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  "We heard sword against sword. Not close enough to hear us in return, but definitely on our trail," I said as stopped.

  "It was only a matter of time," he said as he picked the door's lock. "Now, let us hope this is not the end of our retreat."

  Slowly opening the door with a surprisingly silent and smooth motion, we saw a small room no bigger than ten feet by ten feet. It was very musty and smelled more like a cave than a man-made structure. Its floor was covered in dust and small rocks suggesting it had not been disturbed for quite some time. Vennesulte grabbed one of the wall torches to light the room. And that was it, just a room with nothing inside. It lacked what the other rooms of the dungeon contained. There were no shackles, nor bars, nor machines of torture. It was empty and seemed to reflect my slowly emptying hope.

  "Do not lose hope so easily," said Kinarin, "I think this is exactly what we are looking for. Now, our only challenge is to find the concealed mechanism to open the secret passage. It will likely either be a small, out of place rock in the floor. Perhaps slightly raised. Or it could be a small hole in the mortar between the stone blocks of the walls. Either way, it will not be easy to find." He paused as did we when we heard the faint sounds of voices coming from down the corridor.

  "Quick, replace the torch back on the wall. It would not look right for there to be only one wall torch when there are sconces for two," he continued after a moment of listening. "Make sure to close the door and smooth out any of our dusty footprints."

  “How are we supposed to search in complete darkness?” I asked.

  “Worry not,” he said as he produced yet another device from his pouch. It was a little longer than my hand and about as wide as my thumb. When Vennesulte returned the torch and closed the door, I heard a sharp snap. In a few seconds, the room was illuminated by a faint, yellowish glow coming from the apparatus in Kinarin’s hand. As he finished shaking it a few more times, its intensity grew and, through faint, the room was adequately illuminated. Before he began searching the walls, he placed a small piece of fabric at the bottom of the door, blocking any light from escaping beneath it.

  The three of us began our search for any possible secret door. Vennesulte crouched low and began examining the floor. Kinarin examined the wall to the right of the door leaving me with the wall to the left. What began as a matter of hope slowly dissolved into a task of monotonous scrutiny of every misplaced morsel and minute crevasse. Having been rejected from success time and time again, I had almost given up hope until I felt a small gap with my fingertips as I drew them across the wall on the opposite side of the entryway. Just as Kinarin had said, there was indeed a gap in the mortar space, though it was small; perhaps only the size of an arrow shaft.

  "Kinarin," I whispered. "I think I found something."

  He walked over, reached his hand out to where my finger was, and felt the gap for himself. "There is only one way to find out," he said as he pulled a longer metal rod from his loose-fitting trousers. He inserted it until he felt some resistance. He looked to both Vennesulte and I and then gave it an abrupt push. All three of us heard a moderately loud click. Moments later, we heard the sounds of gears turning. Moments after that, we heard the loud sound of stone grinding on stone as a small portion of the wall slid back into itself and then to the side revealing a dark and small hallway.

  "Quickly now. Someone would have heard that," said Kinarin.

  "It must have come from inside that room," we heard a voice say from outside the closed and locked door. Clearly, their knowledge of castles, keeps, lords and ladies resembled Kinarin’s.

  "Then get inside and see what it was! I do not want any surprises for Lord Kahl when he sits on the Stone Throne for the first time!" said another voice, higher in pitch and more urgent than the first.

  As the three of us completed our hurried move into the secret passage, Kinarin and I slid the stone wall back into place. After we were satisfied it had slid the entire way, we began our trek through the black, unlit passage. Had it not been for Kinarin’s light rod, our journey would have taken much longer. Unlike the other dark hallways in the depths of the dungeons, this one was not built from stone and mortar. Its walls and its ceilings were dug from the ground and as such, our noses and mouths were filled with the smells and tastes of earth. But not the freshly planted earth from the farm as I was most familiar with, nor the rather pungent smell of animal fertilizer, which I had grown accustomed to and actually missed. Rather, it was filled with a rankness and staleness resembling a combination of hardened animal dung and dried vomit.

