Saving Thanehaven (4 page)

“Follow the light … the light … follow …,” they confirm, their pincers clicking.

Noble tries to ignore them. He stomps after the gleaming grubs, past a series of alcoves. Each alcove contains a suit of armor, though it’s not armor that he could wear himself. The helmets are fitted with strange, curling crests. The greaves come in sets of six. The hauberks are long and scaly, while the plate armor includes wing shields, as if the suits have been designed for a battalion of mutant grasshoppers.

“You know what?” Rufus remarks, from behind Noble. “If you were fighting your way through this tunnel, those things would be attacking you by now.”

Noble pauses. “But they’re empty suits. Aren’t they?” he says, glancing back at Rufus.

“Empty suits or not, I bet they’d still attack you. If there’s one thing I can always spot, it’s a scoring opportunity.” As Noble sets off again, Rufus matches his pace—even though Noble’s stride is long and
swift, while Rufus merely shuffles. “I mean, what with the bugs and the suits and the twists and the turns, it’s a classic obstacle course. There’ll be a dragon next, you watch. Or maybe a rope bridge over a lava pit.”

Rufus is wrong, though. Because when they round the next corner, they find themselves in front of a stiff, leathery curtain that’s hanging from the top of an archway. On closer inspection, the curtain proves to be a giant tongue, dried and cured like leather. The grubs finally come to a standstill in front of it. Even the swarming insects seem reluctant to proceed. Noble soon discovers why; upon lifting the curtain, he’s dazzled by a flood of light that pours into the tunnel and scours it clean. The insects scatter. The grubs disappear back into the ceiling.

“Wow,” says Rufus. “Now
that’s
impressive.”

He’s referring to the vast hall beyond the threshold, which is lit by a truly monstrous chandelier made of bones. More bones cover the walls in a pretty decorative scheme, like swirls of icing on a cake; there are rosettes of jawbones and knee joints, garlands of ribs and vertebrae, patterns of crossed tibia and finger bones. The ribs of the vaulted ceiling are
real
ribs, bigger than any whale’s. The pillars holding them up are femurs.

In the middle of the hall, there’s an elevated throne made of skulls. But no one’s sitting on it.

“Well, this is weird,” Rufus observes. Though he’s not shouting, his voice still echoes around the huge
space. “It’s like
Vogue Living
for the Addams family.”

Noble doesn’t reply. He’s given up trying to understand half of what Rufus says.

“Check out the dead plants,” Rufus adds. “Are they supposed to match the decor, or haven’t they been watered enough?”

Noble is more interested in some of the other items scattered around the room in forlorn little clusters: the warped embroidery frame, the broken spinning wheel, the dusty musical instruments, the half-finished weaving strung up on a loom. Silks and pins and thimbles spill from an open sewing box inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Brushes stand in pots of dried ink.

“These things must belong to the princess,” he murmurs. “They haven’t been used for a very long time.”

“If she
is
imprisoned, it’s certainly a gilded cage,” says Rufus.

“I hope they haven’t killed her.” Noble lifts his gaze to the bones arranged in floral patterns above his head, wondering if the princess’s mortal remains might be among them. “I hope we’re not too late.”

“It seems to me like we’re too early.” Rufus scans the room with an impatient sigh, before suddenly shouting, “Hello? Is anyone here? We’ve arrived now, in case you’re interested!”

A door bangs somewhere in the distance. Noble tenses. He thinks about picking up the golden sewing scissors—or perhaps ripping a shaft of wood from the
loom and using it as a club—but changes his mind when he sees how calm Rufus looks. The sound of approaching footsteps obviously doesn’t frighten Rufus. On the contrary, he seems happy.

“About time,” he remarks, turning toward the throne. There’s a doorway just behind it, hung with a curtain made of snakeskin that crackles as it’s pushed aside. The girl who suddenly appears is flushed and panting, as if she’s just sprinted up several flights of stairs. Nevertheless, despite her disheveled appearance, she makes Rufus blink and Noble gape.

“Oh, man,” drawls Rufus. “Disney princess.”

The girl glowers at him fiercely. “Are you Noble the Slayer?” she demands, then spies Noble’s looming bulk. “Or is it you? Are
you
the tyrant who has kept us imprisoned for so long?”

