War of Shadows (2 page)

“I think it would be best to wait until our host wants us to proceed,” Dagur cautioned. “And from the sound of it, the corridor’s not a healthy place to be right now.” Shouts and footsteps echoed from the rock, as well as the clang of swords.

“I thought you said no one else can get in down here,” Piran whispered. “It sounds like there’s a battle going on just outside the door.”

“There is,” Dillon replied. “The ghosts of the people buried down here are restless. They relive the battles and the betrayals that killed them. Alrik told me that’s how Geddy, Lynge’s assistant, was killed.”

“Now you tell us this?” Piran said, eyes wide.

Dillon’s expression was somber. “The ghosts don’t reenact their battles all the time,” Dillon replied, keeping one eye on the ghost who blocked their path. “When we brought the pieces down here, Alrik was constantly fussing about the time. He must have known when the ghosts were likely to be active. Maybe he figured the spirits could protect the items better than we could.”

By the sound of it, the spectral battle beyond the door was drawing to a close, and in a few moments, the tomb was silent. Almstedt lifted his ghostly sword and gestured toward the entranceway, gliding effortlessly through the door.

“I guess he’s going with us,” Blaine commented.

They moved into the cool, dark passageway. Despite the sounds of pitched battle they had heard just moments ago, nothing in the corridor suggested that anyone had passed this way for quite a while. Almstedt’s ghost stood in a passageway to their left.

“He knows the way,” Dillon directed. “And keep your wits about you. There are ghosts aplenty. I’m glad I never knew that when I lived in the castle up above. I might not have slept well, knowing what goes on down here.”

Wide passageways carved into rock led in several directions, and it seemed to Blaine he had entered an underground city. As they passed the entrances to other chambers, Blaine glimpsed rooms filled with catafalques, and other, larger areas where it looked as if rooms from the castle above, and even whole sections of the city of Castle Reach, had been re-created.

“Alrik told me that the kings and nobles weren’t sure they would pass on to the Sea of Souls, given their deeds,” Dillon whispered to Blaine. “So they made sure their accommodations here were comfortable and familiar—just in case.”

“Can you imagine the secrets buried here?” Kestel murmured, her green eyes shining. She pushed a strand of red hair back into the braid that kept it out of her way. “I wish we could explore.”

“The library’s just ahead,” Dillon interrupted.

“Let’s be quick about this,” Piran said. “I don’t like this place. The sooner we’re done and out of here, the better.”

“In here,” Dillon indicated, using a key from his satchel and opening the door to a room not far from Almstedt’s crypt. A warren of corridors led off into darkness. Blaine looked at the flickering light in his lantern and shuddered at the thought of being lost in those dark passageways among warring and treacherous ghosts.

“Let us handle this,” Xaffert said as they walked into the room. Xaffert was dressed in clothing that had seen better days. The richly woven brocade of his tunic was badly worn and snagged, stained in places, and his trews were mended awkwardly. Whether the clothing was what remained of his
scholarly belongings or, more likely, something he had looted from a deserted villa, Blaine did not know. Xaffert wore his motley outfit with strained dignity, as if the loss of his status and the University itself was almost too much to bear.

Their lanterns illuminated a relatively large room with shelves lining the walls and a worktable with a few chairs. From the way the books and the odd collection of items were stacked on the tables and around the room, it was clear someone had already mined the library for information and then used every surface for the magical items gathered above. On one table lay four cloth sacks filled to the brim.

“Lynge and Geddy brought Connor and Penhallow down here to help you find those disks that you needed to bring back the magic,” Dillon said with a look toward Blaine. “I’m not sure what else they took with them, or whether it was helpful, but I’ll bet those sacks are full of the items they wanted to come back for.”

Blaine could guess. Lanyon Penhallow was a
talishte
, an immortal vampire who had existed for centuries. Bevin Connor, once the assistant to Lord Garnoc before the Cataclysm, had become Penhallow’s mortal servant. Both Connor and Penhallow had tracked down several of the obsidian disks that played an important role in helping Blaine restore the magic at Valshoa and bind it once more to the will of men. If Penhallow had gone to the trouble of gathering and safeguarding other artifacts, Blaine was willing to believe they were valuable enough to be worth the risk to retrieve them.

