[Mkguild] The Last Tale of Yajakali - Chapter XLV

[C. Matthias]

Finished just in time for AC, the next chapter!

Chapter XLV

Prisons of Breckaris

         The soldiers had no difficulty marching 
the Keepers to the dungeons, as they were still 
under the Marquis’s compulsion.  As if they were 
but marionettes, they all marched amiably into 
the dank corridors beneath the garrison at the 
castle’s bailey wall.  And as though he were 
feeling magnanimous, the Marquis changed both 
Charles and James back to their two-legged 
forms.  The naked donkey walked with a noticeable 
limp, but his face betrayed none of the pain he 
must have felt from his branding.
         The guards split them into several 
different levels under Agathe’s direction.  The 
Runecaster’s voice was angry and the guards were 
quick to obey, their eyes the only ones filled 
with fear.  Charles was glad that she kept James 
and he together, and was surprised when she also 
ordered both Habakkuk and Lindsey to follow them 
down into a long corridor lit only by the 
occasional torch.  The hall stank of mould, 
faeces, and tar; no hint of the sea air permeated 
this deep.  The cells were all along one side of 
the hall, and they were shoved into the first four.
         Once the doors were slammed, Agathe drew 
a rune upon Charles’s door, which glowed a bright 
blue for a moment before fading.  The rat wanted 
to grab her through the cell bars, but the 
Marquis’s cards kept him firmly rooted in 
place.  It was too dark to see her expression, 
but the rat could make out the smouldering of her 
empty eye socket.  He imagined she scowled at 
them one last time before seeing to the other prisoners.
         They heard the guards leave the hallway, 
but Charles felt certain they stood just 
outside.  Somehow, he doubted subduing the guards 
would be there most challenging task.  If they 
could not even break free of the Marquis’s 
control, then why bother even locking them behind 
bars?  And why not kill them?  The Marquis could 
certainly have done so at any point; their 
helplessness had never been more apparent.  Was 
it because Qan-af-årael was not in du Tournemire’s deck?
         Unable to solve the many riddles that 
surrounded them, Charles turned his attention to 
his cell.  It was made from the same masonry 
they’d found in the throne room, only these 
blocks were still rough, and coated with a thin 
layer of slime that he did not want to speculate 
on.  The ivy pulled tighter around his body; 
Charles wasn’t sure if it was afraid of the 
mildew, or attempting to protect him from it.
         For many long minutes after the guards 
had left, they stood frozen by the cards. And 
then, without warning, they all felt the 
compulsion leave their bodies.  Surprised, 
Charles collapsed to the ground and took a moment 
to flex his stony flesh to be certain he was 
acting under his own will.
         James’s moaning voice brought his ears 
up.  The donkey was using the warrior’s breath, 
something Charles had taught him as a way to 
manage pain.  Deep, slow breaths would steady the 
body and allow the mind to focus.  James was no 
expert and they could all hear it in the way he cried.
         “James, try not to think about the 
pain.  It will heal, you will heal.  Pain and 
fear will kill your mind as surely as a sword 
will kill your body if you let them.  Remember what I taught you.”
         The donkey’s voice resounded faintly, 
“I’m trying.  It hurts... they branded me like a beast!”
         “I’m sorry... I’m so sorry,” Lindsey 
cried, but his voice was so low it sounded as if he were miles away.
         “Not... your... fault!” James exclaimed 
through clenched teeth.  Charles heard him 
crawling around, and then his breathing became 
less ragged. “Ah... that’s better.”
         “What did you do?” Charles asked, eyes 
studying the iron bars of his prison.  If not for 
Agathe’s spell on the door, he would have already 
bent the bars.  Or he could shrink down to the 
shape of a true rat and slip through them.  But 
he suspected that would be a bad idea.  The last 
time he’d crossed one of Agathe’s spells he’d 
become a statue, and only the intervention of a 
pair of Lothanasi gods had given him a chance of 
becoming flesh again.  And for that to happen, 
Agathe had to die, which judging by their 
previous encounters struck him as unlikely.
         “I put the brand against the floor,” 
James replied after catching his breath.  He was 
still wincing as he spoke, but not as bad as before. “It’s wet and cold.”
         “Good idea. Now do we have any that will 
free us from this place?  I’m hesitant to do 
anything because that witch put a spell on my door before she left.”
         “And you shouldn’t,” Habakkuk called 
out. “I’ve seen this moment, or at least events 
around it.  And if you do anything to that door, 
or even try to slip through the stone around it, you will be lost.”
         Charles grimaced. “Is this the time you 
spoke of when you asked me to trust you and not enter the stone?”
         “Aye, it is.  And there are other 
things.  I once said I had seen a city, a father 
and son, but I knew none of them.  This is the 
city, and Duke Schanalein is the father.”
