Chapter 23
The soldiers manning the cannons on the castle wall didn’t fire as Agrevlari glided in behind Wreylith, but Vorik urged his dragon ally to stay close to her.
Syla slid off as soon as Wreylith landed in the courtyard and ran toward the keep without waiting to see if Vorik followed.
He did. Since Jhiton had slipped through the entrance in the cliff that led to the laboratory—and ultimately the tunnels and shielder chamber—Vorik was disappointed in himself for not stopping him.
Syla had said that her people had walled off access to the tunnels, but with the mad god guiding Jhiton and all that power crackling in the air and possibly available to use, he might be able to blow his way through any obstacles.
A few startled guards shouted as Vorik ran after Syla, but he waved to them and called, “The queen has commanded me to help her!” Nobody fired crossbow quarrels at him, but several did wave their weapons in his direction while glancing at Syla.
“I’m still her prisoner!” Vorik added when she didn’t pause to back up his assertion.
Given the potential for disaster below, Vorik didn’t blame her. By the time she neared a doorway that led to a theater with an entrance to the tunnels—he’d followed her that way before—he caught up.
“Thanks for helping,” she said as they ran inside.
“Always.”
When they passed guards at the theater entrance, Syla lifted a hand. Intending to call for them to follow her down?
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Vorik asked.
She glanced at him, a question in her eyes.
“Jhiton is down there, and he’s…”
“Dreadful and supposed to be dead?”
“Not entirely himself,” Vorik said.
“His eyes were glowing.”
“Yeah, that’s one of the clues that he’s not himself.”
Without calling to the guards, Syla ran toward the secret door under the stage.
Some men, seeing their unarmed queen rushing through the castle with a stormer, were following her anyway.
Vorik didn’t try to stop them. It might be useful to have some soldiers down there in case more enemies than Jhiton waited.
Jhiton and the storm god, Vorik reminded himself. The man he’d battled on dragon back over the harbor had possessed all of his brother’s skills and fought just as he would, but there hadn’t been any recognition in his eyes, nor had the expression on his face ever changed.
After Syla used her moon-mark to open the trapdoor—it had been repaired since Vorik had forced his way in weeks earlier—they charged down the stairs and into the stone tunnels. Surprisingly, they were well lit with wall-mounted lanterns burning all along the way.
“Who else is down here?” Vorik asked when Syla didn’t appear surprised by the illumination.
Breathing hard now from running, Syla said, “At the least… Captain Vonla and… some soldiers that she rounded up.”
Vorik grimaced, wondering if they were already dead. And what of the shielder artifact? Was that what the storm god had sent Jhiton to destroy? Or was there something in the centuries-abandoned laboratory that interested him?
Since the storm god had pierced the shield with his lightning, it didn’t seem he needed to worry about the shielders. Of course, if Jhiton was still aware, he would want to destroy the artifact. There had to be some of him still in his own mind, right?
The hair on the back of Vorik’s neck rose as they traveled deeper into the tunnels. A hint of magic lurked in the air, and that soon turned into fog, an eerie fog that made him think of the dark clouds spreading outside.
Wreylith and I are waiting atop one of the castle towers in case you need assistance, Agrevlari informed him. Also, Igliana has retrieved the bodyguard, Fel, and he said he would follow the queen into the tunnels.
Thanks, Vorik said. Unless you can lose a lot of weight quickly, I don’t think you can get in these tunnels to help us.
I am fit and well-proportioned with no desire to lose mass.
Wreylith must be pleased by your sublime physique.
We are on the same tower. Agrevlari sounded smug, but then added, She is not interested in discussing names for her future hatchlings at this time.
We are in the middle of a chaotic storm-god invasion. Are the rest of the dragons staying outside the barrier now?
Oh, yes. They were most alarmed to discover that your queen can launch the deadly projectiles without being near the platform.
I’m not sure Syla knew she could do that either.
They turned at an intersection, running down the tunnel that led to the hidden entrance to the shielder chamber and dead-ended at an alcove full of tombs.
Two soldiers in Kingdom uniforms stood in front of the stone wall that held the hidden door.
It wasn’t open, and Syla exhaled in audible relief.
But rubble was strewn about in the alcove, and Vorik suspected that wall had been breached again.
“Captain Vonla went that way, Your Majesty.” One of the soldiers pointed toward the alcove while frowning at Vorik.
