The Fanged Crown

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

3 Flamerule, the Year of the Ageless One

(1479 DR)

Chult

Boult cleared his throat. “I’m happy you kids are happy, but don’t we have things to do? People to see? Artifacts to steal … I mean, recover?”

Harp kissed Liel one last time before he reluctantly broke away. “You haven’t changed at all.”

“But you have,” Liel said. “Or rather, you changed back.”

“I hate to break up your reunion, but Verran’s haze of death is still rising,” Boult told them.

“Actually, it’s not,” Verran said defensively, looking over the railing at the dead niferns slumped on the ground. “It looks like it’s going away.”

“Liel, that is Verran,” Harp said. “You know Kitto, of course.”

Liel embraced the boy. “Kitto, it’s been so long.”

“Good to see you, Liel,” Kitto mumbled shyly.

“And that is Boult, a friend of mine from Vankila.”

Boult and Liel shook hands. After spending time with the husk, Boult seemed a little disconcerted at meeting the real Liel, but Majida had vouched for the elf and that would be enough to convince Boult to trust her. Verran, however, wasn’t as understanding.

“We’ve already met you,” Verran said curtly. “We met your husk.”

Liel turned white. “Oh no. What did it do?”

“Nothing,” Harp said quickly. “There was little contact, and we learned the truth soon enough.”

“We have to stop him,” Liel said angrily. “Stop him from making more husks and stealing the Torque, and whatever else the bastard is planning.”

“Cardew?” Harp asked.

“Cardew’s just a puppet,” Liel said bitterly. “He has a patron. A man named Tresco, who has been orchestrating events here in Chult.”

Harp felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Just like that, his torturer had a name. The man who had chained him down and mutilated him had an identity, just like anyone else. When he thought of the gray-haired man as Tresco, his memory seemed less potent somehow. Harp had the irrational thought that it was easier to kill a man with a name.

Or at least it was easier to track him down and then kill him.

“Are you all right?” Liel asked, taking his hand. She was watching Harp’s face closely.

“Tresco is the man who tortured me at Vankila,” Harp said. “We knew him as the Practitioner.”

“I knew that Tresco ran … affairs at the prison, but I didn’t know he did it himself,” Liel said, laying her hand on Harp’s arm.

“Wait,” Boult said. “Tresco Maynard? He was Anais’s son’s tutor.”

“At the Winter Palace?” Harp frowned.

Boult nodded. “It was Ysabel, Cardew, and Tresco that survived.”

“So, maybe Cardew’s not just a puppet in this particular scheme,” Harp said. “Maybe he’s been a puppet all along.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Liel said. “Tresco wants the throne in the hands of a ruler he can control. One who’ll chase anyone not human from Tethyr and give him all the power he wants. That’s not a plan that happens overnight.”

“Why does Tresco want the Torque?” Kitto asked.

“I’m not sure exactly,” Liel told them. “It suppresses magic somehow.”

“That doesn’t seem very useful,” Verran said dismissively.

“Majida told me that the Torque shields the wearer. But from what I’ve overheard it sounds like it prevents spells from being cast,” Liel said. “It’s possible whoever wears the Torque can cast spells, but no else can. That seems very useful to me. And to Tresco.”

“Am I feeling the effects of the Torque?” Verran asked. “It feels like I wouldn’t be able to cast a spell, even if I wanted to.”

“I think so,” Liel said. “I feel that too.”

“Then we must be close to it,” Boult said. “Let’s quit chatting and get it.”

“Can you take us to the Torque?” Harp asked.

“Unfortunately, I can’t,” Liel said. “Come and see.”

A crystal clear lake blocked the path to the Torque. As if it were a giant cup filled with water, the vast hall under the golden dome was completely submerged. They’d entered the hall from the balcony and stood on a whispering gallery ringing the perimeter of the cylindrical palace. Directly under the dome, the gallery was the highest point in the hall, but the water lapped gently under the walkway, making it feel more like a dock than a lofty perch.

“As you can see, there’s a water problem,” Liel said.

