invisible, but when he took it out and held it in his hand, it regained visibility. Using the rock as a floating guide, Lathaar and Dieredon followed Tarlak out of the inn and into the streets of Kinamn.
A few torches lit the crossroads, but the rest of the streets were left to darkness. Thin clouds hid the stars, and the moon peeked through only occasionally. The streets themselves were wide and smoothly paved, so following the floating rock as it glimpsed in and out of existence proved fairly easy. They traveled north toward the castle, stopping only when guards in groups of four passed by, a gold symbol of a cautious fox emblazoned on their red tunics.
A thin wall surrounded the city, along with several fields and wells. The castle itself had a second wall, only high enough to reach Lathaar’s chest. An iron gate blocked the initial entry. The rock hovered still for a moment just within sight of that smaller wall and then vanished. Lathaar paused.
“You guys hear me?” Tarlak whispered.
“Aye,” whispered Dieredon, so close to Lathaar’s right that the paladin jumped.
“And that clatter must be Lathaar,” Tarlak said, his voice still low. “Good. There’s four guards watching the gate, and several more patrolling. I’ll cast a sleep spell on those two on the left. Climb over fast as you can, and head for the castle’s main doors. I’ll wake the guards once you’ve made it over.”
“How will you know?” Lathaar asked.
“I won’t. Just move quickly. Well, not too quickly. Dear gods, you’re louder than a smithy’s workshop.”
Lathaar approached the wall, feeling like an idiot as he took step after careful step. He could see his own skin and armor, and it took a great amount of self-control to walk toward the guards without fear of being spotted. The heads of the guards were easily visible over the wall. When a patrol of four walked past, leaving just the two at the closed gate, Tarlak cast his spell.
Their heads drooped, and their shoulders slumped. Lathaar scrambled toward the wall and flung his arms atop it. He grunted as the heavy weight of his armor screeched and groaned. What the Abyss was he thinking? Why hadn’t he removed it back at the inn? Shouldn’t Tarlak have convinced him to do just that?
“Quiet,” Dieredon hissed directly behind him. Strong hands grabbed his waist and shoved upward. With the grace of a falling boulder, Lathaar toppled to the other side. There was no hiding the noise. Both sleeping guard startled awake, looking worried and embarrassed. When they saw no intruders, they chuckled nervously and stood a bit straighter at their posts.
Step after baby step, Lathaar made his way toward the castle doors. Idly, he wondered how long the invisibility spell would last. Perhaps it’d run out while he crept along; the biggest, dumbest, most incompetent burglar ever.
Begging to Ashhur for that not to happen, Lathaar continued on, albeit a bit faster. When he reached the doors, he bumped into something invisible.
“Watch it,” Tarlak muttered. “You made enough noise to wake the dead. Why in the world are you wearing that armor, anyway?”
Lathaar didn’t respond.
“How do we get through the door?” asked invisible Dieredon.
“Now that’s the fun part,” Tarlak said. He reached out until he found both their shoulders. “Stand very still, and keep your eye out. If a soldier wanders too near, tell me to shut up.”
The castle doors were at the top of twenty stone steps, and the closest guards were at the bottom. Unless they started singing, Lathaar didn’t expect any difficulty. Quietly, Tarlak began chanting another spell, his hands still holding his companions.
Suddenly Lathaar felt his stomach lurch. The world turned gray and oversized. The walls shifted like smoke, and the door before him shook as if it were made of liquid.
“What the…” he started to say, and then Tarlak yanked him right through the door. They reappeared on the other side, in a well-lit entryway leading toward the throne. Banners hung from the ceiling, their embroidery shimmering in the torchlight.
With an audible pop, the world returned to normal, and Tarlak and Dieredon appeared within view.
“Enough of that nonsense,” Tarlak said, stroking his beard. “There’ll be guards inside, but I think we can handle them without any need for magical or lethal force. The question is, where do we look?”
“We need to find the king’s chambers,” Dieredon said. “Though I fear we will surely come across as assassins now.”
“Oh well,” said Tarlak. “Their own damn fault. We tried diplomacy. Time for the Eschaton way!”
“You mean the stupid, dangerous way?” asked Lathaar.
“Exactly.”
They entered the throne room, all three on the lookout for guards. It was vacant and dimly lit by two torches. Dieredon rushed ahead, moving silent with practiced ease that made Lathaar jealous. When he had looped the room, he returned, shaking his head.
“No guards nearby,” he said. “And no doorways. The king’s chambers must be elsewhere.”
“When in doubt, move higher up,” Tarlak said. “Suits the ego.”
They headed down the hallway to their right, following Dieredon’s intuition more than anything. The approach of torchlight around the corner alerted them to guards. Tarlak put a finger to his lips, then start looping his hands in the air. A white mist surrounded their throats. When the guards cried out, no noise came from their mouths.
Dieredon raced toward them as they drew their swords. He avoided the first two clumsy swings, jammed his hands against one’s elbow, and then twisted the hilt free. He parried the other’s attack using his stolen sword, elbowed the guard in the face, and then spun. His feet and fists lashed out, striking both.
As they collapsed, Dieredon applied quick kicks to the backs of their heads, ensuring they stayed down for a long while.
On the other end of the hallway, Lathaar glanced at his swords and sighed.
“Why am I here again?” he asked.
“To look pretty,” Tarlak said. “Now keep quiet.”
They passed many doors, but Dieredon never paused as he led them along. The square castle seemed to have a logical sense to it. If the extravagant hallway entrance to the castle led to the throne, then on the opposite end, its back to the throne, would be the king’s chambers.
When they took a second left, the hallway ended at an enormous set of double doors. It seemed the elf was correct. The four soldiers standing at attention only confirmed it.
“Back,” Dieredon said, pushing the Eschaton away. Two crossbow bolts pinged against the stone wall where they had been. The soldiers cried out in alarm, and this time no spell silenced them.
“Take them out, quick,” Tarlak insisted, magic sparking from his palms.
Lathaar turned the corner, trusting his armor. Two of the guards rushed toward him, buying time for the other two as they cranked their crossbows. Lathaar drew his swords, the blue-white light of their blades flooding the enclosed space. The soldiers stopped at the sight.
“A paladin?” one asked. “But why?”
“We’re not here to kill anyone,” Lathaar said, hoping they wouldn’t notice the spells Tarlak prepared to unleash. “We must speak to your king.”
The wizard paused, waiting for their reaction.
“No one speaks to the king,” the leader said.
“We don’t want to hurt you,” Lathaar insisted. “But too many lives are at stake. Stand down.”
“He delays too long,” Dieredon said to Tarlak. Already he could hear footsteps approaching from behind, as well as movement from a nearby door that he assumed were servants’ quarters.
The guards were clearly troubled. They looked to one another, until their eldest stepped forward.
“We cannot, under pain of death,” he said. “Lord Penwick is our majesty’s trusted advisor, and he assures us our liege is very troubled. No one is to see him.”
A squad of armored men came up the hallway behind them, twenty in number. Dieredon took up his bow and shifted his feet, his eyes glancing between the two groups.
“Many of you will die if you try to imprison us,” Tarlak warned.
“Please, you must understand, we have no choice,” another guard said.
“There is always a choice,” Lathaar said. He sheathed his swords. “Take us to this Lord Penwick, or is there an order not to disturb him, either?”