         “And the son?” Lindsey asked.
         “He was not in the throne room.”
         “And do you see anything now?” James 
asked.  Silence was the only reply. “Zhypar?”
         “Nae, I see nothing.  Nothing at all.” 
Habakkuk’s voice was empty, and that fact more 
than any other brought the rat real fear.

----------

         “Where are you taking us?”
         Kurt kept walking, knowing Tugal was 
right behind him.  Soldiers patrolled along the 
top of the bailey wall, but they wouldn’t see 
anyone who walked flush at its base especially 
after dusk.  And that was where they trod, a 
soldier and a serving woman, following the inside of the bailey wall.
         “The dungeons are beneath the old 
barracks.  We’ll never get in through the main 
gate, but there’s a servant’s entrance.  The door 
is hidden on the inside, so prisoners will never 
know its there.” He fell quiet at the sound of 
boots overhead.  Tugal nodded and walked 
lightly.  Beneath the servant’s smocks the Mother 
Superior had supplied, she kept at least one pair 
of knives.  Kurt suspected she had even more hidden, but he didn’t want to pry.
         When all was silent but for the distant 
cry of a hawk, Kurt pointed towards a squat 
structure of ancient stone and creeping moss lit 
by torches and lampstands.  It was built into the 
bailey wall, with only arrow slits for windows. 
“Do you see the small door next to the gutter?  That’s where we go.”
         “No guards?”
         “There will be plenty inside. Keep your head down and say nothing.”
         The door was fashioned from heavy iron 
and did not open easily.  Kurt had been expecting 
this; no servant entered the dungeons without an 
armed escort; it took a trained soldier’s 
strength to move that door. “Now remember,” Kurt 
cautioned after he’d pried the door wide enough 
to step through, “we don’t want to kill the 
guards if we can help it.” Tugal narrowed her eyes but said nothing.
         Beyond the door was a staircase leading 
down.  A single torch at the bottom of the steps 
brought illumination.  Kurt motioned for Tugal to 
slip past him while he closed the door.  He was 
surprised that it made no noise; even the hinges 
sounded well-oiled.  But he was not the type to worry over good fortune.
         With sure step they reached the bottom 
of the stairs and were faced with another 
door.  Tugal glanced at him and he nodded.  She 
lowered her eyes and kept an air of meekness as 
she pressed on the handle.  The door opened into 
one end of a hallway with a set of barred iron 
doors in the middle.  Two guards sat playing dice in front of the doors.
         One of them lifted his eyes and studied 
them with a scowl. “I was told not to expect you tonight.”
         Kurt tried to hide his dismay. “I was 
never told to shirk my duties, and I won’t on the 
word of the gaoler.” He stepped further into the 
light, allowing the soldier to glimpse his 
officer’s uniform.  The guard’s eyes widened in 
surprise. “We have important prisoners to watch, 
and you two are playing games?” Kurt had a lot of 
practice as the Duke’s son feigning indignation, 
and he could tell it worked. “Where are the other guards?”
         “In the barracks above!  There’s no way the prisoners can escape.”
         “I’ll be the judge of that,” Kurt replied. “What are your names?”
         “Alaric and Einhard,” the first guard 
said.  He gripped the pommel of his sword, 
suspicion dawning in his face. “You’re too young to be an officer.”
         “And you look familiar,” Einhard added. “Have we seen you before?”
         Well, that bluff failed.  Time for his 
back-up plan. “Aye.  I’m Kurt Schanalein, son of 
the Duke.” Their eyes widened in surprise, 
familiarity becoming recognition.  Kurt smiled 
affably.  It was time to treat them in the manner 
with which he’d won the confidence of his fellow 
soldiers. “Alaric, Einhard, I am not here to test 
your loyalty, nor to question your devotion.  I 
am here to see to the prisoners and to make sure 
that more guards aren’t needed.  My father asked 
me to do this only a short time ago, which is why 
you have not heard of it.  Soldiers rarely do 
hear of these things, something I know now that I have become one too.”
         Alaric and Einhard glanced at each 
other.  Einhard took a step back from the table, 
while Alaric gave Kurt an apologetic stare. “I’m 
sorry your grace, but your father ordered us to 
detain you and alert the others if you appeared.” 
He drew his sword while Einhard took quick 
strides towards the stairs at the other end of 
the hall leading to the barracks above.
         Tugal immediately dropped her pretense 
and dashed after Einhard.  The guard turned in 
surprise, but fell beneath her weight.  One 
dagger flashed in her hand and then Einhard went 
still.  Alaric stared in horror before lunging at 
Tugal.  Kurt drew his sword and put the tip to 
the man’s neck. “Do not make me kill you, Alaric.  Lower your sword.”