The dome was completely smooth on the outside, but he inside had slender golden trusses made from twisted metal that radiated from its apex down to the gallery where they stood. The base of the dome was so close that Harp could reach up and touch the metal, which had been enchanted to permit light to permeate its surface. The golden sheen radiating from the dome gave off heat, and the hall was as warm and as bright as if they were standing directly under the sun. Where other buildings were crumbling, the dome was solid, and kept the debris from outside out of the water that filled the hall.

Harp leaned over the crumbling railing and peered down into the water. It was clear enough to see all the way down to the blue and white floor of the hall. From where he stood in the gallery, he could just see the top of the arched doorway and the glitter of silver stones that had been set into it, a mirror image of what they had seen outside when they stood in front of the palace.

“No wonder the Scaly Ones didn’t want anyone opening the door from the outside,” Harp said. “They’d get a face full of water.”

“They were serious about protecting the Torque,” Boult agreed. “Even if we can get rid of the water, is there any way down from the gallery?”

“There’s a ramp over there,” Liel said, pointing across the water to a stone ramp that arched from the gallery to a large gilded pillar in the center of the hall. The ramp spiraled down the massive pillar, which was inlaid with a geometric pattern of turquoise and gold tiles. The ramp continued down through a circular opening in the floor below until it disappeared into watery darkness.

“Can either of you cast something and drain the water?” Harp asked Liel and Verran, who shook their heads.

“I’ve tried it,” Liel told him. “Nothing happens. It feels so dead and cold.”

“Majida said the Torque was below the entrance hall,” Harp said. “Can we just swim down?”

“I don’t think we can hold our breath that long,” Verran said.

“Have you searched for a lever or a switch that might empty the water out of the hall?” Boult asked Liel.

Liel shrugged. “Thoroughly, but that doesn’t mean much in this place. There’s nothing obvious, but the sarrukh were clever architects. It could take a lifetime to find.”

“It’s all we can do. Let’s spread out,” Harp said. “Kitto and Verran, check along the railing. Boult and Liel, check the walls. I’ll go over the floor. Go carefully. Anything that looks strange, call it out.”

Mosaics adorned the wall of the whispering gallery, and the intricate tile patterns were unblemished despite the years since their creation. In a display of skillful arti-sanship, the rich array of colors illustrated the history of the sarrukh. They didn’t seem to tell a sequential history, though. Harp passed one panel that depicted an army of serpentfolk sweeping across a grassy meadow like a plague of locusts. The next panel showed basking serpentfolk surrounded by piles of gold in a verdant jungle.

As Harp progressed down the gallery, the mosaics became more grisly, as the sarrukh chronicled their fondness for mass slaughter and mayhem-chained humans being decapitated, chained humans clearing rocks from a pit, and chained humans hauling massive stones up a mountain under a swirling gray sky while the overseers whipped them. Harp stopped paying attention to the walls and focused on searching the floor. But Boult couldn’t take his eyes off the macabre scenes plastered on the wall.

“Those are pleasant,” Boult said sarcastically.

Boult continued down the curve of the wall until he came to a panel that showed dwarves in bondage being led out of a cave by serpentfolk. A line of dwarf heads were mounted on pikes along a rocky ridge. Dwarf men were laid out on the ground in a line as yuan-ti prepared to roll a massive stone over them and crush them to death.

“Boult!” Harp called. He could see a thin, silver cord nestled in between two rows of tile and obscured by grit and dust. “I think I’ve found something.”

Walking back to Harp, Boult leaned down and picked up a hunk of rock from the floor.

“What are you doing?” Harp asked. Boult tossed it up in the air and caught it as if to size up the weight of the stone.

“Expressing my disgust,” Boult said vehemently, hurling the rock at the mosaic of the subjugated dwarfs.

There was a loud pop as the rock smashed into the mosaic. But instead of a crashing noise, they heard a short rush of air, like a sharp intake of breath. Then the mosaic rippled the way water does when a pebble is dropped into it. Harp only had time to register the strange undulation of the stones before the colorful tiles exploded off the wall in a spray of ceramic slivers and thick white dust. Like a wall of knives, the shards blasted into the air as Boult scrambled backward away from the projectiles. With no target to hit, the shards splashed harmlessly in the water.

“Everyone all right?” Harp asked after a moment of shock. Boult had been the closest to the explosion, but he had backed far enough out of range to avoid getting sliced. Liel, Verran, and Kitto had been on the other side of the gallery and safely out of range.

