Castle Perilous c-1 Read online

  Soon he was floating, his boots feeling like lead weights. He kicked them off and found that he was able to tread water sufficiently well to keep breathing. But he was rapidly running out of breathing space. The chamber was small, and soon the water would fill it to the vaulted ceiling, at the apex of which, Kwip noticed, was a small round opening … a ventilation shaft, most likely. Kwip had a sudden idea. He had had no formal education, but as a boy he had passed endless hours playing with odds and ends around the house, experimenting and pondering the results. If he could plug that hole, the remaining air pocket might stop the water from rising, just as air trapped inside a submerged inverted cup prevents it from being filled.

  His leather jerkin did the job. Stuffed into the hole, it made a dubious airtight seal, but the rising flood slowed, then stopped. Presently the waters began to recede, and in time Kwip was wading knee deep again.

  It was definitely seawater. Bits of shell and other flotsam crunched underfoot, and scraps of seaweed floated about. Apparently the water had found an outlet and was draining away, flooding the floors below.

  “Passing strange,” he muttered. “A deluge out of a boudoir.Damned queer.”

  Shaking his head, he retrieved one boot and sloshed down the steps to find the other. Something grabbed his leg.

  He struggled against it, grasping the iron rail above and pulling against it. Whatever it was tugged back. He strained and managed to raise his unshod foot out of the water.

  A slimy, gray-green tentacle had coiled itself about his ankle. Kwip yelled, drew his sword and hacked at it until his foot was free. He shook the severed end of the thing off and backed to the wall of the landing as another appendage rose from the depths. It was of the same color but slightly thinner, and at its end rode a single unblinking, fishy eye. Balanced on its delicate stalk, the eyeball scanned the chamber, then swung around to gather Kwip into its view.

  Not for long; a sweep of Kwip’s sword sent the Argus eye plopping into the water, the cut end of the stalk spurting pink and yellow humors until it sank below the waterline. A smile grew on Kwip’s face, fading as another eyestalk rose, this one forewarned enough to keep its distance.

  More tentacles leaped up, these equipped with wicked, needlelike stingers at their ends. Doubtless they were poisonous. Kwip leaped to the side to avoid one while hacking at another. With some quick swordsmanship he succeeded in truncating four tentacles, but more were coming at him, many more. He backed up the stairs, swinging and slashing.

  Very quickly his back was to the blank wall at the top of the stairwell. Three tentacles were drawing a bead for a simultaneous strike under the guidance of more eyestalks. He feinted a thrust at one and cut wickedly at another, but landed only a glancing blow as the thing ducked away. The sword hit the iron rail and went flying from his wet grasp, falling with a gentle splash into the water.

  He screamed, “No!” but knew it was the end. He pressed himself against the wall, straining, pushing as though the stone could yield.

  Suddenly he was falling backwards. He hit with his buttocks, rolled on his back, and leaped to his feet.

  Silence. He looked around. He was in another hallway, this one dry and devoid of sea monsters. There was no door in the wall in front of him, no opening of any sort. It was as blank as the one …

  On the other side?

  “Gods of a poxed doxy.” Kwip examined the dark, smooth stone of the wall. The unmortared joints hardly showed at all. There was no way he could have —

  A sudden impulse seized him, and he thrust his fist at the wall as if to strike it.

  His arm passed through the stone like a ghost through a midnight fog.

  Keep — Near The Main Portcullis

  The subaltern saluted and nervously began his report.

  “If it please Your Royal Highness! I —” The words caught in his dry throat.

  Prince Vorn laid a hand on the young soldier’s mailed shoulder. “Be at ease, son. When last did you see an enemy soldier?”

  The subaltern cleared his throat, then said, “Almost a day ago, sire.”

  Vorn nodded and turned to look at Lord Althair.

  Althair shrugged. “I submit to you that we have triumphed.”

  Vorn scowled. “Or do we walk triumphantly into Incarnadine’s trap?”