She’s perfectly proportioned, with a tiny waist and a bosom like a ship’s prow. Though her cascading hair is red and her slanting eyes are green, she doesn’t have any freckles. Her close-fitting gown is made of emerald satin, heavily embroidered with gold.

“Are you Princess Lorellina?” Noble inquires hesitantly.

“Yes. Are you Noble the Slayer?”

Noble nods, dumbstruck. For some reason, he’s never tried to imagine what the princess is actually like, though the simple challenge of rescuing her has occupied most of his brain space until now.

“In that case, my cousin wishes to thank you for
coming.” The princess folds her arms. “Perhaps I should be grateful, too. But after all your transgressions, I would rather
spit in your face
!”

Noble looks to Rufus for help.

“Who’s your cousin?” Rufus asks the princess.

She frowns at him, narrowing her magnificent emerald eyes. “Cousin Harry is the thane of this realm. Lord Harrowmage the Just,” she rejoins. “Who are you?”

“I’m Rufus. And I’ve come to set you free.”

“Oh.” Perplexed, she points at Noble. “You mean this man is your prisoner?”

“Huh?” Rufus is clearly startled. “No way.”

“Then you must be his lord.”

“Me?”
With a smile, Rufus prepares to set her straight. Noble, however, jumps in first.

“Wait,” Noble interrupts. “Did you say that Lord Harrowmage is your
cousin
?”

“And only friend,” the princess confirms.

“Then why did he kidnap you?”

“Kidnap me?” She stares at Noble, dumbfounded. “Cousin Harry did no such thing.”

Noble is getting more and more confused. “But aren’t you imprisoned in this fortress?”

“Of course. I just told you that.”

“Then who’s keeping you here?” Noble isn’t trying to be funny. He’s genuinely perplexed and can’t understand why the princess suddenly bursts into a peal of laughter.

“Who?” she cries. “Why,
you
are! We are
your
prisoners, my lord!”

“Nonsense.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“No, but—”

“
You
are to blame! It is
your
tyranny that keeps us skulking behind these walls, afraid to come out in case you kill us!” Upon receiving no response from Noble (who’s speechless with shock), Princess Lorellina continues shrilly, “And if you think you can carry the day with your lies and trickery, then you are mistaken. Because I am no peace-loving scholar. I value my liberty above all else—and will fight to the death, if I must!”

She’s barely finished speaking when a voice across the room squawks, “Your Highness!” Noble turns to see a squad of armed guards pouring out of another, curtained doorway. He’s been so distracted that he completely failed to register the sound of their approach.

“Be easy. I am safe,” Princess Lorellina assures the guards, as they spread out in a rapid, encircling maneuver. They’re strange-looking things, half insect, half troll. Though each has only two legs, some have four arms and some have six. Their hunched backs are protected by overlapping bands of armor like the shell on a wood louse, but their heads are sooty, rough-hewn lumps.

Most of them are wielding multiple weapons—tridents,
axes, pikes, clubs. And most are scarred like chopping blocks.

Noble immediately raises his hands in surrender, conscious that, without Smite, he’s at a disadvantage. Rufus merely pulls a face. “Come on, guys, don’t point those things at us,” he whines. “We’re harmless. Can’t you see that?”

The newcomers aren’t impressed. “Step away from Her Highness!” one of them screeches.

Noble promptly obeys. The princess says, “My cousin awaits you in the audience chamber. I will take you there myself. It is no great distance.”

Noble bows. “You honor us,” he replies. Somehow, he understands that this is the correct thing to do.

But Rufus merely frowns.

“You mean we’re not
in
the audience chamber?” he asks, as he’s hustled toward an exit. “That’s weird. I thought this must be it, what with the throne and all.”

“It used to be our audience chamber,” the princess admits. “But having no guests, we thought it a waste of space. Now we just use the library.”

“And you dump all your junk in here?” says Rufus.

The princess, who’s ahead of him, stops short. Her head whips around. “This is my
hobby room
. Where I keep my
equipment
,” she snaps.

“Oh.”

“I like to fill the hours productively.” She glares at Noble. “Life in a cage can be unbearably dull.”

“Of course,” Noble agrees. He can think of nothing else to say.

“I spend all my time in a windowless trap. I never see the stars. I never breathe fresh air.” She searches his face with blazing eyes, her small fists clenched, her breast heaving. “This fortress is my spirit’s grave. I feel like a hooded falcon, blind and tethered, when all I want to do is spread my wings!”