“I think I found a trap,” Boult said dryly.

“Good thing you didn’t hit it with a hammer,” Kitto called across the water.

Harp walked cautiously up to the wall. The red stones of the outer wall were still intact, and there was no sign of the plaster that secured the tiles to the wall. It was as if the mosaic had never been there at all.

“Why would they trap the wall?” Boult asked.

“To keep anyone from breaking through it from the outside?” Verran suggested, walking up behind them.

“To keep anyone from throwing rocks at their precious artwork?” Liel said.

“It doesn’t matter why, just don’t touch any more walls,” Harp said. “Or anything else.”

“What were you trying to show me, Harp?” Boult asked. “Before I distracted you with my exploding wall trick?”

Harp pointed at the line that ran between the tiles. “I wondered if that was a trap. Having seen that, I’m going to say yes.”

They continued the search of the gallery, but there were no levers to be found. When the group reassembled, they were dusty and disgusted by the atrocities immortalized on the brightly colored walls. But the hall below them was still filled with water.

“Any other ideas?” Harp said. “Did Cardew ever mention the water in the palace?”

“No, but I heard him tell Tresco that they couldn’t get to the Torque,” Liel said. “And with the Torque disrupting spells in here, I imagine that even Tresco would have had difficulty in getting rid of the water.”

“Harp,” Kitto called from the other side of the gallery. “Look at that one.”

Kitto stood in front of a mosaic showing a serpent with the head of a bird and ram’s horns. It clutched a black key in its hooked beak. Surrounded by blue water, the creature was swimming down through a shaft of sunlight to a familiar-looking arched doorway and the silver lock in the center.

“That’s the door to the palace,” Kitto said, pointing to the image of the doorway. “And that’s the creature that’s carved on the panels outside.”

“Maybe you can open the door from the inside, if you have that key,” Liel said.

“But we don’t have the key,” Verran pointed out. “And we know it’s not hidden on the gallery, because we just searched. And the door is still underwater. Maybe we should leave and look for a way to the surface.”

“Without the Torque?” Liel asked.

“Unless you have the key, and you’re not telling us,” Verran snapped.

“Are you feeling all right?” Harp asked Verran.

“We’re not getting anywhere,” Verran said, a whine creeping into his voice. “I want to go back to the boat.”

“It isn’t over yet,” Harp said patiently. “We have to try and see it through.”

Verran stalked away, and Liel raised her eyebrows.

“He’s exhibiting some powerful magic,” Harp told Liel quietly. “I don’t think he knows how to control it. I’m concerned about him.”

“He’s not going to be able to do magic inside the palace. I couldn’t make a stone glow, not against the force of the Torque.”

“I can do it,” Kitto said.

“Do what?” Harp asked. “Make a stone glow?”

“Pick the lock and open the door. You know I can.”

“Yes, you’re amazing,” Harp agreed. “On the safety of land! By the time you swim down to the door, you’ll barely have enough air to get back up.”

“I can do it, Harp,” Kitto insisted. “You know I’m a good swimmer.”

“Why don’t we try to open it from the outside?” Harp asked.

“The niferns aren’t just going to sit and watch me,” Kitto pointed out. “Listen. They’re going crazy out there.”

The scaly dogs were making more noise than they had been, and it sounded like a large pack had amassed below the balcony. They were making scratchy, yelping sounds, and getting louder with every passing moment.

“I’ll go see what they’re doing,” Verran said, and he walked outside onto the balcony.

“Besides, we checked the door from the outside,” Kitto reminded Harp. “There was no lock remember?”

“He’s right,” Boult said.

“Then let me swim down and try,” Harp said.

“You’re not as good of a swimmer as me,” Kitto said honestly. He loosened the clasp on his cloak and let it drop on the ground around his feet. Kitto leaned down to unlace his boots. “And besides, you’re kind of old.”

“I’m not old!” Harp protested.

“You know I’m right,” Kitto said, pulling out a cracked leather case that held his lock-pick tools. “No one does locks like me.”

