher-ranking individuals under King Talon's command, Commander Daxton included. And then they were all gone. The room erupted into louder whispers as everyone gazed at the three women standing before them.
While this was happening, Claire caught sight of a small carving knife. She covertly took it from the table and shoved it up her sleeve. Then she turned to the others. "We're going after them. I'll be damned if I stand around and wait to see what happens."
"We are hardly fit to fight demons," Desaree cried, afraid of the suggestion.
"No, Claire is right," Saffra said. "We must go. I can...I can hardly bear it. Daxton..." With that, Saffra raced away from them. Claire and Desaree followed, hot on her heels.
As they left the hall, Claire turned to the guards. "Which way did the Shields go?"
"That way, my lady. The king's tower." They both pointed.
"Good. Seal up the dining hall. Do not let the patrons leave until instructed otherwise. And one of you round up more guards! Spread the word: There is danger lurking in the keep tonight!"
Without wasting another moment, Claire raced away. Desaree and Saffra kept pace beside her. They reached the southern wing, preparing to take the first set of stairs. Saffra stopped them. "My bow!" she cried, then added, "How else will we protect ourselves?"
After a few complaints, the three of them diverted to Saffra's quarters where they met Jocelyn. Jocelyn was frightened when she learned of the danger; she insisted on accompanying them. "You are my charge to care for," she argued, looking fiercely upon Saffra. "I would not dare abandon my duties."
"Please, Jocelyn." Saffra's voice was quiet. "I admire your honor, and I understand duty. But this is too dangerous. I couldn't bear it if something—"
"You think to dissuade me? I'll not have it." Jocelyn squared her shoulders; she stood taller than all of them. "With all due respect, Lady Saffra, you need me. For example, I have already seen a problem you have not, for which I have a remedy."
Claire, Desaree, and Saffra exchanged looks of confusion.
"Your skirts!" Jocelyn added when they failed to comprehend her. "You have not bothered to hike up your skirts. How can you fight when you're tripping over them?! Here—" She sprinted across Saffra's chamber to a wardrobe, rustled around, then returned with a handful of leather straps. Desaree and Saffra took theirs without complaint.
"What is—?" Claire didn't know what to make of hers.
"It's a skirt chaser, my lady. One for each of you. Now hurry!"
"Skirt chaser...?" Claire's eyebrows drew together.
"A skirt chaser is a skirt hike, Lady Claire." Jocelyn moved over and began demonstrating on Saffra. The accessory consisted of a belt with an accompanying strap. The belt fastened around the waist, and the strap was used to draw up a skirt and fasten it. At the end of the strap was a metal loop with a large pin. One could pull the fabric through the loop and hold it in place with the pin. When Jocelyn was finished, she turned to Claire and said, "You'll be hard-pressed to do much without one."
"Jocelyn, you have proven your worth ten times over," Saffra said. "I was not thinking properly."
"None of us were," Desaree said, blushing. She rushed over to help Claire before doing her own.
"Why didn't you get me one of these skirt things before, Desaree?" Claire realized how much easier she moved with her skirts hiked up in front. She looked down at her legs and gawked. "Someone should've reminded me to shave," she muttered, chuckling at her own humor, not that this was the time for it. Women in Dragonwall did not shave their legs, and she had not had the luxury either. It was one of many she sorely missed.
"Here, put these on." Jocelyn tossed each of them a pair of pantaloons. They should fit well enough to keep you proper." They rushed to follow orders. "Now then, have I proven myself well enough to come along?" Jocelyn put her hands on her hips and offered them each a look that spoke plainly enough.
The four of them set out for the Hall of Kings. When they approached the entrance to the tower, they noticed the prevalence of guards. They were everywhere, spilling into the open doorway of the tower, each trying to get inside to replace their fallen comrades. Sounds of clashing metal reached them, followed by a pained cry. The hairs on the back of Claire's neck stood on end. "We're late," she whispered. "It has already started."
They tried to get closer to the tower door, but the guards noticed them and stopped their progress. "Forgive me, my ladies. I cannot let you pass. You must retreat to safety."
"But we came to fight," Claire said. "Let us through." She had one hand on the handle of her purloined knife, which was still concealed beneath her sleeve.
Two more guards saw them and turned to dissuade them. "Please, Lady Claire," they said, "the king would have our heads. There is unspeakable danger in there. You must return to your quarters immediately."
"We are wasting time," Saffra groaned.
"The secret passageway," Desaree whispered in Claire's ear. "Come on!"
