The Fifth Vertex (The Sigilord Chronicles) (9 page)

Kebetir.

Kebetir was in the dungeon!

Goodwyn pulled down on Urus's arms, and they knelt together, careful not to make a sound. Panic threatened to take control of him. It was in a situation just like this that he had failed in his last attempt at the gauntlet. Unable to hear, Urus could never detect the other students sneaking up on him, nor could he tell if he had made a sound.

Goodwyn pressed his hand into Urus's chest. He wasn't sure if it was to help keep him calm or to let him know to stay still. Either way, he was glad for it. The touch of something, anything, down here in the dark was welcome.

They waited for a while, the darkness stretching time and making the wait agonizing. Urus's knees ached and his lower back throbbed. Sweat crept down his neck and soaked outward through his shirt, triggering an itch that demanded to be scratched.

He resisted, barely. Even the quiet shuffle of the leather armor might give away their position.

Finally, Goodwyn helped him up and spelled again into Urus's hand:
FAST
.

Urus made a fist and tapped Goodwyn's hand twice. He grabbed the mace end of the suzur again and Goodwyn was off, this time running at full sprint.

They ran fast enough so that Urus struggled to keep his breath. Goodwyn veered and twisted, knowing exactly when to turn and which way to go, despite the complete darkness. How many times had he been in the dungeon that he could find his way through it so well?

Finally a tiny bobbing light appeared in the distance and they swung toward it. Once the light expanded outward from a pinprick to a circle to reveal a hallway, they could make out the shapes of iron cells, a large fire pit below a chimney hole in the ceiling, and two guards.

They slowed to a walk, hoping to look casual, as though they had every right to be there. Urus let go of Goodwyn's suzur, resting his hands on his own mace pommels for reassurance, assuming the "Remig Stance" named after the weapon master who stood on the ramparts, hands on pommels, glowering at the students all day long. Of all the people in the palace, Weaponmaster Remig always seemed the most like he belonged there. Urus even tried to look angry and squinted his eyes like Remig.

The guards started as the two stepped out of the darkness.

"What's all the commotion? You boys know what's going on topside?" asked the first.

They must be wondering about the armies
, Urus thought.
 

"You come to relieve us so we can get topside and do some fighting?" asked the other.

Urus and Goodwyn exchanged looks.

"Yes, we have," Goodwyn said. "You guys get to have all the fun while we acolytes get stuck on guard duty during all the real fighting."

"It's okay, boy," said the first guard, clapping Goodwyn on the shoulder, already on his way into the hallway. "You'll get your chance at real action someday. You'll be safer down here anyway."

The guards ducked into the hallway and left the boys alone in an empty cell block, staring across a cook fire through iron cell bars at the prisoner.

The tall man raised a white eyebrow but said nothing.

Urus spun Goodwyn around, unable to contain himself any longer. He had to know. "How did you do that?"

"What?" Goodwyn said.

"How did you get us through the tunnels?" Urus demanded.

"I don't know, really," he replied, looking a little uncomfortable. Goodwyn appearing uncomfortable was a rare experience. "It's like how I know where people are going to attack when I'm fighting. I just knew where the right hallways were."

"You just knew? That's your explanation?"

Goodwyn nodded.

"One of you open this door; we do not have much time," Murin said in such fluent Kestian that even in the light from the fire Urus could read his lips.

"If you speak Kestian so well, why did you make me translate an old tradesign dialect?" Urus asked.

"I only know Kestian because you do, and now the shaman drug is wearing off," Murin said, as if that should make total sense.
 

"We didn't come down here to free you, we came to ask you questions," Goodwyn said, standing tall, hands on his hips. He looked every bit the warrior of the First Fist Urus had always wanted to be.

"There is no time for that. The Order has four armies under their boot heels at your doorstep. To control four armies there must be at least a dozen Ibumai here, and they all want the same thing."

"The door?" Urus asked.

"It is so much more than that. We do not have time for this. You have to let me out so we can get to the vertex and move it, or at least protect it."

