Renegade Wizards (17 page)

Fortunately, since the huntress faced her, she didn’t see Par-Salian emerge from the crowd behind her. As he strode forward, Par-Salian raised his hand. A sphere of shimmering energy suddenly enveloped the huntress, trapping her like a fly in amber. She struggled to escape, but the sphere of energy
held her solidly. Par-Salian kept marching straight toward Ladonna, intent on helping her. The second hunter, a burly man, emerged from the crowd near Par-Salian and took a second too long to assess the situation.

With nary a hesitation, Par-Salian snapped one arm across his body so his hand pointed over his shoulder back at the hunter. A sudden wind rustled Par-Salian’s clothes. The upturned grass rippled at its push, and both the hunter and the shocked bystanders around him were suddenly bowled over by the savage gust. The air seemed to wrinkle and form a solid mass of wind that ripped and tore at the ground.

Tythonnia broke through the mob, which was drawing away from the scene, and rushed to Ladonna and Par-Salian just as Ladonna pulled herself free. Unfortunately, her panicked Abanasinian still struggled against its webbed prison, as did four other men and women caught in the magic. In the distance, knights shouted and struggled to reach them.

“My horse,” Ladonna said.

“No time,” Par-Salian replied. “We must leave, now!”

“Why are they after us?” Tythonnia asked, helping Ladonna to her feet. She stared at the huntress, who glared back through the sparkling globe of energy.

“Enough time for that later,” he whispered. “The keep gate is blocked. Can we go through the Clerist’s Tower?”

Ladonna nodded. “But there will be guards.”

“To the tower, then,” Par-Salian ordered.

“What about the horses?” Tythonnia said.

“We’ll have to improvise.”

The three wizards aimed for the tower’s central ramp. The wall of people seemed to melt at their advance, unwilling to touch or be near them. Fortunately, the deeper they drove into the mob, the more they blended in. Only a handful of people had seen them, and soon the companions moved past pilgrims and gate guards who were trying to get a better vantage of the action.

They reached the ramp and assessed their situation. A group of knights was confronting the two renegade hunters, though the huntress was still trapped in the sphere. The larger man was arguing with two knights who had drawn their blades and was pointing in their direction. Par-Salian urged them to keep moving.

A great stone ramp led up to the mighty steel gate of the exterior battlements, which were open. The gate alone was worth a dragon’s ransom in wealth for the steel-starved continent.

Tythonnia and her compatriots passed under the large archway of stained rock and into a narrow courtyard that buffered the outer battlements from the octagonal tower. The central courtyard where they found themselves was sealed off, however, by two double doors to either side.

Par-Salian uttered a minor curse under his breath. They couldn’t use the courtyard to circumnavigate the tower. They had to get inside.

Directly ahead of them, a pair of stairs rose to the exterior ledge of the second story, where the temples were located. Pilgrims dotted the path. Between the stairs was a large corridor, which ended at a mammoth and rusting portcullis that barred further entry into the tower. The passage was also lined with angular columns shaped like serrated teeth.

Shouts drew their attention to the battlements above. A knight on the outer ramparts was pointing down at them and screaming something unintelligible but loud enough to attract attention. Par-Salian pushed Tythonnia and Ladonna up the stairs, past a handful of startled pilgrims. It was only then that one of the guards at the gate noticed them. He rushed across the courtyard, intent on giving chase.

They reached the top of the stairs, where a rail hedged the ledge and a tower archway opened into a small temple. Par-Salian led them toward the archway, the shouts behind them growing in volume.

Par-Salian snarled as he looked inside the temple. Beyond
the row of intricately decorated pillars, past the pilgrims genuflecting at the kneeling slabs, was an altar, and behind it, a massive golden door that was sealed.

“Not that way!” Par-Salian said, pointing toward the ledge around to the right.

“Stop!” a knight shouted. He’d just reached the top of the stairs while trying to draw his sword.

“Don’t hurt him!” Par-Salian cried just as Ladonna raised her hand in his direction. An onyxlike stone from her ring finger levitated into the air before the color vanished from its surface, turning milky white. The knight’s eyes widened and he suddenly cried a scream that cut right through them. He sliced at the air with his blade, desperately fending away some unseen horror before he stumbled down the stairs in panic. He tripped and fell down the remaining steps.

