The Iron Knight (23 page)

“How—” Ariella began, but with a crash and a shattering of stone, the Fu dog burst through a nearby wall and roared as it spotted me.

I took off, sprinting deeper into the ruins, hearing the guardian close on my heels. Rocks flew and statues shattered into marble dust as the massive stone creature hurled itself through the aisles after me.

I turned the corner of a dilapidated wall, and suddenly Puck was there, running straight at me from the opposite direction. His green eyes widened as we closed, but it was what I was looking for. We both immediately dove aside as the Fu dogs turned the corner and slammed into each other with a crack that shook the earth.

The force rocked the two stone giants back, and for a moment they stood still, completely dazed. I saw one had a broken nose, and the other had a crack running down its face like a jagged scar. Lying on his stomach on the other side of the aisle, Puck raised himself to his elbows and grinned in triumph.

“You know, no matter how often I see that, it never gets old.”

I scrambled to my feet. “Grab the key,” I snapped, approaching one Fu dog. Still dazed, it didn’t notice me as I stepped up and snatched the golden half orb from around its
neck. Puck did the same with the second one, pausing a moment to grin at the stupefied guardian.

“Bet that stung, didn’t it?” he said, waving the orb in front of the dog’s face. “Yeah, that’ll give you a headache for weeks. That’s what you get for being so bullheaded.”

“Puck!” I turned to glare at him. “Stop being an idiot and let’s get out of here.”

Puck laughed and sauntered toward me, tossing the half orb in one hand. “Ah, the oldies are always the goodies,” he muttered, joining me at the corner. “Hey, remember when we pulled that little stunt on the minotaurs? They were so out of it they—”

Two very low, very angry growls stopped him midsentence. I shot Puck a death glare, and he gave a feeble smile.

“I know, I know. You’re going to kill me.”

We fled through the ruins, the spheres clutched tightly in hand, the Fu dogs crashing behind us. No side trips or luring the dogs around corners this time; we went straight for the doors, taking the shortest route possible. I saw Ariella at the foot of the stairs, her bow pulled back and aimed at the dogs, her lips drawn into a thin line of frustration. She knew her arrows could do no more than make the Fu dogs blink. The last hundred yards to the stairs was the most dangerous, flat and open, with nothing to slow down our pursuers. I felt the ground shake with their galloping footsteps as they closed the distance.

Then the Wolf flew over a broken wall in a dark blur, slamming into one of the Fu dogs, causing it to careen into the second. Knocked off balance, the statues went crashing into a wall, tumbling over each other with the grinding sound of a derailed train. Panting triumphantly, the Wolf bounded up
the stairs with us, joining Ariella and now Grimalkin, who appeared at the door lashing his tail with impatience.

“Quickly!” he spat, as Puck and I sprinted up. “Insert the keys!”

“You know, you can’t just disappear and then pop up shouting orders when the rest of us did all the work,” Puck said as we reached the doors. Grimalkin hissed at him.

“There is no time to argue your stupidity, Goodfellow. The guardians are coming. The keys—”

A roar drowned him out as the Fu dogs reached the top of the stairs, shaking their heads in fury. Trapped against the doors, we couldn’t move away as they lunged forward with eager howls. The Wolf snarled in return and leaped forward to meet them as Grimalkin flattened his ears and spat at us.

“The keys must be inserted at the same time! Do it, now!”

I glanced at Puck, nodded, and we slammed the orbs into the indentions, feeling them click as they slid into place.

I looked back, ready to dart aside, but the second the keys clicked in the lock, the guardians froze. As the doors swung open, tiny cracks appeared along the dog’s stony hides, growing larger and spreading across their bodies until, as one, they split apart and crumbled, strewing debris and rubble along the steps.

I sighed in relief, then pushed myself off the frame. There was no time to savor this victory. “Hurry,” I said, urging everyone through the doorway. “If that’s just the first challenge, we don’t have any time to spare.” The Guardian had not said exactly how long we had to complete the gauntlet, but I had the distinct impression that every second would prove precious.

“Man, your hooded friend really doesn’t believe in easing you into this,” Puck commented as we ducked through the
doors and jogged down a hallway. Stone dragon heads lined the wall every few feet, jaws frozen in permanent snarls. “If that first challenge was supposed to be the easiest, we could be in a lot of trouble.”