Urus approached the cell door, gazing into the tall man's dark, blank eyes, wondering just what his game was. Urus trusted very few people, always expecting they would turn on him, make fun of him, or exclude him from something. But despite every instinct and ounce of common sense he possessed yelling at him otherwise, Urus believed Murin was telling the truth. There was a sadness, a deep sorrow behind those strange eyes that just couldn't be faked.

Murin was holding something back. Urus saw something so terrible that the stranger couldn't bear to deal with it. It tore at him constantly, like a million poisonous bugs stinging his very soul, so excruciating it made Urus's own inner turmoil seem petty in comparison.
 

"Stop that," Murin said.

"Stop what?" Urus asked, still mesmerized by the images floating through his mind, as though they were inspired by the emotions Murin held in check so deep within. In his mind, he stood on a cold shoreline, buffeted constantly by giant waves of sadness, torment, and guilt. In this vision, wailing spirits surged up from the waters and attacked Murin, screaming.

"Stop!" Murin snarled, gripping the cell bars, sweat beading from his forehead.

Urus took a step back. "I'm sorry, I-I didn't know I was doing anything."

"You were within my mind," Murin said. "That should not be possible."

"I wasn't trying to do anything," Urus said aloud, suddenly self-conscious. He switched to signing and glanced at Goodwyn. "My uncle said we need to find the door and protect it."

"He did?" Goodwyn said, shocked.

Urus slipped the key into the door and unlocked it with a firm twist. As the giant man stepped out of the cell, Urus half expected him to draw a weapon or cast some spell and kill them both. How could he trust someone he was so afraid of?
 

Murin stopped and regarded Urus. "Have your hands had any more spontaneous emissions?"

"What does that mean?" Goodwyn asked.

"My fingers," Urus began, "I saw blue sparks coming out of them while we were in one of the chambers behind the throne room."

"Was that before or after you started drinking?" Goodwyn said with a grin. When neither Urus nor Murin seemed amused, Goodwyn fell silent.

Murin shook his head, marveling. "I have had a hundred lifetimes of days filled with nothing but empty time, and now on a day when I have none to spare, I meet a sigilord and a quiver in the same place.

"A what and a what?" Goodwyn asked, his impatience obvious.

"The door. Goodwyn, you must lead the way," Murin said, pointing back into the dark hallway from which they had come.

"Why would I know where the door is?"

Murin sighed, tilting his head slightly. He tilted it again to the other side, eyes flitting back and forth.

"The commander and the shaman leader are both in the tunnels now. Time grows short. You must lead us to the vertex, Goodwyn."

"How?"

Murin grabbed Goodwyn by the shoulders and stared into his eyes. Again, Urus's mind conjured up images of flames erupting from his dark eye sockets or Murin opening his mouth and sucking out Goodwyn's soul like the witches did in the storybooks. Urus angled himself to see Murin's words.

"Close your eyes and imagine that you are fighting. Your opponent is a stone with writing on it, the image of which is in my own mind and now in yours. Anticipate its movements as it tries to conceal its location from you. Follow those tricks to the source."

"I can't. I don't know what you're talking about or why you think I can do this."

Murin smiled, a look that seemed very alien on that gray face. "Now that you have seen your quarry, you cannot fail. Simply guess at every turn and we will find it. It is what quivers do; it is what you do now."

"This is stupid."

Murin ignored the comment and pointed to the hallway.

"Mace," Goodwyn signed. Urus took hold of the mace at the end of the suzur's chain, and once more they plunged into the darkness.
 

At first Goodwyn seemed unsure and tentative, but after a few turns he broke into a full sprint and they ran, presumably with Murin behind them, weaving and dodging through the dungeons. Urus couldn't tell if they were simply backtracking the way they'd come or taking a different route to some new, probably very dangerous, part of the palace's underbelly.

Goodwyn skidded to a halt, holding up a hand. Urus stumbled into his friend, and with grace that belied his size Murin rose up onto his toes and hugged the wall, his robe barely touching Urus.

"We're at the cistern," Goodwyn said, turning toward them. "There are people in boats down here."

Murin took a step and peered over Goodwyn's head, looking around the corner. "Loderans."

