Renegade Wizards aot-3 Read online

  “No,” Ladonna said, “I don’t think they had time yet. But I don’t know for certain.”

  “I have an idea,” Tythonnia said. She closed her eyes and imagined herself melting, her identity protean. A dozen ideals sprang to mind, people she wished to be … all women. She focused on the knights they saw outside.

  “Perubahan saya,” she whispered. The magic overtook her body like long trickles of cold water down her dry skin. She suppressed a shiver.

  “Wonderful,” Par-Salian exclaimed with a smile.

  Even Ladonna nodded in appreciation. Tythonnia quickly studied her arms and body; she was covered in chain mail and a blue tabard with a sword stitched down its front. The illusion held no weight, but for all appearances, she was a female Solamnic.

  Tythonnia entered the hall and walked directly toward the strangle point chamber. It bristled with arrow slits, and she tried not to show any fear. In the strongest voice she could muster, she demanded, “Have you seen them yet? Report!”

  There was no answer, and she was easily within arrow-shot of anyone inside.

  “Who’s in there?” Tythonnia demanded. Again, there came no answer. She hazarded a glance through one of the arrow slits, but the interior of the chamber was dark. She examined the surrounding doors, pulling them open to discover a small chamber and brick-lined walls behind two of the false iron doors. In one of the side rooms, however, was a staircase that wound its way up. After a quick study, she felt reasonably certain the area was empty. She motioned the others over.

  “Down the stairs,” Par-Salian advised them, but Ladonna shook her head.

  “Not yet. I read in the accounts of the tower that where one found false doors, one could find secret doors as well. The tower has two layers to it. What an invader might see and what a defender sees. Are you following?”

  “Yes I understand, but-”

  “Let her finish,” Tythonnia said. “She knows this place better than we do.”

  Ladonna nodded gratefully. “The route of the invader is meant to confound and trap them. The route of the defender will be more direct. We are currently in a maze meant for the invader.”

  Par-Salian blushed and nodded. “You’re right, of course. Find the secret door, and we find our escape. If there is one,” he added as a warning.

  “Just search,” she advised.

  The three of them drifted to different parts of the chamber, each of them feeling along walls. They pushed exposed bricks, tugged at sconces, and leaned against sections of wall. Her illusory skin shed, it was Tythonnia who discovered the incongruity along the peninsula wall covered in arrow slits. One panel of slits didn’t go all the way through. They were there for show.

  Tythonnia jabbed each hole with her lit dagger until finally, she was met with a bit of give. The click of the door mechanism seemed to fill the chamber, and drew her companions to her. The door into the stranglehold point opened, and the three entered the brick-lined room with its archer alcoves. Par-Salian quietly squeezed Tythonnia on the shoulder, and she tried not to blush at the silent praise.

  The stranglehold room opened up into an octagonal chamber with a thirty-foot square pit in the center. There were four archways, including the one they entered through, each located along the chamber’s cardinal point. Three archways opened into strangle point rooms, while the fourth exited onto the tower’s exterior ledge. Unfortunately, they were still fifty feet below the outside battlement, meaning any rampart guard could spot them if they stood in the archway.

  The pit in the center of the chamber was a supply shaft for the tower’s defenders, with a series of ropes, winches, and pulleys extending down its length. A wood platform rested on the temple floor a hundred feet below, with ropes tethered at its four corners. Each floor below and above them had an opening where the platform might stop, though there was a good fifty feet between them.

  Directly above them, however, were a handful of floating shapes, half gauze and half human, in advanced states of decay. They appeared to be drifting aimlessly. Par-Salian quietly motioned Ladonna and Tythonnia back, away from the lip of the shaft and out of sight.

  “See? I told you this place was haunted,” Ladonna said in a low voice.

  “We can try our luck with the outside ledge,” Par-Salian said, “though at this point, I can’t tell which direction we’re facing.”

  Tythonnia glanced outside and said, “North. Toward Palanthas. There’s also the stairs we saw earlier, one going up and the other-”

  “No, no,” Par-Salian said with a shudder. “I don’t wish to press our luck with the tower. No more stairs. No more maze. It’s the pit or outside.”

