The Silver Dwarf (Royal Institute of Magic, Book 4) (2 page)

“Lucas, have you found the breastplate yet? I was reliably informed that Angus was keeping it here. It’s a breastplate, not a needle – it can’t be that
hard to find. Don’t make me punish your soldiers for failing to find it.”

Lucas cringed. “Sorry, Captain. We have looked everywhere, but it is nowhere to be found.”

“Have you tried beneath the floorboards? Start ripping them out.”

Angus gave a polite cough. “You won’t find it there, I’m afraid.”

Moorlock wheeled back to Angus, daggers in his eyes. “This is your last chance, Moorlock. Tell us where you are hiding the breastplate or face a slow,
agonising death. We have torturers who can make you scream until your vocal cords give out.”

“Well, here’s the thing,” Angus said with a little smile. “You failed to look in the most obvious place.”

“What are you talking about?” Moorlock spat.

Angus lifted his jumper, revealing the breastplate underneath.

Moorlock’s eyes turned into saucers, and he almost dropped his sword in astonishment.

“You dare wear the prince’s armour?” Moorlock asked, his voice a whisper. He appeared momentarily lost for words.

Michael couldn’t tell if he was just stunned into silence or lost in the beauty of the breastplate.

Moorlock shook himself out of his stupor. “Guards! Remove the breastplate from Angus’s body.”

The guards quickly surrounded Angus, swords drawn. Michael frowned, and readied his spellshooter. Angus was resting an arm on the broomstick, but made no
move to defend himself. The royal guards hesitated, their eyes anxious.

“What are you waiting for?” Moorlock shouted. Michael noted that Moorlock himself was standing outside the circle. “It’s one small, overweight man against
a dozen of you. Attack!”

Michael knew exactly why they were waiting. Angus was wearing Elizabeth’s Breastplate. There were many rumours of its power, most of them false.

In a fit of courage, the guard directly in front of Angus raised his sword and charged, a manic gleam in his eye. With two quick steps he was upon Angus,
and he swung his sword in a vicious arc into Angus’s midriff. The sword hit the armour and promptly shattered, as if it were made of glass. The guard
stepped back in astonishment.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Angus said, lifting his makeshift quarterstaff.

Three of the braver guards charged, encouraged by Moorlock, who was pointing his sword and screaming at the consequences of their cowardice. Michael
trained his spellshooter on the attackers, but he needn’t have bothered. Angus swung his quarterstaff, ignoring the sword thrusts that penetrated his
limited defence, and moments later three royal guards were rolling on the ground in pain.

“Get that breastplate off him!” Moorlock screamed.

The rest of the guards attacked, trying to crush him with the weight of numbers. But Angus charged forwards, and broke free of the circle. His quarterstaff
was a blur, and Michael winced as it cracked against limbs. A couple of the guards had the sense to strike Angus’s exposed areas, and Michael grimaced as a
sword grazed Angus’s cheek, drawing blood. But to his amazement, the wound healed within moments, leaving only the faintest scar.

The fight took less than three minutes. Moorlock stared in horror at his fallen guards. He lifted a trembling sword at Angus.

“Don’t hurt me,” he said, his lips quivering. “I can offer you a pardon. I can offer you freedom.”

Michael almost choked in disgust, but Angus kept a level head.

“No, you won’t. As soon as you leave, you will run back to the palace and get reinforcements.” He sighed. “Get your men, and leave. Some of them require
medical attention.”

Michael knew Moorlock wanted to leave without his guards, but he wasn’t about to disobey the man who had taken down his entire unit with nothing more than
a broomstick. So he dragged each man out, until Angus and Michael were once again alone.

Michael fired another spell into his chest, removing the invisibility that shrouded him.

“That was impressive. I don’t remember you being that handy with a quarterstaff. Was that the breastplate?”

“In part,” Angus said. “Amongst other things, it increases my reaction time and strengthens my muscles. You probably noticed that it also helps me heal.”

Michael smiled. “Yes, I noticed.” His smile faded as he looked around the ruined house. “Why did you let them search the place? You could have stopped
them.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Angus said. “I’m leaving.”

