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  Amidst the beauty, something dismal stood in stark contrast with the tranquility surrounding them. Hundreds of fallen warriors and wizards lay scattered among statues, fountains and other decorations, preserved in the perpetual death field.

  “How horrible,” Krys said, his voice cracking.

  “The scene in the journal was bad enough,” said Peter. “But this is so much worse.”

  “Look at this.” Navashay ran her hand over a warrior standing next to a hedge. “It’s so lifelike.”

  Peter grabbed her hand away from the man. “That’s no statue.”

  She jumped back and clapped her hand over her mouth. She took a cautious step and leaned forward. “He looks so much like a statue.”

  Krys studied the open yard. Arrows and spears jutted from the ground, large rocks lay in craters made by their landing, and dragons sprawled in awkward positions. All were frozen in time as everything else. A shiver shot up his spine.

  “Let’s get out of here.” He yanked the journal from its pouch and consulted the map within. “This way.” He pointed into the gloom.

  They approached an archway and entered a large inner courtyard. Many years of use had worn the once rough cobbled floor smooth. Eerie echoes punctuated their hollow footsteps. A number of open passageways and closed doors surrounded the room, each referenced on the map.

  Krys pointed to an archway, its keystone clad with the king’s royal crest. “This one leads to the Great Hall.”

  As they neared the arch, its frame faded away. The rumble of stone rubbing against stone echoed through the courtyard. A solid rock wall now barred their way.

  “Whoa,” Peter said. “Where did the arch go?”

  Krys backed up a few steps. He grabbed Peter and Navashay’s sleeves and pulled them back. As they retreated, the arch reappeared and the stone wall evaporated. He took a step toward it, and the arch disappeared once more, leaving nothing but the solid wall of rock in their way. He walked to the wall and extended his hand, his fingertips went straight through.

  “This is one strange castle,” Peter said.

  “It may not be the castle,” said Navashay. “I think the curse is affecting more than we thought.” She walked into the wall and disappeared.

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  Chapter 14 - The Great Hall

  Krys whipped his head around and looked at Peter. “Where did she go?” When Peter shrugged, Krys cupped his hands around his mouth. “Navashay! Can you hear me?”

  “Yes, Krys.” Her voice rang out all around him. “I can hear you.”

  He looked to the ceiling, the walls and floor, then squinted at the stone wall in front of him. “Quit messing around, Navashay. Where are you?”

  A hand reached out of the wall and the fingers curled around the front of his tunic. “Just walk through,” Navashay’s voice said. The hand pulled him toward the wall.

  “Walk through?” Krys wiggled free. “Walk through what?”

  Navashay’s disembodied head breeched the stone surface. “It’s another illusion.” She snickered. “You sure are skittish.”

  Peter shoved Krys from behind. “Just go, Krys.”

  Krys stumbled forward. The passage through the stone provided no resistance. When he and Peter exited on the other side, Navashay awaited, a wide smile covering her face.

  “Look.” Navashay pointed behind Krys and Peter.

  They spun around. The solid stone wall was gone. An archway stood in its place, the courtyard clearly visible on the other side.

  Peter nodded. “Yep, this is one strange castle.”

  All three turned around at the same time and walked forward.

  Krys held his torch out ahead, illuminating a cavernous room, untouched by time. “Wow,” he whispered.

  It was as if they walked into a new world. Krys swept his torch around. “We’re going to need more light.”

  He and Peter conjured a dozen glowing balls each and sent them out to cover the expanse. Krys snuffed his torch and placed it in an empty bracket on the wall beside the arch.

  Krys had never seen such a majestic room. Huge oil lamps hung from hefty wood beams holding up the high ceiling. In the shadows, several wide windows encircled the hall at the pinnacle of the vast space.

  Krys drew in a deep breath. The room smelled of old wood, dust, and lamp oil.

  Large iron racks on the walls held a few swords, spears, battle-axes and other weaponry. The sight of them chilled Krys. The walls also boasted more torch brackets, fire sconces, a variety of metal ornaments, decorative tapestries, portraits and murals.

