The War of the Masters

The plan was simple enough, but Cyrus couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that washed over him. In only an hour’s time, he, his father, Lucky, and Terra would all begin the ascent into the castle while Raiden provided a distraction. His duty, handed down from the Tanis Elders, was still to protect the Magistrate, so he couldn’t get involved directly. But Raiden had promised to help however possible, starting with lending Cyrus his prized grappling hook.

Why the grappling hook was so important to him, he wouldn’t say, but Cyrus had promised to return it as soon as possible. Once inside, the small team would have to find and release three prisoners from the clutches of an entrenched battalion.

It sounded like suicide, but Cyrus had no thoughts of backing down. He would give everything he had to help his friends and family. That didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous, however—not an ideal mindset for the start of such an important mission.

With their one remaining hour, he and Raiden had decided to go to the church to pray. Gray clouds stretched across the sky, and a low rumble of thunder heralded the coming of a storm. The church’s stained glass windows were made of bright blues and violets, and just the sight of them left Cyrus feeling reassured.

Approaching the entrance, he knocked on the double wooden doors and heard a friendly voice call out, “Come in!”

Cyrus and Raiden pulled open the doors and walked inside. The room was well lit by a few dozen candles. Rows of pews lined either side of the entrance, but, save for the Minister, the church was empty.

“Welcome, Cyrus,” the Pastor said gently. “What can I do for you?”

Cyrus tensed at the mention of his real name. How did this man know him?

“Who are you?” he asked, somewhat defensively. “How do you know my name?”

“I am Gideon,” the Pastor replied. If he took any offense at Cyrus’s tone, he didn’t show it. “I know you just as I know your parents, and why you’ve come.”

“You do?”

“Of course. You’ve come for guidance and reassurance before you head to Cordova Castle.”

Cyrus and Raiden both looked at each other, dumbfounded.

“Um . . . well, yes, we are,” was all Cyrus could think to say.

Gideon smiled. “Fear not, for God is with you. He has intersected your two paths for a reason, and He will guide you through this journey. Unfortunately, I have to be going, but you’re welcome to use the church as long as you like.”

Before Cyrus or Raiden could reply, Gideon whisked out of the building.

Terra hated to leave T’Saunté while he was injured, but she knew he was in good hands with Naabrea. In less than three hours’ time, she, Cyrus, Lucky, and Kendal had made their way up the mountain.

Night had fallen, and the black stone castle loomed over them like a dark shadow. Its exterior walls rose seventy feet above the ground, with towers erected at each of its four corners. It was an impressive sight to behold, but Terra was far more worried about who they would run into once they were inside the castle.

“Remember, Dameon is a monster,” Terra said to Cyrus. “We’ll do everything we can to free his prisoners, but we need to avoid fighting him if at all possible. Even all of us together might not be able to stop him.”

Cyrus nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The hidden entrance into the drain pipe jutted out from the sheer edge of the mountain, roughly two-hundred feet below the castle itself. The drain lay only twenty feet from their position, but between them was a vertical drop off the mountainside that would undoubtedly prove fatal.

Terra gulped, suddenly wishing T’Saunté was with them. “How did you say we’re getting across this?”

“Getting across what?” Lucky’s muffled voice came from within Cyrus’s pocket. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry, Lucky,” Cyrus told him. “A mighty warrior like yourself has no fear.”

“Well—I know that . . .” the Leprechaun mumbled.

“Anyway,” Cyrus replied, this time to Terra, “we’ll be using the grappling hook Raiden gave us. In about an hour or so, he’ll be causing a commotion on the other side of the castle, hopefully providing enough of a diversion for us to sneak through unnoticed.”

As he spoke, Cyrus took hold of the rope in one hand, and the iron base in the other. Swinging the hook in a circular motion to build up speed, Cyrus aimed and released.

“We’ll just latch this onto the pipe and—whoops!”

The grappling hook missed terribly. There was a loud clang as it smacked into the pipe, and Cyrus quickly pulled the rope back.

Turning slightly red, he handed the grappling hook to his father. “Well, obviously this isn’t my sphere of expertise . . .” he muttered.

Terra suppressed a giggle. He’s cute when he’s embarrassed.

Using the same method, Kendal swung the hook and latched it neatly onto the top of the pipe. He yanked on the rope twice to ensure its steadiness, then swung across the gap and into the sewage drain like a professional.

“Terra, you’ll go next,” Kendal said as he swung the rope over to her. Terra caught it and took a deep breath to steel her nerves.

Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she swung.

Terra felt the wind rush past her as she careered over the cliff side and into the drain pipe. Kendal helped to catch her and pull her in, then threw the rope back to Cyrus.

“All right, son, you can do this!”

Terra could see a bead of sweat running down Cyrus’s brow despite the frigid weather. Her mind flashed back to the moment they both jumped off the towering spire of Candore.