The four of them turned on their heels and raced to Claire's quarters. Claire led the way, opening the secret door. Without bothering to find a lamp, they felt their way down the stairs in darkness. Jocelyn could be heard gasping in disbelief as they went. Claire led them through the passages and up another set of stairs, her fingers trailing along the stones for guidance. Minutes later, they burst into the queen's parlor. The sound of clashing steel was prevalent above them. A blast split the air and shook the walls of the tower. They squealed in surprise before moving across the room.
When they reached the stairway leading to the main floor of the tower, Saffra turned to them. "The three of you must wait here," she commanded, simultaneously nocking an arrow. Claire, Desaree, and Jocelyn erupted into protests. Why should they wait in the shadows when they might be of some help? "I am the only person with a weapon," Saffra answered. "Moreover, I have been trained!" With that, she disappeared up the stairs.
Claire pulled out her small carving knife and turned to Desaree and Jocelyn. "The two of you must wait here." Then she followed Saffra to the main floor. At first, all she saw was Saffra filling the doorway. Then she caught sight of the scene before her and grew paralyzed with fear.
The main chamber, which consisted of a large circular living area, was in ruins. Loud periodic blasts, the clattering of furniture, and the sound of metal clanging against metal met Claire's ears. Shields and soldiers alike fought for their lives. And like something from a horror story, black figures glided around the room sending smoky tendrils to slither up the walls. "There were only six last time," she muttered to herself. "Only six..." Now there were far more.
A giant blast shook the room. Claire screamed, throwing her arms over her head and ducking for cover. In the process, she carelessly dropped her knife. The wall behind her rained down around them sending pebbles and dust everywhere. She coughed and covered her mouth with her sleeve.
As the dust settled, Claire looked at the scene again. The fighting continued. No one noticed her and Saffra in the doorway. Another blast sounded. This time, different voices squealed. She turned to find Desaree and Jocelyn cowering behind her; they had disregarded the warning to stay below.
At that very same moment, Verath appeared. He paled the moment he beheld Desaree. "All of you—get out!" He might have said more, but a wraith descended upon him. He had little more than a moment to turn and lift his Sverak in defense. After that, he threw himself back into the fray.
"Their blades are poison!" Claire cried to Desaree and Jocelyn, trying to convince them to turn back. "Verath is right! You need to get out of here!"
Without waiting for compliance, Claire's attention was drawn away. Something pulled her like a magnet. Above the mantle sat Cyrus's Sverak, ensconced in a glass case. Her heart quickened. Without a single thought for her safety, she threw herself into the chaos, dodging and diving.
She was panting and covered in sweat when she reached the sword. The case was swept to the floor, shattering into fragments that flew everywhere. She retrieved the Sverak and returned to Saffra. As if on cue, two of the wraiths detached themselves and slithered towards her.
As they approached, Saffra remained motionless; her gaze was fixed on Dax. Claire realized what she was doing: she was repeating an incantation, over and over, her words barely a whisper. At that moment, an orb of crackling electricity blasted against an invisible barrier protecting Dax. Claire's eyes widened.
The two wraiths descended upon Claire whether she was ready or not. With Saffra distracted, she was forced to confront them alone. Her stomach tightened. How was she supposed to do this?
Relax and let me do the fighting...
Cyrus's voice was a welcome one. Swallowing against the sudden dryness in her throat, Claire nodded and attempted to do as he asked. Just as the two wraiths lifted their short swords against her, Cyrus's Sverak rose to meet their blades. The clang of the Sverak against the poison-laced short swords echoed in her ears. It was all she could hear, ringing and ringing. She twisted to the side, placing her feet deliberately like a dancer, one after the other, as Cyrus's Sverak slashed through the air. It felt as if it were a part of her, an extension of her arm, each blade movement fluid. Before she realized it, she was fighting both wraiths while Saffra stood behind her, still muttering.
Having Cyrus do the fighting was the strangest sensation. Claire had deliberately cut off her mind's ability to command her body's muscles. She had relinquished all control. Yet, her muscles tensed up and moved anyway. Without her mind's resistance, the movements were smooth and harmonious.
As one short sword cut through the air, she was ready to meet it while dodging the other. When one wraith got too close, she kicked it away with her foot just as the other came down upon her. Cyrus acted through her, guiding her body as if it were his, as if she were the marionette and he the puppeteer. Then, with a stroke of luck, she spun in a circle, dancing away from both black figures. The Sverak went with her. Its superior length gave her the reach she needed. Just as it passed the closer wraith, the blade sliced through its neck taking its head off in a clean sweep. Poof went the body, all remnants of it disappearing from the world. The second Vodar was much easier. In less than a minute, its head was likewise removed—its body sent back to Undirfold to regain strength.