Urus squeezed between the two to get a better look.

The cistern was a massive natural cavern supported by Kestian-carved sunstone arches and pillars, the stone above drawing just enough sunlight during the day to allow the structure to glow below in the cavern.

At least a dozen boats moved over the shallow waters, rowed by men nearly as pale as the stranger Urus had seen arguing with Kebetir, large axes and swords on their backs. Most of them sported thick blond or red beards, long, scruffy hair, and a seemingly permanent scowl.

"We have to go back. We have to warn everyone," Urus signed.

"They can handle themselves, and they will have their hands full defending the city walls. We have to get to the vertex before the Loderans find it," said Murin.

"Who are the Loderans?" Urus asked.

"Northerners, from nearly as far north as men dare live. I cannot
 
imagine what it took to get them this far south. We cannot let them find the door."

"It's on the other side of the cistern," Goodwyn said, pointing.

"I still don't know how you're doing that," Urus signed.

"And I don't know why your fingers glow blue."

"It was more of a spark than a glow."

"Children. The door. Now," Murin urged.

Goodwyn frowned. "How are we supposed to get there?"
 

"Let's take one of their boats," Urus suggested. Goodwyn and Murin exchanged looks of disbelief, but neither suggested a better alternative.

"What?" Urus asked, noticing Goodwyn staring at him, mouth agape.

"Nothing, I just—" Goodwyn paused. "Let's go."

They crept out of the hallway and waded into the water, far into the cistern. Most of the boats had pulled up on the shore, their rowers getting ready to enter the dungeon. They waited for the last boat, a straggler rowed by three Loderans.

"Wait until the last group heads into the dungeon; then we can just take the boat," Urus signed.

They waded further into the cistern, staying clear of the boats coming ashore. Urus could barely breathe as the water rose to his chin. He hung from a piece of jagged stone on the bottom of an arch, his mouth just inches above the surface. He waited in the dark water for the last boat, with its strong, veteran warriors, to moor, knowing that he was not up to the challenge. Murin could just stand up and scare the Loderans out of their wits while Goodwyn cut them in two with his suzur. There was nothing for Urus to do except watch.

After an eternity, the last of the Loderans scuttled their boat, hopped onto the carved shoreline and disappeared into the dark dungeon tunnels. Urus, Goodwyn, and Murin swam in slow, quiet strokes until they could touch bottom, then stalked up to the back of the canoe.

Murin held the boat steady while Goodwyn deftly slid on board. Urus clambered up over the edge and plopped onto the center bench with far less grace and poise. He flailed like a turtle on its back until Goodwyn pulled him upright.
 

There's a reason desert folk don't like boats
, Urus thought.

Murin pushed the boat away from the shore with one giant leg and hopped into the boat as effortlessly as Goodwyn had.
 

As they set oars to water, making for the other side of the cistern, the canoe owners reappeared on the shoreline. They reared their heads back, bellowing something in a strange language.

The three picked up the pace, rowing frantically. The Loderans splashed into the water and swam out after them. Urus had never seen anyone swim so fast, especially men that size.

It took only seconds for their attackers to overtake the boat. Still in the shallows, the men leapt out of the water. Murin and Goodwyn reacted instantly, daggers sliding out of Murin's sleeves and into his hands, Goodwyn unleashing the suzur.

Urus froze.

His companions caught two of the men as they came over the bow, then gently let their bodies slip below the surface, dead before they splashed into the water.
 

The third man leapt toward Urus, axe high above his head, ready for a death swing. Deep within, Urus knew that he couldn't stay still. He would be dead and cleaved in two before anyone could stop the Loderan.

Act or die. React and you're already dead,
Weaponsmaster Remig always said. Since Urus had already pretended to be him once tonight, he did what Remig would do.

Attack.

Steadying himself with one hand on the edge of the boat, Urus swung his mace up with the other. He slammed the spiked weapon into the Loderan's face before the man could bring his axe to bear. The axe dropped onto the water, flat-side down, making a splash that no doubt echoed throughout the cavern. The Loderan tumbled backward out of the boat, making an even bigger splash.