Mark Anthony - Tower of Doom

"Almost there, my friends," he whispered through clenched teeth. "Almost there."

At last Wort reached the glowing square of a window. An overhanging stone arch afforded some protection from the wrath of the storm. He huddled on the sill and peered through the window's diamond- shaped panes of beveled glass. Inside was a chamber bathed in warm candlelight, decorated in rose-pink silk and peacock-blue velvet. A lady's room. She sat at a gilded dressing table, gazing into a glass mirror. Even from behind, Wort could see that she was very beautiful. The lady wore only a gauzy night robe that left bare the creamy skin of her shoulders. With smooth strokes she drew an ivory- handled brush through thick, cinnamon-colored hair. After a moment the woman set down the brush and stood. As she did, he caught a glimpse of her fine- featured face in the mirror.

Wort rubbed his gnarled hands together gleefully. He had come to the right window. He knew the lady.' Often of late, when gazing down from his belfry, he had seen her draped over the arm of Baron Caidin as the two strolled through the courtyard below. Her name was Sabrinda. The Contessa Sabrinda. All in the keep knew her to be Caidin's favorite lover, at least for the time being.

As it had with growing frequency, a dry voice whispered in his mind. Excellent, Wort. This is just the one you need… one who is close to your loathsome brother. A brief shudder of pleasure coursed through his body, then receded.

The contessa approached a mahogany wardrobe. She opened the wardrobe's doors and ran her hands sensually over the silken gowns within. She selected,one of crimson and draped it over the back of a chair to be ready for the morning. Stretching her arms languorously, she gave a delicate yawn.

"That's it, my sweet," Wort hummed like a lullaby. "Go to sleep now. It is late."

The contessa climbed into a bed draped with sheer curtains, then snuffed out the candles on the night- stand. Darkness stole into the room on padded feet. Wort crouched on the cold windowsill as the storm raged on, waiting for the contessa to fall asleep. It was midnight when he pushed gently against the window. It swung silently open. Wort crept inside accompanied by a gust of rain. Quickly he shut the window, then paused. After a moment he heard it- the soft sound of deep, even breathing. Navigating by chaotic flashes of lightning, he lumbered across the chamber toward the contessa's dressing table.

What to take? he wondered. He supposed it did not matter, as long as it belonged to her. Picking up the ivory brush, he pulled off several long strands of red-brown hair. He wound them into a small lock and tucked it carefully in a pocket. He turned to hobble back toward the open window.

Something stirred softly behind him.

"Caidin?" a voice asked dreamily.

Panic jabbed at Wort's brain. In dread, he turned around. Behind the gauzy curtains that covered the bed the contessa stretched sleepily.

"Caidin, my love-is that you?"

Almost without thinking, he spoke in a low, husky voice. "Yes, love." He winced, waiting for her to cry out in alarm. She did not.

"Come to me, Caidin," she whispered, eyes closed. "Touch me."

Slowly he reached out a hand. Through the sheer silk he stroked her shoulder gently with a gnarled finger.

"Mmm…" she murmured drowsily.

After a moment her breathing slowed as she descended into sleep once more. Wort shuddered in relief. A giddy thought crossed his mind. In the dark- i ness we are no different, my brother! He turned to j make his escape before she woke again. i

He froze at the rattling of a doorknob. The cham- \ ber door was opening! There was no time to think. Wort saw that the mahogany wardrobe was ajar. Hastily he plunged inside, concealing himself behind perfumed gowns. He watched through a hazy curtain of lace and brocade as a broad-shouldered man holding a single candle slipped into the chamber. Wort's lip curled back from his yellow teeth. Baron Caidin blew out the candle and pushed past the sheer curtains into the contessa's bed. Soon soft sounds of pleasure drifted across the room. Wort did not dare attempt to creep to the window. Caidin would surely hear his footsteps. He could only hope the baron would eventually leave after the contessa fell asleep once more. Wort leaned against the back of the wardrobe to wait.

The wooden panel behind him gave way. Wort barely stifled a cry as he rolled backward through the opening. Struggling to right himself, he felt rough stone all around him. He was in some sort of tunnel. Realization dawned on him. This must be one of the secret passages that, from his explorations, he knew riddled Nartok Keep, many long forgotten. He wondered if the contessa even knew of its existence. Probably not, he decided. Thick cobwebs hung across the entrance, suggesting no one had come this way in years. There was no telling where the secret passage led, but Wort decided he had to find out.

Carefully, he slid the wooden panel back into place, sealing himself in the secret passage. He stood up in the narrow space, drew the magical silver candle from his pocket, and concentrated his mental energy. A small flame flared to life on its tip, iHuminating the rough-hewn tunnel. Gripping the candle, he moved swiftly down the passage. The:‹iunnd led downward, twisting and doubling back on fcself until Wort lost all sense of direction. The blackness seemed to press menacingly from all around, ^perhaps he should go back. Better to risk discovery in the contessa's chamber than to lose himself in this endless labyrinth beneath the keep. Wort turned around-and froze.

Drifting toward him was a cloud of silvery mist. It glowed against the darkness, swirling and billowing like a miniature storm cloud. It floated closer. Wort backed away, but the cloud quickly closed the gap, as if with malevolent intelligence it sensed his readiness to bolt. Wort turned to run-down the tunnel.

He was far too slow. With a rushing sound, the glowing cloud of mist engulfed him. Chill tingling pricked his skin as he was lifted into the air. Wort clamped his mouth shut, holding his breath to keep from breathing in the clammy mist. He kicked and clawed at the silvery vapor, but it was as if he moved through thick ooze. His struggling had no effect. Finally he could resist the burning of his lungs no longer. He took in a shuddering lungful of the glowing gas. Numbness descended over his body, paralyzing him. The cloud began to drift down the tunnel, carrying Wort with it. Beyond the gaseous veil he had the impression of stone walls slipping by, illuminated by the mist's eerie phosphorescence. Whatever this cloud was, it was taking him somewhere-somewhere far below the keep. For what purpose he dared not consider.

At last the cloud of mist halted. As quickly as it had engulfed Wort, it let him go, dissipating on the dark air. Sensation flooded back into his numb limbs just in time to let him feel pain when he crashed to the hard floor. The silver candle clattered to the stones also, its magical flame casting a small circle of golden light. Groaning, Wort pulled himself to his knees.

There were at least a dozen of them-shadowed forms standing just beyond reach of the candlelight. Wort could not make out who they were. Or what. He caught outlines that were manlike in shape, and others that were… something else.

"Look what your mist elemental caught, Ghurr," a slurred voice spoke.

"What do you think, Ghurr?" bubbled another. "Is he Clan Krillek or Clan Borrash?"

A growling voice spoke then. "Why don't we find out, Clan Ghurran?"

Wort cringed inside his cloak as one of the figures-the one called Ghurr-stepped into the circle of light. He was not entirely human. He had the torso of a powerful man, but also goatlike legs that ended in sharp talons instead of hooves. One of his arms was human, but the other was a glistening tentacle, covered with suction cups. Instead of a mouth, he had the recurved beak of a vulture. His crimson eyes glowed with evil intelligence.