         “Your grace...” his voice was angry but 
he complied.  Tugal busied herself with Einhard’s 
body, but Kurt didn’t dare risk a glance.  He hoped the guard was all right.
         “Tell me where the prisoners are.  Tell me, Alaric.”
         Alaric closed his eyes, and then nodded 
quickly. “There are four in the cells beneath us, 
three below them, two more below them, and one more in the lowest cellars.”
         “Where are the keys?”  Alaric shifted 
his hips and a set of keys jingled on his belt. 
“Toss them to the ground.” Alaric did so. “How 
many guards wait below us?  How many?”
         “The standard complement,” Alaric 
snapped. “I can’t believe you’re a traitor, your grace!”
         “And by this time tomorrow, I won’t be,” 
Kurt assured him.  He heard Tugal pluck the keys 
from the ground and begin testing them in the 
lock. “Open a cell; we’ll put these two 
together.” Alaric glared at him but did nothing 
while Tugal found the right key.  After opening 
the massive iron doors, Tugal dragged Einhard 
through.  Kurt nudged Alaric meaningfully and the 
guard followed them into the first row of cells.
         Tugal chose a cell towards the rear of 
the corridor that already stood open.  Kurt saw 
that the prisons were currently empty, a fact 
that struck him as mildly disturbing.  He had no 
time to speculate, and gestured for Alaric to 
join the limp form of Einhard in the 
cell.  Alaric frowned and then buckled when Tugal 
struck the back of his head with the hilt of her dagger.
         “Why did you do that?” Kurt asked in surprise.
         “You don’t want him shouting for help do 
you?” Tugal replied as she dragged him into the 
cell beside Einhard.  Kurt grimaced and glanced 
at the second guard; he wasn’t bleeding, so she 
must have knocked him out too.  Good.
         Kurt watched her efficiently bind the 
two guards, and chuckled to himself. “Weren’t you 
thinking of joining the nunnery this morning?”
         Tugal grinned. “Aye, but I haven’t been 
baptised yet.” Kurt chuckled again and set about 
checking the guards for weapons.  On Einhard he 
only found a sword and a dagger.  Those he set in 
a different cell.  Tugal brought Alaric’s weapons a moment later.
         “It will look better if I have the 
keys,” Kurt pointed out.  Tugal nodded and handed 
them over. “Now let’s free the 
Metamorians.  There should be four of them on the 
level below us, and only two guards...” Both 
their heads turned at the sound of booted feet 
running up the stairs ahead of them.  Tugal 
clutched her knives tight, eyes narrowed, body 
tense and ready for a fight.  Kurt held his sword 
the way he’d been taught, hoping he wouldn’t have to kill anyone.
         Half a dozen soldiers poured into the 
hall, swords drawn. “Lower your weapons and we 
won’t kill your companion, your grace,” one of 
them shouted.  How had they known, Kurt 
wondered.  Had somebody been spying on him as 
he’d been spying on his father?  Well, there was 
nothing else to be done, they had to fight.  He 
could hear Tugal growling and saw a smile spreading across her lips.
         But it was not Tugal who answered 
them.  From behind them a raspy voice cried, “Lux 
Caecus!” A brilliant flash of light filled the 
chamber and the six guards threw their hands to the faces, gasping in pain.
         Kurt blinked the flash from his eyes, 
while Tugal rushed the men, smacking them on the 
head with the butt of her dagger.  One by one 
they went down, not a one of them able to stop 
her.  Kurt turned to see who had cast the spell 
and was forced to blink again; not from the 
light, but from the strangeness of what he 
saw.  Standing just inside the outer doorway was 
a hawk as tall as a man.  It regarded them with 
alert golden eyes that missed nothing.  This had to be the missing Keeper.
         “You.. You’re the one that got away from 
the ambush,” Kurt stammered. “Thank you for saving us.”
         “Who are you?” the hawk asked in its 
raspy voice.  Tugal stared slack-jawed at the 
Metamorian. “I overheard you say you were going to free my friends, but why?”
         “I’m Kurt Schanalein, and this is 
Tugal.  We too are victims of the Marquis du 
Tournemire.  I hoped we could help each other.  Who are you?”
         The hawk studied them a moment more 
before saying, “Jessica.  My name is Jessica. What do you wish of my friends?”
         So the hawk was a woman?  There did seem 
something feminine in her voice and manner. “I 
need your help to free my father from the 
Marquis’s control.  He’s a good man and would 
never do this if not for du Tournemire.”
         Jessica considered it and finally 
nodded. “I will help, as will my friends.  Do you know where they are?”
         “Yes, but we must hurry.  That fight was 
sure to alert every guard in the barracks.”
