The Compass Key (Book 5) (43 page)

Timoran quickly catches Luke and carries him to a nearby table, placing him in the
green-cushioned ice chair. He gently pries his friend’s sabers out of a loosening grip and places them on the table. After a quick check of the half-elf’s pulse, Timoran sighs and lets his friend rest while he searches the room. He hunts for any sign of food, but there is only ice furniture and inedible decorations to be found.

“Can a person get full on
ice?” Luke suddenly asks, earning a suspicious look from the barbarian.

“
It is possible, but I would not make a habit of it. I have heard of people trapped in the frozen north and surviving off ice and snow. It helped them to survive long enough to be rescued or find real food. The problem is that it can cause problems with your stomach, which means you will still be helpless in a fight. To be honest, it is an act of desperation when one has no other recourse.”

“I think I have a way around that stomach issue,” the half-elf declares with a crooked smile. “Just give me some space and help me explain this to Sari when she wakes up. I don’t know where I can buy her new ice furniture.”

Gracelessly falling off the chair, Luke transforms and shakes his head clear of the sudden dizziness. In his griffin form, his stomach roars loud enough to echo throughout the room. He begins with a few quick pecks at one of the chairs before biting a chunk of ice off the side. The cold hits his empty gut like a knife, causing him to screech in pain. Determined to help save Sari, he devours the chair and moves on to the next. It becomes easier as he continues and he swiftly ingests the entire dining room set. Luke transforms back as he releases a trembling belch and the pain in his stomach vanishes.

“I noticed earlier that not all of the pain carries over between my forms. It’s almost like I heal a little when I transform
,” he says, picking his sabers off the floor. “I’m going to pay for this later, but I’m not hungry right now. Any idea where the lift is?”

“The dais is obviously the lift,” Timoran answers, gesturing toward the throne. He walks over to the
platform to run his finger along a crease in the floor. “We merely have to find the trigger. There is very little in the room, so our choices are limited. You already ruled out the chairs and table.”

“The throne is obviously a trap,”
the half-elf says, walking around the dais. His eyes fall on the gathering of pillows on the floor. “Maybe the pillows are part of it. There’s maybe forty of them and each one has its own design. It’s very strange that those pillows survived underwater for centuries.”

“One could say the same about the banners.”

“Those are far too high to be a trigger.”

“Wait. I do not think they are attached to anything.”

“I think you’re right. I’m going to try something.”

Luke picks up a red pillow with a golden mermaid embroidered on it. Testing its weight, he looks around at the banners and smiles when he sees one with the same pattern. Taking careful aim,
the half-elf hurls the pillow at the matching banner. The projectile hits its target and creates a swirling vortex of ice shards. Luke is barely able to avoid the incoming swarm that erupts from the portal. The deadly spray of icicles follows him until he dives out of the room and hides behind the wall. It takes several minutes for the trap to sputter to a complete stop.

“I guess that didn’t work!” Luke shouts from the hallway.

“No, but I believe you were on to something!” Timoran shouts back, cautiously making his way to the pillows. “Normally one would think that you match the pillow to the banner, but that gets you killed. It seems the one you threw is back, so the trap was designed to reset immediately. Probably to work off the idea that the first casualty simply picked the wrong one and their friends will be tempted to try another. It would be a sensible thought and one that could be taken advantage of. Help me move the pillows under their respective banner.”

Luke sheathes his sabers and goes about helping Timoran sort the pillows. It is a tedious task that the half-elf
tries to have fun with. He flings the cushions toward their matching decorations while Timoran carries them to their position. When Luke blindly hurls a pillow and nearly hits a banner, the barbarian grabs the next one out of his hands and points at the stairs of the dais. The forest tracker sprawls on the steps and stares at the ceiling, noticing that there is a chandelier above him.

“If the lift goes up, w
hat happens to the chandelier?”

“I assume it
moves out of the way. This temple has so many secret passages and moving walls that I would think gnomes made it. If that is the case then I am amazed they could build an entire mountain.”

“I wouldn’t have put that
past Fritz. For all I know, he built a mountain and never told me,” Luke jokes, smiling at the memory of his old friend. An idea comes to him and his rummages in his pouch for a grappling hook with rope. “I have a feeling we might need this. If gnomes were behind this then there might be more to the chandelier.”

“Last pillow,” Timoran announces. He holds up
a pink, frilly cushion with a troll embroidered on the front in white stitching. “Do we have an extra banner?”

“Over there,” Luke says, pointing at a green and silver banner. Unlike the others, this banner is not blowing in the breeze and its picture of an eagle has faded. “These two things stand out a lot, so I’m surprised we missed
them.”

“Spend so much time looking for minute details and you will miss the obvious, my friend,” the barbarian claims as he throws the pillow. He leaps onto the dais and prepares for it to rise, his eyes watching the pillow and banner disappear in a puff of smoke. “I wonder how long we wait.”

A loud click startles the warriors before a whirring noise begins overhead. They nervously raise their heads to see that the chandelier is spinning. A breeze causes it to sway while it continues its dizzying rotation. Flecks of wax and broken ice fly through the air as its movements becomes even more intense. A fiery candle is launched at the dais and it sinks into the ice at Luke’s feet, leaving a smoking hole.

“I knew that was going to be part of the trap,” Luke
claims as he spins the grappling hook and takes aim. “The chandelier is a switch or something. The dais won’t raise until the path is clear. I doubt the creators designed this thing to take out the throne.”

The two warriors
dive off the dais when the chandelier stretches and swings at them. It shatters the frozen vampire and passes harmlessly through the throne. The chandelier comes back around, aiming for Timoran who rolls out of the way. With the sound of rattling chains, the sentient trap pulls back to the ceiling and returns to its wild swaying.

