Castle War

One Throne Room

Incarnadine, lord of the western pale, sat in state on the Siege Perilous.

“Bring in the prisoner.”

High in the cavernous chamber, a bat screeched. Something small and furry skittered across the floor and vanished into a shadowy corner.

Wrists manacled, the prisoner shuffled in, dragged by two Guardsmen. He was pushed to the floor in front of the throne.

“Rise.”

Chuckling, the prisoner got up slowly. His frayed gray tunic was filthy, his black tights torn and ripped.

“Your Majesty. How kind of you to grant me audience.”

“We welcome our faithful vassal, Sir Gene Ferraro.”

The irony fairly dripped.

“How does His Majesty fare?”

“It goes well with us.” His Serene and Transcendent Majesty smiled crookedly. “You, on the other hand, look rather pale and haggard. Aren’t my jailers treating you properly?”

“Not a day goes by when I am not the beneficiary of their kind attentions.”

“I am glad. Getting enough to eat?”

“Unfortunately, sire, there is only so much rubbish one can consume at a sitting. So much slop, so much swill.”

The King looked saddened. “No appetite? I will have your rations reduced so that this no longer presents a problem.”

“His Majesty is too gracious a host.”

“No amenity must be spared a true and faithful servant.”

“I fear I am not quite that, sire.”

“No? Perhaps not. Perhaps ‘servant’ is not the proper designation. Can you think of one more apt?”

Sir Gene smiled thinly. “I am sure His Majesty can supply any number more apt.”

“Traitor, perhaps? Regicide?”

“Failed regicide,” the prisoner corrected.

“Murderous villain?” The King’s voice boomed inside the dark chamber. “Foul usurper?”

Sir Gene shrugged. “Again, unsuccessful. Regarding murder, may I remind His Majesty that I learned the art at the knees of a true master. You — ”

The Guardsman to the right drove a mailed fist into the prisoner’s side just under the rib cage. The prisoner doubled up and sank to his knees. He was some time in getting up again.

A silent, fluttering movement in the darkness above. Another bat.

The King settled back in his throne. “You learned not well enough.”

Sir Gene drew a painful breath before answering. “How well I know.”

“We have more lessons to teach. There is the discipline of the wheel, for instance. And the brand, and the boot.”

“Ah.”

“You hide your fear well. But you will scream as loudly as the others.”

“I trust it will amuse His Majesty to contemplate that this time the victim will not be entirely innocent.”

A royal scowl. “Spoils the fun, really.”

“True, true.”

“But we’ll do our best to enjoy the proceedings.” The King sighed. “There is not much else to say. But I suppose protocol demands that I pronounce sentence.” He raised his right hand, took a long breath, then said hurriedly, “By the right and power vested in me I hereby condemn you to a deliciously prolonged death with all the trimmings.” He grinned.

The prisoner bowed.

“Take him away.”

The prisoner was led out of the throne room.

In the corridor outside, the Guardsmen steered their charge to the left. At the next intersecting hallway they turned right, went down a stairwell, and turned left at the landing.

The three were walking along when suddenly the prisoner stopped and doubled over, groaning.

The Guardsman on the left said, “What’s with you, then?”

“My side … it’s on fire.”

The other one snickered. “Only a taste of what’s to come.”

“Please, you must — ”

“No malingering, now.”

“I … can’t walk.”

“You landed him a good one, you did,” the one on the left said. “It likely burst something.”

“It was just a tap.”

“Let’s be on our way back to the cell. You can lie down there.”

“I want the court physician!”

“Can’t oblige, good sir knight.”

“If I die prematurely, Incarnadine will have your heads.”

The one on the right looked worried. “He’s right, you know.”

“I suppose he is. Come along, we’ll take you to the sawbones straightaway.”

“I tell you, I can’t walk!”

“Pick up his feet.”

“You pick up his feet. I’ve got the rest of him.”

“Just our luck if he dies. I’ve got a good mind to — ”

The prisoner kicked out and connected with a solar plexus. One Guardsman doubled over. Then, pivoting quickly, he swung his manacled fists around and clouted the other alongside the head.

Both men went down, and he ran.

He dashed left at the next intersection, having a certain destination in mind. It was one of the castle’s lesser known aspects, and if he could get through it, he could lose himself in dense forest. He knew a cave not far away where he could hide.

Shouts echoing behind him, he willed what was left of his strength into his legs. He lurched left at the next crossing passageway, ran, turned right, ran, then bore right again.

He burst into a spacious room. In the darkness to the rear lay the arched entrance to a small adjoining chamber, which he made for directly. Once through the archway, he halted and gasped in dismay.