A high-pitched scream echoed in Claire's ears. She looked up to find Saffra's terror-stricken face. A moment later the Seer rushed away, throwing herself into the battle to fall at the feet of Commander Daxton, who had just collapsed. Crimson blood pooled up around him, spilling from a laceration on his chest. Claire's eyes widened as she saw Daxton's assailant glide away to join the attack against the others. Skirmishes were taking place all around the king's chambers.
Many new guards had joined the fray, pouring in through the tower door when space permitted. They fought sword to sword trying to push the Vodar back. The problem was the guards were not Magoi. The Vodar took every opportunity to utilize magic, weakening and wounding them.
It was clear that King Talon's soldiers were no match for the demons of Undirfold. Claire's resolve shattered when she saw their blackened bodies lying dead upon the ground, contorted into the awkward positions in which they had fallen. Each blackened face wore a look of utter terror.
A small bit of bile rose in her throat. She looked away to preserve her composure.
In the center of the room stood King Talon's four Shields, back to back, fighting with both their Sveraks and magic. Bright flashes of light exploded in the air around them as the Vodar attempted to break through their magical barriers.
When her eyes returned to Saffra, sobbing on the floor, Claire's stomach plummeted. Daxton was gasping for breath while Saffra held her hands against his wound using her magic to keep the poison from spreading. He would have died in seconds had it not been for her.
She was about to run to Saffra's aid when movement caught her attention. Two wraiths slipped away through a side door, departing from the fight. A feeling of dread came over her. She gave Saffra and Dax a final glance before going after them.
Claire's pursuit took her down a wrap-around staircase that ended at King Talon's study. Unexpectedly, she was met with more fighting. Tower guards dodged around a big desk in the room, attempting to fight a small group of wraiths. A whooshing sound drew her attention to the balcony as several new enemies joined the party. "They just keep coming," she muttered. "Like cockroaches."
Cyrus's sword in hand, she moved into the room. Just like before, she channeled him, throwing herself into the fighting. The name of Cyrus's Sverak was Justice—a fitting name for what she dealt the nearest wraith. A few moments later, she brought down another. And then another.
All too soon, she discovered that only two soldiers remained. When they noticed her presence, they put themselves in front of her for protection. The act proved detrimental; they became direct targets. It took less than a minute for the remaining wraiths to bring them down. Claire had just enough time to gaze upon their crumpled bodies in horror before throwing herself back upon her enemies.
As the fighting progressed, a magnified hiss echoed around the room, capturing Claire's attention. "Leave the girl alive. Our master wants her alive and unharmed. Take her and go." The little hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.
Just then, hands seized her from behind. She jerked against them, crying out. When her struggling proved futile, the cold dread of captivity washed over her. Her heart pounded in her chest. How could this be happening?!
"Let me go!" she screamed, still kicking as she tried to wiggle free.
The hands of her captor were strong as iron. "Drop your weapon," it hissed in her ear before shaking her as if she were a rag doll.
"No!" she cried. "Never!"
The wraith did not like her refusal. He only shook her harder. This time, her grip loosened and Cyrus's Sverak clattered to the floor. In the room above, the cries of battle continued, but down here, she was very much alone. She had never felt such danger—such evil. It seemed as if she were drowning in blackness as smoky tendrils crept into every crevice of the room, into the stones themselves.
"Give up, girl. You have lost!" An authoritative command sounded as a Vodar wraith—likely the leader—swept into the room. It glided up to a large painting behind King Talon's desk. Claire's eyes darted to it, studying the ship on its stormy seas, then her body went limp. She was forced to watch in disbelief as the wraith stood before the painting, voice lifted, muttering harsh words in another language. When silence fell, an audible click resounded, unmistakable in nature. Claire's hopes began to sink. This was it? This was the protection King Talon offered Dragonwall's precious Dragon Stones?
"Don't do this," Claire whispered. Everything she had achieved was crashing down around her. If the wraiths got the Stones...No, she couldn't bear to consider the possibility.
The wraith turned its hooded gaze upon her. She couldn't see it's face, but she could tell it was smiling. After a long moment of silence, it turned away from her and reached forward, freeing the painting from the wall. Disguised behind was a square space with a large wooden box elegantly carved—a box undoubtedly full of magical protection.
"No..." Her voice was little more than a whisper of disbelief.
The Vodar placed its hand over the box and began speaking to it, coaxing it. There was no other way to describe the hissing words of its spell, which echoed around the room, seeping into Claire's ears like worms. It made her skin crawl and her stomach knot up. Before her eyes, the lid of the box melted away, reveling its depths. The demon reached in with sharp movements and procured a small leather pouch—the Dragon Stone pouch.