  “The Great Hall.” Navashay glanced, wide-eyed around her, her voice hushed. She turned to Krys. “This is where King Reth entertained guests.” She shook her head slowly as her gaze took in the high ceiling. “It’s beautiful.”

  Krys rubbed his foot over the smooth, shiny floor stones, kicking up dust and long-dried food crumbs filling the cracks between them.

  Peter walked to one of the rows of heavy wood banquet tables that took up most of the large room. Benches and individual chairs surrounded them and lay topsy-turvy. He grasped the back of one of the chairs and set it on its legs again, then walked a few more paces and gently rubbed the arm of a large, ornate chair standing upright and dignified at the end of one table amongst the toppled furniture. “The king’s chair.” When he patted the cushioned seat, a plume of dust rose into the still air. He turned to Krys and Navashay and smiled. “The king sat right here.”

  Navashay picked up a chipped wooden bowl and inspected it. She set it back on the banquet table next to another scarred bowl and assorted utensils. Dried food, unidentifiable, remained on many of the plates and platters, scattered across the tables, petrified and grim reminders of the last meal defenders of the old kingdom had partaken. She handed a tarnished goblet to Krys. “Everything is so old,” she said. “But well preserved.”

  Krys placed it back on the table amidst the other goblets, tankards, and dishes, battered by years of prior use.

  Several people, frozen by the curse, also occupied the room. Women who appeared to be cooks or servants lay on the stone floor between the tables. Smashed platters and bowls and their contents lay scattered across the floor. A small girl clutching a rag doll, cowered under a table, held still against the passage of time.

  Navashay stooped and touched the girl’s cheek. “Do you think she’s still alive?”

  Kneeling to join her, Krys gazed into the frightened eyes of the toddler. He waved his hand in front of her face. “I hope so. We’ll know more once we find Raven.” He glanced to the girl’s side at a snarling dog, saliva frozen in mid-drip, standing as a stationary guard. The hair on its back stood on end.

  “What I don’t understand,” Peter said from behind them. They both stood to face him; he was clearly puzzled. “If everything in the castle were frozen in time when the spell was cast,” he said. “Why aren’t these candles still burning?” He pointed at heavy candelabras that held only residual wax. “And the sconces, and torches in here and the passageways.” He turned and pointed. “And the fire in the hearth.” He furrowed his brow and shook his head. “Shouldn’t they still have flames?”

  Navashay cocked her head. “No, I don’t think so. Like the water in the moat and the fountains on the lawn, fire isn’t alive. They must have eventually just burned out.”

  Peter shrugged. “Makes sense, I guess.”

  Battered helmets, some bearing blood stains, and other ghostly reminders of battle were lay forsaken amongst the eating implements and scattered on the stone floor. Thick leather gloves, bows, empty quivers, and daggers lay abandoned. An oppressive, unnatural silence shrouded the room.

  Peter looked at a plate on the table. “That’s why the food is dried out, but not rotten.”

  “Exactly,” Navashay said.

  “Hmm, that reminds me, I’m hungry!” Peter said, as he flopped into one of the upright chairs and dug in his food sack.

  “You’re a very odd person.” Navashay na
rrowed her eyes and shook her head.

  “You have no idea,” Krys said, then turned his attention to his friend. “How can you even think about food when you look at the condition of this room?” Krys waved his hand around. “Not to mention the bodies out on the lawn.” He pointed to the women on the floor. “And them. And the girl.”

  “We don’t know if they’re dead.”

  Krys furrowed his brow.

  “Okay. We know the warriors are dead, and we need to remember the sacrifice they made for the kingdom. But, I’m hoping these people—” Peter glanced at the women. “Will wake up when we find Raven.” He munched on a piece of venison jerky and stared at Krys.

  Krys said nothing.

  “Well,” said Navashay. “I’m not hungry.” She turned and walked away from the table.

  Peter shrugged and vacated the chair, following Krys to where Navashay stood at the far wall. She gazed at the few weapons left on a rack.