  “Then we have three problems,” Tythonnia replied. “The first is getting down. The second is unlocking one of the giant steel gates that surround the courtyard. And the third is escaping on horses we no longer have … though I could conjure a horse.”

  “Really?” Ladonna asked with a bemused eyebrow raised.

  Tythonnia shrugged. “Well, you know-‘once a rider’,” she said. “It’s a trick all riders learn. But I’d need to study my spellbook to summon horses for all three of us. I’d have to conjure well enough for them to last half a day’s travel at least. Enough to get away from here.”

  Par-Salian nibbled on his thumb a bit before nodding. “Very well. We can’t escape until dark as it is. That gives us some time to prepare. Tythonnia, study your spells. Ladonna, the spell you used to open the gold door, will it work on the steel doors?”

  “No,” she said. “I’m afraid we’ll have to open it by hand. But how do we get down?”

  “Feather fall,” Par-Salian said. “I have the very spell. It’ll carry our weight, but not the distance. We’ll have to jump twice: from one level to the next and then down again.”

  Ladonna and Tythonnia exchanged glances. If the plan sounded a bit dubious, Par-Salian’s worried expression robbed them of their remaining courage. But for now they said nothing. Instead, they retreated into the strangle-point chamber behind them, pulled out their spellbooks, and began studying the necessary incantations.

  The studying was done in a few hours, while there was still sun to stretch light across the four horizons. Par-Salian was the first to fall asleep, leaving an anxious Tythonnia and introspective Ladonna to sit there, brooding while their compatriot snored.

  Tythonnia’s nerves played with her patience and imagination. Was the pass beyond filled with knights waiting for them to emerge? Why were the renegade hunters after them? And were there more of them? She glanced at Ladonna, who also looked preoccupied by her own thoughts.

  “What did you mean by ‘once a thief’?” she asked Ladonna.

  Ladonna looked at her and smiled at some faint memory. “I’ve had a colorful past,” she admitted playfully. “There is no secret in that, even if I keep the details to myself. But my mistress, Arianna, she once told me to start thinking like a wizard. But once you live as a thief, it’s hard not to keep thinking like one.”

  “I know the sentiment,” Tythonnia said. “My spells kind of reflect my upbringing, as a farm girl.”

  “And your desire to misdirect … hide in plain sight, hmm?” Ladonna said.

  Tythonnia decided not to argue a point that was likely truer than she wanted to admit. She was tired of her rivalry with Ladonna. “Maybe,” she admitted.

  “Par-Salian’s more the straight arrow type,” Ladonna said with a quiet chuckle. She nodded toward the white wizard and whispered, “Funny that he’s attracted to me.”

  A smirk graced Tythonnia’s lips and she nodded. “I’ve noticed. You two should marry, a Black and White Robe together … have some nice gray-robed babies.”

  Ladonna laughed aloud and rushed her hand over her mouth, but Par-Salian remained fast asleep. “I envy your ability with them,” Ladonna whispered in a gentler tone than Tythonnia had heard from her, “with illusions. Arianna was never good at them, so I never learned them with any real skill. When we have more time, maybe you can teach m
e?”

  “A Black Robe learning from a Red Robe?”

  “One wizard of High Sorcery to another,” Ladonna amended.

  Tythonnia nodded. “I’d be happy to.”

  Ladonna smiled. “Now hush and get some sleep. We’ve got a hard night ahead of us.”

  Tythonnia felt calmer, more ready to face the evening. She lay on her back, her arm tucked behind her head, waiting for sleep to overcome her. And just when she thought she’d never fall asleep, she finally did.

  It began quietly, in the darkness of the evening, with no light save the glitter of stars and the stare of the red moon. They understood their role, each of them, and the only words spoken were the kind that electrified the skin, words of power that unlocked the hidden mechanisms of the world, words of magic.

  “Pfeatherfall.”

  Both Ladonna and Tythonnia gasped as they stepped from the edge of the shaft. There was a difference between an absolute faith in the arcane and the unspoken laws that ruled mind, body, and nature. Their hearts felt as though they dropped faster than the rest of them, but Par-Salian calmly held the hands of both of them during their long, lazy drop to the level below. Their feet touched the floor, and Par-Salian cast the second spell before either of them lost their nerve.