Par-Salian grabbed Ladonna’s arm. “I said not to hurt him!” he roared.

“And
we
can’t be caught!” Ladonna shouted back as she pulled free of his grip.

“Let Tythonnia handle them,” he said, pushing them along the ledge again.” Your illusions!” Par-Salian said to Tythonnia. “Use your illusions.”

Tythonnia nodded, even as she pulled a small crystal rod from a pouch. As they cleared the first corner of the eight-sided tower, they could see more stairs leading upwards and a knight left to guard its access. He was alert and debating whether to investigate the shouts or remain at his post.

“Hold on here. What’s going on?” he demanded and pointed his broadsword at them.

Tythonnia reacted and pointed the crystal rod at him. There was no need to mouth the words of the spell as she envisioned the kaleidoscope of a shattered rainbow, the lights hypnotic. Colors filled the gap between the two of them, a shifting blur of hues. The colored lights swarmed the knight, who instantly relaxed, his expression deadening until he
looked serene. His sword clattered to the ground, and the colors vanished.

“It won’t last long,” Tythonnia said as they passed him. “Hurry.”

Another corner passed and another side of the octagonal tower stood revealed. They faced more stairs descending into the adjoining keep—definitely not an escape option—and another temple entry. As they ran past the archway, they saw the same layout as before, with the column, altar, and golden door, but no pilgrims this time. From the side stairwells, they could hear men below making their ascent. And ahead of them echoed more shouts.

Par-Salian hesitated. There was no way out except the way they had come. Ladonna’s eyes lit up, however, and she pulled Par-Salian by the arm into the temple. Tythonnia followed.

“There’s a door,” Par-Salian protested. “Likely locked.”

“Once a thief,” Ladonna mumbled.

“What?”

“Trust me,” she shouted more forcibly. She ran past the kneeling slabs and up behind the altar. Once at the golden door, she ran her fingers along its yellow surface, a smirk on her lips. The voices outside grew louder.

Ladonna leaned in close to the door and whispered a word …

“Ufta.”

Something clicked, a cog unhinging itself perhaps, and the golden door quietly swung open. The voices outside seemed as though they were right at the archway.

“Quickly, inside,” Par-Salian hissed.

The three slipped through the narrow opening and put their backs to the door, forcing it shut again. It closed with the barest whisper. They stood there a few moments, listening for any noises outside, any shouts of discovery or hammering on the door. For a moment, there was nothing then finally a muffled voice that said, “They’re not here.”

After that, silence.

Par-Salian and Tythonnia breathed a slow sigh of relief and only then caught Ladonna’s wonder-filled expression. It was a simple corridor, nothing extravagant in its design save for the carved friezes showing a procession of priests and pilgrims heading off in different directions down the corridor. Otherwise, it was shrouded equally in shadow and dust.

“We’re inside,” Ladonna whispered, her tone almost giddy. “Nuitari’s Kiss … we’re
inside
the High Clerist’s Tower. Not even the knights venture inside the tower proper these days. Not while there’s no High Clerist living here.”

“I know precious little about this place, I must admit,” Par-Salian said.

“My teacher, Arianna—bless her for this—had me spend much of my training in the library of Wayreth. I read a great deal about this place. I fantasized about finding a way inside. And now … I have,” she said with a great, honest smile that lit up her face. She caught herself a moment after, and the smile vanished behind those cunning eyes. “We have quite the task ahead of us,” she said. “This place is reputedly a maze with secret passages and false corridors—oh! And haunted at that.”

“Is that why it’s abandoned?” Tythonnia asked.

“As a religious center, it lost much esteem when the gods left us. Politically, the Solamnic Knights aren’t well liked, so as favor with them waxes and wanes, so, too, does this place. When the Solamnics are in favor, this place is partially opened to serve the religious and political needs of various noble households, pilgrims, and the clergy. Think of it as a meeting place, a conclave of sorts.”

“So when the Solamnic Knights aren’t in favor,” Tythonnia said, “nobody comes here except pilgrims? Like now?”

“Like now,” Ladonna responded. “It’s the best time to explore this place … unravel her secrets.”

“We can’t stay here,” Par-Salian said.

