sheets, a length of thick silk cord from the curtains around a bed, and a three-pronged candelabra. The two of them carefully stood the gnome up on the footlocker, set it atop the wagon, threw a sheet over his head, and tied the candelabra in place on top of everything with the cord.
“This is never going to work,” said Gredchen, looking over the gnome.
“Sivaks, even the ones from the Red Watch, aren’t that smart,” said Vanderjack. “They may be tactical geniuses, masters at deception and infiltration, but drop something on them they weren’t expecting and most of the time, you’ve got the advantage.”
On the count of three, Gredchen pulled the door open all the way. Vanderjack gave the wagon-footlocker- gnome a mighty shove and it raced out across the balcony, banged twice on the railings, and slammed into the sivak standing on the central landing.
The draconian, as Vanderjack predicted, reacted with startlement. Leaping backward, the creature spread its wings outward to steady its balance and prevent it from falling down the staircase. The gnome ricocheted off the sivak and careened against the railing, sending it speeding off around the other side of the balcony area.
Vanderjack raced in while the draconian had his back to him. The horseshoe-shaped balcony allowed him to use the railing to gain altitude and leap toward the Sivak. Unfortunately he didn’t have a sword. All he had were his wiry, outstretched arms and what he hoped was a fearsome look on his face.
Gredchen, following hurriedly, watched as the sell-sword tackled the sivak around the neck, pinning the draconian’s enormous silver wings against his body. Already unbalanced, the sivak dropped immediately to the top three or four stairs of the grand stair.
Vanderjack hoped that surprising the bigger and stronger draconian would keep it from simply flexing its muscles and throwing him off. And it worked. The sivak flailed uselessly. Tightening the grip around the sivak’s neck, Vanderjack gave a mighty heave and felt the draconian’s neck snap.
Gredchen skirted the melee and ran to recover Theodenes, who was lying facedown under the sheet and candelabra on the far side of the balcony. She turned him over, dusted him off, and picked him up.
Vanderjack watched, amazed, as the body of the sivak shrank and shifted. Silver scales blended, darkened, and retreated in places. Where moments before had been a sivak draconian there lay a perfect copy of Vanderjack.
“Ackal’s Teeth,” the real Vanderjack said. “I never will get used to that.”
“Will it stay that way forever?” asked Gredchen, coming back around with Theo’s immobile body. “Cute. It looks just like you.”
He gave her a pained look. “After a long while, it’ll burn up and turn into ash. Meantime,” Vanderjack added, arranging the position of his doppelganger on the stairs, “the sight of my dead body should slow down anything that comes up from down there.” He pointed down the stairs to the entrance hall below, a marble and granite chamber dominated by the wide staircase and, as Gredchen had said, an enormous rose-shaped stained-glass window. “Come on. We’d better get moving.”
Gredchen handed Theodenes back to Vanderjack. The gnome twitched, once, and Vanderjack saw the bushy white eyebrows moving just a little, as if Theo were trying to form an angry expression and only his eyebrows would cooperate.
“The paralysis is starting to wear off,” he said, hefting the gnome over one shoulder and taking the stairs two at a time.
The stairs rose up into a small semicircular area, an anteroom or waiting room of some kind, at the far end of which was a pair of huge, ironbound wooden doors. To the left of them was a spiral staircase that continued upward. Suits of Solamnic plate armor stood on either side of the doors, bearing halberds. The armor looked purely decorative, but the halberds seemed very real.
“I sure need one of those,” Vanderjack said, indicating a halberd. “But how much do you want to bet that those suits of armor are ensorcelled? Odds are we’ll walk by them and they’ll animate and attack us viciously with polearms.”
Gredchen stared at him but couldn’t tell if he was kidding. “Impossible.”
Theodenes jerked again, and his eyelids closed and opened. Vanderjack suspected the gnome would go limp soon, then start to experience feeling in his limbs and extremities. The sellsword hadn’t been paralyzed by ghouls before, but he’d seen it often enough in the service of the dragonarmies.
“So up the stairs again, one more time,” he said.
Vanderjack shifted his hold on Theo so he could fit on the spiral staircase and went up. Gredchen took the rear, watching the ironbound doors as they ascended, but nothing burst forth or even so much as whispered from them.
At the top of the spiral stairs, the entrance hall and stained-glass windows were left behind. All that Vanderjack could see was a long hallway lined with rugs and animal skins, and bare white walls with unlit torches at regular intervals. At the far end, in total darkness, a single large, rectangular shape was dimly visible.
“There it is,” said Gredchen, fatigue and perspiration showing on her face.
“There’s what? I can’t see a thing. This gallery has no pictures in it at all.”
“They’re all in the baron’s manor now,” she replied. “All except one.” She crossed over to a large silk bellpull hanging from the ceiling. “Here, look.”
Gredchen gave the bellpull a tug. There was a faint hissing sound, and instantly the torches lining the walls flared into life, shedding a brilliant light. The light extended even into the corners of the room, and especially the darkness at the back.
The single painting hanging on the wall at the rear of the gallery was of a young woman, barely in her twenties, breathtakingly attractive, with long honey-brown hair and features so perfect that Vanderjack simply marveled at the skill and talent of the artist.
“Lord Gilbert Glayward’s beautiful daughter,” said Gredchen.
“She’s beautiful all right, but where’s the real one? She’s not in here, that’s for sure.”
Gredchen looked at him, nodding her head. “Yes, she is.”
“What are you saying?”
Gredchen looked away. “I’m saying the object of your mission, the baron’s beautiful daughter,
“You mean….”
“Yes,” she said. “Now all we have to do is get it back to the baron’s manor.”
Theo dropped to the rug from Vanderjack’s arms, suddenly forgotten.
“Ackal’s bloody Teeth,” swore the sellsword.
Highmaster Rivven Cairn alighted from the back of her red dragon and removed her horned great helm.
She let the winds up on the tower roof of Castle Glayward buffet her hair, then strode over to the opening in the roof that led to the stairs down. A sivak officer of the Red Watch was waiting alongside the opening for her.
Stopping long enough to look back at Cear, who had flown her directly from Wulfgar, she waved a hand, which told the dragon, “I have no immediate use for you,” and also, “Go burn something for a while.”
“Your Excellency,” said the sivak.
“Lieutenant,” Rivven said, correctly deducing the draconian’s rank from his insignia. “Walk with me.”
“How was your flight?” he asked, stepping aside to let her start down the staircase. He followed immediately after, matching steps with her despite his much greater stride. Rivven noticed he was extremely well trained … for a draconian.
“Always a pleasure,” she said formally. “How are matters being taken care of here? What is the status of our prisoners?”
“They have escaped, Excellency.”
Rivven almost choked. She stopped and looked up at the sivak, who remained expressionless.
“Yes, Excellency. Master Cazuvel said for us not to be concerned, that he has matters under control.”
“Under control? How in the Abyss did they escape?”
The sivak said nothing.