“What did you think this would be, Goodfellow?” Grimalkin said, bounding along ahead of us. “A pleasant walk in the park? They do not call it
the gauntlet
for nothing.”

“Hey, I’ve run a few gauntlets in my time,” Puck shot back. “They’re basically all the same—you have your physical challenges, a pointless riddle or two, and there’s always a few nasty—”

A gout of flame erupted from one of the stone dragon’s jaws, searing the air over Grimalkin as he passed in front of it. Fortunately, the cat was too short to be harmed, but it made the rest of us skid to a halt.

“—traps,” Puck finished, and winced. “Well, I should’ve seen that coming.”

“Do not stop!” Grimalkin called back, still sprinting ahead. “Keep going, and do not look back!”

“Easy for you to say!” Puck yelled, but then the dull roar behind us made me glance over my shoulder and curse.
All
the dragon heads we had just passed were beginning to spout flame, and those flames were coming down the hall toward us.

We ran.

The hallway seemed to go on forever, and there were a few close calls that involved jumping or diving beneath jets of flame, and of course there was the inevitable pit at the very end that we barely managed to clear, but we made it through with minimal burns. Ariella’s sleeve caught fire once, and the end of the Wolf’s tail was singed, but no one was seriously hurt.

Panting, we stumbled through the arch into the next room, where Grimalkin stood on a broken pillar, waiting for us.

“Ugh,” Puck groaned, brushing cinders from his shirt. “Well, that was fun, though a bit on the clichéd side. Way too
Temple o f Doom
for me. So, where are we now?”

I scanned the room, which was vast, circular and carpeted in fine white sand, lying in dunes and hills like a miniature desert. Columns and pillars were scattered throughout the chamber, most broken or lying on their sides, half-buried in the dust. Vines dangled from a vast domed ceiling, impossibly far away, and roots snaked through the crumbling walls. In the faint beams of light, dust motes floated in the air. I had the impression that if I dropped a pebble in this room, it would hang in the air forever, suspended in time.

In the middle of the room, an enormous stone dais rose from the sand, the remains of four thick marble pillars spaced evenly along the edge. On either side of the dais, two elegant winged statues crouched, primly facing one another, the tips of their spread wings nearly touching the ceiling. They had the bodies of huge, sleek cats, paws and flanks resting in the sand, but their faces were of cold yet beautiful women. Eyes closed, the sphinxes sat motionless, guarding a pair of stone doors beyond them. Climbing onto the dais, we stopped at the edge, gazing up at the enormous creatures. Though the doors were only a few yards beyond the sphinxes’ massive paws, no one moved to step between them.

“Huh.” Puck leaned back, peering up at the statues’ impassive faces. “A sphinx riddle, is it? How positively charming. Do you think they’ll try to eat us if we get it wrong?”

“You,” Grimalkin said, lacing back his ears, “will remain silent in this, Goodfellow. Sphinxes do not take kindly to
flippancy, and your ill-contrived remarks will not be well received.”

“Hey,” Puck shot back, crossing his arms, “I’ll have you know, I’ve tangled with sphinxes before, cat. You’re not the only one who knows his way around a riddle.”

“Shut up,” the Wolf growled at both of them, and pointed his muzzle skyward. “Something is happening.”

We held our breath and waited. For a moment, everything was still. Then, as one, the sphinxes’ eyes opened, all brilliant blue-white with no irises or pupils, staring straight ahead. Still, I could feel their ancient, calculating gaze on me as a warm breeze hissed through the room and the statues spoke, their voices quivering with ancient wisdom and power.

“Er, sorry,” Puck said as the voices ceased and silence fell over the dunes again. “But could you repeat that? A little slower this time?”

The sphinxes stood silent. Their blue eyes shut, as quickly as a door slamming, and did not stir again.

But, something
was
stirring around us. The sand was shifting, moving, as if millions of snakes writhed below the surface. And then, the sand erupted, and countless scorpions,
small, black and shiny, spilled from beneath the dunes and poured toward us.

