Dungeon Duel (Rogue Dungeon 5) - Chapter Eighteen

Mist swirled and eddied around Roark’s ankles as he stepped out of the shadowed stairwell that led down into the Cruel Citadel’s first room. The inner bailey was silent, the vitrified surfaces of the battle-scorched and crumbling walls glistening under moonlight, though it was nearly midday at the Vault. Day and night seemed to work differently in different areas of Hearthworld. Here, gloom and mist were the rule, and the lightest it ever got was a sort of purple twilight, while in a place like Averi City there was only bright daylight. The Vault, meanwhile, seemed to alternate between the two for reasons Roark couldn’t fathom.

It was almost as if the Devs had designed each land to suit the mood of the local dungeons.

Feathers rustled by the pitted portcullis. Roark drew his rapier and readied a spell, just in case it wasn’t her. He needn’t have worried. A moment later, Talise stepped out of the dark niche meant for the portcullis’s operator, raven’s wings folded and at rest behind her back. Silhouetted by the moonlight coming through the rusty grate, she was a dead ringer for their mother—tall and slender, with thick, wavy hair much like what Roark had just divested himself of, and the slight Lyuko curve to her nose. He knew, however, that if the light caught her face, he’d see more of their father hidden beneath the Heraldic features. Talise had always taken after Sir Erich in looks and temperament, whereas Roark seemed to have inherited his changeable temper and hotheadedness from their mother.

“It’s a lovely kingdom you’ve built for yourself, brother.” Talise trailed her fingers along the closed portcullis, then grimaced down at what Roark guessed to be rust, dried blood, or dust the contact with the grating had left on her fingertips. “Though the upkeep leaves something to be desired,” she said, brushing the offending substance onto the skirt of her gown. “Can’t find good servants here?”

Roark crossed the misty bailey in a flash, in no mood for jokes.

“Did anyone see you leave?” he asked, eyeing the skies and shadows for any sign of a follower. He’d been worried sick since she’d agreed to meet him. “Does Marek suspect anything?”

“Of course not,” she said. “I’m far better at this traitor work than you give me credit for.” She smirked and nodded to his arm, covered now with purple-tipped scales rather than the scars from old spells. “I am invisible, remember? It runs in the family.”

Roark clenched his fist. “This isn’t a game, Talise.”

“That’s lucky for you and Marek,” she said, holding up a handful of portal stones. “Because if it was, I’d be winning.”

He snatched the stones out of her hand and quickly stowed them in a spelled leather pouch. He shouldn’t have asked her to get them. Wouldn’t have if there’d been any other option. It was a terrible risk, one that could easily expose her true loyalties to Marek. Despite her confidence and seemingly carefree attitude, Roark knew exactly how cunning the Tyrant King could be. Underestimating the man was precisely how Roark had ended up with horns and wings in the first place.

“This was a one-off,” he said. “You’re not our spy, and you’re not working for us from the inside. Inside men and women die, and not nice, clean deaths. I’ve seen it time and again in the resistance—”

“I know,” she said, lifting her chin to meet his gaze with her cold gray eyes. “Marek had me torture and kill several of them to hone the lawless magicks I was born with. Demand has gone up since you stole the World Stone, by the way.”

“And you’ll keep doing it,” he snapped, pointing a black-clawed finger at her. “You’ll do anything Marek asks you to, keep him happy and your head down, whatever it takes to protect yourself. You’re to make no moves against him, and you won’t contact me again, do you understand? It’s too much of a risk.”

Talise scowled, and for the first time since they were children, Roark saw a hint of the Lyuko temper clouding her face. In a heartbeat, however, the dark thunderheads were gone, smoothed away as if they had never been there at all. She laughed like some noble fop had just told an amusing anecdote at a card party.

“You may be the eldest, Roark,” she said in a bored aristocratic drawl, “but you are not the boss of me. I’ve been making my own decisions for twenty years without your help, all from within the enemy’s lair, and I’ve managed to survive this long.”

Roark tried not to wince at the sudden stab of guilt in his vitals, but he wasn’t as adept at hiding behind a wall of aristocratic pretense as his younger sister. Obviously she’d had more practice, growing up within Marek’s grasp. She would’ve attended his parties and mixed with his bloodthirsty guests. One would certainly need to be the master of their emotions in such circumstances. The only reason Roark had needed to conceal his emotions on the streets was to get close enough to one of the Tyrant King’s cronies to slit their throat or plant a knife in their liver.

“If I’d known…” Roark wanted to say he would never have left Talise for dead, but he’d turned tail and run while the Ustar’s axe was still falling, while his mother was still throwing herself between the blade and Talise’s tiny body. He’d been too scared and young to think of anything but getting out before the Tyrant King’s men caught and executed him, too. The truth was, he doubted that his eleven-year-old self would have made the right decision even if he’d known at the time.

“No, I’m sorry,” Talise said, dropping the condescending drawl. “That was vile of me.”

He shook his head. “You have nothing to apologize for. Every word was true.”

“It’s only…” She smoothed a bit of ruffled black feather on her wings, then refolded them behind her. “I live with a tyrant, Roark. I’ve had just about my fill of taking orders.”

He scratched a hand through his hair.

“Please, Talise, just hold your position for a little longer. It won’t be long now, I swear to it. I just need to know that you’re safe. Once I make it back to Traisbin, I’ll set things to rights.” His voice hardened. “That is a promise I can make.”

“By yourself, of course,” she said.

A scrim of clouds veiled the moon for a moment. Roark watched it drift by in silence, unwilling to respond. When it had passed, he turned back to Talise. Roark didn’t like the sudden eagerness he saw in her eyes.

“Those portal stones will take you anywhere in the Other World or Traisbin,” she said. “What if you used one right now to travel from here to Marek’s bedroom? He retired hours ago, you know. I sat at his bedside and read him pages from the Wikilore of Hearthworld’s new land, the Onyx Sands, right up until he drifted off to sleep. He’s an old man, and he grows older every day without his World Stone. You could kill him and use another stone to get away before anyone was the wiser.”

The temptation was certainly there, but Roark shook his head.

“I can’t deny that it crossed my mind,” he admitted, “but I’ve tried that same ploy before—or near enough. It’s how I ended up here in the first place, remember?” He waved his hands to indicate the whole of Hearthworld. “Even as I am now, there’s no telling what Marek has hidden up his sleeve. If I’ve learned anything about the power of the World Stone, it’s that I still know next to nothing about what it can truly do. He’s had a lifetime, perhaps several, to study its magics. Attacking him in his own lair would be more foolhardy than my first attempt to kill him.”

Reluctantly, Talise conceded the point.

“Besides,” Roark said, thinking of Randy’s panicked messages and PwnrBwner and his guild’s willingness to risk their lives to protect their world, “I have other considerations than my own goals to take into account at the moment.”

Even saying that out loud was a wonder. There was a time when he’d been utterly alone in the world, without a care or a friend. Since Danella’s death, he had cared only for vengeance, with no consideration for the living. His mind turned to Kaz and Ick and Griff. To lovely, deadly Zyra. Maybe more had changed within him than even he had realized.

“I can’t go after Marek yet,” he continued after a beat. “The outcome’s too uncertain, and I have friends in the Other World who need my help first. Our favorite overwriting noble horse’s ass is laying waste to their city and trying to break their stronghold.”

“Lowen?” Talise’s nose wrinkled. “I hope you kill him.”

“The first chance I get, I intend to,” Roark promised.