“Come!” Faria says through his teeth.
I hear the panting of the creature’s foul breath and the beat of his hideous, misshapen heart. I hear the clicking of jagged teeth. He’s several floors up, much closer than I expected. Goth has passed my cell many times before, but the thick iron door that separates my chamber from the outside has always felt like an impregnable barrier. Now I feel naked. I never thought I’d be pining for the security of a locked jail cell!
Faria and I reach the top of the stairs. There is a growl. He’s here. My master puts a hand on my shoulder. He taps his index finger in a pattern on my skin, a rudimentary code we use to communicate in silence: Go. We have no choice.
No! I respond. Too risky.
He taps again. Calculated risk. Get to the air duct.
He takes off down the hallway. If he dies so that I may make it safely back to the air duct, I’ll kill him!
It’s too late. Goth has heard the sounds of Faria’s running and is coming. I freeze. There’s nowhere to go. I could double back to the stairwell, but there’s no telling if Goth will pick up my trail instead of Faria’s. The lumbering of his meaty footsteps and the rattle of his chains grows louder. He roars like a prehistoric beast.
The air duct is ahead, but now the giant creature is in between me and escape. I hug the dungeon wall and hold perfectly still. This is my only chance. I hold my breath and calm the frantic beating of my heart. I look inward slowing the flow of blood . . .
The creature passes. I keep only the mildest sense of outside awareness as I enter a comatose trance. I would surely appear lifeless were any medical doctor to examine me. Will my ruse fool Goth, though?
The creature stops and sniffs. He’s big. Perhaps seven feet tall and wider than three men shoulder to shoulder. His feet are heavy slabs; their odor wafts into my nostrils, making me want to retch. Talonlike toenails scrape the stone. He reaches out a clawed hand and waves it in the air. He senses I’m near, but I don’t dare break the trance. I keep myself from falling into unconsciousness, knowing that if he does contact anything, I’ll need to run for my life.
The sound of a strange tune whistles through the cavern. The monster’s head whips around.
It’s Faria. He’s trying to draw Goth away from me!
Goth growls and takes off down the hallway, feet smacking the floor as he goes. I wait and wait. I open my ears, listening for the pulsation of his heart, the pant of his breath. I awaken my body from the trance as quickly as I dare. Blood pumps through my arteries and my muscles flex. I send hormones racing through my sympathetic nervous system, preparing for flight, and spring from my hiding place to sprint down the hall.
Goth’s rattling chains stop. He reverses course and barrels down the corridor after me.
Move! Damn you, Edmon, move!
There’s no way he can catch me. No two-legged humanoid that big could move that fast. Yet I hear him gaining. How is it possible?
The vent to the air ducts is fifty meters ahead and twenty meters up. I feel my body burning through glycogen that fuels my muscles, lactic acid pumping. I don’t have much more to give. Goth’s hoary breath bears down on my back. A taloned finger scrapes my shoulder blade.
By the twisted star, I’m done for!
I skyrocket toward the ceiling. Everything goes blank for a moment as all thought drops away. I pull myself into the vent and climb into the duct where the huge monstrosity cannot follow. I slam the grating closed, sealing the passageway. Below, he howls with animal rage.
The whistling of the strange tune begins again. Faria still tries to pull the monster’s attentions from me. He will surely die, but I must survive. For my mother. For Nadia. For revenge.
I climb through the vents as fast as my weary body will allow. Three levels of vertical ascent convince me that next time I leave my cell I should find a way to take the stairs. Only fifty or so more levels to go . . .
I drop from the ceiling vent onto the floor of my hold. I gather the rags around me and pull the food tray to me from underneath the door slat. I wolf down the ration paste quickly, trying to quell the burning in my dying muscles. It is irony that the very monster who keeps me fed almost murdered me.
The thought hits me—I’ll never see the old man again.
I’m not ready! I don’t know if I’ll be able to find the reader again, much less keep my promise to find the treasure of Miral. My brain is foggy. I’ve expended too much energy in the escape. My body starts to cramp. I calm myself with relaxed breaths. Weariness and grief take me.
When I awake, Faria sits over me as always. I don’t see him, rather I hear it. I feel it.
“Faria?”
“You expected someone else?”
“No. But I thought—ugh.” I wrinkle my nose. “I could smell you ten kilometers away.”
“You’re one to talk, Leontes.” He stands. “Five months with no bath hasn’t done you any favors, either. You’re welcome for saving your life. Again.”
“How did you make it past Goth?” I ask.
“The mad dash you made for the vent gave me enough time to find an alternate route. You should have stayed in the trance until I had lured him away completely.”
“I didn’t want to be there any longer than I had to.”
“Fear is no crime,” he says. “But acting from fear is. Know that you’re going to lose everything one day, whether you fear to lose it or not.”
I nod, feeling like I’ve already lost everything, anyway. Revenge is all I have left.
CHAPTER 21
ARIOSO
“Come at me!” Faria baits. I lunge forward, swinging a metal rod. All I hear is the sound of air. “Too slow,” he murmurs.
“I could divert my energy,” I say, panting. “Make myself fast enough to hit you.”
“You could,” he says, “but then you sacrifice your balance.”
Our “blades” cross. I strike, he parries, he counters, and I riposte. The music of fencing.
“Your little friend, Phaestion Julii, is a master of rapier and dagger,” Faria taunts. “How do you expect to defeat him if you cannot beat me?”
I ricochet off the wall. I flip head over heels to dodge the stroke.
“Lightly, Edmon. Use your anger to give you focus,” Faria commands. “Don’t prevent the storm. Become it.”
I twirl the blade with an abonico flourish, aiming for the man’s head. He rolls, bringing up his rod for an umbrella block with one hand and clawing my sword hand with his other. He twists my wrist with numbing strength. He flips me.
Not this time, old man.
I roll with it, land on my feet, and let go of my weapon in the process. Now he wields both rods against me. “Do you yield?”
“I haven’t lost yet,” I fire back. I charge, and he’s caught by surprise. I tackle him. He rolls expertly, but I snag my metal rod in the tumult, and our blades cross again. I poise my weapon high over my head. I slice downward with swift power to strike his head. Suddenly, he’s not there, and my metal clangs against the stone floor. His weapon kisses the back of my neck.