  There were many twists and turns in our cramped passage, but it was singular in direction and easy to follow. We did not hear any sounds approaching from our rear, indicating our presence within the halls of the keep had remained hidden. However, it was likely not to remain so because, according to Kinarin, we would emerge into someone's chambers, or possibly the throne room itself. However, we had no other choice if we wished to stay hidden from the attacking army for as long as we could.

  When the light from his apparatus had almost completely faded making vision beyond ten or more feet almost impossible, the master assassin offered an abrupt but faint hushing sound. We stayed motionless for several minutes while he listened for signs of movement. We had apparently reached the end of the earthen passageway and the moment when we would reenter the world beyond our darkened solitude. Taking precautions to still even our breathing to all but what was necessary for life, we remained silent and motionless until Kinarin indicated it was clear.

  “Quiet now. What lies beyond this door, I know not. But we had best expect the worst,” he said as he began feeling around the edges of a faintly outlined door. When he found what he was searching for, he produced the long, thin strip of metal and inserted it inside a small hole. Just like it did when entering this secret passageway, it produced a small noise. But this time, it was not accompanied by the loud grinding of stone on stone. Instead, we heard three faint clicks coming from somewhere ahead. We then saw three slivers of light break the darkness outlining the hidden door. Kinarin slowly slid it open allowing time for our eyes to adjust and, perhaps a greater motivation, to prevent alerting those would could be in the room, before we were ready to respond. When he had opened the door enough for us to slip through, he went first, bidding Vennesulte and I to wait until he was certain it was clear. When it was safe, my monk friend and I followed. Kinarin had been correct again. We had indeed emerged into the throne room from a door located behind the same dais where, only a short time ago, my arrow struck an unintended victim. And although it was empty of all things blessed with life, it still held the memory of my failure and the death that ensued.

  Surveying the room, we saw the large, ornate central doors leading out of the throne room and into the central courtyard. Aside from that, there was only one other exit, a smaller door placed behind and to the side of the throne. Vennesulte and I began heading for the door behind the throne but were halted by Kinarin once again, "That is not the way we need to go."

  "What do you mean? We cannot possibly go out through the central doors," I replied. "There will undoubtedly be many guards, both from the stone keep and the invading army waiting for us on the other side."

  "Vennesulte agrees with Drin. If we exit through those doors, we will be seen and identified as unfriendly to the side that finds us first," said the young monk.

  Kinarin paused to consider our words and looked at both doors, "Either way will not be easy, but that door leads deeper into the keep. And probably to the private quarters of the Lord which consists of some form of war room, private bed chambers, and special visitor's quarters. What I am saying is that while it will provide with less resistance from our mortal enemies, it will provide more from our enemy of location. Once we pass through that small door, will have no way out. Sooner or later we will need to go through that main door."

  Before we could respond, we heard a loud clack followed by several grunts and diffuse voices coming from behin
d the central doors. Instinctively, we darted behind one of the large supporting pillars and turned our attention to whoever or whatever was entering through our main mode of our hopeful escape. Like an ant hole spilling forth all of its soldiers before the queen, the room filled with multiple black armored soldiers who would be sure to find us within moments. I felt my heart thud against my inner chest wall and felt my breathing become more rapid. My hands instinctively reached for my weapons, but found only what the guards had left us, nothing.

  "Steady now," said Kinarin. "It will be important that we do not move." I turned to see him gather his hands to the center of his body as he intricately flexed several of his fingers in a very defined pattern. I felt the air around us shutter and the light shift.

  "That is interesting," said Vennesulte.

  Kinarin hushed him with a short, quiet burst of air. "I can conceal us from their eyes, or I can bend the sounds of our voices, but I cannot do both."