“Let’s see what we have,” Xaffert said, pushing past Blaine toward a cloth bundle on the nearest table.

“These crypts are full of old power,” Dagur said. “Maybe, since the magic remains rather brittle, we might be safest handling the items as little as possible.” Balding and thin,
perhaps in his fourth decade, Dagur looked more like a tavern master than a scholar, clad as he was in a serviceable woolen jacket, homespun trews, and sturdy boots.

Xaffert fixed his colleague with a glare. “I’m not going to let a few ghosts send me screaming,” he said with a sniff. “We’re better served knowing what Lord Penhallow and Alrik thought valuable enough to hide down here. That way, if we run into difficulties on the way back, we know what tools are at our disposal.”

“I agree with Dagur,” Zaryae said. “Even if the artifacts still work as they were intended, using them down here might attract unwanted attention.”

Xaffert’s contempt was clear in his face. “That’s probably prudent for you. What magic you have is untrained. Dagur and I are scholars and adepts, formally educated in the magic arts by the most powerful mages of our era. We’re quite well prepared to handle whatever arises.”

Blaine was not so sure that Dagur agreed with the older mage. Dagur remained a pace back from the table, and seemed happy to allow Xaffert to take the items out of the sacks as he surveyed the other items in the room.

“Take a look if you have to, but don’t spend all day doing it,” Piran grumbled. “I want to get aboveground.”

Xaffert examined the items from one of the sacks. Blaine stayed back a bit, as did the others, but from what he could see, the magical artifacts did not appear unusual. Half a dozen pieces now lay on the table: a silver chalice, a flat piece of burnished wood carved with sigils, a white-handled boline knife with a curved blade, a dark scrying mirror, a lavishly engraved bell, and a stone censer with carvings. By the lantern light, they looked quite ordinary.

“I find nothing wrong with these pieces, nothing at all,”
Xaffert announced after a few moments. “In fact, I suspect that such basic tools cannot be subverted even by broken magic. It will be a pleasure to have these fine items in our study.”

“Just put the bloody things back in the sack and let’s get going,” Piran said. “We’ve been down here long enough already.”

Zaryae hung back. “The items may have been altered,” she said. “We must be careful.”

Dagur carefully gathered up the few small items that had spilled from the sacks. Even with the small amount of magic Blaine possessed, he could feel the jangle of power from the items in the room. Yet to him, the magic felt… out of kilter, like a painting hung askew. Piran, with no magic at all, kept his knife and sword at the ready, watching the door to the hallway.

It seemed to Blaine that the shadows crowded more closely around them as they retreated to the corridor. Several times, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of motion, only to find nothing when he looked again. Blaine was on edge, and he wondered if the rest of his companions felt the same worrisome tingle in the air, which had grown icy cold.

“What in Raka is that?” Piran growled. Blue-green orbs of light bounced and bobbed, hurtling down the corridor toward the central rotunda, where several corridors led into a larger, open area. The sound of running footsteps echoed from the rock walls. Almstedt moved to stand in the doorway, and beckoned them to come.

“Something that isn’t ‘in’ Raka or the Sea of Souls anymore,” Kestel murmured, daggers raised. “And there are a lot of them, blocking the way back to Almstedt’s crypt.”

The orbs stretched into thin tendrils of light that swirled and shifted, taking on the forms of men, until two spectral armies faced off against each other in the wide chamber. Battle cries rang out as the ghostly soldiers hurtled toward each other,
swords and axes raised, colliding with the muffled clang of armor. The combatants might be long dead, but the battle that played out in front of them was as fierce as any waged by living men.

Almstedt’s ghost stopped, barring them from approaching the fight. His raised sword made it clear that Almstedt intended to stand his ground. Going back the way they came was not an option.

“I was afraid of this,” Piran muttered. “Now what?”

“Dillon—any chance the entrance you and Alrik used to bring the items here is still open?” Blaine asked.

“The upper level where we entered has completely collapsed.”

“There’s got to be another way out,” Blaine said. He looked to Kestel. “How about you? You’re the spy. Any great ideas?”

“I heard rumors about secret passageways to the crypts, but I never personally found any,” she replied. “I didn’t know about the one we used to enter. As for others, even if we found them, are they passable, given how badly the castle was damaged?”