Cyrus took nearly a minute to steady himself, then swung across the ravine—not as gracefully as his father, but well enough. As with her, Kendal caught him and pulled him in. Then he worked the grappling hook free from its perch and returned it to Cyrus.

Terra relaxed her coiled muscles, and the fetid odor of the sewage drain hit her with full force. A combination of human waste and charred meat assailed her nostrils. She covered her nose with her arm and followed behind Kendal, beginning their ascent through the pipe.

Trying to distract her mind from the unsettling darkness creeping over them, Terra suddenly had an idea. She moved closer to Kendal and spoke quietly so Cyrus wouldn’t hear her . . .

For some reason Cyrus hadn’t anticipated the pipe to be submerged in darkness. The inky black tunnel didn’t frighten him at all, but it would slow their progress—he only hoped Raiden’s timing would still coincide with their entrance into the dungeon.

He heard the sound of trickling water running through the drain, and, just above that, he could barely make out Terra’s voice. Cyrus inched closer, trying to hear what she was saying when suddenly his father shattered the silence.

“What is this I hear about you pinching Terra’s behind?” Kendal hissed, his wrath directed at Cyrus.

“I—that’s not—” Cyrus stuttered.

“I know your mother and I raised you better than that!” his father said disapprovingly.

“We were tied back to back!” Cyrus protested. “I was trying to undo the knot—she was the one—”

“Did you at least apologize for such rude behavior?”

Cyrus heard a faint giggle and realized what was going on.

Oh, you must be enjoying this, Terra, but two can play at that game . . .

Clearing his throat, he said, “But she didn’t tell you what she di—”

“I don’t want to hear another word! Now apologize to this young woman before she thinks we’re all a bunch of miscreants!”

Though he couldn’t see her, Cyrus heard another distinct chuckle from Terra. Roars of laughter bellowed from the Leprechaun in his pocket.

You win this round, Terra, he acknowledged with a slight grin.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

Terra’s voice came back. “What? I couldn’t hear you clearly,” Terra teased.

“I’m sorry,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Good,” his father said. “Now that we’ve got that settled, let’s find our way into the castle!”

Dark storm clouds swirled across the sky. Raiden had hoped to judge the time from the position of the stars, but as it was, he was forced to guess how long it had been since Cyrus and the others left. Raiden stood outside Cordova Castle, more than thirty yards from the main entrance when sheets of rain began to pour.

Oh, perfect.

It was a cold, sopping rain only a few degrees above freezing. Raiden shivered in his heavy coat and sighed.

Well, at least the storm will provide a little cover.

One of the other guards—a man he’d tried to talk to on several occasions with no response—made his rounds, walking the same way he always did in the same exact path, probably even at the same time of night, since Raiden had first been assigned here. He nodded to the guard, who merely ignored him with contemptuous indifference—probably wondering why Raiden hadn’t been at his post the last few nights.

Once the man’s back was turned, Raiden mimicked his stiff, jerky movements and the rigid, I can’t ever have fun, expression on his face.

All right. Enough goofing off; it’s time to start the party.

Raiden glanced each way, making sure no one was watching him. Then he cupped his hands together and formed ten tiny spheres of violet energy. He swung his arms around to build up momentum and let the energy balls fly over the roof of the castle. Some didn’t quite make it across; a few smashed into the rooftop with a thunderous discharge of energy; others exploded on the far side of the castle.

The guard with his set schedule heard the blasts against the castle walls and whirled back around.

“What’s going on?” he shouted, his voice betraying a hint of fright.

“Someone’s attacking the castle!” Raiden yelled back. “Come on! Let’s stop them!”

The guard hesitated, as though reluctant to deviate from his predetermined course. Then he ran over to Raiden and said, “Lead the way.”

Time seemed to pass at an indeterminate pace in the black, putrid sewer. Cyrus had no idea whether ten minutes or an hour had gone by. After countless slips and the occasional fall, the walls of the tunnel widened into a large corridor. With torches mounted on the walls, Cyrus was finally able to see. The hallway bowed to a low point in the center, and a mixture of sewage and blood oozed downhill past their ankles.

They continued to climb the steady slope, as the hallway snaked higher and higher. With each passing step, the stench only grew stronger.

Finally the corridor opened into a massive dungeon—ten times larger than the prison in Candore. Dozens of metal cages hung from the ceiling, suspended all across the chamber like decorations. Under each cell was a chiseled path in the stone to catch the blood and waste as it fell. Flowing downward, the muck collected in the center of the room and gushed out to the drain pipe they had just come from. Inside each cell was a corpse or a person so malnourished they could barely stand.

Beside him, Terra hunched over and vomited. The mixture of the sight and the overpowering smell must have gotten to her.

“Excuse me,” she murmured, dragging her hand across her mouth.

Cyrus put one hand at her back, gently rubbing between her shoulder blades. As he looked around the chamber he realized they would have to check each and every cage thoroughly in his search for the Admiral, Dustin, and Terra’s grandmother.

Between the three of them the process took well over ten minutes, but neither he nor the others recognized any of the prisoners they’d come to free.

