The Wizard's Heir (31 page)

The farther they walked, the more the dust cleared. The bricks that lined this portion of the tunnel were very old, mottled in color and uneven from settling. Finally, they could go no farther and found a set of metal rungs hammered into the bricks, just as Alistair had said. “We’re here.”

“Finally.” Malachi groaned and leaned against the wall as if they’d been walking for miles.

Tybolt climbed, then cautiously pushed the cover up. It’d been years since Alistair had taken this path—things could’ve changed. With his luck, he’d come up in the middle of a main hallway. He raised his head.

The darkness was nearly complete, with the exception of a sliver of yellow that glowed to his right. He held up a hand and whispered, “Light.”

A rat scuttled away with a screech down the empty hall. The layers of dust said that nothing but rodents had been here for years. Satisfied, Tybolt looked down at Malachi’s anxious face below him. The light from his hands painted the boy in shadows. “Stay here,” he commanded.

“What? By myself? But…but…what if you need a…” He struggled for a viable excuse. Finally he blurted, “A diversion!”

Tybolt’s exasperation bubbled over. “What?”

“A diversion. If you need someone to look another way, then I would—”

“I know what a diversion is.”

“I can help you. Let me come.”

Tybolt sighed and shook his head. “Just stay here and don’t move.” He climbed up and headed to the right.

A diversion. Of all the ridiculous suggestions. Malachi would trip on his own feet and bring anyone left in the castle straight to them.

The brick wall Alistair had spoken of loomed before him, and Tybolt ran his hands across it, illuminating it while searching for the smallest brick. His heart picked up speed again. It wasn’t here. They were all exactly the same size. He crouched and checked every corner until his fingers ran over the top of a tiny red brick. He pushed.

The brick snapped, and then something clicked. Tybolt froze, listening for the sound of voices or footsteps. When there was no indication he’d been heard, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Applying pressure, the door started to swing open but then stopped.

Tybolt peeked around the side and realized the secret door was behind a tapestry. He slid through the opening and out into a hallway he’d never seen before. At both ends stood a door.

He walked quickly to the left and pushed the door open just a crack. He peered through to find the royal bedroom.  It was deserted, and Rowan’s master keys sat neatly on the side table. Tybolt couldn’t hold back his smile. He slipped inside and took two steps, his hand outstretched.

Someone leapt from the thick curtains that hung from the bed canopy and smashed into him. Tybolt was tossed to the side, crashing into the wall. He scrambled to his feet while reaching for his sword. Kelton was prepared for the move, and he brought an elbow down on Tybolt’s forearm.

Tybolt grunted as fiery pain spread up to his elbow and down to his wrist. He was worried for a moment that Kelton had broken his arm. He rolled to the other side and up to his feet, clenching his hand in a fist to make sure he still had movement.

Not broken—yet.

Kelton grinned as he lowered his stance, elbows at his side. “Rowan has a price on your head.”

“And you were stuck here guarding the keys. You must’ve been disappointed.”

“I was, but not now.”

Tybolt charged. He lowered his shoulder like he meant to ram it into Kelton’s abdomen. Right before impact, he dropped lower and smashed into Kelton’s knees. He felt the one pop farther back than the other, and Kelton screamed as muscles and tendons tore. An elbow came down between Tybolt’s shoulder’s blades, and he fell to his knees as Kelton dropped on top of him.

With that bad knee, Kelton wouldn’t be able to stand. He’d try to keep Tybolt on the ground where he might be able to gain the upper hand. Tybolt had been choked out in training by Kelton before—ground grappling was his strength.

Tybolt scrambled, squirming out of his grasp. Kelton grabbed his foot, and Tybolt kicked until he released. Tybolt stood, finding the advantage. He pulled back and hammered a fist to the temple. Kelton fell to the side, unconscious.

Tybolt shook out his fist. Kelton’s skull was as thick as it looked, and his hand throbbed.

He ran to the table and snatched the keys, then made his way down the hall to check the opposite door. He carefully pushed it open and saw the throne room, just as Alistair had said he would. Unfortunately, it was full of young Hunters, all staring out the windows at the devastation. He cursed under his breath.

Although they weren’t fully trained, they still had the natural abilities of the Hunters, and he was greatly outnumbered. Even if he could fight them all and win, it would not be a fast battle, and he didn’t need someone running for help.

There was only one thing Tybolt could think to do.

He jogged back to the secret passage, slipping between the tapestry and the door. He dropped to his knees and poked his head down through the hole. He hoped he wouldn’t regret this. “Malachi,” he whispered. “I need a diversion.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Just…don’t hurt yourself climbing up here.”

Less than ten seconds later, Malachi’s foot slipped on a rung and he cracked his knee. “I’m fine!” he called up, a little too loudly.

He reached down and grabbed the boy by the arm, lifting him the rest of the way out. “All right, the throne room is filled with young Hunters. I need you to take these keys and tell them that King Rowan has ordered they check the Hold for damage to make sure it’s safe to return the wizards. Once they leave, I want you to lock the door.”

