Keystone (Gatewalkers) (27 page)

The moment he spoke his name, he felt something change, as if he let something free. It was the first time he had acknowledged his name since his transformation. He could already feel it trying to become a part of him again.

Rhys
, he told himself firmly.
Only Rhys and nothing more.

A prickle along his spine told him he was no longer alone. Not a vampire, but something equally dangerous nonetheless.

“Do you intend to persuade me to join the Blood Prince’s crusade?” Rhys said to the no longer empty room.

“Hardly.” In a haze of green mist, a woman materialized from the darkness. Her fine, straight black hair sliced a dark line across her jaw, her features slim and pointed. A simple dark gown hugged her slender curves, her limbs thin and long. Hatred burned in her dark eyes.

She slowly circled him, reaching out to dig her clawed nails into his skin, leaving lines of blood in her wake. “The Blood Prince entrusted me with the task of persuasion. He seems to think that you will simply acquiesce to his lead. We know better, don’t we?”

Rhys remained silent and unflinching.

“A tiger could never follow a kitten,” she said, continuing to circle closer, nails digging deeper. “A High King could never follow a false prince. William of Seinne Sonne.”

Rhys’ body turned to ice. It was not persuasion she was after. Her words may have been a blind guess, but he thought not.
 
There were only two people in the entirety of Seinne Sonne who knew that William did not die of his wounds. High King Edouard and Archmage Taliesin. Before this day, he had staked his life on their silence. “I am Rhys. A Death Wind of Alta -“

“Do not attempt to lie to me.” She stopped circling and leaned close to his face. “I am the Mara. Minds hold no secrets from me. You are William, the High King of Seinne Sonne.”
 

“High King Edouard is –”

“An impostor. While Seinne Sonne’s sovereignty lies in the hands of a mercenary.” Her lips twisted in disdain. “But not for much longer.”
 

The woman held up a sealed vial, strung on a long chain. The thick liquid within the glass shone black as obsidian. “I was meant to give you this. A sampling of my blood. Drink this, and you will be granted the full strength and power of one of the Night People. I will offer it once, only because your willing cooperation would be invaluable to us. But you won’t take it.” She looped the chain around his neck, the cold glass resting against his chest. She pressed her soft, cool cheek to his, her lips nearly in his ear. “I want you to burn,” she hissed.
 

 
She spun away from him. “Release the sunlight.”

Terradi appeared through the trap door in the floor, and unlatched the panels that kept the sunlight at bay, taking them down one by one. The first piercing ray of sunlight seared across Rhys’ eyes. He squinted against the blinding brightness, his sensitive eyes watering. The pain of it quickly forced them shut. The sunlight slowly, steadily heated his exposed skin. While it was not yet enough to burn, he knew it would be soon.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Diem Ex Dei

There was a little light in the hall, but Charlie had to navigate mainly by simply squeezing against the wall as closely as she could. To bolster her spirits, she started “humming” the Mission: Impossible theme. Your Mission, should you accept it: to rescue the kidnapped princess, find your vampire tank, and retrieve a stolen artifact. This message will self destruct in three… two… one. Charlie made a loud “burr” noise.

Charlie really wished for one of those game style maps now. The kind with the little red dot that showed which direction your goal was. She turned so many corners and ran into so many walls she wasn’t sure if she was covering new territory or if she’d gotten turned around.
 

She usually had a decent sense of direction, but at the size of a squirrel everything was a whole new world. She learned to scurry from shelter to shelter, ears alert for tromping footsteps. Where was a society with ventilation ducts when you needed one? She was a good size for it too.

As she scampered past a barred cell, her body abruptly jerked to a halt as a hand closed around her tail. Pain shot from said appendage all the way up her spine to her head. She let out an inarticulate squeal and rounded on the hand, biting and scratching in a wild panic. The hand lifted her up and pulled her in between the bars. Another hand took her by the scruff of the neck, pulling her teeth out of skin.

Charlie found herself facing a dirty, hollow cheeked boy of maybe nine or ten years old. His long, black hair hung in matted knots around his shoulders and his ragged tunic barely clung to his skeletal frame. His pale green eyes were wild. There was no question this kid was starving. And
she
was probably his next meal.