Michael relaxed. “About time. You should have moved to the Unseen Kingdoms the moment Elizabeth passed away. I know some really nice houses on the west
side of Taecia, not far from my place.”

“I’m not moving house,” Angus said. He fixed the broomstick back onto the brush and idly started sweeping. It was a lost cause – the place was a wreck –
but Angus had always been a bit of a neat freak.

“I don’t follow,” Michael said, frowning. “You plan on being homeless?”

“I plan on travelling,” Angus said. “I need somewhere to hide the breastplate. Somewhere secure, somewhere nobody would think of looking, with natural
defences that are almost impossible to breach.”

“You have a place in mind?” Michael asked.

“I have an idea,” Angus said. “It is based on a whisper of a rumour, and I need to go there to confirm whether it might work. It is deep within the Unseen
Kingdoms, and there are some very unfriendly, dangerous people there.” Angus stopped sweeping for a moment, and gave Michael a long look. “I may not make
it back.”

“Surely there is somewhere less dangerous to hide the breastplate? Somewhere without people who might kill you?” Michael asked.

Angus gave a little smile. “Those are the very people I plan to use to help me guard the armour.”

Michael couldn’t contain his surprise. “How are you going to manage that? Even if you could convince them, could they be trusted with the breastplate?”

“If they are the people I believe they are, then yes,” Angus said. “I have seen first-hand how desperate the prince has become. And the breastplate…" Angus
paused, considering his words. “Let’s just say the breastplate, more than any of the other pieces, would not be good for him. It would be very, very
dangerous for the prince to get his hands on it.”

Having seen Angus wearing it, Michael believed him.

“I’m guessing you want to keep your proposed destination a secret?”

Angus nodded. “We all keep our hiding places a secret. But if my plan comes off, the prince will never get his hands on the breastplate.”

“And if you don’t?”

Angus looked right into Michael’s eyes. “Then you may have to come and find me.”

Michael stared long and hard at his old companion, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Of all the directors, Angus was his closest friend, closer even than
Charlotte, the petite Director of Trade. They both came from humble beginnings, and they both had to face adversity from outside the Institute and within to get to the top. The thought
of losing him made his stomach churn. He desperately wanted to change Angus’s mind, but knew it would be fruitless. Angus was a stubborn man.

“Good luck,” Michael said.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, he would never see Angus again.

He was right.

Present Day

Ben pumped his arms as he ran, his eyes focused on a tiny gleaming sparkle in the distance. The key – their one possible clue to the next piece of
Elizabeth’s Armour – was getting away from them. It cut through the air, like a hawk on a mission.

“I’m losing it!” Ben said with increasing panic.

Natalie ran – or rather, glided – beside him, her feet flying over the grass.

“I can still see it,” she said, sounding more like she was taking a pleasant walk, rather than sprinting over the hillside.

Ben filed in behind her as they cut between small valleys and up gentle hills. Had he not been so focused on following the key, Ben might have admired the
lush green countryside and the flowers that sprinkled the hills. There was a stiff breeze, which helped cool him down as he tried to keep up with Natalie.

“There it is!” Natalie said, pointing.

They stopped at the base of a hill so steep it was almost vertical.

“Well done, Nat,” Ben said, as he took several deep breaths to recover.

The key was half-buried into the grass on the hill, and only the ornate hilt could be seen.

Ben heard heavy footsteps and the sound of laboured breathing, and he turned. Charlie’s face was a bright tomato, but beneath the anguish of running was a
look of triumph.

“I must be getting fitter,” Charlie said, when he got his breath back. “I managed to run almost five minutes without collapsing. Do you think I’m losing
weight?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Ben and Natalie chimed in.

Charlie nodded happily, unaware of the pretence, and they turned to the key embedded in the hill.

“What’s so special about this hill?” Natalie wondered out loud.

Ben went up to the key and grabbed its handle. He gave it a shake.

“It’s stuck in a keyhole,” Ben said with suppressed excitement.

Charlie and Natalie stepped up to take a closer look.

“Can you turn it?” Charlie asked.