There was supposed to be an aspect here, a magical doorway to another world. Instead, there lay before him another long, nondescript corridor, of which there were countless thousands in the castle.

He desperately glanced around. This was the right chamber. He knew it well. A veteran Guest in Castle Perilous, he had a keen sense of direction and layout. One needed such talents in the vast labyrinth of the castle.

The magical doorway was clearly gone. Aspects were known to disappear on occasion, but this particular one was extraordinarily stable, or had been since he had taken up residence in the castle. Rotten luck to have it vanish when he needed it most. Double bad luck to have picked this one when there were two or three others close by that would have served in a pinch. But this world had offered a forest to hide in; the others provided less ideal cover.

Footsteps closed outside; too late to make a dash for one of the alternate escape routes. He was cut off.

He bolted forward. The only choice was to keep running.

But he knew it was only a matter of time before he was chased down. The alert would go out.

His one chance was to make it to one of the unstable areas of the castle, where wild aspects flickered in and out of existence, where doors opened to anywhere, sometimes to oblivion. But even oblivion was preferable to the refined diversions that Incarnadine’s torturers had in store for him.

He raced on into a gloom relieved only by a few strange lighting fixtures in the shape of faceted jewels that glowed faintly blue. He ran by an occasional blind alcove, no aspects in them. He passed two stairwells, then came to a third. He entered and went down two floors, stopping at the landing to check the adjoining corridor. No one. He sprinted to the left, then made a series of turns, running blindly now, unaware of exactly where he was heading.

He ran until his diminished stamina gave out. He jogged along, then loped. He stopped to get a second wind, and jogged some more. His pace gradually petered out to a walk.

Breathing hard, he stopped, leaned against the dark stone wall. He slowed his breath and listened.

Nothing. No footsteps, no voices.

Could it be? Had he truly lost his pursuit? The quiet closed in around him.

Miracle of miracles. Now he would have a chance to find an amenable aspect. He knew of several where he could hide out awhile. He knew of others into which he could disappear for a very long time indeed, and that is what he desired. The castle was no longer safe. He had tried to take it, make it his, but had failed miserably.

No matter. Incarnadine would never find him. He would hide, biding his time. It would take years, perhaps, but somehow he would raise an army and return. He would invade Castle Perilous, depose Incarnadine, and take the throne.

Good, he thought. It was essential to have a plan, to keep ambitions alive.

He began walking again. Suddenly he stopped, looked about.

Something was strange. His castle sense was giving him mixed signals. The surroundings were familiar, but there was something odd. He could not grasp quite what.

He shrugged it off and continued. He wandered for what seemed like hours. No one was about.

The sense that something was amiss did not leave him. He could not shake the feeling that somehow, in some inexplicable way, he had left the castle. But that was impossible, for clearly he was still inside it. He had not crossed an aspect.

Or had he? There lingered an inescapable feeling that he had. There was a sixth sense about that as well. He knew when the castle gave way to one of its contingent worlds. There was always a sense of going out, of leaving.

As now. But what had he entered? What sort of world was like the castle itself?

He turned a corner and collided with a Guardsman.

“Gene!”

Stunned, he regarded the man, whom he recognized and knew well. It was no less than Tyrene, Captain of the Guard. What he could not fathom was why Tyrene was giving him the friendliest of smiles.

Tyrone’s gaze lowered to Gene’s hands, and his expression turned quizzical.

“What’s this? Lady Linda playing some sort of prank?”

Sir Gene looked at the manacles, then at Tyrene. He had no answer. Nor did he have an explanation for why Tyrene looked different, until he realized that the ugly, cancerous mole on the man’s right cheek was gone.

Tyrene laughed. “Too embarrassed to say? Here.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. “I should have a master here somewhere.”

Sir Gene remained silent as Tyrene searched for the key, found it, and released him.

“Thank you,” Sir Gene said, rubbing his wrists.

Tyrene examined the manacles. “Did Linda conjure these, or do they come from the dungeon?”

“Ah … I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“It’s all right. It’s a rare prisoner we have these days. I’ll see that they get stored away properly.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much.”

“Well, must be going. Duty, you know. With Lord Incarnadine away things tend to get a mite frantic.”

Tyrene walked off, whistling off-key.

Sir Gene stared after him, amazed beyond words.

When the silence returned, he fell into contemplation.

At length, he reached a conclusion. He did not understand why or how, but it was clear that he had been presented with a golden opportunity.

Sir Gene Ferraro was not a man to let such pass by.