Puck yelped and the Wolf snarled, the hair on his back and neck standing up. We crowded together on the platform, drawing our weapons, as the ground became a mass of wiggling bodies, crawling over one another, until we couldn’t see the sand through the carpet of living, writhing black.

“You know, I think I’d rather be eaten by the sphinxes,” Puck exclaimed. He had to shout to be heard over the chittering that filled the air, the clicking of millions of tiny legs skittering over each other. “If anyone has a plan, or an idea, or a can of scorpion repellant, I’d love to hear about it.”

“But, look.” Ariella pointed over the edge of the platform. “They’re not attacking. They’re not coming any closer.”

I peered over the edge and saw it was true. The scorpions surged against the stone wall, flowing around it like a rock in a stream, but they weren’t climbing the three feet it would take to get to us.

“They will not attack us,” Grimalkin said calmly, sitting well away from the edge, I noted. “Not yet. Not unless we answer the riddle incorrectly. So, do not worry. We have a little time.”

“Right.” Puck didn’t look reassured. “And this is the part where you tell us you know the answer, right?”

Grimalkin thumped his tail. “I am thinking,” he said loftily, and closed his eyes. His tail twitched, but other than that, the cat didn’t move, leaving the rest of us to gaze around nervously and wait.

Impatient and restless, I scuffed a boot over the stone floor, then stopped. In front of one of the broken pillars, half–buried in sand, I saw letters carved into the stone.
M-E-M-O-R. Kneeling down, I brushed away the dirt to reveal the entire word.

Memory.

Something stirred in my mind, an idea still too hazy to make out, like a forgotten name keeping just out of reach. I had something here, I just couldn’t bring it together.

“Look for other words,” I told Puck, who’d come up behind me, peering over my shoulder to see what I was doing. “There have to be others.”

Memory, knowledge, strength
and
regret.
Those were the words we uncovered, carved into the stone floor in front of each broken pillar. With each one we unearthed, the hazy puzzle pieces started to join, though still not enough to form the whole picture.

“Okay.” Puck dragged his hands down his face, scrubbing his eyes. “Think, Goodfellow. What do memory, knowledge, strength, and regret have to do with the four seasons?”

“It’s not the seasons,” I said quietly, as the pieces slid into place. “It’s us.”

Puck frowned at me. “Care to explain that logic, prince?”

“Winter leaves scars that do not heal,” I recited, recalling the second line of the riddle. “Doesn’t make much sense, does it?” I pointed to a pillar. “But, replace it with that word, and see what you get.”

“Memory leaves scars that do not heal,” Puck said automatically. He frowned again, then his eyes widened, looking at me. “Oh.”

The Wolf growled, curling a lip at the pillar as if it was a waiting demon disguised as a rock. “So, we are to believe that the answer to this riddle, this ancient puzzle that has stood here for countless centuries, is
us?
”

“Yes.” In the center of the platform, Grimalkin opened his
eyes. “The prince is correct. I have reached the same conclusion.” He gazed calmly around the platform, pausing at each of the four broken pillars. “Memory, knowledge, strength, regret. The seasons represent the four of us, so we must match the right word to the correct stanza.”

“But, there are five of us,” Ariella pointed out. “Five of us, but only four pillars. Which means one of us is missing. Or, left out.”

“We shall see,” Grimalkin mused, unconcerned. “First, though, we must figure out the rest of the puzzle. I believe the prince has already found his place. What about you, Goodfellow?” He looked at Puck, twitching his tail. “Summer is a fire that burns inside. What word best describes you? Knowledge has never been your strong suit. Strength … perhaps.”

“Regret.” Puck sighed, with a quick glance at me. “Regret is a fire that burns inside. It’s regret, so shut up and get on with the others.” He moved toward the pillar opposite me, crossing his arms and leaning against it.

The scorpions were getting louder, more frantic, as if they knew we were scant seconds away from solving the riddle. Their legs and carapaces scraped against the rock, an ocean of noise surging around us. Grimalkin sniffed and shared a glance with the Wolf.

“I believe the last two are fairly obvious, are they not?” he mused, sauntering toward the pillar that said Knowledge. “I do agree, knowledge is sometimes a terrible burden. The last pillar is yours, dog. I do not think we can argue your strength. Your intelligence, perhaps, but not your strength.”