Ben applied pressure, and the key turned easily, giving a loud click. He pulled it open, using the key as a handle. A small door, covered in grass and mud,
swung open. The bright sun revealed a narrow, dark passageway that descended downwards.

“Oh my word,” Charlie said, stepping back, and wafting his hand in front of his nose. “What is that smell?”

“It smells of…" Natalie’s voice faded, and her eyes widened.

“It smells of death,” Ben said.

They stared into the passageway with growing alarm. The smell was faint, but unmistakable.

“Are there any alternatives to going in?” Charlie asked.

“I can’t think of any,” Natalie said, glancing at Ben for confirmation.

Natalie was right. They had been given the key by Nigel Winkleforth, one of three Protectors responsible for safeguarding Elizabeth’s Helm. It made sense
that Winkleforth might also have some connection to another piece of the armour. Or so Ben kept telling himself.

“This is our only lead,” Ben said.

Charlie frowned. “Doesn’t it seem like a rather large coincidence that the key happens to fly off and end up here? What were the chances of us being near
this hill in the first place?”

“You’re right. Perhaps we got lucky or maybe there is another reason. But it doesn’t matter – this is where the key led us, and it’s our only lead.”

Charlie loosened his spellshooter with a sigh, but the mystery the key presented eased his anxiety.

Ben took a deep breath, and stepped into the passageway. He was immediately plunged into near darkness. He fired a simple light spell, and a flare ignited
from the tip of his barrel, illuminating the path.

The passage was wide enough only for single file, so he led, and Charlie brought up the rear, with Natalie in the middle. The passage was created as if the
builders had been trying to make as much progress as possible without much attention to structure. The ceiling was uneven and only at the very centre could
they stand up straight. Occasionally the passage would widen to fit two abreast, but then it would narrow so dramatically that they would have to sidestep
to keep going.

They walked in silence for what seemed like an eternity, the only sound coming from their footsteps on the rough stone floor. The path wound left and
right, but always maintained its gradual descent.

The smell started to get stronger. At first, it was faint enough to almost ignore, but gradually it became worse, until it seemed to clog the passage and
seep into their pores.

“Is anyone else getting a bad feeling about this?” Charlie asked, breaking the silence. “I don’t want to alarm you, but this smell of decay is most likely
going to come from dead bodies and, by the smell of it, lots of them.”

“Dead bodies can’t hurt you,” Natalie said.

“No, but what if there are some still living?” Charlie said.

Ben was about to reply when he noticed a faint glow in the distance. He stopped instinctively, and Natalie bumped into him.

“Looks like we’re about to get to wherever we’re going,” Ben said. “Make sure you have your spellshooters handy.”

He continued forwards slowly, his spellshooter held in front of him. Now more than ever silence was required, but it was difficult with the smell, which
was so overwhelming he had to stop himself gagging on several occasions. He took deep, calming breaths, but he could do nothing about his beating heart,
which sounded like a bass drum, reverberating off the walls.

He stopped just before the end of the passageway, wiped his sweaty hands on his shirt, and stepped through, into the dim light.

Ben stared in horror at the sight.

Below them, dead bodies littered the floor of what looked like a great underground hall. Dwarves and dark elves lay sprawled everywhere, caked in blood,
with weapons criss-crossing their bodies. There was barely room to walk between them all. The smell was clearly coming from the bodies, but unlike humans,
there was almost no sign of decay, making it impossible to date the incident.

Ben wasn’t sure how long he stared at the carnage before he finally had the sense to scan the rest of the hall for danger.

Nothing moved. He cast his eye upwards to the vaulted ceiling, from which a dull light shone, illuminating the horrific scene below. Ben saw no movement
there either. The place was a graveyard.

A gagging noise made Ben turn, and he saw Charlie vomiting on the floor, hands on knees. Natalie was coping marginally better, though her face had turned
pale and she also looked ready to be sick.

“I can’t go down there,” Charlie said, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping his mouth.

For once, Ben had no witty, tongue-in-cheek response. He too had no stomach for walking through piles of dead bodies. Instead, they remained where they
were, until the initial shock and horror started to wear off.