“If it’s sealed with magic, then you may need a magic key,” Harp said petulantly. Kitto ignored him and emptied the contents of his backpack on the ground. He began stuffing large pieces of rock from the remains of the railing into his pack.

“What are you doing?” Harp demanded as he racked his brain for a way to keep the boy on dry land.

“Making sure I’ll sink,” Kitto said, looking up at Harp with his crooked little smile.

“Harp’s right,” Liel agreed. “The lock itself is probably enchanted.”

“Then I get down there and can’t open it. I’ll just swim back up.”

“Or drown trying,” Harp said darkly when Kitto had finished filling the bag with rocks. “Which is what it looks like you’re planning to do.”

“I need both hands free,” Kitto pointed out, shutting the clasps on the backpack, and struggling to lift it onto his shoulders.

“I don’t like it,” Harp insisted.

“I can do it,” Kitto said.

Verran came dashing into the room, sword in hand. “Whatever we’re doing, let’s hurry. There are four Jumpers headed our way.”

“How close?” Boult demanded.

“They’re at the top of the causeway,” Verran told them. “They’re nearly at the palace.”

“Just let me try,” Kitto urged.

Harp relented. “Don’t be stupid about it. If it won’t open, give it up. And come help us fight.”

Kitto nodded and swung his leg over the railing where he paused for a moment. Harp felt a rush of protectiveness and opened his mouth to stop the boy, but Kitto was too quick for him.

“See you soon,” he said and pushed off the ledge. Harp heard a splash as Kitto hit the water.

“I hate Cardew,” Harp said under his breath. Tresco may have been the mastermind of the situation, but it was that arrogant miscreant Cardew that had brought them to their junction. “If anything happens to Kitto, I’m going to personally gut Cardew and feed his heart to a scaly dog on a platter,” Harp said viciously.

“Welcome to the Land of Revenge,” Boult said sounding surprised at the intensity in Harp’s voice. “It’s a beautiful country. I myself have a villa.”

“Even if anything doesn’t happen to Kitto, let’s paint your villa in Tresco’s blood.”

“Red is a charming choice,” Boult agreed as they drew their swords.

Even as a child, Kitto had been a good swimmer, the best among his three brothers. They would race each other across the wide river that ran through the valley near their homestead. It was a lazy river, filled with silt from the salt flats up north in the high country. When Kitto swam in it, he always felt as if the water was resisting him, and that no matter which direction he went in, he was swimming against the current. In mid-summer the salt deposits were so thick that he and his brothers could float effortlessly on the surface and not sink. It made Kitto feel as if nature itself were comforting him.

Although the sparkling water in the palace’s entrance hall was untainted by salt or grime, Kitto had the same sensation now. If he stopped swimming and just let go, he felt he would float to the surface despite the heavy backpack and the rocks that were quickly dragging him to the bottom of the hall. Kitto had expected the water to be cold, but it was surprisingly warm. Almost like bathwater.

Kitto felt inexplicably sleepy, and he told himself that it must be part of the spell’s effect. As he swam down, he forced himself think about the hardest locks he’d ever sprung. Like the hair-trigger lock on the red lacquered chest in the Baron’s house, while Predeau breathed down his neck and the guards clomped up and down in the hall outside. Or the pinprick lock on the floor in Lady Charlotte’s brothel; that one had taken him longer than he had expected. Predeau had lowered him on a rope through the skylight, so at least Kitto was away from the Captain’s terrifying presence. But the sounds of a man rutting with a whore in the room next to him made it hard to hear the mechanics of the lock.

Dragged down by the rocks in his backpack, Kitto landed on the tile floor near the base of the pillar and trudged quickly through the water to the door. There were no carvings on the inside, only the silver stones embedded in the wood. Just as the mosaic showed, there was shiny silver lock in the center of the door. It was larger than anything Kitto had worked before, but the keyhole was shaped like a teardrop. He’d opened teardrop locks before. His mind was already forming an image of what the inside must look like, how the mechanism fit together, and the exact spot where he needed to put pressure to spring the lock.

But his lungs were burning. Kitto slid his tools into the silver lock, using them as delicate extensions of his fingertips. Instead of the usual ridges and bars, Kitto felt nothing at all. Maybe a longer tool? Kitto fumbled with the leather case tucked in his belt. He let the smaller tools drift away from him and pulled out the longest hooks he had, ones he’d never used before. They felt very clumsy and without finesse, but as Harp always said, big problems called for big swords.