         Jessica squawked, and it took them a 
moment to realize she was laughing. “I cast a 
silence spell on the door here. Nobody outside can hear any of this.”
         Kurt grinned and breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, thank you again!”
         Tugal kicked one of the unconscious 
bodies and grimaced. “When do the guards change?”
         “Midnight,” Kurt replied. “We have about 
five hours before anyone notices.”
         “Then lets make good use of the time,” Jessica suggested.
         “And fast,” Kurt added. “These guards 
knew it was me.  We don’t know who else may know!”

         Before proceeding to the next floor, 
Kurt and Tugal put the other six guards in the 
cells while Jessica cast another enchantment on 
the pair of iron doors to protect them.  They 
would still be trapped, but with all of her 
friends together, she was confident that they’d find a way out of the prison.
         Once satisfied, the trio proceeded 
deeper into the dungeon.  At the end of the 
hallway, there was a turn to the left which led 
to another hall filled with empty cells, while on 
the right a set of stairs descended further 
beneath the streets of Breckaris.  The stairs 
were wide enough for two men to walk side by 
side, so Kurt and Tugal went down at the same 
time.  Jessica followed them as quietly as she was able.
         The stairs ended in an abrupt right turn 
with a set of iron bars.  The door stood open, 
and the guard station beyond was abandoned.  All 
of them must have come when they’d heard Kurt and 
Tugal above.  Beyond the guard station lay two 
corridors, both of them lined with cells on one 
side.  Down the darker of the two they found the first of their friends.
         Lindsey saw them first, and waved his 
arm through the bars, calling out Jessica’s name 
in a harsh whisper.  The trio came into sight, 
and the Keepers flocked to their prison doors. 
“Jessica, praise Eli!” the woodcutter added. 
“We’ve been worried about you.  Who are your allies?”
         “This is Kurt and Tugal,” Jessica 
replied, even as Kurt tried the keys in Lindsey’s 
lock. “We have a mutual enemy in the Marquis.”
         “All mankind has a mutual enemy in the 
Marquis,” Charles groused, even as he heard 
Lindsey’s cell door open. “Good to know somebody else recognizes it.”
         They next came to Habakkuk’s cell, and 
the kangaroo gasped when he saw them. “So that’s it!  You’re the son!”
         Kurt and Tugal glanced at each other in 
confusion, until Lindsey grabbed Kurt by the 
collar.  A dagger pressed into his groin a moment 
later and Tugal hissed, “Put him down or you’ll never be a man again.”
         “If that worked, I’d welcome it,” 
Lindsey snapped, but he set Kurt down 
anyway.  Tugal, her eyes still confused, drew 
back her weapon, but she did not sheath it.  The 
woodcutter glared at Kurt, whose face was flush 
with surprise. “You’re Schanalein’s whelp.  He’s 
the Marquis’s ally!  What are you playing at?”
         Kurt straightened his uniform and 
scowled, but not at the woodcutter. “The Marquis 
controls my father with his cards.  He’s been 
doing so for nearly nine months now.  I’m a 
pariah in my own home, only kept alive because 
I’m the sole heir.  I’m here to free you because 
I want your help to free my father.”
         “He’s telling the truth,” Jessica said, 
placing her reassuring wingtips on Lindsey’s shoulder.
         “We cannot fight the Marquis,” Lindsey 
sighed. “We cannot save anyone from his evil.”
         Kurt frowned, but resumed unlocking 
doors.  The same key was used for all the cells 
in the hall, so he’d soon freed both Habakkuk and 
James.  The donkey limped as he emerged, the 
black brand visible on his thigh even in the 
gaol’s dim illumination.  Tugal handed him a pair 
of baggy pants from her tunic and he took them 
gratefully.  He was still bare-chested, but at least he was modest again.
         When Kurt approached the rat’s cell, 
Charles bade him stop.  He held out his paws and 
shook his head. “You cannot free me just yet.  A 
spell has been placed on the cell door.  While it 
lingers, you dare not touch the door.”
         Kurt blinked and backed away, one hand 
making the sign of the yew over his chest. “How will we get you out?”
         “Go find the others and free 
them.  Jessica can stay and study the 
spell.  With luck she can break it.  Then, I 
won’t need the keys to escape these bars.” He 
grinned, and the Keepers grinned with him.
         “But what of James?  He looks injured,” Jessica objected.
         “It’s a brand, as you saw,” the donkey 
muttered. “The more I walk, the better I will be.”
         “He speaks truth,” Tugal said.  She eyed 
them warily, as if their presence was 
uncomfortable.  Charles guessed that she’d never seen a Keeper before.
         “We’ll hurry back,” Kurt assured them. 