Noble is so overwhelmed by this flood of words that he can’t speak. It’s Rufus who takes over.

“You will,” he assures the princess. “You’ll spread your wings and fly. I guarantee it.” For once, he sounds quite serious.

But the princess shakes her glossy head.

“How can I believe that?” she retorts, gesturing at Noble. “How can I believe a man who has blood on his hands and iron in his heart?”

“Because he’s just as trapped as you are. Noble isn’t to blame for keeping you here,” he says. “This isn’t his fault. It’s the system.”

“Then the system must change!” Lorellina cries, trying to inject some thunder into her breathy little voice. And Rufus nods.

“I know. You’re right. That’s why I’ve come,” he says briskly. “So let’s get this show on the road, eh? Because there’s an awful lot to do, and we probably don’t have much time.…”

T
he guards form a tight ring around Noble as they escort him to the library. Passing through a corridor, just behind Rufus and
his
escort, Noble feels as if he’s inside the rib cage of a giant snake. There are no windows or torches. The only light comes from two iron lanterns held aloft by the guards.

At the end of the passage is an ivory door carved with ominous figures: disembodied eyeballs, intertwined serpents, rows of skulls. Lorellina gives it a push. She’s at the head of the procession, which she leads into a long, low room with book-lined walls and a smoke-blackened ceiling. Firelight flickers on oddly-shaped jars. A high desk is laden with stacked books and parchment scrolls and a mummified bird’s claw holding a candle. There’s a sextant, a star chart, and a terrestrial globe. Quill pens and ink pots are strewn everywhere.

“Harry?” The princess halts and looks around. “My lord? Where are you?”

Noble steps into the room just as a murky shape separates itself from the denser shadows in one corner. Lord Harrowmage is tall and hunched, wearing a black robe that sweeps dust off the floor as he moves. His dark hair is flecked with silver. His face is long and dark and craggy, with deep-set eyes.

He looks glum.

“I am here, as always,” he replies gently but dolefully. Then he spots the newcomers. “Ah,” he says.

“This is he,” Lorellina announces with a flourish. “This is Noble the Slayer, come to parley. With good intent, or so he claims.”

Lord Harrowmage turns to Noble and bows.

Noble bows back.

“In the spirit of peace, I welcome you,” Lord Harrowmage intones. “Truth to tell, I never thought this day would come.”

“Nor I,” Noble answers politely. He’s suspicious of Lord Harrowmage, who has all the trappings of a wizard: the books, the claw, the star chart. In Noble’s opinion, Lord Harrowmage can’t possibly be as meek and mild as he’s trying to appear.

“You honor us with your trust,” Lord Harrowmage continues with a slightly ponderous, old-fashioned courtesy. “Might we repay it in some fashion? Would you care to eat or drink or wash?”

“No,” Rufus interrupts. “He wouldn’t. Because
we don’t have much time.” Ducking around a guard, Rufus suddenly thrusts himself onto center stage. “I’m Rufus,” he informs Lord Harrowmage, “and I’m the only one who understands what’s really going on around here. That’s why I need to take you through this whole scenario, step by step. Afterward, you can decide what your next move will be.” He turns to Princess Lorellina. “That corridor we just came through—is it defended? What happens if an enemy agent tries to get through?”

“Uh …” The princess hesitates. She looks flummoxed. So does Lord Harrowmage.

It’s the head guard who finally answers, in a voice like broken shells crunching underfoot. “The cobblestones boil. Like hot mud or lava. You must pick your way through them.”

Rufus raises his eyebrows. “Cool. Okay. So this room right here—I guess it’s in a pretty central privilege ring?”

This time, no one answers at all. The assembled company just stares at him as the silence drags on and on.

At last, Rufus breaks it.

“Come on, guys, don’t freeze on me!” he implores. “You can handle this—I know you can! You’re new generation! You’re cutting edge! You’ve got a lot of
very
sophisticated algorithms in your programming!”

“Rufus.” Noble speaks up, at long last. “No one understands what you’re talking about.”

There’s a murmur of agreement. Rufus pushes his fingers through his hair.

“Fine,” he concedes at last. “You’re right. Let’s keep it simple.” His restless gaze flits around the room, skipping from bookshelf to bookshelf until it finally settles on a modest little door tucked away between the fireplace and a pair of scales on a pedestal. “What’s through there?” he asks. “More boiling cobblestones?”