The Prince Deceiver (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 6) (18 page)

A chime sounded
and the gate clicked open.

A rough-hewn
passageway slanted down, tunneling into the mountainside.

In the depths a
light glowed sapphire-blue.

Gripping the
quarterstaff, he strode down the passage, a gullet descending into the
netherworld. He stretched his senses, hearing nothing save his own footsteps.
The air was tomblike and cold, smelling of damp stone and sulfur. He dared the
descent, a thousand footsteps, yet he seemed to make little progress toward the
blue light. Turning, he stared back up the passage, but he saw nothing, the
gates swallowed by the gloom. Below, the blue glow never wavered, calling him
forward. The cold intensified. With just enough light to see by, he continued
downward, ever downward...and then the passage opened into a low-ceilinged
cave. Stalactites hung from the ceiling.
Not stalactites,
but massive
icicles, as tall as a man. Radiating cold, the icicles were the source of the
strange blue light, giving the cavern an otherworldly glow. He drew close to
the nearest icicle...and then he saw it. Entrapped in the crystal-clear ice was
a leather scroll case. A brass plate on the case held a single word. He craned
to read it.

Mage-glass.

A gasp escaped
him, a long-lost secret of the Order.

He moved deeper
into the cavern, peering into each icicle. Scroll cases were embedded in every
one, knowledge preserved in ice. He stopped to read the words.
Arcane armor!

Stunned, he
staggered backwards, gasping in wonder.
Arcane armor was thought be a myth!
He
moved among the icicles, reading the names, a litany of lost magic.
Lightning
Wand, Amulet of Rain, Ice Bolts, Helm of Destiny, Wand of Healing...
he'd
stumbled into a treasure trove of magic, a fabled archive of lost knowledge.
Any one of these scrolls could turn the tide of the Battle Immortal. Laughter
bubbled from his lips. Giddy with hope, his gaze roved across the feast of
possibilities. And then he saw a scroll case entitled
Orb of Prophecy.
He
stood frozen to the ground, not believing his eyes. The greatest treasure of
the Kiralynn Order, long thought to be lost, was within his reach. The thought
staggered him. The Orb was knowledge incarnate. Circling the icicle, he
wondered if it truly held the secret of prophecy.

A pulsing light
intruded.

Deeper in the
cavern, on the edge of darkness, a single icicle pulsed with light.

The distraction
annoyed him, yet what if that icicle held an even greater power? Marking the
location of the Orb in his mind, he walked towards the pulsing icicle. Blue
light spilled across him riddled with freezing cold. He stepped close to the
icicle and peered inside.

Mage-stone!

This was the
secret he'd come for. Yet compared to the others, mage-stone was a lesser
magic.

Shaking his
head, he backed away. "You taunt me! You trick me! How can you do this
when our need is so great?"

"
Great...great...great,"
his words echoed in the depths.

"Do you
want us to lose the Battle Immortal?"

"
Immortal...immortal...immortal."

Something stirred
in the darkness, a rasping sound.

Master Rizel
froze, a premonition of danger slithering down his back.

Time was running
short. He needed to decide. He burned for the Orb, for knowledge
incarnate...but the words of the boy echoed in his mind.
Remember your vows!
He'd sworn to seek one answer, the riddle of mage-stone. Anger smoldered
within him, realizing he'd been tricked by the Mist...yet he'd given his word.
His stare roved across the treasure trove, hungry for all the lost knowledge,
feeling as if victory was within his reach...yet his word was his bond. A sigh
escaped him. Despite the temptation, he would not break his vow...but how to
release the scroll from the ice? He circled the icicle, a riddle trapped in a pillar
of cold. Tightening his grip on the quarterstaff, he struck a ringing blow. Nothing.
Four more blows followed in quick succession. Searching for cracks, he found
none. If he could not break it, then he'd have to melt it. He searched the
ground but found nothing to serve as tinder. Returning to the icicle, he mulled
the puzzle. And then he understood...although he did not like it.