“There are probably more guards below somewhere, 
so be careful.” He set off for the other corridor 
followed closely by Tugal.  The Keepers gave him 
a bit more distance, as if they weren’t sure they 
could be trusted. Charles hoped they could, but 
after the day’s events, he was lucky he still knew up from down.
         Once they were gone, Charles leaned 
towards the cell door and whispered, “Can you open it?”
         Jessica stared at something only she 
could see for some time.  She would glance 
between it and the rat every few seconds, but did 
not acknowledge the question.  It wasn’t until 
she lifted one talon and pried at the air that 
she finally answered. “I think so.  It’s very 
complicated, but I’ve seen far worse.  And from the same hand.”
         “Truly?  When?”
         “On his grace, Duke Thomas, when they 
tried to turn him into an ordinary horse.”
         Charles nodded and grimaced.  He’d been 
living at Glen Avery when that had happened, and 
so he knew very little of it.  Misha probably 
shouldn’t have told him - Andwyn may have ordered 
him not to - but the fox didn’t listen very well 
when the safety of his Longs was concerned.
         Jessica was using the short claws at the 
tips of her wings and the toes of one foot to pry 
something apart.  It was as if a giant knot that 
he couldn’t see bound him inside.  Watching her 
balance almost effortlessly on one leg nearly 
brought a laugh to his tongue but he stilled it. 
Instead, he turned his mind back to what she’d 
revealed of the spell’s caster. “How do you know it was the same mage?”
         “There are features to the runes, a 
style of drawing, that I recognize from the spell 
on his grace.  It has to be the same mage.”
         Charles crossed his arms and spoke even 
quieter than before, “If I tell you something, will it distract you?”
         She shook her head. “I’m almost finished.  What is it?”
         “I know who killed your master.  I know who killed Wessex.”
         Jessica lifted her eyes, shock and 
horror filling them. “What?” He could see the 
agony of memory suffusing her.  It was like a 
wave of sand sweeping across the desert rocks, 
swallowing them whole one by one until all that 
was left was the storm.  She closed her eyes and 
took a deep breath, stilling that fury. “Let me 
break this spell; then tell me.”
         “Of course,” Charles waited as the hawk 
worked.  She was shaken, but she hid it well.  He 
could see the slight trembling of her feathers, 
but her wing tips and talons were sure.  Had 
Charles been flesh and blood, he would have been 
nervous, afraid that something would go 
wrong.  But he was stone, and stone was very 
patient.  There were certainly reasons to be 
thankful that he was stone and not flesh.  But that time would soon end.
         It only took Jessica a few minutes more 
before she visibly relaxed.  The lock in the cell 
door clicked and the door swung open.  She 
stepped back and took another deep breath, 
exhaling slowly, wings and feathers sagging from 
the effort. “There.  It’s safe for you to come 
out.  Now tell me what happened to Wessex.”
         Charles cautiously stepped through the 
doorway, but he felt no different.  He stretched 
his fingers and toes, glad to be out of the 
cell.  Then he turned back to the hawk and 
pointed at the door. “Her name is Agathe; she is 
the one who ensorceled me, my cell door, Duke 
Thomas, and she is also the one who murdered 
Wessex and reanimated his corpse last Winter’s Solstice.”
         Jessica stared hard at the door, and 
then at the rat. “Agathe?  The Runecaster?”  Her 
voice was distant, but there was steel 
there.  Her eyes narrowed, simmering with an 
anger that had long been set aside. “Is she still here?”
         “The Marquis left her here to be our 
gaoler,” Charles replied. “She is here and she is alone.”
         Her beak cracked in a predatory grin. “Alone?”
         “Alone.  I tell you this because you 
deserve to know.  I saw her face; those scars 
were made by Wessex. I don’t think Zhypar or 
Qan–af-årael would want me telling you this, for 
fear of what you might do.  Please do not 
jeopardize the rest of us for revenge’s sake.”
         “That I will not do,” she assured him, 
but the fire still smouldered in her voice. 
“Still, if I have the chance to kill the Runecaster, I will.”
         “Good.  Now let’s find the others.  We 
have yet to escape this prison!”

         The next level down had been free of 
guards, but the one below that had a pair who 
vainly tried to block their way.  Jerome, once 
freed from the Sondeck sapping manacles, punched 
both men so quickly that not a one of the Keepers 
saw him strike.  He assured a worried Kurt 
Schanalein that neither man was dead, but he 
couldn’t promise that none of their ribs were 
broken.  While Abafouq and Kayla did what they 
could for their wounds, with Lindsey and James 
keeping a ready eye open for reinforcements, Kurt 
led the rest into the dark corridors slick with 
mildew and pools of putrid water.