  Althair looked about the high-ceiling hall in which they stood. It was being used as a staging area. Heaps of supplies lay about. Men of the quartermaster’s corps were carrying more in. “I see no trap, Your Royal Highness. In fact, I see nothing but the same rancid field rations and mildewed blankets that have held this army together for more than a year.” Beside him Lord Dax snickered.

  Vorn grunted. He turned again to the subaltern.

  “I am told you fought bravely, and well.”

  The subaltern’s chest expanded slightly. “It was my privilege. Your Royal Highness.”

  “Your unit overran more than a few enemy barricades. You led the charges yourself. True?”

  “Sire, I cannot gainsay it.”

  “Tell me this. How far into the keep has your phalanx penetrated? I realize distance here is difficult to judge.”

  “I truly do not know, sire. We walked for hours, then tried to find our way back. We nearly lost ourselves for good and all.”

  “And you were never challenged?”

  “Never, sire.”

  “And you’ve seen no castle guards since yesterday?”

  “None, sire.” The subaltern’s gaze darted around the immense chamber. “Sire, this castle is truly enchanted! We —”

  “Yes, we know. You and your men are relieved until further notice. Eat, drink, and disport yourselves. Dismissed.”

  “Yes, sire!” The subaltern saluted and left.

  Vorn’s face was troubled. Arms akimbo, he began to pace. “Too easy,” he murmured. “Too, too easy.”

  “Put your suspicions to rest, Highness,” Dax said. “We have won the day. If Incarnadine’s sorcery could prevail, it would have done so long before this.”

  Vorn stopped and nodded. “Aye, one would think so.”

  “He sprang his traps at every turn,” Althair said. “We always managed to fight our way out.”

  Vorn snorted. “We? You mean my soldiers did. At the cost of rivers of their blood.”

  Althair looked pained. “Yes. The battle in the mines …” He turned up his nose. “Ghastly business.” He dismissed the unpleasantness with a disdainful motion of the hand.

  Vorn viewed him coldly. “I am sorry your sensibilities were offended.”

  Althair stiffened. “I only state facts.”

  “Again, you would do well not to waste time arguing a case for the sky’s being up, or for shit’s being brown.”

  “May I remind His Royal Highness that I was against the lactic of undermining from the very first? If you had heeded my suggestions —”

  “I have had my ears stuffed full of your endless carping and quibbling for nigh a year.”

  Althair drew his narrow shoulders up. “His Royal Highness chooses convenient time to pick a fight, when the battle’s won and spoils are at hand to be divided.”

  Vorn whirled, eyes searching the room. “Spoils? Where? Like you, I see nothing but rat-gnawed blankets and barrels of moldy hardtack.”

  Lord Dax began, “The treasure room —”

  “And where is it?”

  “We must search for it.”

  “We’ll be centuries finding it.”

  A woman’s voice said, “With respect, I beg to differ with His Royal Highness.”

  The three men turned toward the arched doorway. Lady Melydia stood within it, flanked by two armed escorts. Carrying a satchel and a wooden case, Osmirik looked over her shoulder. Behind him other servants waited.

  Vorn smiled. “My lady.”

  She told the guards to wait outside, then entered, her blue-dyed long gown rustling as she moved. Osmirik followed her. As she drew near, she shivered and gathered her red shawl about her shoulders.
“This frightful place is always so cold.”

  Vorn undid his cape and draped it around her.

  “You are too kind, sire,” she said with a smile.

  Althair looked at Dax and rolled his eyes.

  Vorn returned her smile. “How do you beg to differ, my lady?”

  “In this wise, Highness. Finding the treasure room will be a small matter, once the Spell Stone is located.”

  “This is good news. How came you by it?”

  “Recently I have cast knowledge-gathering spells which have probed more deeply into the exact nature of the castle’s magic. Although I have had opportunity to do this in times past, I lacked the means. Getting the means took much scholarship over the past few months, much poring over ancient books.”

