Thinblade (68 page)

“Can you see that?” he asked no one in particular.

“See what?” Abigail said.

“Do you feel any kind of magic? Like the air just became dangerous?” he asked.

Jack spoke up this time. “Now that you mention it, I did feel a bit of strangeness just after we turned this corner.”

“I believe it’s a magical shield,” Lucky said. “We should be cautious.”

Alexander closed his eyes and touched the magic of the ring. He could see the whole Keep floating before him but it was so complex and huge that he couldn’t see the detail he needed. With an effort of will he focused on the place where he stood, and that area became clear and magnified while the rest faded out of view. In the vision of the hallway created by the Keep Master’s ring, there was a shield barring the path because it led to the area reserved for the wizard’s laboratories, libraries, and workrooms. It was a low-level shield meant to protect the inner chambers from those without magic. He focused on the shield for a moment before he understood the nature of its operation and then approached slowly, hand outstretched. At first touch he felt a little thrill of magic race through him like the shield was testing him. It offered only faint resistance before allowing him to push through.

“Anatoly, I’d like you to try and pass,” Alexander said. “Approach slowly with your hand out.”

Anatoly frowned a little but did as requested. His hand met the shield and stopped. He pushed harder but still couldn’t pass. He shook his head in wonder.

“It’s like there’s a solid stone wall right here that I can’t see,” Anatoly said with his hand on the invisible barrier. “Except, I did feel a little tingle the moment I touched it, and then the thought that I wouldn’t be able to pass came immediately into my head. I’m not sure I like this, Alexander.”

“I’m just trying to figure this place out,” Alexander said. “I think I can lower the shield but I want to try something first. Lucky, see if you can pass.”

Lucky shrugged and walked through the shield like it wasn’t even there. “Ah … it appears to be keyed to the magic within a person.”

Alexander nodded. “This is the core of the Keep where the wizards studied, experimented, and created their spells. Looks like it was off-limits to everyone else.”

He closed his eyes and found the shield again in his mind and willed it away. There was a shimmer along the plane where it had stood only a moment before, and Anatoly’s hand, which was still resting on the barrier, fell forward.

“Huh,” Anatoly said, stepping through quickly, as though that place in the hall was dangerous.

They passed many stout, ironbound oak doors spaced at long intervals along the hall. Surprisingly, the wood of the doors looked solid and sturdy. There was no hint of decay, although they did look old and well used.

Lucky looked around with excitement. “What’s behind these doors?” he asked.

“I think they’re libraries and laboratories. Most of the rooms are pretty big.” Alexander didn’t stop.

Lucky smiled with anticipation. He stood in the home of the wizards of old and was eager to explore, but he kept up with Alexander and the others just the same.

There were many side halls that jutted off the main corridor, but Alexander stayed his course. The passage was long and straight, driving through the heart of the mountain. The ceiling was high overhead and the walls were bare. If there had ever been any ornamentation or decoration in this part of the ancient Keep, it had long since turned to dust. The long hall that formed the backbone of the instruction, training, and research area ran perfectly straight and level for a mile or more. With the magic of the ring, Alexander could see the end nearing even though his sight was limited to the few dozen feet of light cast by the glow of the night wisp dust.

Once they reached the last remaining steps of the hall, they found something they didn’t expect. There was a line drawn straight across the hall from wall to wall, but that wasn’t what stopped them all in their tracks. At the edge of their light, they could see the end of the hallway. An archway was sculpted into the wall with a protrusion of the same black stone but there was no passage beneath, only a stone wall where there should have been an entryway.

Standing in the middle of the hallway was a six-foot stone statue of a man in armor with both hands resting on the pommel of an oversized black stone sword. The statue was formed of the same black granite as the walls of the Keep, but it had a finely carved quality about it that made it look almost alive. The remnants of more than a dozen long-dead corpses were scattered carelessly around its feet.

Alexander knew instinctively that the line before him was a warning, that crossing it would awaken the sentinel. He could see the likely result of such an action scattered about the floor. Some of the skeletons were broken and dismembered. Others were intact, yet seemed to have crumpled to the floor, most likely after the length of a sword had been withdrawn from their bodies, leaving them where they fell in a carelessly discarded heap.

The Keep Master’s tower lay beyond the stone sentinel. Alexander reached into the ring with his mind and looked for this place. The vast complexity of the Keep blurred past his mind’s eye until he saw the place where he was standing. He saw nothing except the end of the passageway and a secure portal leading to the central tower. There wasn’t a sentinel or a line on the floor or any indication of a guardian.

He stood at the threshold, looking at the sentinel. He’d traveled so far and endured so much to bring him to this place. The simple choice that lay before him was to cross the line or turn back. He knew even as the thought formed that he wouldn’t turn back. The only course he could choose was forward. To turn back was to abandon reason, life, and the future. With the calm certainty of a decision made, he turned to Isabel and smiled.

“I love you,” he said and then stepped over the line.

The line on the ground shimmered and the plane it described across the hallway solidified into a shield of invisible magical force enclosing Alexander with the sentinel in a battlefield every bit as inescapable as a gladiator’s arena. He could hear his friends gasp and Anatoly curse when the sentinel came to life.

Its sword whirled up into its hand and its eyes began to glow behind its carved stone helmet, faintly at first, then more brightly until they resembled the fall of sunlight on fresh snow. The sentinel didn’t advance but stood its ground, regarding Alexander with newly awakened awareness.

