Matt Forbeck - Marked for Death

The shifter leaned out through one of the gaps in the battlement. The wall dropped away from it at a negative incline, slanting in toward the rest of the tower. The stones from which the exterior of the tower was made were all cut neat and fitted well and smooth. He had considered scaling his way down to the courtyard, but that seemed impossible now.

Burch picked up a small stone from the roof and dropped it over the edge of the battlement. He listened but never heard it hit bottom. Whether that meant there was no bottom to the moat or that it was filled with those oozes the deathless elf had talked about, the shifter couldn’t tell.

He walked a slow circuit around the perimeter of the wall, keeping his hand on the top of the battlement, bouncing his hand from one high section to the next. He walked for a long while, hoping to find a corner as a point of reference. It was then he realized that the top of the tower was not square but round.

A moment of sharp panic raced through the shifter’s mind. He didn’t know how he’d ever manage to get back to the trapdoor in this mist. He could crisscross the top of the tower time and time again without finding it, he was sure.

Then Burch realized it didn’t matter. The trapdoor was locked, maybe by magic. Even if he found it, he wouldn’t be able to open it. He was stuck out here until Majeeda came to let him back into the tower again.

His mind more at ease, the shifter decided to take a stroll across the roof, just to see if he might stumble across the trapdoor anyhow. That small victory would make him feel better, no matter how hopeless the situation now seemed.

Burch padded across the rooftop, scanning the floor ahead of him and to both sides as he went. He did so twice and never found the trapdoor. He decided to keep at it for awhile, to work off some of his nervous energy. He never liked feeling like he was in a cage, even one without a roof.

Burch had lost track of the number of times he’d crossed the top of the tower and was considering giving up when he tripped over something. He danced across it, regaining his balance, then spun about to see what it was.

Burch got on his knees. Instead of the iron ring in the trapdoor he’d hoped for, he found a large, iron mooring cleat that had been mounted in the tower’s roof with huge spikes. He poked at it for a moment, unsure what to make of it.

Then Burch noticed the rope still attached to the cleat. It was slack, so he picked it up in one hand and followed it. Perhaps there was enough of it for him to lower himself over the side of the roof and to the ground below. He might even be able to swing out wide enough to cross the chasm.

As Burch crept along, the rope cradled in his hand as if it was spun from gold, he realized that the line left the roof and wandered into the sky. Mystified, he followed it until it pulled out of his reach, then he backed up and gave it a tug. It was hanging from something.

Burch scratched his head. “It can’t be,” he said with a grin.

“One way to find out,” the shifter answered himself. He grabbed the rope in both hands and began to climb.

Kandler looked around the bedchamber. Four different beds lined the walls, each made of polished mahogany with a tall, white canopy. A thick oak panel separated this bedchamber from the ladies’, just like the one that partitioned off the sitting room from the rest of this level of the tower. Wide, unglazed windows stood in the tower’s outer wall. As with the windows on the other floors, the mists dared not cross over their thresholds.

The justicar ran a finger along the edge of one of the ornate nightstands that stood next to each bed. It came back covered with dust.

Kandler heard the trapdoor in the tower’s roof slam shut. He returned to the door and pressed his ear against it. He could hear someone walk down the upper stairs and stop in the sitting room.

Majeeda’s voice muttered something in the arcane tongue of wizards. After a moment of silence, footsteps receded down the stairs from the sitting room to the lower levels. When Kandler was sure his host had left, he tried the door. It didn’t budge, no matter how hard he shook it.

The justicar strode over to the windows and peered into the mist. He couldn’t see anything other than the swirling clouds. He poked his head outside, and the cloying mist clung to him. Even at this altitude, it was so thick he couldn’t see anything below or above.

Kandler peered off to his left where he guessed there would be a window looking out from the ladies’ bedchamber. If there was, it remained hidden to him.

“Esprл,” the justicar called through the mist. He feared that Majeeda might hear him, but he was ready to-risk it. “Sallah, are you there?”

“Kandler!” Esprл sounded excited. “We’re here. I can’t see you.”

“Stand aside, child,” said Sallah. “The light of the Silver Flame will help here.”

Kandler saw a light come shimmering out of the darkness to his left. It burned away at the mist, and soon he could see Sallah’s sword flickering with its silvery fire.

“Have you tried your door?” Kandler asked.

“It’s locked,” Esprл said.

“Magically,” said Sallah. “And don’t think about trying to scale these walls.”

Kandler ran his hand along the stones near him. “Too smooth. I left my ropes in the saddlebags too.”

“What about the bed sheets?” asked Esprл.

Kandler snapped his finger. “Good thinking. I’ve got lots of them, plenty to reach the ground.”

“Are you sure?” Sallah said. “We don’t know what’s straight down from here. It could be that chasm or something even worse.”

“Worse than the chasm?” Esprл asked in disbelief.

“I don’t see where we have much of a choice,” said Kandler. “Majeeda’s several arrows shy of a full quiver. The longer we stay here, the better the chance that she’ll do something to us.”

“Sir Deothen will not abandon us in here,” Sallah said. “We need only wait for him and the others to come to our aid.”

“Even if they could somehow get across the chasm, Majeeda would spank them like babies. If they’re lucky, they’d end up here with us, which leaves us in the same spot.”

“So what do you propose?”

Kandler rubbed his chin for a moment. There were no good options, but one was clearly less worse than the others. “We have to give it a try. I’ll make a rope from the sheets over here. Get started over there too.”

“We’re going to use separate ropes?” Sallah asked.

“I’m coming over there first. If I get to the bottom and it’s safe, I’ll tug on the sheets. Then you can follow me down.”

“This is insane.”

“Welcome to the Mournland.”

Kandler went over to the beds, tore their dusty sheets from them, and began knotting them together. The sheets were old, and they had a musty scent that made him sneeze, but they were rough enough that he thought the knots would hold. He wondered how long it had been since someone had slept in them.

The justicar soon had a makeshift rope he was confident would be long enough reach to the ladies’ bedchamber. He needed something to weigh down one end of it, though, so he could throw it. He glanced around and on one of the nightstands he spotted a small statue, a bust of an elf carved from jade. As he picked it up, he wondered if it was a likeness of Majeeda in life. If so, she’d been beautiful. He tied the end of the sheet-rope around it and stepped over to the window.

“Ready,” Kandler said. Sallah’s sword reappeared at her window.

“We’re still working in here,” Esprл called out.

“I’ll give you a hand when I get over there. I only made enough to get from my room to yours.”