Charlie let out another panicked squeal. She fought and twisted, but couldn’t get her head around to sink her teeth in.

“Quit wiggling!” the boy hissed. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Yeah, right,” Charlie snapped out, unthinking.

He gave her a sharp shake, rattling her head. “I know you aren’t a real squirrel. Now, quit it or else!” He started twisting her body.

Charlie shrieked, but stopped struggling. He stopped twisting.

“I’m not lettin’ go ’til you swear to help me get out of here.”

Charlie glared at him mulishly. “What if I swear, but decide not to help you?”

“You can’t do it,” the kid said triumphantly. “I know all the old stories. It don’t work that way. Once you swear, you have to help me.”

“I could run off the second you let me go,” Charlie said.

The kid scowled at her. “Then I’ll never let go.”

“Fine then,” Charlie snapped. “We’ll see how long you can keep your grip.”

They glared at each other for several more minutes. Then the boy’s fierce scowl crumbled into despair. He dropped her to the grungy floor and buried his head in his knees. “Shoulda known better than to talk to a stupid squirrel.” Charlie knew that voice. That voice was a “too manly to cry but wants to anyway” voice. Jared sounded like that sometimes.

Charlie’s panic-induced anger melted away. She couldn’t stand a kid in distress. Well, as long as he wasn’t trying to eat her.
 

Charlie gingerly propped both squirrel hands on his shin, stretching her short neck to try to see his face. “How did you know I wasn’t a real squirrel?” Charlie said grudgingly. “Come to that, how can you understand me?”

“I just can,” he said sullenly.

“Is there anything else you can do?” Maybe he was a mage apprentice or something, captured by the vampires. Charlie tried not to get her hopes too high; after all he was still a kid.

The kid lifted his head to glare at her suspiciously. “Why?”

“Maybe I can help you if you can help me,” Charlie said. “I’m Charlie. What’s your name, kid?”

The suspicious look never wavered. “I’m called Gwynne,” he said shortly. “And I’m not gonna be stuck in here forever, neither.”

Right. The whole no true names thing. “Well, Gwynne, I’m lost, and I don’t want to be stuck here either. Think we could help each other out?”

Gwynne nodded, rubbing a dirty cheek against his knee. “I can feel magic,” he said grudgingly. “That’s how I know you’re enchanted.”

“Gwynne,” Charlie said calmly, fighting down a sudden elation, “can you sense other magic things in this castle?”
Like the Keystone, perhaps?
Her tail twitched.

“There are a lot of magic things in this castle,” he said warily.

“Something bigger than most,” Charlie prompted. “More powerful.”

“Maybe,” he said, now looking suspicious.

“If you can tell me where it is, then I can get you out of here.”

“Get me out first,” Gwynne challenged. “Then I can show you.”

Showing was definitely better than telling. “I don’t suppose you know where the key is?” Charlie said reluctantly.

“In the guardroom, hanging on a nail,” the boy said eagerly. “Right down there at the end of the hall.They don’t really care about us bleeders. It is only the important ones that the Blood Prince has the keys to.”

Charlie filed that tidbit for later. “I’ll be back,” she said, and slipped through the bars of the cell.

Guardroom. Guardroom. Charlie scampered through the halls, keeping her head low. Guardroom. That would be the place where all the voices were coming from. Of course.

Charlie carefully watched the door for a few minutes before darting over and peering underneath. The room seemed to be the conjunction of several cell blocks. And she could see feet. Lots of green, brown, black, dirt-crusted, calloused, scarred, and broken-nailed feet. Only one pair had shoes; nice, steel soled boots. Probably the leader.

Charlie watched them and looked for a place she could safely hide. She quickly squeezed in under the door and made a mad dash to hide behind a foul smelling beer barrel. From there she looked for the keys, hopefully on ye olde key ring. Hanging on a nail, Gwynne had said.

There. Three keys on one thick metal ring. That made things a little simpler at least. Now to get at them without being spied.

Getting to the keys would take a prodigious squirrel leap, and then she had to hope to knock the ring off the nail without making too much noise.
Prince of Persia, anyone? No time like the present.
 