Carefully
setting the ironwood staff on the ground, he drew near the icicle. Cold beat
against him, yet he set both hands on the ice. A chill shivered through him, so
cold it seemed to suck all the warmth from his body, yet he persevered. Running
his hands up and down the ice, he slowly caused it to melt. Breathing upon it,
his breath frosted to white. Setting his cheek against the dead-cold ice, he
willed it to hurry. So cold, his teeth began to chatter, stealing the heat from
his body, yet he would not give up.

Water ran in
rivulets down the ice.

He grew dizzy,
depleted of heat, depleted of life...and then he realized the true price. The ice
drew more from him than just warmth. Tapping into his life-force, it drained
years from him, yet he refused to pull away. In mute defiance, he hugged the
ice close.

A crack echoed
through the cavern.

Chilled to the
bone, he staggered backwards.

The great icicle
broke in half. The point fell to the stony floor, shattering into a thousand
shards of glittering ice.

The embedded scroll
case emerged from its frozen tomb. Numbed by the cold, he tugged it from the
ice. His hands shook so badly he fumbled with the latch. With trembling
fingers, he opened the top. A scroll of rolled vellum nestled inside, knowledge
long forgotten. Relief washed through him...but then he heard that rasping
sound again, this time much closer, like rusty metal dragged over stone.
Clutching the scroll case, he peered into the darkness. Something large moved
in the depths.

A roar thundered
through the cavern, a lick of bright flames scorching the ceiling.

A dragon
uncurled in the shadows. Rusty scales and glowing eyes, the beast was a
monster.

"
Impossible!"
the word whispered from him.

The great horned
head swung his way, releasing a gout of flames that shot halfway across the
cavern.

Master Rizel
shook his head, refusing to believe...but then a blast of scorching heat hit
him. Heat riddled with the smell of burnt carrion and sulfur, the blast singed
his face like forge fire. He staggered backwards, clutching the scroll case. He
needed to escape, to get back to the surface...but then he heard the pattering
sound of drops. All around him, the icicles began to melt, releasing a rain of
tears. Understanding struck, loosing a fresh horror. If the dragon gave chase,
the icicles would be broken, melted, their precious scrolls smashed and
burnt...all their knowledge forever lost...unless he saved them. A tempting
thought shivered through his mind. If the ice melted he might be able to
protect the scrolls, gathering them from the dragon's path, assuring the Order's
victory over Darkness. A risky ploy, but the prize was tempting.

Remember our
vows,
the boy's words echoed through his mind.

He'd sworn to
seek one answer, yet he could not let the dragon destroy the trove of
knowledge.

The dragon
roared again, releasing a fearsome belch of flames.

By the light of
the flames, he glimpsed a second passageway on the far side...but he'd have to
dare the dragon's reach.

Eyes bright as
lamps stared at him. 

Refusing to
think, he snatched up the quarterstaff and ran towards the far passage.
"Here!" He bellowed in defiance, drawing the dragon's stare away from
all the knowledge enshrined in ice. "It's me you want!"

The dragon
roared.

The sound
blasted through the cavern, nearly knocking him to the floor. Clutching the
scroll case in one hand, the staff in the other, he sprinted for the far
passage. Fire belched close, singeing his hair. Darting behind a tumbled
boulder, he ran for the passage.

The ground
trembled beneath the dragon's weight, proof the beast gave chase.

He reached the
passage and ducked inside. The floor slanted upwards, a distant light at the top.

A hot breath
raced behind, foul with the smell of brimstone.

He dared a
backward glance.

The beast's head
snaked up the passage, great golden eyes glinting with malice.

Rizel ran
faster.

The dragon
roared. The force of the roar knocked him forward like the blow of a battering
ram. Bruised and stunned, he hugged the ground, seeking to hide.

Flames roared
over his head.

When the heat
subsided, he scrambled to his feet and ran for his life.

The passage
began to narrow. Behind him, the dragon bellowed, but this time the sound was only
wind pushing at his back, not a battering ram. He kept running. The passage turned
steep, narrowing to man-height. Ahead, the pinprick of light grew steadily
larger. He reached the exit and staggered out into the cool mist. White fog
lapped at his face, soothing his burns. Relief washed through him. Flushed with
triumph, he lifted the scroll case to the heavens in thanks.