  “Pfeatherfall.”

  Again they meandered downward to the wood platform of the ground. Tythonnia was unsteady on her feet, her knees wobbly and unable to take her weight. Ladonna, on the other hand, was laughing nervously, heady excitement and fear mixed together.

  After needing a moment to recover, Tythonnia did her part.

  “Tak’kelihatan.”

  She turned Ladonna invisible with a touch, while Par-Salian mumbled the words to render himself unseen.

  “Tak’kelihatan.” Tythonnia repeated the spell and turned invisible as well. She strode down the north ramp and into the courtyard between the battlements and the tower. She walked up to the steel gates, up to the counterweight pull ring. No guards could be seen, either on the grounds or on the battlements. Likelier, she thought, the knights would be outside, or perhaps they thought they’d already escaped. Regardless, it was a small force of knights, not enough to maintain watch everywhere.

  Tythonnia waited until she heard Ladonna and Par-Salian arrive next to her.

  “Ready?” Par-Salian whispered.

  They replied in the affirmative and put their combined weight into tugging on the pull ring. All they needed was a foot or two, enough to slip through. The gate, however, was heavy and required every bit of weight they could muster to budge it an inch. It creaked open, loud enough to sound like thunder. Another jump dragged the large iron ring down, and the double steel gates spread open a little wider.

  “It’s enough,” Par-Salian said. “Go, go.”

  They ran for the gate and peered through. They could see the mountain pass rising up on either side and the two knights staring nervously up the ramp. Tythonnia tried to slip through, as it was agreed that she would be the first, and was almost stuck in the pinch of the door. She tried not to grunt as someone pushed her through; her flesh stung, but she was grateful for the escape. She could hear the rustle of cloth as Par-Salian or Ladonna came through next.

  Thankfully, the two knights were just far enough away to hear nothing. Instead, they eyed the double gate warily until the brown-haired, walrus-mustached Solamnic said, “Summon the captain and them hunters. I’ll stay ’ere and make sure nothin’ gets through.”

  The other knight nodded and ran to the keep just as a couple more knights were running up to the ramp.

  “Hurry,” Par-Salian said with a hiss of a whisper.

  Carefully, quickly, Tythonnia moved down the ramp on an arc away from the knight who was pointing his sword at the door. She held Ladonna’s hand lightly, enough to guide them along and stay in contact.

  “Come on then, Mr. Door,” the knight said nervously. “No need to be opening like that on yer own. Just ain’t natural. How about ya close yerself up again and we can go on then, nice and peaceful, eh? No fuss.”

  Down the ramp and onto the soft, lush green of the plains, Tythonnia was grateful to put the tower behind her. That side of the pass was empty of caravans and camps, though the grass was flattened in places. Since the knights were behind them, Tythonnia moved faster. After another moment, they were along the mountain walls of the Westgate Pass and behind a fold in the skirt of the cliff. They were out of sight of the keep and in near darkness.

  Three times, Tythonnia grasped a tuft of horse hair, her hands moving into interlocking gestures and mouthing the words, “Stahaliun emersa.”

  Three times, the script of rune vanished from her thoughts, like a word almost remembered and out of tongue’s reach. Three times, the air shimmered dimly as a brown horse fifteen hands high with golden eyes and a mane the color of the darkness between stars seemed to emerge from somewhere unseen. The horses were equipped with bit and bridle, their bodies lean and made for the run. Par-Salian, Tythonnia, and Ladonna quickly mounted their steeds.

  All but Ladonna were happy to put the Tower behind them. She cast a wistful glance back, a wish unspoken to return someday and explore the tower at her leisure.

  CHAPTER 8

  Tower’s Epilogue

  The torches set by the knights around the tower to illuminate the night also hemmed in their view. They couldn’t see beyond the ring of fire, not that they expected to need to-anyone fleeing would have to pass the Solamnics. The Journeyman, however, sat in the darkness beyond torchlight, nestled in a sheltered alcove of the mountain pass. Nobody could see him there, and it was unlikely anyone would stumble across him. He hid over a hundred feet deep into the Westgate Pass, hoping he hadn’t missed the three wizards.