         “How can anyone stand guard duty in this 
place?” Jerome complained quietly.
         Kurt shrugged. “We don’t normally keep 
prisoners this deep.  Usually there are no quards 
down here.  If Alaric spoke the truth, then there 
won’t be anymore.  But I think he lied about 
that.” Tugal nodded grimly and gestured to a side passage. “Here they are.”
         They found Guernef squeezed into a cell 
barely large enough to hold him.  In fact, it was 
so small he couldn’t turn around; his tail swayed 
back and forth through the bars, and his 
hindquarters showed welts where some guard braver 
than most had struck him with the flat of his 
sword.  Despite his confinement, he was still an 
imposing figure, and Kurt was quick to step out 
of the Nauh-kaee’s way after opening the 
door.  Guernef had to keep his wings tucked in 
tight, but he managed to pry himself free.
         “Guernef, are you well?” Habakkuk 
asked.  Tugal stared at him in awe, but not as if 
he were a surprise.  It was as if she found his 
presence here in the dungeons the startling 
thing.  It was almost as if she’d seen a 
Nauh-kaee before.  The kangaroo wondered at that, 
and wondered at why there was something familiar 
about her, but was too distracted to ponder it for long.
         Once free of the cell, the Nauh-kaee 
stretched his wings, limbs, neck and beak.  His 
white feathers and fur were smeared with the 
mould clinging to the walls.  He glanced at 
Habakkuk, dark avian eyes measuring him and the 
two newcomers. “I am well.  Who are they?”
         “Allies.  Kurt Schanalein and 
Tugal.  They’re helping us escape and can be 
trusted.  Do you know where the Åelf are?”
         Guernef turned to Kurt and Tugal, and 
squawked, “I thank you both.” Turning back to the 
kangaroo he added,”I did not see where they took 
Qan-af-årael, but Andares was led down this corridor.”
         The passage took two more twists before 
they found him.  He sat in the last cell, yet 
somehow managed not to dirty his trousers with 
the mucus coating the stone floor.  There were a 
few smudges on his tunic, but these came from the 
handling of the guards, not his cell.  Other than 
these, he appeared unharmed.  Like the Nauh-kaee, 
he accepted their benefactors without 
question.  But neither did he know where the ancient Åelf had been taken.
         “He must be on the sewer level,” Kurt 
reasoned. “Alaric was right about that much.” He 
grimaced and stared at Guernef. “I’m afraid 
you’ll have to stay up here.  The passages down 
there are too narrow.  You might not be able to traverse them either, Zhypar.”
         “We’ll rejoin the others then,” the 
kangaroo agreed. “Jerome will stay with you.  There may be more guards.”
         “You doubt I could handle them?” Tugal 
asked defensively, her hands curling around her daggers.
         “Nae, but you’re better off with him 
than without him.” Jerome nodded in agreement, 
but said nothing.  The answer obviously satisfied 
Tugal, as she relaxed her grip. “Do not 
dally.  Ours is a journey needing haste.”
         While Habakkuk and Guernef returned to 
the stairs where Kayla, Abafouq and the others 
waited and kept watch, Kurt led Tugal, Andares 
and Jerome to a dark, narrow passage that turned 
into a set of stairs descending even further 
beneath the city.  The walls were coated with 
slime, and so close together that Jerome’s 
shoulders brushed either side.  A single torch at 
the bottom of the stairs cast light into the 
febrile gloom.  They could hear the steady drip 
of water, and their noses flinched at the scent 
of decay that lingered in the stale air.
         When they reached the bottom of the 
stiars, their boots splashed in water.  Kurt was 
expecting, but both Tugal and Jerome grunted in 
surprise.  Peering down the long dark hall lined 
with cramped cells just big enough for a man to 
lie down and drown themselves, Kurt saw that 
there were no more guards.  He leaned back and 
whispered, “The city’s sewer system flows through 
here.  There’s a sluice which lets us raise the water level.”
         “And drown the prisoners?” Jerome asked.
         “Sometimes,” Kurt admitted. “Sometimes 
to clean this place too.” He started down the 
hall, one arm covering his nose. “Only the most 
dangerous are ever put here.” Although when they 
found the Åelf halfway down the blighted hall, he 
could not have appeared any less dangerous.  His 
face was frozen in a peaceful expression as if 
sleeping, and he did not stir when called.
         “Some sort of stasis spell,” Andares surmised.
         “Get him out and well take him to the 
others,” Jerome muttered. “It must be a powerful spell to hold him in place.”
         It took Kurt a few tries to find the 
right key, but once they unlocked the door, 
Andares lifted the frail form of the ancient Åelf 
and hoisted him gently on his shoulder.  Tugal 
was the first back up the stairs, followed 
closely by Andares.  Jerome motioned for Kurt to 
go on ahead of him, and the young ducal heir was 
quick to do so.  The Sondecki gave the 
water-logged hall one last glance before joining them.
