Chapter 25 #3
Hefertus looked torn, glancing from the island platform on which he was meant to place Adalbrand to the island he was meant to occupy. They were very far apart. If he agreed, Adalbrand would be completely vulnerable.
As things stood now, the islands were as follows from Sir Sorken on one end to an empty island on the other: one, Sir Sorken on the far right; two, the platform he was indicating was for Hefertus; three, a platform holding the Majester that Sir Coriand was hurrying to join; four, a platform shared by Sir Owalan and the High Saint; five, the one meant for Adalbrand; and six, the empty platform — for me, perhaps?
“What about the dog?” Hefertus protested, hesitating.
“The dog will stay with me,” Sir Sorken boomed out as if he were pardoning the canine of his sins.
Ha. He wishes he had that kind of power. And that’s the thing with you paladins. You are so convinced of your worthiness that your arrogance trips you up, and oh, but it’s a delight to watch. Pure drama! Pure pleasure. Please don’t die, snackling. I’d hate to miss all of this.
Because of course I was only living to entertain him.
Cleft brought the dog over to Sir Sorken as Hefertus gently laid Adalbrand on his platform. At least he was kind to his friend, even if he was an idiot for not siding with me on this.
For a moment, I felt hope as Cleft lowered Brindle.
That’s right! Let me at him! I could feast on stringy old paladin if required.
But Sir Sorken had been ready. As Cleft lowered my doggy friend, he put his great stone hand over Brindle’s muzzle, and lightning-quick, Sir Sorken tied Brindle’s mouth with rope and cinched the rope to his belt, which he fitted around the dog’s neck.
Together, they laid Brindle on the altar and tied him in place.
I make a terrible sacrifice. You need to tell them! Tell them that killing dogs is a crime no one will forgive. Not even the prince of demons himself.
I thought the prince of demons didn’t forgive, Sir Branson said curiously.
Now was not the time to argue theological technicalities.
I cleared my throat. I couldn’t tell if that got anyone’s attention. It was Suture who determined which way I faced, not me.
“Brothers,” I spoke loudly, carrying. I’m no orator.
In fact, addressing them all made me as nervous as dangling over this library hole.
I persevered. “We are not finding a holy cup in this place. It is not making us Saints. Surely, you see that. A murderer walks among us and this place is made for an unholy purpose.”
There was a silence and then Sir Owalan said a little awkwardly, “You’re spinning something out of nothing, Beggar.
The Seer died at the hands of nefarious forces — a demon that the High Saint tells me you refused to cast out.
Sir Kodelai died trying to rectify that, and the Inquisitor was a nasty accident.
You have to expect that any quest worth performing would be rife with trial and difficulty.
We cannot all be Saints. Only the worthy. ”
“And those of us not worthy?” I asked but there was no answer.
I felt like cursing.
Go ahead. Who’s stopping you?
I rather hope she’s holding back for my sake.
You won’t be here forever, wretched corpse. One day she’ll be free to be exactly as loose as she likes.
“Let us pray,” Sir Sorken intoned, and as Suture carried me roughly to my platform, they spoke together, “For what we are about to receive, we thank you, oh God.”
I felt like I was being readied for dinner. Dog and Beggar. What a treat.
If only you knew, snackling, how I’ve craved you, how sweet your soul would be upon my lips. It would go down like aged wine.
Because that wasn’t at all creepy.
The platform rocked as Suture’s feet hit it and I got a nice up-close look at my altar.
I tried to read the words on it, but I didn’t have to — Sir Coriand was already calling them out as the platform trembled beneath me.
If it broke, would the golem drop me? Would I be able to catch the edge in time?
“Your altars read, ‘A worthy price you’ll pay, and on this altar lay, or your soul to us you’ll lose, in punishment for your ruse.’”
Wait. Hold on now.
“You put my dog on your altar!” I called out, but inside I was more offended by all this terrible poetry than I was by that fact.
You think my imprisonment and possible slaughter is less offensive than bad rhymes?
I wasn’t the one who had rhymed “pay” with “lay.”
“Everyone ready, then?” Sir Sorken asked calmly, ignoring my accusation. “Ready yourself, Suture. You’ll drop the girl and retreat the moment I throw the switch. There’s a good construct.”
And then there was a squealing sound and I screwed up my face against it, as if that did anything beyond blurring the spines of the books in front of my nose.
The golem dropped me and I managed to angle my shoulder enough to roll with the drop rather than damaging my face a second time. I felt the platform sway wildly as he leapt from it, and then lurch to one side.
I clawed my way to stand, keeping my sword braced in both hands, and when I was able to find my feet, my island platform was already shuttling down its track around the curve of the cylindrical room.
It bore me upward in a spiral. The central pillar was to one side of me and a whirl of books to the other.
All of the platforms were moving at once, some of them spiraling upward slowly, like Sir Sorken’s and mine, others dipping quickly downward or ranging in a roughly flat line.
Sir Adalbrand’s platform was one of those moving in roughly a straight path, which meant that even though he’d started behind me, my upward trajectory was negating my head start. If I timed things just right and had nerves of steel, I could drop down to his platform when our paths crossed.
Maybe.
I sheathed my sword and started tearing at the buckles of my breastplate and other armor. I needed to be light. Any extra weight and this might not work.
My tabard I discarded with its belt, my breastplate followed, pauldrons and gauntlets after that. I’d already been lightly armored, but now I was stripped of all but my leather pants, filmy undertunic, my boots, and my sword. I wasn’t giving up the sword.
Not even if it drags you into the depths?
Not even then.
I toast your courage, and if you fail, I’ll inhabit those you love best and eat their hearts raw.
Lovely. I’d better not fail.
I clambered up to the top of the delicate railing surrounding my platform and my belly lurched at the great distance below. Carefully, I turned so that I was crouched with my back facing outward, peering down at the space between my boots. I felt wildly off-balance.
Because you are, you fool! You won’t make the catch and you’ll fall to your death.
But now the platforms were crossing and I had no choice. There was no way I was leaving Adalbrand alone to face this challenge. What if he woke and found himself drifting with no clue as to what to do or where he was? He might judge me now. Might hate me. But he didn’t deserve that.
I lowered myself so that I was hanging by my hands, tensed the muscles of my lower back tightly to lever my legs backward, and then the moment I saw Adalbrand below, I thrust my legs forward as I let go of the platform and tensed hard to draw my arms forward, too, stabilizing me in the air.
Books whooshed by. My heart was in my throat. I had eyes only for the edge of his platform.
Here it was. I reached for it, caught it —
— and felt the fingers of my right hand slip while my left found purchase. I swung wildly from my left hand, the newly knit bone in that arm screaming with the effort of holding me in place. Frantic, I clawed up with leg and arm.
Your sword! Unbuckle your sword, it’s dragging you down!
It was dragging. I felt the weight of it.
But I didn’t dare let go. If any time was a time for prayer, it was now.
I skipped the niceties.
“Merciful God make me strong and sure. Help me up onto the platform. Your healer needs me.”
I wasn’t entirely sure about that part. But the God must have been.
A renewed burst of energy filled me and this time when my right arm grappled for purchase, it held, and I pulled with all the might of my wide shoulders and levered myself up and over the fish-spine edge of the platform to fall in a lump on the other side.