“Let’s see what we can find, and worry about the rest later,” Blaine said. “Gather up the sacks and whatever items Zaryae and Dagur thought worthy—let’s get moving.” Xaffert, Dagur, Dillon, and Zaryae gingerly loaded the artifacts into the satchels they had brought, leaving the others free to wield their swords if necessary.

Eager to move away from the spectral battle, Blaine and Piran headed in the opposite direction, back toward the vaults closer to the castle. Their lanterns barely lit their way in the gloom. Doorways opened on either side of the corridor, only to lead into crypts like Almstedt’s.

Finally, the corridor widened into another large rotunda filled with catafalques, some ancient and some much newer. The lanterns illuminated the figure that lay carved in marble
atop the nearest tomb, and Kestel gasped. “Look,” she whispered, pointing. “It’s King Merrill.”

Merrill had been the king since before Blaine was born, and it was he who exiled them. But Merrill had probably never imagined that he would be the last king of Donderath, or that in his reign, the kingdom would burn, its magic would fail, and the people of an entire Continent would be reduced to desperate subsistence.

“We’ve got company,” Piran said in a low voice.

Blaine looked up to see a young man standing just beyond the torchlight. The man beckoned urgently even as the sounds of battle seemed to close in. Xaffert and Dagur started forward, but Blaine threw out a warning arm to halt them. “Wait. We don’t know whose side he’s on.”

Dillon maneuvered forward. “Yes we do,” he said triumphantly. “That’s Geddy. Thank the gods, it’s Geddy.” He turned to the others. “Seneschal Lynge’s assistant. He died down here. Now he’s come to help us.”

Blaine met Piran’s gaze and shrugged. Caught between threatening specters and a ghostly guide, they had little choice. “Let’s hope he knows where we’re going, because those ghost soldiers are getting closer,” Blaine said. “Follow Geddy.”

Geddy’s ghost moved so quickly they were forced to run to keep him in sight. The ghost was tall and angular, with lank dark hair, all slender arms and legs, and although Blaine searched his memories, he could not recall having seen the young man at the castle. He hoped that they had read the ghost’s intentions correctly, and that he meant to get them to safety.

Geddy led them through the maze of corridors with confidence, while Blaine struggled to remember their course. The ground was rising under their feet, and they were moving in the right direction to be inside the castle, or at least the bailey walls.

The clang of metal against rock clattered through the empty corridors. Xaffert stood swearing over a jumble of artifacts that had spilled from his satchel. “Pick those things up and be quiet about it!” Blaine snapped.

“You’re loud enough to wake the dead, and down here, that’s a bad thing,” Piran muttered.

“Well, don’t just stand there—lend a hand!” Xaffert waved a hand at Dagur, whose expression made it clear he had no desire to handle the artifacts before their power was known. Reluctantly, Dagur withdrew a pair of gloves from his belt and gingerly helped place the objects once more into Xaffert’s satchel. Geddy’s ghost stood a little farther down the corridor, gesturing for them to hurry.

“Move faster, gents. Our guide’s a mite frantic for us to get going,” Piran urged. After a few more moments and another crash as Xaffert turned too quickly and his satchel hit the wall, Zaryae strode up to Xaffert. She pulled his bag away from him roughly enough to send his hat flying.

“By Torven’s horns! Just give it to me,” she demanded. “You’re a disaster.” Xaffert’s protests were muted enough for Blaine to decide that the mage was quite happy having someone else carry the burden.

They had barely gone a dozen steps before Geddy’s ghost stopped beside a catafalque. He pointed toward the raised marble tomb, pantomiming moving its heavy carved lid aside.

“What’s he want us to do, climb in?” Piran’s skepticism was clear in his voice.

“I think that’s exactly what he means,” Kestel said. “Come on, get to it.”

Blaine, Piran, and Dillon set their shoulders to the heavy marble, and Blaine was surprised when it moved easily. He lifted his lantern and peered inside, expecting to see dry bones
and rotted finery. Instead, he found stairs descending into darkness.

“In we go,” he said, stepping aside to allow Kestel and Zaryae to enter first.

“You expect me to climb into a crypt?” Xaffert huffed.

“You can do what you want,” Dillon said. “I’m saving my skin.”