Kitto’s chest felt like it was going to explode. He shrugged off the backpack and kicked for the surface. He would have to make a second try, if he could make it to the top before his air ran out. When Kitto broke the surface, he heard shouting, the sounds of quick-moving feet, and the clank of blades against one another. Kitto took a huge gulp of air and swam down to the door. It was harder without the backpack, and by the time he reached the door, Kitto felt sleepy and his muscles ached with fatigue.

When he reached the door, he looped his foot through the strap of the heavy backpack to keep from floating away and slid the long pieces of metal back into the silver lock. Finally he felt something, like a thin net of wire. Again, the burning of his lungs grew painful. But he wouldn’t swim for the surface, he would stick it out. He twisted the piece of metal gently, searching for the pin. If only he could just … Blackness began clouding the edges of his vision. Kitto felt a lip of metal, twisted the tool sharply, and felt something loosen. Despite the water in his ears, he thought he heard the sound of glass breaking and a sucking noise. Then he gave in to the blackness.

The Jumpers sprang from the flagstones, leaped over the railing, and landed on the balcony. Liel anticipated the maneuver and swung while it was still in mid-air. The ruddy-skinned warrior twisted away from her blade, tucked forward, and somersaulted across the balcony. The Jumpers were smaller than the ones they’d encountered in the camp but more heavily armed and armored. Each wore a leather breastplate and carried two punching daggers with elongated hilts that covered their wrists.

Another Jumper lunged at Verran, who dodged and swung wildly. He cut his assailant across the cheek, but it was a superficial scratch. The yuan-ti advanced, swinging at Verran with its bladed fists. The ruddy-skinned warrior sprang to its feet, its milky blue eyes fixed on Liel. She raised her sword. With one pounce, it was on top of her, and her sword slipped from her hand. The warrior’s clawed hands dug into her shoulder as it forced her to the railing, her back pressing against the stone painfully.

She struggled with the warrior, and it brought its fangs down on her neck, biting into her shoulder. Liel cried out as Verran slammed his sword down on the back of the warrior’s neck. The creature’s armor took most of the blow, but it let go of Liel’s neck and jerked its head around, hissing at the boy. While the warrior was distracted, Liel pulled a shard of red stone from a pouch on her belt. When the yuan-ti turned back to her, its mouth open and fangs bared, she jammed the rough shard into its forked tongue, pinning it to the inside of its mouth.

Spluttering in pain as the shard slid all the way through its cheek, the Jumper reared back in confusion. Liel grabbed its elbow and yanked it back toward the railing. Sweeping her foot against its ankle, she knocked it completely off balance. It leaned precariously over the railing, and with a light push of Liel’s hand, it went tumbling over the edge and slammed into the ground where a pack of hissing niferns were milling around in front of the palace door. Excited by the scent of the creature’s blood, the frenzied animals ripped the yuan-ti’s limbs from its body.

Still in the doorway between the palace and the balcony, Boult blocked a blow that came at the side of his head, stopping the blade just before it slid into his ear. Skirting the edges of the combat with his crossbow, Harp threw a dagger at Boult’s attacker. The dagger sank deep into the yuan-ti’s shoulder, just outside the edge of its armor.

With the dagger still protruding from its skin, the yuan-ti flicked its long tongue angrily. The fingers on its damaged arm twitched spasmodically as it pulled the dagger free. It hissed and let the dagger fell to the ground. Holding the other dagger straight in front of it like a battering ram, the Jumper charged Harp, who raised his sword in a sweeping upward arc, but he was too slow. The yuan-ti coiled its body low and drove its fist toward Harp’s abdomen. Harp doubled up to protect his stomach, dropping his sword, and the dagger sliced into his arm just above the elbow.

With the blood from his arm dripping onto the ground, Harp slammed his boot into the yuan-ti’s leg, right above what he hoped was the creature’s knee. He heard a satisfying crunch as the leg twisted backward. The Jumper yelped and stumbled toward Boult, who had just parried a blow from another warrior.