  As the flood of soldier ants drenched the floor of the throne room, multiple soldiers walked right by our position, stared at us, and then continued on as if we were not there. Although nothing regarding my mentor should have surprised me by now, this did. I had seen him use a technique he had never mentioned the first time we were cornered by the guards. He was able to close the distance between he and their leader without appearing to physically traversing the gap. I was able to accept that, mentally that is, without needing further clarification. However, looking right into the eyes of someone without him seeing me in return when he was only feet away caused me to advance my questions about Kinarin's past to a position of primary necessity. But, the necessity of survival was still holding onto the prime position the way a trained thoroughbred does in a championship race. So, silence was my only action, for now.

  After the initial scurrying, the urgency of the invading soldiers (or should I say victorious soldiers), changed from search and secure, to position and posts. We then watched as two of the soldiers opened the main doors once again. Though them strode a powerfully evil visage blending confidence, malice, arrogance, contempt, and victory into a singularly cohesive gait portraying utter satisfaction. His long, white hair flowing in stark contrast to the black armor he wore, showed no signs of the age normally accompanying that color. Deliberately, he walked up the steps of the dais until he stood in front of the throne. He paused, looked up, and then turned. After several moments, he slowly allowed his knees to bend until he restfully sat, hands resting on the cool stone armrests. And then, he smiled.

  It was a smile that chilled the heart the way the fierce winters of the far northern reaches of The Spine chilled the ice glaciers the ice giants called home. How anything was able to remain alive in those conditions even evaded the logic of the Wizards of the University. Such was the cold, chilling truth of this man's smile. How anything mortal remained alive underneath that blanket of chilled evil reflected in his icy grin was an equivalent mystery.

  Drawing our attention from this man was a second figure entering the throne room. He wore a black robe and was shrouded in a fine but equally dark mist that seemed to hide his motion from our eyes. He walked to the bottom of the dais and bowed deeply and slowly. When he returned to his upright posture, full of confidence, he spoke with a voice that echoed the chill in his master's grin, "Lord Jesolin! I congratulate you on your mighty victory. The battle plans unfolded exactly as you had foreseen."

  "Thank you, Mordin, my most loyal of servants, but it was not my sight that foresaw the battle and our victory. It was he, my master, our true master," said Lord Jesolin.

  Entering the throne room next was the most darkly beautiful woman I had even seen. Raven black hair spilling down over her shoulders ended in a pool of shimmering darkness at the center of her back. Her shoulderless, black armor gleamed a brilliant silhouette of static violence as it reflected the light from the huge candelabras hanging from the ceiling. Unholy and demure, she almost floated as her hips swung subtly from side to side until they stopped allowing her to bow before man on the throne as well.

  "Lord Kahl, your victory will be written about for all the ages. You have done what no one else has ever been able to do. You have done the impossible," the words dripped from her black lips. After a moment of silence, she drew one of her two blades and thrust it into the air its black metal reflecting every bit of evil and power that she did. "Long live Lord Jesolin Kahl!"

  “Love live Lord Jesolin Kahl!” answered every soldier in the throne room.

  When the response ended, and the enthusiastic cheers subsided, Lord Jesolin spoke and addressed the woman, "Vismorda, my every present and ever faithful servant. Your Ravens performed admirably today. Without them, we would not have taken the keep as thoroughly as we did."

  "Thank you, my Lord," she said with a smile.

  "Lord Kahl, while our victory is absolute, there is something we need to consider," said the robed man named Mordin.

  "What is troubling you, Prime Necron?" he asked as we still waited under the cover provided by Kinarin. Although I had no knowledge of such techniques, I knew they could not be maintained forever, nothing could. But seeing no urgency from the elder assassin, my worry was minimized for the moment.

  "My Lord, we have heard rumors of a large contingency of the population that successfully escaped during our battle. We could bolster our numbers greatly if they were to be retrieved," said the robed man.