  Osmirik cast his eyes to the ceiling and cleared his throat.

  Melydia went on: “When the Spell Stone’s spell is abrogated, the castle will cease to exist. That much I knew. But I was unsure about the fate of everyone and everything in the castle. Now I know much more, although my knowledge is far from complete. According to my best calculations, this is what will happen with respect to physical objects inside the castle: any and all artifacts which exist in and of themselves — that is, which are not also magical constructs — will remain. Chairs and tables and spoons and knives, all inanimate objects, perforce including what valuables as may exist. With the castle gone, their location will of course be revealed.”

  Vorn’s grin was broad. “Excellent! And what of people?”

  Melydia took a breath. “Unfortunately, I cannot be so specific with regard to the beings, human and otherwise, who reside here. I think most of the latter will be swept away, banished to those regions of Hell that spawned them. As to the humans — guards, servants, and citizenry — if any of them are still in the castle when it goes, I know not what will be their fate. Some or all of them may in truth be demons. I have always harbored suspicions concerning their origin.”

  “What of Incarnadine himself?”

  Melydia frowned. “I do not know. He likely has already hied himself through one of the castle’s many portals, thereby eluding me … us.”

  Dax asked, “What of the curious lot who parade about the place in strange garb, doing even stranger things?”

  “You mean the so-called Guests?”

  “Yes. Well, the ones who appear human, at least.”

  “I suspect they, too, will be swept away. They appear human, but they also may be of infernal origin. At any rate, I think it safe to say that anything that entered Castle Perilous by magical means will vanish with it.”

  “Does this include us?” Althair asked.

  Melydia answered, “Hardly. We will not vanish. However, I am not sure exactly what will happen. There could be danger.”

  “What do you propose we do?” Vorn asked.

  “Continue mopping up — at least go through the motions, though no enemy be in sight. I will locate the Spell Stone.”

  “How will you do it?” Vorn asked.

  “By magical means, of course. I have it all planned. When I am ready to undertake the undoing of the spell, you and your men must leave the castle — get as far away as possible.”

  Vorn was taken aback. “Leave?”

  “You must. Yes, I know, Highness. The prospect of abandoning your conquest so quickly disturbs you. But shortly after you take leave of this place of evil, it will cease to exist forevermore. You will have wiped it from the face of the earth. Expunged it. And on the clean spot where it once stood, its fabulous treasures will lie waiting for you. You need only stoop to pick them up.”

  “But if we leave, the castle guards …”

  “They have gone, vanished through a thousand different portals. They will not return. And even if some do, they will be hard pressed to defend a castle that does not exist.”

  Vorn nodded. “Aye, true enough.” A smile spread slowly across his face. “Can it be true, then? Have we triumphed?”

  “Yes, Highness.You have triumphed.”

  Althair said, “Would it not be better to say that we have all triumphed?”

  “Of course,” Melydia said brusquely.

  “It is to you whom we owe this conquest,” Vorn said. “Were it not for your expertise —”

  “My sorcery,” she corrected. “I do not balk at the word.”

  “Truly, sorcery such as the world has never seen.”

  “In the service of the world’s greatest conqueror.”

  Vorn took her hand. “My lady.”

  Dax and Althair exchanged glances. Dax said, “Your pardon. I have many pressing duties. My men —”

  “Yes,” Althair said. “If we may have your leave …?”

  “Go,” Vorn said.

  They left. At that point Vorn noticed Osmirik’s presence. “Scribe, do you agree with your mistress’s predictions?”

  Osmirik took a moment to compose his answer. “Her Ladyship is wise beyond measure, Your Royal Highness. Everything that she says will happen, will likely happen. Even more than she says may happen.”

  Vorn cocked an eyebrow. “What more?”

  Osmirik glanced at Melydia, conscious of her glare.

  “Alas, I cannot say, Highness.”

  “Can not, or will not?”