  “Not many left.” Peter waved the half-eaten piece of jerky at them.

  “I’m sure the king’s men used the rest to do battle,” Krys said. “They look deadly.”

  He walked to the old portraits of King Reth, Queen Annabella, and their heirs. He could see the children’s resemblance to both parents. They had bright blue eyes like their mother, and thick, wavy dark hair like their father.

  Peter and Navashay joined him at the portraits, Peter biting into a crisp red apple.

  Krys moved past some of the other items that adorned the walls and stopped in front of one of the many murals that told the history of the kingdom. “I can’t believe how detailed they are.” Krys ran his fingers over the mural’s bird’s-eye view. “It must have taken artisans years to complete each of these.”

  He jumped back.

  “What? You don’t like that one?” Peter chuckled, still standing in front of one of the portraits.

  Krys moved back to the mural and replied, annoyed, “No—I mean yes—” Krys shook his head and started over. “I neither like, nor dislike it. Come look at this.” He waved Peter and Navashay over. “The people inside the mural—are—are moving.”

  “I wonder what type of magic was used to create it?” Peter said.

  “I remember reading somewhere that wizards assisted in their making,” Navashay said.

  Krys watched the mural with keen interest as the people of the kingdom moved about. One mural depicted the construction of the castle, and another showed the coronation of King Reth. The largest mural detailed all of Lanterra, with its many villages, ships moving about the shores and ports, massive mountains and river systems, and magnificent forests across the land.

  “Look.” Navashay pointed at a part of the mural in the upper left corner. “That’s where I live.”

  Krys studied Hibbard Village’s location and then the position of Ravenwood Castle in the center. “Wow, you really did travel far.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Navashay give Peter a terse nod. He returned his attention to the mural, marveling at its detail. “This is amazing!” he said as he noticed a group of dwarves as they chased a group of deer, their spears held ready to throw.

  He moved to the next mural. “Wow, look at this one!” Krys stood in front of a depiction of the forest and the castle. In it, the fortress was covered by thick vines and the overgrown forest surrounded it. “Do you think it’s a present view of the castle?”

  Peter joined Krys in front of the painting. “All the clues seem to be here.” Peter squinted at the picture. “Not much going on.” He indicated the area in front of the castle gate where the two tiny lizardmen paced back and forth. “At least they haven’t gotten in yet.”

  A shiver shot up Krys’ spine.

  Peter continued to study the mural. A grin crossed his face, “Look, here we are!” he said with excitement as he pointed at their small counterparts through the invisible ceiling of the Great Hall in the mural.

  “This is just too weird,” said Krys. A sudden thought hit him. “Why would there be a current mural?” Another chill spread up his spine. “Is there someone watching us?”

  “I think it’s a way to record events as time passes,” Navashay said.

  “But time hasn’t passed in the castle,” Krys said.

  “Yes it has.” Navashay turned toward him. “It’s just that nothing has happened here for a while.”

  “True.” Krys looked closer at the three figures in the mural. “There’s no doubt about it. It’s us,” he said, a large smile plastered across his face. He rocked back and forth and watched as the tiny figure in the mural did the same. He studied the rest of the castle in the mural. “Too bad it doesn’t show where Rave—” He looked closer at the mural and saw Peter’s mural-double standing behind his and Navashay’s doubles; Peter held his fingers like claws, ready to pounce on his companions from behind. Krys whipped around to face Peter, who dropped his hands to his sides. “Cut it out, Peter!”

  Peter walked away, hands clasped behind his back and whistling as he approached another mural. He shot sidelong glances at Krys, who tried very hard to ignore him.

  “It’s kind of spooky looking at these,” Peter said as he studied a more populated one. “With all the stillness around us, it’s strange to watch the mural people move around.”

  Krys and Navashay joined him and they watched as a group of children played within the picture.