         Jerome found the general emptiness of 
the prisons eerie.  Even in Sondeshara, a land 
where few would even consider breaking the law, 
there were always some prisoners.  Not everyone 
in Sondeshara was a Sondecki, and those intent on 
breaking the law always seemed to think they 
would never be discovered.  But discovered they were.
         But here, the prisons were empty but for 
them and the piddling guards set to keep them here.  Why?
         When they found Kayla and the rest, they 
saw that Charles and Jessica had finally joined 
them.  The two guards were bandaged and locked in 
a nearby cell.  All heads lifted as they neared, 
but it was Jesscia who cried, “What happened to him?”
         “A spell of some kind,” Jerome replied. 
“Can you do something about it?”
         Andares gently laid Qan-af-årael down on 
the floor, then backed up to give the mages room 
to study him.  Kurt and Tugal stared at the 
Keepers, marvelling at how creatures so beastly 
could still be so human too.  For Tugal it was a 
real horror.  These were the very people she’d 
been hired to kill.  She’d once seen all Keepers 
as monsters, and was all too eager to see them 
die.  But it had been her friends who were the 
monsters.  There was something greater in these 
beastly men and women, something she could no longer hate.
         Tugal withdrew from the group as the 
hawk, the little man, and the gryphon all bent 
over the strange old man and began studying 
him.  The little man who was not a widget nodded 
and muttered to himself, until the hawk’s words 
caught their ears.  Golden eyes left the still 
body and found Tugal.  What she saw shocked her 
in a way the prisons had not. “You’ve been cursed, Tugal!  I see it on you!”
         All eyes fixed on the woman.  Kurt stood 
next to her, while she crouched defensively, body 
tense and eyes wary.  Rather imperiously, Kurt 
declared, “Terrible things have happened to her, but she is not accursed!”
         “She means the curse of Metamor,” Tugal 
admitted.  This hawk had the mage’s eye; there 
was no point denying it now.  The Keepers all 
knew what she meant. “And aye, I was a man once.”
         “What are you doing so far from home?” 
James asked, even as the hawk returned her 
attention to the Åelf.  Abafouq had glanced up at 
her briefly, but did not seem 
interested.  Guernef had not even turned from his examination.
         Tugal sneered. “Home?  I am not a 
Metamorian!  I...” she took a deep breath and 
several more steps back.  She clutched knives in 
both hands. “I hail from Politzen.  An accident led to this.”
         Kurt had heard much of this already, but 
from the look of embarrassment on his face, it 
was clear he’d hoped that Tugal’s past would 
remain secret.  Lindsey grunted at the news, 
while the other Keepers listened curiously. “So 
how did you end up here in Breckaris?” Kayla 
asked, her voice filled with neighbourly concern.
         Tugal flicked her eyes at the skunk. “I 
and several friends of mine were hired to kill 
some Keepers.” They all tensed, except for 
Charles would if she didn’t know better, looked 
as unmoveable as a statue. “I never liked the 
woman who hired us; southern, strange, withdrawn 
– she scared us more than the elements, the 
Keepers, even death.  I wished for death after the curse made me a woman..”
         “You were one of the barbarians chasing 
us through the Barrier Range,” Habakkuk said, his 
voice quiet, even and without judgement. “What happened?”
         Tugal turned away from them and stalked 
down the passage into the darkness.  Kurt swore 
under his breath and chased after her.  The 
Keepers looked at each other, none of them 
knowing quite what to do.  Kayla nudged Lindsey’s 
shin. “You’re the only one of us that looks human...”
         Lindsey scowled at her. “Mercenaries 
from Poltizen were in Baron Calephas’s army when 
he stormed my homeland!” He saw the irritation in 
the skunk’s eyes and sighed. “Very well.”
         It did not take Lindsey long to catch up 
with the two.  Tugal had only gone around the 
corner, and Kurt was there with one hand on her 
shoulder.  The woman was crying!
         “What’s wrong?” Lindsey asked, suddenly 
feeling a deep sympathy for this woman. “What happened to you?”
         Tugal sneered at him. “What else do men do with women!”
         Lindsey nodded, understanding 
dawning.  In a cold land far from home, 
barbarians would enjoy any woman they could 
find.  Lindsey had fought off several when he’d 
still been a woman.  He licked his lips and 
sighed. “I was once a woman, Tugal.  I 
understand.  Nobody here blames you for what happened.”
         Tugal turned in surprise.  She wiped the 
tears from her eyes, anger filling her 
eyes.  Lindsey wasn’t sure if the anger was 
directed at him or herself.  Kurt stayed by her 
side, but he lowered his hand. “You were a woman?”