“Thank you.” Syla waved as she ran past, only slowing when she and Vorik reached the alcove.
He blinked in surprise at a machine that had been assembled near the tombs, a great horizontal drill bit comprising half of it. It reminded him of the mining equipment that Tibby had commandeered on Bogberry Island.
“Jhiton didn’t bring that,” Vorik said while looking at a hole in the wall.
He’d been here before when there had been a hole in that spot, but broken bricks all over the place promised it had been walled in after the stormers had visited.
Now, however, it stood open again, a new hole formed with dense fog rolling through.
Vorik sensed power ahead, great power. The last time he’d been here, the laboratory had been covered in dust, any artifacts within long gone dormant.
“Fograth must have had that drill assembled down here,” Syla whispered, creeping forward.
“Your usurper?” Sword in hand, Vorik walked at her side.
“The throne thief, yes. Apparently, he didn’t feel safe staying in the royal suite.”
“But the mad god’s old laboratory was a cozy place to camp?”
“I guess so.”
They eased into a tunnel beyond the alcove, the fog swirling about their legs. There were no lanterns on the walls here, but a sickly green glow from ahead provided illumination enough to see more rubble on the ground.
Vorik sensed so much power ahead that he couldn’t pick out Jhiton’s aura, but his brother had to be in there. Unless he’d left, there was nowhere else he could be. Vorik would prefer it if Jhiton had left, and he wouldn’t have to battle him again, but they wouldn’t be that lucky. He knew it.
The fog grew denser, swirling through the green light. A gasp of pain came from the laboratory.
Vorik picked up his pace to jog ahead of Syla so that he could better protect her. In the dense murk, he almost missed seeing a figure lying on the ground. A man. Vorik stepped in fresh blood that had pooled under him.
“I think that’s Fograth,” Syla whispered, waving at the misty air. It didn’t clear much.
“Your usurper?” Vorik asked, though she’d already clarified that. “If my brother did it, you owe him a kiss.”
“I most certainly do not. He—”
Several rapid clangs rang out—sword strikes. A thud followed, and a woman groaned. Power flared.
Vorik rushed ahead of Syla. He entered the dusty laboratory, stepping past a camp complete with a bed, chairs, and a desk, to peer into the fog.
He could pick out the origin of the green glow.
It came from a spacious alcove in a stone wall to the left, the large entrance framed by two looming wyvern statues.
The glow seemed to stretch between them, creating a barrier over the alcove, and a surprising number of people were trapped inside.
Dressed in all manner of clothing—more than one person wore a nightshirt—the men and women didn’t look to have anything in common.
No, that wasn’t true. Every hand he could make out had a moon-mark on the back.
The people—the prisoners—were all peering through the green barrier toward the center of the spacious cavern of a laboratory.
Three uniformed men lay dead on the ground, and a sole woman, also in uniform, was on her knees and trying to rise, blood streaming from multiple wounds as she leaned on her sword while gripping her side.
Captain Vonla. Vorik worried they were already too late to help her.
In the shadows not ten feet in front of her stood Jhiton, his eyes glowing as he stared at Vorik and Syla, his face somehow scarily intent and devoid of emotion—of humanity—at the same time.
Even as Syla entered and blurted, “Captain Vonla,” Jhiton pointed his sword at the woman.
They were nowhere near touching, but power flowed from his blade and knocked into her. Vonla flew back, landing near Syla and Vorik.
“I’ll handle Jhiton,” Vorik said, though he had no idea if he could. “Help her, and free your people.”
Taking a bracing breath, Vorik sprang past Vonla and charged at his brother. No, at the storm god inhabiting his brother.
As Jhiton watched him come, he raised both of his swords. Black energy crackled around the white blades. As if the gargoyle-bone magic hadn’t been bad enough…
Syla knelt beside Vonla as Vorik charged across the laboratory to confront Jhiton.
Again. Such power emanated from the stormer general that Syla worried Vorik was running to his death.
She didn’t know if the mad god was inside Jhiton or merely feeding power into him from whatever realm he inhabited, but, either way, they weren’t facing a mortal enemy. Not this time.
“Your Majesty,” Vonla gasped, pain contorting her face.
“It’s all right. I’ll heal you.”
Vonla shook her head weakly, and as Syla rested a hand on her shoulder, intending to use her power to knit together what looked like multiple stab wounds, a familiar voice yelled, “No!” from an alcove she’d barely registered.