“You were saying,” Timoran gasps, cautiously walking to Luke’s side of the dais.

“This better be the end of this mess,” the half-elf mutters. Taking a deep breath, he spins the grappling hook again. “Be ready for anything.”

“I believe I should give you space.”

Luke calms his breathing while he waits for Timoran to take a few steps back. With a small yell, he throws the grappling hook at the chandelier and watches it catch. The half-elf is immediately yanked off his feet and spun around the room. He wraps the rope around his arm when he feels his grip loosen, his fingers sore from the strain. When the wall gets too close, he runs along it until he is whipped back into the open air. The chandelier repeatedly changes directions, making Luke feel like he is trying to ride a bucking griffin.

“I’m not heavy enough to do this!” Luke shouts as he is swung through the banners. “Sari could do this with her immovability. Can you get to me, Timoran?”

“I would need leverage to stop you and pull with any effect on the chandelier,” he responds, carefully eying the wild path of his friend. Blinking his eyes, the barbarian looks away before he gets dizzy. “Your movements are too random. I need you to maneuver yourself to me, so I can grab you.”

The forest tracker hits the wall with his shoulder, the impact cutting open one of his acid burns.
“Like I’m the one steering this thing. The spinning is keeping me too high. If I swing down, the spinning will pull me back immediately.”

“I have an idea, so prepare for a drop
.”

Timoran
carefully climbs onto the dais to stomp his foot and shout obscenities at the chandelier. Unable to get its attention with noise, he picks up a piece of the shattered vampire and throws it at the Compass Key. The icy flesh explodes on impact and the chandelier violently swings toward the dais. The barbarian scowls when he sees Luke and the rope are on the other side of the animated decoration, the whirling metal blocking him from an easy grab. He steps off the platform and clings to the edge to let the lethal trap pass by. The rope goes taut when Luke braces his feet against the side of the dais, giving Timoran enough time to catch the straining tether.

“Pull with me,
my friend.”

“Already working on it
.”

Together they pull at the rope and drag the chandelier toward them, the spinning stopped by their straining muscles. Timoran jumps off the dais and yanks as he drops to the floor, using
his momentum for an extra push of force. The creaking of ancient hinges draws their attention to the ceiling where a door swings open above the dais. With their leverage weakened by the opening, the chandelier is free to continue spinning and races along the floor like a berserk wheel. The warriors release the rope to avoid getting dragged along, both of them ducking under the lashing cord. The chandelier smashes into the wall and sticks into the broken ice, its chain shaking in the air.

“
I’m dreading the guardian,” Luke admits as they climb onto the dais. With the slow grind of gears, the platform rises toward the open doorway. “My body is aching and I can’t tell what’s causing it any more.”

“I believe I already know what awaits us,” Timoran whispers, drawing his great axe.

The half-elf is about to ask what he means when they are plunged into darkness. A distant light grows as they rise through the mountain, the sound of the dais grating on the walls causing their ears to ring. A roar of water appears as they near the light and their boots are instantly soaked. Luke feels something solid bump into his foot as the mysterious water sloshes around his ankles. With a gentle swishing noise, the dais finishes its journey into the crystal peak. The watery throne is now a vibrant puddle that oozes out and carries the Compass Key across the floor.

The triangular room is made entirely of blue crystal with collections of pointy spikes in every corner. Sitting in the middle of the room is a coffin composed of water, but it is still and placid unlike the roiling throne. Sleeping in the coffin is Sari, whose chest is rapidly rising and falling as she breathes. Hovering above the gypsy is a
trio of twisting, coiling rings that shift from ice to water to vapor.

“Wait,” Timoran hisses, grabbing Luke by the shoulder. “We are not alone.”

The water from the throne is joined by puddles that seep out of cracks in the walls, draining the color of the crystal. The Lost Ones materialize around the heroes and hiss at them. The smallest of the creatures stands on top of the coffin, its wide ears flapping. The Compass Key shines within its chest as the monster chitters and bubbles. The others crouch to patiently wait for the signal to attack, their liquid bodies quivering.

When Luke takes a step forward, the nearest
Lost One swipes at his leg. He jumps back, but the sharp claws manage to tear holes in his pants. Out of anger, he slashes at the creature and cuts it in half. With a gurgling laugh, the monster puts itself back together and returns to the crowd. The laughter ripples through the Lost Ones as their eyes glow green and fanged mouths appear on their watery faces. The mountain shakes and the monsters screech, their claws gouging into the floor.

“I wondered why the
Lost Ones were staying on the chandeliers,” Timoran whispers, eyeing the creatures as they go back to their patient waiting. “They protect this area and feared we would activate the dais at that moment. When we left, they retreated here and thought we had given up. They did not notice us this time because the fight outside has them scared, so they are focused on protecting the peak.”

“We don’t have magic,” Luke says with anger
growing in his voice. “We need to get through them, but we have no way to kill them. If we can wake Sari then maybe she can control the Lost Ones. I have to make a run for the coffin.”

“That is a bad i
dea.”

“We need to do something!” Luke shouts, losing his temper. The
Lost Ones get closer and move back when the half-elf wordlessly screams at them. “She’s within my reach. After fighting through so much and killing so many monsters and people, Sari is right there. I have to wake her and I have to do it now.”

Luke dives into the
Lost Ones and rapidly slashes at them, his mind giving in to his pent up desperation and rage. The monsters reform around him, their hands growing glistening claws to tear into the half-elf. Snarls and squeaks of frustration erupt from the Lost Ones when they have trouble catching Luke. He flips and jumps among them, hacking off their hands and heads to no avail. It is a tiring stalemate that Timoran patiently watches, his eyes scanning for a sign of weakness in their enemies.