  “He is free to speak his mind,” Melydia said.

  Osmirik’s dark eyebrows went up slightly.

  “Then speak,” Vorn commanded.

  “There is much danger,” Osmirik stated.

  “I said as much,” Melydia said sharply.

  “True, my lady,” Osmirik said. “You well know that this castle’s existence is maintained by great forces, forces that, once unleashed, may prove devastating.”

  Melydia addressed Vorn. “That is why, Highness, you and your men must be well away.”

  Vorn asked, “But what of you, my lady?”

  “Do not fear for me. My sorcery will provide ample protection.”

  “Scribe? Is she right?”

  “Sire, I, too, will be in the castle when the Spell Stone’s enchantment is nullified. I am reasonably certain of my continued existence after that event.”

  Vorn nodded, looking at Melydia. “So be it, then. I will do as you have asked. I am yours to command, my lady.”

  “It is you who command me, sire,” she said.

  Vorn offered his arm. “Come, we will dine. We have much to celebrate.”

  “I would be honored.”

  They left the chamber. Osmirik laid down his burdens, sat on a crate and let fall the hood of his cloak. He sighed, rubbing his eyes.

  “However,” he said to no one in particular, “there is some question as to the continued existence of the world.”

  Elsewhere

  The bazaar was near deserted that day. A few street urchins chased each other up and down the aisles between the stalls. Here and there a prospective buyer haggled with a vendor. In a nearby stockade shaggy, thick-legged pack animals brayed complainingly, tails swishing at biting insects. The sun was high and the day was hot.

  The book vendor awoke from his nap and cast a mercenary eye on the tall, well-dressed man who approached his stall. He liked what he saw. “Books, honored sir?”

  The man nodded and picked up a parchment scroll. He read the title and put the scroll aside.

  The book vendor smiled. “I took the honored sir for a man of culture and learning the moment I saw him.”

  “Indeed? I thank you.”

  The book vendor moved closer, eyeing the man’s choices.

  “That’s an especially interesting volume. Rare.”

  The stranger laid it aside and examined another, then another.

  Presently the book vendor said, “Is there anything in particular …?”

  “Yes. I am in search of a book of some repute, a work dealing with a certain aspect of the Recondite Arts.”

  “Magic, is it?”

  “More or less. Demonology.”

  The book vendor looked thoughtful. “Ah.�
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  “Be you Durstin, the book vendor?”

  “His honor knows of me? I am he.”

  “I was told you possessed a copy of this particular work.”

  “Does the honored sir know its title?”

  “It is simply called The Book of Demons.”

  The book vendor’s eyes did not betray his surprise. “I have … heard of it. It is a rare item indeed. Very old.”

  “Then you have a copy?”

  “Regrettably, no. A thousand pardons.”

  “A pity.” The man turned to go.

  “I …”

  “Yes?”

  Durstin looked away. “I am curious as to who told the honored sir that I possess a copy of a banned work … an allegation which I most emphatically deny.”

  “I was unaware that the book was proscribed.”

  “It is indeed, and has been for centuries on the List of Forbidden Works. As I said, I am curious —”

  “Khaalim sent me.”

  The book vendor nodded. “There is an inn near the stockyards called the Pale Eye. Be there at sunset.”

  “I have little time.”

  “We can’t do business in broad daylight. Not this sort of business.”

  “I will pay you double what the book would ordinarily fetch. Do you have it here in your stall?”

  Durstin cast his eyes from one end of the bazaar to the other. “I have been hauled before the Suzerain’s magistrate on one previous occasion. The charge was selling vulgar and immoral literature. The scars still twinge when the weather turns. For a work on the List —”

  “I will pay you handsomely. I need it now.”

  The book vendor was silent, still nervously looking about.

  “Name your price.”

  Durstin’s gaze swung round. He shrugged. “Say, fifty gold pieces?”

  “I said I would pay you handsomely. I did not say I would deliver over the fortune of a king.”