Alexander didn’t waver or show any threat. He stood and waited. He could hear Lucky curse from beyond the shield at being denied entry. Alexander was alone, but then he knew he would be. This was a test. A final guardian set by Mage Cedric to ensure that only an acceptable champion would be able to proceed.

The sentinel spoke with a hollow-sounding voice devoid of inflection or emotion that seemed to come from a great distance away. “You face three tests.”

Alexander held the brightly glowing eyes without faltering. “Proceed.” He could feel the silence of his companions behind him.

“Touch the stone of Mage Cedric’s ring to the stone of wall or floor.”

Alexander lowered himself slowly to the floor without letting go of the sentinel’s gaze and gently but firmly rested the ring against the stone of the floor. A moment passed before he felt a tingle of magic in the air. With his second sight, he saw a wave of color expand from the point that the ring was touching and race up the walls and down the hall as if awakening the entire Keep to his presence. He stood slowly, his gaze never wavering.

There was a long pause. “The ring is recognized. You have passed the first test.” Still the sentinel did not move, its sword held high and ready.

“You must forfeit the life of one of your companions. Choose.”

Chapter 55

A tingle of icy dread raced up Alexander’s spine and was answered with a drip of perspiration trickling down his back. He stood stock-still in disbelief and horror, dumbfounded by the demand. How could Mage Cedric place such a monstrous burden on him? It was inconceivable. Almost as a subconscious act, he catalogued each of his companion’s names in his mind and saw the inestimable value of each life.

His love. His sister. His protector. His teacher. His friend.

They were all precious to him. But more than that, each was precious in his or her own right. Each was a unique life of incalculable worth. How could he choose one of them to die? The demand penetrated into him like the cold penetrates after a plunge into icy water. He felt numb disbelief. He wanted to believe that he’d heard wrong or that he’d misunderstood. But he knew that he hadn’t. Yet, how could he choose?

For a long moment he stared at the glowing eyes of the sword-wielding statue and struggled to make sense of the demand. He felt like every assumption and belief he held, his every conception of morality, was built on a bed of quicksand. His mind refused to work in the face of the decision hanging in the air like a sentence.

Mage Cedric had placed this test before him. Why? Alexander felt certain of only one thing. He must understand the reason before he uttered an answer. What could be the purpose of such a test? Was the long-dead wizard testing his resolve? His determination to do whatever it takes to succeed? And if he was, what then? How could he possibly choose? When he tried to consider the thought with any seriousness, he felt a wave of revulsion and repudiation well up from the depths of his being. He knew the answer with unspoken certainty even before he was able to put words to it in the quiet privacy of his own mind.

He could not choose.

He would not!

And yet, there he stood, looking into the face of such an impossible demand that he had trouble reconciling it with what he knew to be true. Mage Cedric had been committed to the Old Law. Alexander remembered the words cut into the stone of the Bloodvault.

You have a right to your life because you are alive. You have a right to your liberty because you have free will. You have a right to your property because it is the product of your labor. You forfeit these rights when you take them from another.

Cedric had placed those words there. He expected Alexander to show allegiance to the Old Reishi Law in order to enter the Bloodvault, but now he demanded that Alexander violate the most basic premise of that law.

And then he knew.

He heard his father’s voice as if he were standing right beside him, speaking in the calm and reassuring tone of a man who is certain of his words. “There are no contradictions, only false premises. If you believe you are facing a contradiction, you are not. You simply misunderstand some aspect of the situation. Correct your misunderstanding and the contradiction will vanish.”

Alexander was faced with a contradiction and understood with building clarity that this
was
a test of his commitment, but not in the way he first thought. Cedric was testing his commitment to the Old Law, not his willingness to do whatever it takes to win. The realization settled his anxiety and washed the panic out of the dark corners of his mind.

He hadn’t moved since the sentinel spoke and realized that his every muscle was knotted with tension. With a little smile and a deep breath he relaxed.

“No,” he said clearly. “If you must take a life, then take mine. It’s the only one I have any right to offer.”

The sentinel didn’t react for a long moment. Alexander held his breath.

“You have passed the second test.”

Alexander felt a momentary swell of confidence, which quickly vanished the moment the sentinel said, “On guard,” and then lunged at him with a perfectly executed attack.

Alexander spun to the side, narrowly avoiding the point of the stone blade. He drew his sword in that same moment and deflected a blow that would have been a fatal cut. He regained his footing and faced his enemy. He could see his companions’ fear and helplessness behind the invisible magical wall but didn’t have time to offer them even a flicker of assurance.

He was in a fight and he had a blade in his hand. Everything else faded away as the enemy attacked.

The sentinel came at him with the measured precision and the fluid grace of a master swordsman. Alexander dimly recognized the pattern of the attack and narrowly escaped without injury. He realized a moment too late that he knew a counter for that attack.

The next attack came more quickly than the last, and again it was familiar. He blocked and avoided but again failed to counterstrike. When the sentinel rounded on his position and began a series of movements intended to end with a blade buried in Alexander’s midsection, he saw the pattern the moment it began and attempted the counter. He failed, but managed to avoid the kill strike if only by an inch or two.

The sentinel attacked with techniques that Alexander had learned from the skillbook. Each attack pattern had a counter and each counter had a foil. His mind raced, trying to discern the reason for the attack, but he couldn’t devote sufficient attention to the problem because he needed every part of his mind to survive the relentless assault.

Alexander met the next attack with the kind of awareness that is completely present. His whole consciousness was focused on the form of the attack, on the pattern through space that it described. He could see it with dry, academic precision in his mind’s eye even as he employed the counter with energy and force driven by fear and anger.