“But, but—” Malachi looked frantically into Tybolt’s eyes. “They’re Hunters. How am I supposed to overpower them?”

“You're not. You’re going to outsmart them.” He tapped the boy’s forehead. “Tell them the King was explicit that the Hold be checked from the inside out. Make it clear that they
must
check every wall and every bar.” He shoved the keys into Malachi’s hands. “You have the master key ring, so they’ll think you got it from Rowan. They won’t question the order.”

“Oh...okay,” Malachi stammered.

“No, don’t let your voice shake. Confidence. Understood?”

Malachi nodded and his filthy hair bobbed. Tybolt realized for the first time how horrible he looked. He brushed at the boy’s coat and hair, trying to get as much dirt off as possible. “If they ask why you look like this tell them…” He trailed off, lacking an answer.

“That I was retrieving King Rowan’s horses after they escaped from the stable?”

“Yes.” Tybolt smiled. “Perfect.”

Tybolt watched from the crack as Malachi marched into the throne room and ordered the young Hunters about. He did well. Tybolt could detect a bit of nerves, but only because he knew the boy. He couldn’t help but feel a little pride mixed with a touch of guilt. Asher had been right to send him out to gather help in the village. Tybolt had never given Malachi the credit he deserved because of his clumsiness.

Tybolt waited until the last of the Hunters trailed out, and then he opened the door. He hurriedly peeked around the room one last time before he leapt off the small platform the throne rested on. He was seized with a desire to smash it—the physical representation of Rowan’s fraud—into a thousand pieces, but it would have to wait. He sprinted for the far door. Rowan would need a room large enough to hold all the wizards from the Hold, and since they weren’t here, Tybolt’s next guess was the old ballroom. He stepped into the outer hallway.

“Hey! What are you—”

Tybolt whirled with an elbow up, catching the guard in the jaw. He heard the crack of bone, and the guard crumpled to the ground.

Terric’s sword crashed into hers and Auriella slid to the side, funneling the force of his blow down her blade. Metal hissed and Terric’s weapon slammed into the muddy earth.

An arrow whizzed by Auriella’s face. She glanced to the side just in time to see Asher pull back his bow and send a reply straight into the back of the attacking villager. The man fell face first in the mud, red fletching a bright flag of warning to other assailants.

“I see Asher’s thrown his lot in with you and Tybolt,” Terric yelled over the storm. “For that, he dies too.”

She wouldn’t respond to threats with anything but actions. She took a quick step forward, jabbing. Terric barely moved out of the way in time. He sprung forward. She raised her defense only a moment before his blade smashed down. Too close.

Swords made two different sounds, she’d found. The usual clang of sparring and the harder, deeper resonance when the fighter’s only desire was his opponent’s death. She knew it was the sheer force that changed the tone, but it had always sounded to her as if the blade knew the bearer’s intent.

A gust of wind sent them both stumbling to the side. Auriella’s hair whipped into her face, obscuring her vision. Terric took advantage of the distraction and swung. Luckily he was still a little off balance—the tip only caught the edge of her sleeve. Before either could make their next move, the earth shook beneath their feet. Cracks spider-webbed and bubbles of air popped through the mud.

Nature betrayed itself, announcing the next move.

Auriella shouted and jumped backwards while Terric dove in the opposite direction. The water-laden soil opened up, a chasm with a fraction of the depth of the one Asher had nearly vanished into. It was still big enough to send a message—at any moment the ground beneath her feet could give out, and she’d have no time to save herself.

On the other side Terric slowly rose to his feet, his nostrils flaring like an enraged bull. With no warning, he leapt. Auriella stepped back to buy herself enough time to raise her sword. They parried back and forth, Hunter against Hunter, in a well-matched duel. The clang of weapons sang above the roar of the wind.

“Don’t you think it’s odd that Rowan sent every Hunter out hours before a second Fracture?” Auriella shouted.

Terric stepped forward with an intricate series of moves. “I don’t care.”

“He’s trying to kill all of us, you fool!”

“The only thing I care about is shoving a sword through your gut,” he snarled.

Terric fought like a madman, a trained madman, which was infinitely more dangerous. Auriella met each attack without fear, but Terric was gaining the advantage, and she knew it. His adrenaline and hate fed his abilities, increasing his capacity to more than she’d seen from him before. Her mind raced through training scenarios, trying to remember anything that would give her the upper hand.

He sneered over the flash of steel, and she realized she didn’t need any more techniques to end this. She needed to cheat. Auriella pushed, shoving her sword with all her body weight behind it, bringing her within inches of his face.

His eyes glinted like she’d made a fatal mistake—he was, after all, stronger than her, so close quarters was a bad choice. But she didn’t intend to be here long. She let go of the hilt with one hand and dug her fingers into the infected wound on his check.

Terric screamed and his knees buckled, his skin fading to ghost white.

He was on his knees at her feet, and she wanted to torture him for information about her father, but there was no time. This was the only chance she would get. Auriella grabbed her sword and rammed it through Terric’s chest.