4
Etoh waited until the talking had faded, then stood up cautiously and looked around. His body was still numb from the spell, and he was exhausted both physically and mentally—from their forced march the day before, and from having used such advanced holy magic.
But he didn’t have time to be concerned for himself. They had to escape as quickly as possible. He’d heard the entire conversation between the sorceress Karla and her two minions, and knew they only had a small window of time in which they could escape.
They had to hurry, but there was nothing he could do by himself. He could tell his companions were alive from the quiet sounds of their breathing and the rising and falling of their chests. He could try waking them, but since they’d been knocked unconscious by magic, he decided it would be safer to wait until they woke naturally.
Etoh sat hugging his knees and lost himself in thought.
Karla had been sent by the Marmo Empire and had been part of covert operations in Kanon and Valis. But Slayn had never heard of her. There was that powerful wizard in Marmo, though—the one called Wagnard. Could he have disguised himself as a woman?
Whoever she was, it was bizarre that they’d gotten sucked into two of her plots. It seemed too strange to be coincidence…Could this be a test from the gods?
That answer actually made Etoh feel better. It meant Pharis was watching over him.
It took a full two hours for the others to wake up. Ghim was first, then Deedlit, Parn, Slayn, and Woodchuck. Once they were all conscious, he filled them in on everything he’d overheard.
After he finished, Etoh turned to Parn. “What should we do now?”
“Do you even have to ask?” Parn said. “Rescue Princess Fianna and get out of here before that witch gets back!” He shook his head, still bleary from the spell.
“Right—the sooner the better,” Deedlit said. “Those two men should be tired by now. At least one will probably be sleeping,” She checked her shoulder armor and drew out the hidden dagger within—fortunately, it was still there.
“This is gonna be a bit dicey if that’s our only weapon,” Woodchuck commented, looking at the dagger. “The skeleton outside is pretty tough, right?”
“A Spartoi? They’re more skilled than the average warrior,” Slayn said—the prowess of the Spartoi was why they’d been used as sentinels at the Wizard Academy. Slayn crept quietly to the door and peered out through the crack—the armored skeleton stood there, its hollow eyes watching the door. Slayn turned back to the group. “It’s definitely a Spartoi.”
Parn stood up, fists clenched. “We’ll still have to beat it,” he said.
“This could be used as a weapon.” With a huge crack, Ghim pulled a leg off the room’s table. “They’re not great, but we can use these as clubs. Better than nothing, at least.”
Parn took two of the clubs, and Etoh took one. Deedlit kept her dagger, despite claiming, “Though it won’t work on a skeleton.” She slid next to the door and prepared to leap out.
“Leave this to me and Ghim,” Parn said, brandishing his dual table legs.
Ghim and Parn stood side-by-side in front of the door, with Etoh a few steps behind them. When they were ready, Etoh said the word Karla had told the guards: “Lasta.”
The door slowly creaked open, and the Spartoi appeared beyond. It seemed to know that the time had come to fulfill its purpose. The dangling scimitar was slowly raised, and it readied the circular shield at its chest.
Ghim and Parn leapt out to face the Spartoi. For the first blow, Parn aimed for its defenseless head, but a quick block by its shield deflected his attack. The skeleton struck back, wielding the thin scimitar like a skilled swordsman. Parn parried somehow with his left table leg and thrust the right toward the Spartoi’s ribs, only for his strike to be blocked again.
Indeed, the Spartoi blocked every blow he attempted. And while Parn also managed to block the skeleton’s blows, with every block, the table leg in his left hand was gradually being chipped away.
I won’t last much longer like this, Parn thought, cold sweat dripping from his brow.
Behind him, his own table leg gripped in both hands, Ghim stood stock-still and waited for an opening. That was his preferred fighting style—cinching a victory in a single blow. He calmly followed the skeleton’s movements, sizing it up. He doubted that this monster would be felled with his makeshift club…but there was a way. Parn just had to hold out.
“Ghim, what are you doing?! Parn’s in danger!” Deedlit cried out from behind.
“Quiet!” Ghim yelled back. “Dwarves have our own way of fighting.” Etoh and Deedlit were poised behind Parn, ready to jump in if necessary—but hoping they wouldn’t need to.
“I can’t last like this!” Parn cried out in despair as one table leg took a direct hit and finally snapped in two. The scimitar swung right through it and into Parn’s torso, clanging hard against his armor. Deedlit screamed and looked away.
But the moment Ghim had been waiting for had arrived. The skeleton wasn’t prepared for its sword to swing so far forward—it overbalanced and staggered a step toward Parn.
The moment the skeleton began pulling its sword back, Ghim leapt into action. He swung low, then quickly struck upward toward the Spartoi’s sword arm. He hit his mark on the humerus, which shattered with a dry crack—though Ghim’s table leg shattered, as well. The Spartoi’s scimitar clattered to the floor.
Ghim tossed his useless weapon aside. With a fearsome battle cry, he charged the Spartoi, leading with his right shoulder—the skeleton tried to block with its shield. There was a sickening crack and though Ghim grimaced at the sharp pain spiking through his shoulder, he didn’t slow. Instead, he shoved the Spartoi up, hoisting it into the air.
The skeleton flailed its limbs, but it couldn’t grab on to anything. With another angry roar, Ghim heaved the Spartoi over the gallery handrail and sent it crashing to the stone floor below.
The Spartoi tried to struggle to its feet, but after a few moments its crushed limbs fell limp to the floor, and the skeleton stopped moving.
“We did it,” Parn said with a smile.
Ghim chuckled in return, then peered over the balcony. “Looks like our sleeping friends are up.”
Parn joined him in looking downstairs. The two mercenaries had come out into the hallway of the first floor, one armed with a sword, the other carrying a spear. They looked at the crushed skeleton with trepidation, but after a moment they seemed to notice that their enemies were unarmed and dashed up the stairs.
“Leave this to me!” Deedlit cried as she slid past Parn. She brandished her dagger and quickly cast a spell. The room was engulfed in darkness for a moment, and then the spirit of light floated out. The little glowing sphere darted playfully toward the stairs.
“I’ll go get our weapons!” Etoh yelled and dashed off—they were likely in the room next to their prison.
The Will-o’-wisp danced wildly across the width of the staircase, between Deedlit and the mercenaries. The elf readied her dagger.
“What’s that?” asked the sword-wielding mercenary, taking an experimental swipe at the sphere of light. The moment his blade touched the light, he cried out in pain and rolled down the stairs, clutching his right hand—Will-o’-wisp had delivered a powerful shock to it before vanishing.
The man with the spear paused, distracted by his companion’s screams. That turned out to be a fatal mistake—Deedlit let her dagger fly, and it buried itself right in the man’s throat.
The first mercenary overcame the pain in his hand to challenge Deedlit with his sword, but Deedlit took up the dead man’s spear and finished him off.
By the time Etoh returned with their weapons, it was over.
“Here’s your rapier, Deedlit,” Etoh said, handing the weapon over. He couldn’t keep the impressed look off his face.
Deedlit sheathed her rapier at her hip, smoothed her disheveled hair with both hands, and turned to Parn. “Now what?”
“We rescue the princess, of course,” Parn declared, heading back into the hallway.
It didn’t take long to find the room where Princess Fianna was being kept. It was locked, and they could detect neither noise nor light from within.
Parn and Woodchuck exchanged a look. The thief sidled silently over to the door, took a wire from his pocket, and inserted it into the keyhole.
“Doesn’t seem to be trapped,” he murmured. He jiggled the wire a few times, then the lock opened with a click.
Parn opened the door. The faint light from the hallway illuminated the entryway, but it was pitch dark thereafter.