Richard Knaak - The Citadel

Already inside the castle, Bakal did not at first realize what happened beyond the walls. The first violent Shockwave sent him to his knees, but he assumed that the defenders had simply managed a second hit with their catapults. Only when the captain reached a window did he realize that he might have been wrong.

The gargoyles fought among themselves. Bakal blinked, not at first willing to believe it. Despite the terrible storm and their master’s wishes, the two factions fought tooth and claw with one another. Why would Stone risk his people so?

Then lightning struck one of the side towers, ripping off a section of wall and laying waste to part of the roof. Bakal would have marked it down as an errant strike if not for a second bolt, which tore apart one section of the outer wall.

The storm had turned on Valkyn.

It hardly seemed possible, unless someone had purposely done it. Tyros, perhaps, but then Bakal recalled that clerics of Branchala had some effect on the weather. Could it be possible that Serene had taken control of the storm? If so, could she maintain her hold? The black mage would certainly investigate, and even his past relationship with Serene wouldn’t keep him from punishing her.

Whatever the reason, it made Bakal’s task more essential. If he could take over, or at least damage, the Wind Captain’s Chair, then certainly that would give everyone more hope.

He started up the steps to the tower, only to see one of the shadow servants descending. Bakal dropped back down and hid around a corner. The hooded figure paused at the bottom of the steps, but to the captain’s great fortune, it turned the opposite direction and soon disappeared down a hallway.

Once more ascending, Bakal watched the steps carefully. Although the shadow servant had moved unhindered, that didn’t mean the way was clear. From a pouch, Bakal pulled out a handful of small pebbles he had scooped up on his way into the castle for just this moment. The veteran didn’t know if what he planned would work, but he couldn’t think of anything else.

With careful aim, Bakal threw the pebbles on the steps before him.

He waited for a flash, a bolt, something. The steps remained normal. Bakal exhaled, both disappointed and relieved. Knowing that he could wait no longer, the captain carefully scooped up as many of the pebbles he could, then proceeded up, repeating the process.

On the tenth step, the pebbles vanished in a familiar flash of blinding light.

Swearing, Bakal let his eyes adjust, then studied the stairway. He had been certain that the tenth step would be safe and the twelfth the deadly one. The captain cursed his aging memory. Either he had miscounted or the spell had shifted position.

Carefully crossing the magical trap, he pushed on. Even though the next few steps proved harmless, Bakal’s nerves were on edge. It would take only one mistake, one lapse, to finish him. Valkyn surely had at least one more vicious trap set; wizards, after all, held a morbid fascination for such things.

Five steps from the top, Captain Bakal found another trap … and almost too late.

The step itself looked innocent, and even when he tossed the pebbles on it, nothing happened. Bakal even reached up and tapped the step with his scythe, quickly drawing back in order to avoid any surprise.

Still suspicious of his luck but unwilling to hesitate anymore, Bakal put a foot on the step.

A slight hiss sent him dropping.

Razor-sharp sheets of metal sprouted from the opposing walls, slicing across the step. Less than an inch separated the vile pair. If Bakal had stood there, the top half of his body would no longer have been attached to the bottom.

As quickly as they had appeared, the huge blades retracted. The devilish device had clearly been set into place by the dark mage, for as the sheets retreated, they vanished into seamless blank walls.

“Draco Paladin!” uttered the scarred veteran, for the moment unable to rise. His body shook as he thought of his near death. The captain had always been ready to give his life on the field of battle, but that hardly compared to this. Better a sword thrust through the heart than severed in half like a fish prepared for supper.

Despite the blades, Bakal knew he could not rest. Estimating the height at which they had materialized, the captain started crawling up the stairs. When the blades did not shoot out, he grew encouraged. Only two steps remained.

Two steps that he had not yet tested.

Still lying down, Bakal took the scythe and tapped the nearest. Nothing. Then, recalling that it had taken the weight of his foot to set off the blades, the Ergothian officer took a chance and used his free hand to push down.

Again nothing.

Only one step left.

Sweating, Bakal used the scythe again. When that failed to bring about any result, he touched the step himself.

And two more blades shot out of the walls, this time just above knee level.

Bakal flattened himself on the stairs, not daring to look up until the blades had vanished again.

“B-Blasted spellcasters!” Bakal didn’t let the new trap slow him, though. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself up the final few feet. The second set of metal blades forced the Ergothian to practically slither.

It was with some relief that he reached the entrance to the tower chamber. The captain gingerly touched the door. To his amazement, it opened readily, with no further surprises. Bakal entered, scythe held before him.

Windows lined the circular room, a different touch from what the veteran recalled from previous flying citadels. In those, the chamber had been sealed off from the outside save for a single inner entrance. Reports had indicated that the one who flew the castle had some magical means of viewing his destination. One had claimed that a spell on the ceiling created some sort of window to the outside world. Bakal actually thought Valkyn’s approach made more sense; let a man see where he’s going and be done with all the mystical nonsense.

At that moment, Bakal caught sight of Valkyn’s steersman, a thing more shadow than man. No matter how many times he had seen the creatures, the cloaked ghouls still unnerved him, more so because he knew that they had once been living men just like himself.

Steeling himself, Captain Bakal shouted, “You there! Away from that thing! Do it now!”

The shadow servant did not obey. Instead, he simply turned his sightless gaze toward the soldier, revealing the pale, drawn face.

Bakal shivered. Something about that face struck a memory. He quickly dismissed the thought. Bad enough to confront the creature without the added knowledge of who he once had been.

Still the robed figure did not move. Bakal exhaled. If the shadow servant wouldn’t listen to his demand, then the captain would have to use force. Holding the scythe high, Bakal marched up and took hold of the ghoul’s sleeve, which slid back … and revealed the awful truth.

There were no hands-or rather, what little that remained of them simply melded into the controls of the misnamed Wind Captain’s Chair. Glancing down, Captain Bakal saw that the feet, too, had become part of the mechanism. In fact, it was impossible to tell where the steersman ended and the Wind Captain’s Chair began.

“By the gods!” Captain Bakal murmured, overwhelmed by revulsion.

“Disgustingly efficient, isn’t it?” came a voice from behind him. “He told me about it, but seeing it is certainly something else. Typical of Valkyn to come up with something like this.”

General Cadrio stood at the entrance. The vulpine general had his sword drawn, its point leveled at the Ergothian’s gut.

Bakal realized that he had been a fool. Cadrio had allowed him to show the way. The general had likely watched from the bottom of the steps, marking each trap or action.