“I know.” Ladonna moaned. “More’s the pity.”

“It won’t take them long to realize where we are,” Tythonnia said. “We best move.”

They explored the right corridor first, but within a few steps, they hit a dead end. Without their travel packs, Tythonnia enchanted the blade of her dagger to glow. It did not trouble the shadows to stir, but it was still enough to see by.

From the walls hung dust-coated tapestries depicting great moments in Krynn’s past, from the passage of the Graygem, which created many of the demiraces and monsters, to the heroism of men and women such as Vinas Solamnus and Huma. Simple doors opened into empty rooms and cells, each one possessed of intact desks, tables, cots, and shelves. Thick cobwebs coated whatever the shadows didn’t claim, speaking volumes of its long isolation, but stacks of papers and books lay waiting in orderly piles.

As the corridor turned another corner, again following the contour of the octagonal walls, Par-Salian motioned for them to join him. He stood at an opening opposite one of the golden doors. The chamber beyond was a narrow room, with an ornate bas-relief of the Fisher King carved into the opposite wall. It was a blue phoenix with feathers that seemed to curl into licks of flames. In its claws was a sword engraved with a rose, its hilt pointed left. Its eyes glittered with large gems, and a crown of jewels surmounted its beaked head.

Ladonna’s eyes widened as she registered the gems, and she took a step forward, but Par-Salian blocked the door.

“Don’t enter,” he said and motioned to the left and right of them where two statues stood at either end of the small room. They were iron knights bearing the rose-engraved swords of the Solamnic Order. Both swords were pointed to the floor as the knights grasped the hilts. “In every story read to me as a boy,” Par-Salian said, “if there’s a statue, it comes to life.”

“True enough,” Tythonnia said. “Let’s search somewhere else. We can come back here if we have to.”

They quietly agreed, though Tythonnia noticed Ladonna throwing one last forlorn peek back at the bejeweled Fisher King. The three followed the corridor further, encountering more small rooms and cells, a third golden temple door facing the outside wall, as well as another narrow room dedicated to the Fisher King. It was a replica of the previous room. There was no way out they could see other than the three golden doors, each leading to one temple outside.

“You said the tower was riddled with secret passages?” Par-Salian asked.

“That I did,” Ladonna responded.

“Maybe one of the rooms with the iron knights?” Tythonnia offered.

“Unfortunately, I think so as well,” Par-Salian said. “There’s something peculiar about those two rooms.”

“Maybe we have to pry the jewels free to open the door,” Ladonna suggested with a smile. “I volunteer.”

Par-Salian said nothing, but a grin escaped him.

They stood at the door once again, staring at the Fisher King carving. Something was off, something that wasn’t entirely right. But what was it? The jewels? The flaming feathers? The sword pointed to the right?

“The sword,” Par-Salian said with a snap of his fingers. “The knights would never point a sword to the right in any standard … always to the left.”

“I’ll check,” Tythonnia said, and before anyone could stop her, she stepped into the room. She walked up to the carving and noticed that both the claw and the sword were slightly removed from the wall. Tythonnia grasped the hilt and turned it downward. It resisted with age-rusted joints. Tythonnia could see the seam in the claw’s wrist, where the mechanism was supposed to rotate, but it wasn’t budging. She put her weight into it and struggled to rotate it one way then the other.

“Tythonnia!” Ladonna shouted.

The heads of both iron statues snapped up. A metal groan filled the chamber, and dust shook loose from the shoulders and heads of the statues. In unison, they pulled their feet loose of their moorings and stepped forward, their footfalls echoing sharply. Both raised their swords in mirrored precision.

Tythonnia grunted and pushed all her weight into the sword. With a rust-grinding click, the sword swung down and to the left, toward the sinister. The two statues strode forward, their blades poised to strike. The Fisher King’s sword locked in place, and the wall panel upon which the bas-relief was carved heaved open.

The two statues stopped immediately, and in perfect imitation of their advance, reversed their course move for move, back to attention again. Par-Salian exhaled in relief while Ladonna grinned; she was enjoying it.

The secret panel opened into another corridor that paralleled the one they just left. No tapestries hung there, however, no doors to entice the curious. There was only a winding stone stairwell at one end that corkscrewed upward.