It was done.
"You can't take them!" she cried. "You can't!" With renewed vigor, she threw the entire weight of her body against her captor. The wraith's grip on her arms was painful. The more she struggled, the angrier she got, until fury erupted inside of her and she began shaking.
How dare they thwart her?! Too bad for them; she knew something they didn't. They failed to see because they were too consumed with evil, but the air around her already knew. The stones beneath her feet also knew. She could feel the castle's magic humming around her. It must have sensed her purpose because in that moment, its allegiance belonged to her.
Without knowing what she was doing, Claire began to chant, to sing, "Fallam nemaloh sasilo valandur ellohdar, geta ellohdar, geta ellohdar, geta..." The words slipped from her tongue as easily as any words ought, as if she knew exactly what she was saying, as if this was the purest tasting water ever to be had, or the sweetest honey to be enjoyed. Warmth erupted around her and a perilous scream echoed in her ears. Her captor's arms fell from her waist. She turned in time to see its body shrouded in green fire the color of emeralds. Moments later, it withered away into a pile of ash, sword clattering down beside it, defeated.
The room was silent for several long breaths. Claire heard her own hard breathing as she looked at the remaining wraiths in the room. They stood motionless, gazing at her, no doubt as shocked as she was. She turned to their leader. "Drop the Stones!" she ordered, feeling more powerful than ever.
A cackling laugh escaped its lips. "Take her alive," it hissed, turning to the others. Then it glided away to the balcony. Claire tried to race after it but the others fell upon her. There was no time to think. Just as she opened her mouth, the same song fell from her lips, "Fallam nemaloh sasilo valandur ellohdar, geta ellohdar, geta ellohdar..." The enemies beside her burst into green flames, just like the first. She did not wait to see them turn to ash. She was already rushing to the balcony. The final wraith turned to look at her then took several steps forward, placing itself against the balcony's edge.
"My master awaits," it hissed, then it leapt from the ground. Anticipating it's movements, Claire jumped through the air after it, closing her arms around its body. It was all she could do to keep it from escaping. The two of them sailed up and over the balcony wall. She heard the Vodar's angry hiss as it realized what she had done.
With her added weight, it could no longer fly properly. It began sinking sluggishly towards the sea below. She wrapped her arms firmly around the wraith's shoulders while her legs wrapped around its torso. Then she held on for dear life.
The scent of rotting death pervaded her nostrils, filling her with a sickly feeling. She peeled away one of her arms and began reaching for the Dragon Stones. The Vodar held the pouch in its grasp as it evaded her hand. It managed to keep its prize firmly out of reach.
Something more would have to be done. She began to sing again. Without hesitation, more green flames erupted around her; the wraith's body ignited like kindling. It screamed in fury, still fighting and writhing in her arms.
They began gaining speed, plummeting towards the sea. She tried again to claim the Stones, reaching around the wraith's burning body. To her, the green flames felt like warm tingles, but not to the wraith, who continued to scream.
"Gotcha!" she cried triumphantly as her hand closed over the Vodar's fist. At last! She wrenched its hand backwards. At that same moment, the flames finished their work and the Vodar turned to ash in the sky. The pouch was now firmly in her grasp. She had just a moment of relief before her heart froze. She was falling through the sky!
She glanced down. The sea loomed up beneath her. She took a quick lungful of air just in time. Her body plunged feet first into the warm waters of the Bay of Bandu. Down she sank as the momentum sent her into the depths of the water.
She kicked hard, fighting her wet gown as the skirt twisted about her legs. With one hand clenched about her prize, she used the other to pull herself to the surface. Her lungs were screaming by the time she breached the surface, gasping and sputtering.
The bay was calm here, but also dark, with nothing but a sliver of moonlight glinting upon its surface. The wraith had taken them far out over the water, a mile at least, away from the keep. There was no help out here, and no point in shouting. Claire didn't have the breath for it anyway.
As she struggled to tread water, she looked around. The dockyard with its many ships twinkled in the distance, just around the peninsula. The tip of the peninsula was the nearest shoreline. It was a sharp cliff face with the massive keep sitting neatly on top. She squinted at it; there was no possibility of climbing to safety. That left one solution: she would have to swim.
Placing the Dragon Stone pouch in her teeth, she fought free of the heavy skirt weighing her down. When she was rid of it, all that remained was her chemise, bodice, and pantaloons. Then she swam for her life, hoping for the strength to make it to the docks. All that mattered now was that she was safe, the stones were safe, and from now on, she would make sure they stayed that way.
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