Something
snagged his foot.

He stumbled and
fell, hitting the stony ground hard.

The scroll case
was knocked from his hand.

Horror-struck,
he watched as it rolled forward, disappearing from sight.

"Noooo!"
He lurched forward, lunging for the scroll...and found himself staring into
a deep chasm, a bottomless abyss. Teetering on the edge, he fought to regain
his balance, but the scroll was lost, plummeting to the depths. Outrage
thundered through him.
"No!"
He shook the quarterstaff at the
Mist in defiance. "How dare you! I kept my vow! I took only a single scroll,
yet you deny me this
one
answer?" He roared his anger at the Mist, throwing
down a gauntlet of words. "Whom do you serve, Darkness or the Light?"

Light flared
bright, illuminating the ironwood staff.

Startled, he
nearly dropped it.

The quarterstaff
revealed its true form. Instead of a simple ironwood staff, he held a golden
scepter etched with silver runes and crowned by blue flames.
A true relic!
Spellbound,
he stared at it, shocked by the transformation. Regal and bright, the scepter
was more beautiful and more commanding than any painting in the monastery.
Crowned by blue flames, the scepter projected a nimbus of soft glowing light
that surrounded him like a shield...or a beacon.

Emboldened, he
held the scepter aloft, calling upon the Guardian. "By the Light of the
Ethereal Flames, I summon the King of the Mist! Come and keep your vow!"

He held his
breath, waiting, his anger annealing to iron-hard determination.

Sounds assailed
him, the clarion call of a battle horn and the distant clash of swords, as if
he stood mired on a ghostly battlefield. All around him, spectral figures
appeared in the Mist. Wielding swords and spears, they waged some long
forgotten war. The details remained hazy, obscured by the fog...but then one
figure drew near. With each stride he became more substantial. Tall and regal
and clad in ancient armor burnished bright, he wore a winged helm emblazoned
with gleaming stars.

The King of
the Mist
, Master Rizel fought the urge to bow. "So you've come at
last."

"Long has
it been since one of your ilk sought my council."

Bathed in the
light of the staff, the Guardian King seemed real enough to touch. His face was
graven with the deep lines of hard decisions, his dark hair tinged with gray,
his eyes full of ancient wisdom. He seemed almost mortal, yet he wore the armor
of another Age. Burnished to mirror brightness, his silver breastplate bore the
eight-pointed sigil of the Star Knights. The pommel of a two-handed great sword
reared over his right shoulder like a threat. A vision of martial splendor,
Master Rizel struggled not to be consumed by wonder. 

"Close your
mouth, you gape like a fresh-made squire."

"I'm not
accustomed to speaking with kings."

"...or
speaking with ghosts?"

"You are
far more than that, my lord."

"So you
know your lore."

"Else I
would not be here. Yet I did not expect to contend with dragons in the
depths."

The king gave
him an appraising look. "It takes courage to dare the Mist."

"Was the
cavern real? Is all that knowledge preserved, or is it truly lost?"

"Knowledge
that built and destroyed an earlier Age, yet despite the temptation, you passed
the test." The king stared at him. "Why have you come?"

"The red
comet is nearly set."

"Even
through the Mist, I can feel it burning the sky like a curse. This Age draws to
a close. The Battle Immortal will decide the fate of us all."

The question
whispered out of him. "How will it end?"

"The future
is never set in stone. Much depends on the players. What will you risk? What
will you dare? What do you know?"

"Not nearly
enough." The master gripped the staff with grim resolve. "An owl has
come from the north bearing a dire portent, something we did not foresee,
something we cannot interpret."

The king waited,
his face somber.

"The great
eight-sided castle raised by the Star Knights has stood unmarred for over a
thousand years, impervious to weather and war...but now the mage-stone walls
are newly chipped, scarred by a passing wagon wheel."

The king
wavered, as if fading back into the Mist...but then he solidified, seeming real
once more. A grimace rode his face. He drew his sword as if battle was near,
the great blade whispering from the harness at his back. "Darkness
prevails. The honor of the Octagon is sullied and my line falters."

"Your
line?"