“Hey!” came a voice from one of the cages.

Cyrus spun around, surprised any of the prisoners had the strength even to speak. His eyes fell upon a woman in her early twenties with a strong but lithe build. She had auburn hair and ragged gray clothes. Unlike the other captives, it appeared as if she hadn’t been there very long.

“Please, get me out of here,” the woman begged.

“I will,” Cyrus assured her, “but not yet. I don’t have a key.”

“We can’t just leave her here,” Terra protested.

“We’ll come back as soon as we can get her free,” Cyrus argued, “but until then there’s nothing we can do.”

The woman in the cage sighed. “All right, just please hurry.” Her voice was understandably tense. “I’ll do anything you want if you get me out. I’ll fight alongside you, anything. Just let me out before the butcher comes back . . .”

“What butcher?”

“Please, just hurry . . .”

Cyrus set his jaw in grim determination. “I will.”

He took one step toward the corridor leading out of the dungeon and stopped, an idea forming in his mind.

“Dad, think you can boost me up to the bars?”

“Sure.”

With Kendal’s help, he could just reach high enough to clasp his hands around the iron bars of her cage. Drawing upon the depths of his essence, he focused his will, channeling power into his left hand.

The iron bar sizzled and corroded beneath his touch, melting enough away for the young woman to squeeze through.

“Thank you, thank you!” she said gratefully, jumping to the floor. “What can I do to repay you?”

“First, what’s your name?” Cyrus asked as politely as he could.

“Keira,” she answered. It was only now, once he was close enough in the dim torchlight, that Cyrus noticed her long, pointed ears.

An elf, eh? Cyrus knew enough to identify her fairly common species, but not enough to discern what other physical qualities—if any—separated her from a human.

“Hey, what’s going on? I can’t see anything!” came Lucky’s muffled voice.

Cyrus pulled the Leprechaun out of his pocket. “Remember, this is a covert mission,” he reminded sternly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know!”

Keira’s eyebrow hiked up but she didn’t comment on the tiny Leprechaun.

Cyrus cleared his throat, returning to her earlier question. “We could use your help in finding the keys to these cages. Once we’ve got that, I’ll need you to unlock these cells and escort anyone who can still walk to freedom.”

Keira nodded but her eyes suddenly flicked past Cyrus. He wheeled around to see what she was looking at.

There in the doorway was a massive beast of a man—easily weighing five hundred pounds. A bushy black beard covered most of his face, and a bloody apron garbed his immense torso.

And clutched in his hand was a crimson-speckled meat cleaver.

For a moment everyone stood frozen, as though waiting to see who would move first. A quiet burst of thunder rippled through the castle. Then the butcher turned and sprinted the opposite way down the corridor.

“Quick! After him!” Cyrus said, bolting around the corner and down the perpendicular hallway. He caught sight of a boot disappearing up a set of stairs and followed, the others racing to catch up.

The butcher waited at the top of a narrow stairwell, his girth so wide his shoulders touched both the stone walls. The butcher licked his lips, a malicious grin twisting across his face.

So this is what you wanted. You never planned to alert the rest of the castle; you just wanted the battle on your terms.

Cyrus set Lucky down on the second-to-bottom step. Then he drew his sword in one hand and the Akieres Legacy Blade in the other. Approaching cautiously, he took three steps up the set of stairs, still out of range as the others fell in behind him.

The butcher didn’t move. Despite the crazed look in his eye, he was careful to maintain his tactical edge of higher ground. The stairwell he’d chosen for the battleground limited mobility, giving his opponents fewer options to dodge and maximizing his obvious advantage in strength. Even their superior numbers amounted to little in such a narrow confinement.

But advantages could be drawn both ways.

Cyrus stopped three steps below the butcher, still outside the cleaver’s reach. Then he raised the Akieres Legacy Blade in his left hand, channeled his energy, and fired. The hooked chain sprang from the handle toward his foe.

With his shoulders wedged between the walls, the butcher had no way to evade the projectile. The hook smashed into his chest, driving him one lumbering step backward. But, somehow, the blade didn’t manage to pierce his skin.

Staring in disbelief, Cyrus stood slack-jawed as the chained hook clattered to the floor at the butcher’s feet. The burly man grinned once more and kicked the blade down the steps.

Cyrus ground his teeth together and retracted the blade back into the handle. He already felt weak from the amount of energy he’d expelled; he couldn’t afford to use any more. Not unless he wanted the Breath of the Masters to fail, leaving him at the same near-death state Terra had first healed him from.

No choice left.

Clipping the Akieres Legacy blade to his belt, Cyrus wrapped both hands around his sword and took another step up. He nearly tripped over Lucky, who had decided to climb each stair toward the butcher. For the tiny Leprechaun, this looked to be a difficult task.

Kendal appeared at his son’s right, on the step just beneath him. Cyrus glanced back at him and nodded.

Then his father swooped in to attack.