  It took a while to get through the blocked gate of the keep. The knights searched diligently for the three renegades, after much debate with the hunters, but to no avail. The knights refused to believe anyone could have found their way into the tower, a denial seemingly rooted in the Solamnics’ refusal to actually enter the spire, from what the Journeyman could overhear. There was a thin line between faith in something and a reverential fear of it.

  The Journeyman knew better, however. He knew that Ladonna, Par-Salian, and Tythonnia were in the tower with a comfortable certainty, and he knew he should wait for them. With the mysterious arrival of the renegade hunters, the Journeyman suspected that Astathan’s protégés would need all the help they could get. Especially since they had lost their steeds.

  So it was, in the deep hour of night, that a strange, metallic groan echoed lightly through the canyons and the Knights of Solamnia gathered around one of the giant steel double doors. The Journeyman waited patiently, however, until he saw three brief glimmers of light against the far canyon wall. It wasn’t strong enough for the knights to notice thanks to their own torches, but the Journeyman enjoyed the benefit of darkness. Then he saw them, the three companions riding away on conjured steeds.

  The Journeyman smiled and waited to see if anyone gave pursuit. The knights didn’t seem to notice the three. The tower’s steel doors remained their focus. The Journeyman mounted his hay-colored Dairly and began trotting after Ladonna, Tythonnia, and Par-Salian at a respectable distance.

  Dumas paced the office of the captain of the guards. Despite his imposing appearance, Hort sat back in his chair, resigned to being “guests” of the knights. Thus, he remained calm. They were not prisoners exactly, but neither were they entirely trusted to help the knights search. Had Dumas or the wizards not respected the Solamnics for their dedication to order, she and Hort might have already escaped. Such action, however, would have damaged an already tenuous relationship between the guardians of High Sorcery and the knightly orders. Still, sitting and waiting was almost too much to bear for Dumas. She needed to hunt the renegades down, to kill them. Only then would things be right again. She felt that with an odd certainty.

  “They’ll slip past the guards,” Dumas grumbled.

  “But
not Thoma,” Hort said quietly. “We’re lucky these knights didn’t find him. If the renegades slip past, he’ll lead us to them. You’ll see.”

  Dumas nodded. A fusillade of steps and the jostle of chain signaled the arrival of someone outside the captain’s office. The door burst open as a breathless female knight faced them. Hort rose in anticipation of action, and Dumas was also ready to move.

  “Captain wants to see you,” the young knight said. “One of the steel doors opened on its own.”

  Dumas’s jaw clenched. If the door opened, then the renegades were already gone, likely down the Westgate Pass. It was up to Thoma to keep pace with them until they could catch up.

  Thoma kept his Blödegeld calm. It could smell the hunt and was hungry for the chase, but it would have to stay patient. Thoma could not handle three renegades alone, especially three of that proficiency. They were more skilled than they appeared, and that troubled the hunter. It wasn’t unheard of for wizards to go rogue, but rarely after the crucible of the test. The Test of High Sorcery was brutal beyond any measure of preparation, and it had a way of solidifying one’s ties with other wizards.

  Renegade wizards of their skill weren’t unheard of, no, but to see three of them defect and travel in each other’s company … and from three different orders, much less? There were too many coincidences too ignore.

  The fact that the three orders rarely interacted together?

  The fact that three renegades happened to be in Solanthus at the last conclave, and chose then to defect?

  The fact that instructions to give chase came so quickly?

  The fact that they were told to kill the renegades, even though Highmage Astathan and Yasmine of the Delving would never condone the death of a renegade when conversion and redemption remained unexplored possibilities?

  The fact that there was another mysterious rider on a Dairly following the three renegades?

  No, it all seemed far too arranged, too pat. Something more was afoot, but to question the mission too deeply was to question Dumas herself. And Thoma trusted Dumas with his life, even when her story didn’t make sense. So he continued pursuing the three renegades and the man who followed them, hoping that by the time his compatriots caught up to him, he might have stumbled upon the right answers and the proper course of action.