         “The same curse that struck you, struck 
me.  I wish another had struck me.  I do not mind 
being a man, but...” Lindsey leaned forward, 
feeling awkward admitting this to somebody he’d 
only just met, but he could think of nothing else 
to say.. “I was in love, and now we cannot be 
together.  It is not the same sort of pain, but, 
it is a pain that slowly kills you over 
time.  Especially since he is with us even now.”
         Both Kurt and Tugal stared at 
him.  Kurt’s jaw hung open.  He closed it and 
swallowed, but said nothing.  Tugal shut her eyes 
and shook her head. “My friends raped me.  They 
were delighted when I changed, and wasted no time 
in taking me.  And she let them.  She let them...”
         Lindsey grunted and stroked his beard. 
“How did you get from the mountains to 
Breckaris?  We’ve been travelling constantly 
since then, and I cannot believe how we did it.”
         Tugal took a long deep breath, stilling 
the rush of emotions that had overcome her.  Kurt 
took a step back to give her more room, but she 
didn’t appear to notice. “She cast some 
spell.  Took me to a place darker than 
winter.  There were... pillars of some sort there.”
         “Pillars?” Lindsey asked. “That sounds 
very strange.  And then what happened?”
         “Then we were here and she had me put in 
a whore house!” Tugal glared at him again. “Is that enough for you?”
         Lindsey nodded. “I trust you. Now.  You 
are more a victim of this Agathe than I am.”
         Kurt clasped his hands together. “Good.  Are you all right, Tugal?”
         “Aye,” she gestured towards the hall. 
“Let’s see if your friend is well.”

         It took much longer for the spell 
binding Qan-af-årael to be broken.  It was at 
least a half hour of nervous waiting before he 
finally blinked. A few minutes later, he had 
finally been able to move the rest of his body 
again.  The mages did not appear winded, but they 
were strained by the effort of undoing the Runecaster’s charms.
         Charles and Jerome had ventured back to 
the upper levels of the gaol, with Kurt showing 
them the way.  The guards at the gaol’s entrance 
had woken up again, but neither had been too 
eager to confront the walking statue.  The 
Sondeckis risked investigating the barracks, but 
could not get past the stairs before they 
discovered that Kurt was right – there were far 
too many guards to attempt that exit.
         The servant’s entrance was undefended, 
but it left them out in the open in the 
courtyard.  But the alternative would spill 
blood, and that they wanted to avoid.
         By the time they returned, 
Qan-af-årael’s recovery was well on its way to 
being complete. “Good,” Charles said when he saw 
the Åelf standing again. “That must have been a 
very difficult spell cast on you.”
         Abafouq nodded. “I be seeing more 
difficult ones, but not many.  The enemy be more 
clever than a bear who smells fish.”
         Placid, the ancient Åelf opened his eyes 
and addressed them. “Forgive me for doing nothing 
when confronted by the Marquis’s degenerate 
magic.  The eldritch power within those 
manipulative cards can only be negated by a fire that I do not possess.”
         Lindsey rubbed his hands together. “Is 
there any way to destroy them then?  I couldn’t 
stop myself.  I tried!  I tried.”
         His smile was understanding, but sad. 
“The hold he has over you can only be weakened, 
never eliminated.  At least not by my power.”
         Kurt shifted from one foot to the other. 
“But what of my father? The Marquis has left 
Breckaris.  Isn’t there anything you can do for him?”
         Qan-af-årael turned to face the young 
man and studied him for several long 
seconds.  The others looked at each other, and 
then back at him, wondering what he might 
say.  There was a silent hope in the hearts, one 
that only he could answer.  They were free from 
their prison cells, but unless they could be free 
from the Marquis’s prison, they may as well as 
return to their cells.  They held their breath, able only to hope.
         The Åelf’s smile came only slowly, but 
it filled them with excitement. “Aye, there is 
something that can be done.  But it must be done 
quickly, and it must be done quietly.  Can you 
lead us back to the castle without being seen?”
         Kurt rubbed his hands together and blew 
through his fingers. “It will be risky, but I 
think there’s a way.  Come on.  Night’s already 
fallen, and somebody’s sure to check on the 
guards soon.”  He led the way up the stairs, and 
all of the Keepers followed them. “With luck we 
can free my father and Bishop Hockmann both from the Marquis.”
         “And then we can deal with Agathe,” 
Jessica added, the anger in her voice a simmering 
cauldron of pitch.  Charles nodded to her, took 
one last look around, and then followed the rest 
of them up the stairs to the surface.  It was time to leave the goal.

----------

May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,

Charles Matthias
Ut Prosim