Charlie sprang out from behind the barrel, scampered across the stone floor and shimmied up an unoccupied chair. She sprinted the short hop across the chair back and flung herself into space, aiming for the key ring. She hit wall and ring with the clang of iron, and desperately snatched for a grip on the keys. The ring twisted and fell off the short spike.

Charlie let go of the keys and spread her arms and tail to catch the air. Not as effective as a flying squirrel, but it did the trick to keep her from being stunned when she hit the ground. Charlie snatched up the thick ring in her mouth, tasting rust, and sprinted for the narrow opening under the door, eyes fixed on her target.
 

A disconcerted cry came from behind her. Charlie panicked, dashing back and forth, dodging feet and hands. A thrown knife clattered against the stones.

Fingers scooped under her body and flung her against a wall. It ripped the keys out of her teeth and rattled her skull so badly she thought her eyes had popped out.
 

She tumbled to the floor and, half dazed, sprang back to her feet. Or tried to. It was more like a contorted somersault that landed her on her side and looking straight up at the nailed sole of a boot.

She shrieked and scrambled, not caring which direction so long as it was
away
. The boot caught the tip of her tail, ripping out fur.

Charlie spotted the keys and skidded around, racing back to snatch them up again.
Door! Door! Where’s the door! There!

She dove for the open slot. The ring hit the wood and jammed. Hard. She jammed a back tooth loose, and felt it through her skull an all the way down her spine to the end of her tail.

Use your head, Charlie!
she screamed at herself. She dropped the ring and scooted through, reaching back to drag the key ring behind her.

Elated, Charlie snatched it up in her mouth again and dashed blindly down the hall. Which one was the right cell? She couldn’t remember. How was she supposed to –

Ouch! She found herself unceremoniously snatched aloft by the sore tail again. Charlie gave an outraged squeal, dropping the keys. A hand shot out and caught them before they hit the ground. Gwynne quickly stuffed keys and Charlie up his dirty, foul smelling tunic and curled up his knees to hide them. Charlie heard the grunts and snarls of the guards as they huffed past.

Gwynne didn’t move for a long time. Charlie thought she might suffocate, caught upside down and half crushed against the boy’s grimy ribs. She gingerly stretched her neck to rest her sore teeth on the cold iron key ring. At the moment, she couldn’t care less if the rusty thing gave her tetanus, so long as it relieved the bone-deep hurt of her loosened tooth. She also tried not to use her nose as much as possible. Drool mixed with blood dribbled from her mouth, but she couldn’t help it.

Finally, when she thought her muscles must have frozen in their cramped, contorted position, she heard the guards walking back past, walking more slowly and more angrily.

Only after they were well and long gone did Gwynne straighten out his legs and let her out of his tunic.

“It’s squirrel soup for you if they catch you,” the boy said gleefully. His grin exposed a crooked canine that lent him an innocent charm.

 
“Where is the biggest piece of magic you can find?” That would probably be a shard of the Keystone. She hoped.
 

Gwynne’s face took on a resolute cast. He sat cross-legged and closed his eyes, his chin almost drooping to his chest. His eyes darted wildly beneath their closed lids. “Up,” he murmured. “Toward the cliff side.”

Cliff side?
That couldn’t be good. “Let’s get a move on, shall we?”
 

Gwynne picked her up and set her on his shoulder. Silent as a ghost and careful to muffle the sounds of the keys, Gwynne found the right key and unlocked the cell. They slipped out and he carefully re-locked it. Gwynne paused, looking thoughtfully at the keys in his hand, then he glanced upward. Charlie followed the look.

Small stone gargoyles sat in the vaulted rafters.

Quick and quiet as a mouse, Gwynne scampered from cell to cell down the hall, whether occupied or not, and unlocked the door, signaling the prisoners to be quiet as he went. Some refused to leave their cell. Some darted through as if chased, or as if afraid the cell door would suddenly close on them.

Charlie saw more than one glance upward, and started wondering if there was something more to the gargoyles than met the eye.
 

A ripple of motion passed through the prisoners, caged and uncaged. Murmurs of sound began threading through the cells in half stifled whispers, breaking the eerie silence.
 

A burst of sound and motion came from the remaining cells as the prisoners realized it was a true rescue attempt and the problem became trying to keep them calm and quiet.