“Boult! Spin!” Harp shouted

Without hesitating, Boult wheeled around, cutting Harp’s wounded Jumper across the chest. The dwarf spun full circle and resumed his fight with another warrior, who was startled by Boult’s sudden change of direction. Boult thrust his sword under the warrior’s arm near the shoulder. As he felt the blade slide into skin, Boult yanked down with such force that the straps securing the breastplate snapped and the warrior’s armor clattered to the floor. Boult’s sword sliced from armpit to hipbone, and the warrior slumped to the ground.

Kneeling on the ground with its broken leg twisted underneath him and gushing blood from its chest, the yuan-ti was done for as well. But before Harp could finish it off, the Jumper hissed at Harp, raised the dagger in its right hand, and stabbed itself in the neck. The creature crashed onto the floor with blood jetting out of its neck.

“Anais’s crown!” Harp swore. “Have I killed anything since we’ve been in Chult?”

“Of course you have,” Boult said reassuringly.

Verran and Liel were two-on-one with the last serpent warrior, who was backed into the corner against the railing. It was missing an eye and barely able to hold its remaining dagger. Harp pointed at them, but Boult gave an unconcerned shrug. Liel and Verran clearly had the situation in hand.

“Who? Who have I killed?” Harp demanded.

“Bootman?” Boult suggested, watching Verran slam the hilt of his sword against the Jumper’s skull. The creature crumpled to the ground.

“No, you shot an arrow through his throat.” Harp grumbled. “And Verran melted him. I don’t know who deserves credit, but it isn’t me.”

“Didn’t you kill a yuan-ti?” Boult asked. Together, Verran and Liel pushed the dazed yuan-ti over the railing to the pack of niferns waiting below.

“At the waterfall?” Harp asked. “No, Majida killed both of those.”

“I know,” Boult said, snapping his fingers. “You killed an ant.”

Harp gave him a dirty look. “Oh, thank goodness. For a moment, I felt like I had lost my manhood. Now I feel like a brute. You’re too kind.”

“It was a big ant,” Boult said.

Just as Verran and Liel turned away from the railing, a rumble shook the palace.

“Kitto!” Harp shouted.

But there was no sign of Kitto in the rushing, white-capped water, which rotated around the pillar, creating a giant whirlpool under the dome.

“We have to get him,” Harp said, moving to jump in the water.

Boult grabbed him. “No! You’re not going to find him in that.”

“Wait! The waterline is falling,” Liel said.

As the water disappeared down the hole in the floor of the hall, Harp shrugged off Boult and sprinted down to the ramp that led off the gallery and spiraled around the pillar. By the time he reached the dripping floor, the water was gone. Harp sprinted to where Kitto’s body lay near the door, his foot still tangled in the strap of the heavy pack.

“Kitto!” Harp said, kneeling by the boy’s body. “He’s not moving!”

Liel crouched beside Harp and laid her hand against Kitto’s cheek. “I can feel a heartbeat,” she told him. “But something else is wrong.”

Harp turned Kitto on his side to drain the water out of his mouth. But even then the boy didn’t move.

“He’s breathing!” Harp exclaimed. He could see a shallow movement beneath the boy’s tattered shirt. “Why isn’t he moving?”

Liel placed her hands on Kitto’s chest and closed her eyes. A faint white glow appeared around her fingertips, but after a moment, she pulled away with a pained expression on her face.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I can’t heal him inside. Whatever is blocking my magic … I can’t do it.”

“Please,” Harp begged.

“It’s some kind of curse, Harp,” said Liel, reaching down and untangling Kitto’s foot from the backpack. “It isn’t a natural injury.”

“Then break the curse!”

“I can’t, Harp. At least not in the presence of the Torque.”

“Maybe Majida could help him,” Harp lifted Kitto off the ground as if he were a small child. “We can get him to the Domain, and she’ll heal him.”

“What about the Torque?” Boult asked. “We’ve drained the water; Tresco can walk in here and take it.”

“I don’t care about the damn Torque!” Harp snapped. “We need someone who can help Kitto. And if Majida can do it, then I’m going to find her.”

“Wait!” Verran pulled a vial of red liquid from under his tunic. “I can do it. I can do it with this.”