  "My Lord Jesolin, I do not know what significance these people can hold. Nor can I see the benefit of extending our resources to retrieve them," interjected the woman before Jesolin could respond.

  "My Lord," continued the man named Mordin as he looked to the woman, "I can assure you that retrieving them will benefit our cause. Not only would we be able to increase the size of our Dead Guards, but we can also ensure our secrecy remains intact for as long as we can."

  "That may be true, Mordin" said the woman as she directly addressed the robed man, "but my Ravens need rest. Certainly, they are more valuable than any of the Dead Guards regardless of how much we increase their numbers."

  Watching the scene unfold was becoming more difficult under the guise of static invisibility. Kinarin had always said the most difficult quality and skill to develop in the assassin was that of patience, and would joke with me that if I possessed even a portion of the patience he did, I would find myself progressing beyond his skill with speed and efficacy. But as I had not the luxury of his stone solid persona, my anticipation for action and potential freedom was beginning to win.

  When I was sure their debate would soon escalate into a physical confrontation, Lord Jesolin interrupted their blossoming argument, "Vismorda, Mordin," he said as he looked to each, "both of your devotions to myself, my master, and the propagation of his cause is not, nor will ever be in question. You have proven yourselves many times over. However, we must let down any selfish designs and plans for the future in this moment. This moment is about victory. It is about ascendance. And it is about celebration. Rest assured, my two devoted Harbingers of Death, more blood will be spilled and our transgression of all that is good will continue, but not now. Now we must still our foul steps and hold our strides in place. Now we will show or followers that there is more to life than simply the mission. Because what is the mission if there is no promise of revelry at its end?"

  It was Mordin who spoke first, "As always, your insight and council proves greater than mine. Of course, let us not fret over a few meager citizens and their whereabouts. Why should we when we have all those who stayed?" he said with a grin before he continued. "Thank you, Lord Jesolin, for your wise words."

  "You are welcome, Mordin. As always, I appreciate your thirst for blood," responded Jesolin.

  "My Lord," said the dark woman, "if I may be so bold as to suggest the first display of our celebration?"

  "Of course. What did you have in mind?"

  "A display of the progress of the two young ravens we captured at the farm," she said with a devilishly attractive
yet malicious grin. "They have finally learned to fly on their own."

  "By all means, Vismorda. I would be pleased to see them," he paused for the briefest of moments, "in action."

  The woman turned to the central throne room door and made a quick gesture with her hand. As one of the guards opened them, we saw two short, robed figures walk through each with their heads bowed. I could not see who or what they were because of their hoods, but I was open to the expectation of anything after having witnessed the pure evil sitting atop the throne. When they reached the woman, she motioned them to stop. Their feet came to rest side by side. They moved and even breathed in perfect unison.

  "Lord Jesolin, I present Malice and Vile for your enjoyment. My little Ravens, show your Lord what you have learned."

  It was becoming apparent to me the while Kinarin had attempted to include the progression of my patience in each and every lesson and exercise during my training, nothing could be a better trainer than experience. This was obviously becoming a prolonged and ceremonious display of regimented formality, and would likely last beyond this demonstration. I wondered how many of this Lord's other subjects would present themselves to further stand in the way of our escape.

  With all attentions in the room, except the three of ours, on the small robed figures, I turned to Kinarin with the intention of whispering to him for insight into whatever plan he might have. Just as my eyes were about to leave the scene, the two small figures, Malice and Vile, removed their hoods to reveal short cropped hair that got longer as it progressed from the backs of their heads to the fronts. They were the same height and had the same hair color, however, I was not able to see the extent of their similarities beyond those because their backs were turned.

  When I started to speak, but before the first word was fully formed, Kinarin held his hand up quickly bringing my question to an unmanifested halt. With no other option for action, I turned back to the two robed figures who were now standing opposite each other, each with two small blades drawn. There was something familiar about them, the way they stood, but I could not locate the source of that familiarity, until they moved.