  Krys left the mural and continued to scan the walls of the massive room. Huge tapestries, hanging from heavy spikes embedded in the masonry, also adorned the Great Hall. “You know, I bet the castle is full of secret passageways. I wouldn’t be surprised if one or two weren’t hidden around here someplace—like behind some of these.” He tried to pull the edge of one of the wall-hangings out of the way, but it was too heavy to move. He gave up. “I guess the search for secret passageways will have to be done at a later time.”

  He turned away from the wall. Three distinct metal clangs echoed through the hall, followed by a dull thump. As Krys turned, he lost sight of everything around him as a huge cloud of dust enveloped him. One of the tapestries and its spikes lay on the stone floor in a dusty heap. He waved a hand in front of his face to clear the air, then coughed, sputtering the dust from his throat. The strong odor of mildew and residual smoke hung in the air. He stared through watery eyes at the crumpled tapestry on the floor, fighting the urge to sneeze.

  An old man wearing royal blue clothing, trimmed in gold, no doubt a royal advisor of some sort, stood frozen in time in front of the bare stone wall. Dust covered his clothing and his snow-white hair and beard. He held an ornate key in his wrinkled hand. His lifeless, hazel eyes stared at nothing.

  Krys jumped back. “Where’d he come from?”

  Peter chuckled and slapped Krys on the back, sending a puff of dust into the air. “No hidden passage behind that tapestry. Just an old, wrinkly man.”

  Krys stumbled forward from the force of the slap. His foot landed on one of the spikes, causing it to roll. Unable to keep his balance, he fell, grabbing hold of the nearest thing for support. As he hit the ground, he realized he’d grabbed the old man’s arm. Too late for Krys to roll away, the frozen man collapsed on top of him. The key clanged across the stone floor.

  All Krys could hear was Peter’s laughter.

  “Get him off me!” Krys pushed on the old man’s shoulders. He was unable to move him. The man’s vacant eyes stared into his.

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  Chapter 15 - Secrets and Mysteries

  The dust swirling around Krys’ face didn’t blot out the frozen stare of the old man. He struggled under the dead-weight, and then sneezed violently.

  He felt the weight shift as Peter and Navashay moved the man off him. Krys rolled, jumped to his feet and sprinted a dozen feet away. Peter and Navashay stood the man back up.

  Breathing heavily, Krys crept back. “Who is he?” he whispered. He looked down at the man’s empty hand. “The key!” He looked around the floor. “Where did it go?” He kicked up the edge o
f the tapestry in several places, uncovering nothing but a layer of fine sediment. “We need to find it!”

  “Why?” Navashay asked.

  “The way he held it and the way he was hidden—it’s got to be important.” Krys looked under benches and tables.

  Krys, Peter and Navashay crawled around the perimeter of the fallen tapestry and peered under and around objects scattered on the floor.

  Finding no key, they shifted their search outward. As Krys was about to kick aside an old toppled stool, a flick of glimmer caught his eye. “There it is!” He picked up the key. The handle, covered with small jewels, glistened in his hand. “It’s got to be important.” He showed it to Peter and Navashay, now at his side.

  Navashay’s mouth hung open as she touched an exquisite inlaid ruby.

  “Do you think it belonged to the king?” asked Peter.

  “With all these jewels? Yeah, it must have,” said Krys. He looked at the man again. “I wonder who he is, and why he had this?” He bounced the key in his hand.

  “Yet another mystery,” said Navashay.

  Krys dropped the key into his pouch, then brushed as much dust from his clothing as he was able. “Come on. Let’s see what else there is to find.”

  Their footsteps echoed down the Great Hall as they approached the entrance to another chamber.

  Krys knew he had seen this archway before. He pulled out the journal and opened it to the first picture. He held the book out to the other two. “Look. It’s the same room.” Krys peered through the arch.

  As they stepped through the doorway into the king’s throne room, Krys felt a small tremor underfoot. “Did you feel that?”

  “Maybe the castle doesn’t want us in here.” Navashay braced herself against the stone entryway.

  Krys took several tentative steps deeper into the round, stone room. In the center, the massive rock structure remained in place as depicted in the journal. Just off center was a large platform, positioned next to the stone structure. It held the royal thrones.