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  Krys waved his arms, trying to distract the beast.

  The troll swung his massive club. Peter dodged, then pulled his dagger too.

  Krys slashed at the troll’s heavy torso from the side, but it seemed to have no effect.

  He ventured a quick glance at Navashay. She rummaged in her satchel.

  “What are you doing?” he yelled.

  “I’m looking for—” She pulled a tattered book from within. “Ah ha! Here it is.” She opened the book and flipped through the pages. “I’m looking for a counter spell for this magical trap.”

  “Why do you think it’s a trap?” Krys yelled.

  “Because nothing should be moving here.” She looked up at Krys. “But us.”

  “You’re right!” Krys said, “And we—”

  “—didn’t say the password!” Peter finished for him. He slashed at the troll but missed.

  “Since we don’t know the proper password,” she said. “Maybe a potion will stop him.”

  “But magic didn’t work on him,” Peter yelled.

  “Potions aren’t necessarily magic,” Navashay said.

  Krys pushed himself closer to the duel and slashed and jabbed at the troll while he tried to stay away from the beast’s teeth and club.

  “You better find something quick! He moves too fast to get in a good hit,” yelled Peter.

  The troll lunged at Peter and knocked him aside with a fist the size of a large ham. He turned and set his black eyes on Krys.

  Frantic, Krys backed up, then ran at the troll, plunging his dagger into the creature’s large abdomen. Green slime covered the dagger when he yanked it back out.

  The troll appeared to take no notice of his injury.

  “What’s taking so long?” Krys looked at Navashay. “You better hurry, I’m not hurting this thing at all.”

  The troll roared and bared his teeth.

  “All I’m doing is making him mad,” said Krys.

  Peter jumped up and raised his dagger. He hacked at the back of the troll’s ankles. The troll rounded on Peter and swatted at him with his club.

  “Peter,” Krys cried. “What about the immobilization spell?”

  “I doubt it will work, either, but I’ll try,” Peter yelled. “Clas— ” Peter began, but was unable to finish. He was knocked out as the troll’s club grazed his head.

  Anger consumed Krys. He barreled at the troll, dagger held in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse as Navashay threw something.

  “Krys,” Navashay screamed. “Don’t inhale the powder.”

  He slammed into the body of the troll. It was like hitting a stone wall. His breath was knocked out of him and by reflex, he drew in a deep lungful of air, along with the purple haze that showered over the troll and filtered down around him.

  Krys gasped for fresh air as his lungs filled with the substance. The room began to swim around him. The troll hit the floor; the entire room shook. Krys stumbled as his vision blurred. He hit the floor face-first.

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  Chapter 17 - No Time to Waste

  Krys rolled over and opened his eyes to see three Navashays. He tried to focus on the concerned face of the one in the middle as she knelt beside him and dabbed at his bloodied nose with the corner of her tunic. His eyes would not clear and his head felt like it had split open, but he didn’t know whether it was a result of the powder or contact with the hard floor.

  He tried not to stir, for movement caused pain to course through his entire body. “Wha’ ‘appened?” He heard his slurred words as they echoed in his ears. Searing pain pulsed through his head at the sound.

  “You inhaled powdered dramus weed.” Her voice sounded far away.

  She dug in her satchel, pulling several vials and herbs out. She crumbled dry red leaves into a wooden bowl, then added several drops of a thick black liquid and a few small seeds. She crushed the ingredients in the bowl with a pestle and emptied a small vial of purple liquid into it, and mixed again. “Here.” She held the bowl out. “Drink this.”

  “Wha’ izit?”

  “Antidote.” Her hands shook as she forced the bowl into his grasp.

  Peter gently lifted Krys’ head off the floor.

  Suffering through the throbbing in his head, Krys brought it to his lips and sipped the thick liquid. The bitter substance puckered his mouth and he spit it on the floor beside him. “Tha’s ‘orrible.”

  She shoved the bowl to his lips and forced him to drink. “I know, but you have to get it down.”

  “Why did it knock the troll out all the way, but not Krys?” Peter asked.

  “Dramus weed won’t kill a troll; they eat it in the wild all the time, so have built up immunity to its effects. But it will cause unconsciousness when they inhale the powdered form of it. And since their brains are so small, they can’t fight the effects. However, the weed is fatal to humans if not counteracted right away because we have no resistance to it.”

  Krys closed his eyes and dumped the entire dose into his open mouth. He gagged, but forced himself to swallow. It burned his throat as it went down and landed in his gut like a red-hot ember. He dropped his head back as the ceiling spun above him. His body felt as if it were searing from the inside out. Rivulets of perspiration streamed down his face and neck.

  “You okay?” Navashay asked Peter.

  Peter rubbed his head where the troll had hit him. “That brute packs quite a punch.”

  Krys’ vision began to clear and the pain in his head eased to a dull ache. He tried to sit up, but the pain returned.

  Don’t get up,” Navashay warned as she pushed him gently back down. “Give the antidote a chance to work. You’ll be okay in a few minutes.”

  He let his head sink back to the floor and closed his eyes.

  Through the haze that enveloped his mind, Krys felt someone shake his shoulder. He didn’t know how much time had passed.

  “Krys, wake up,” Navashay said.

  He opened his eyes a slit and sat up slowly. Still lightheaded and nauseous, Krys stumbled to his feet. He shuffled to the table and dropped into the nearest chair.

  He looked for the troll, but found him nowhere. “Where is he?”

  Peter blew out a breath. “Who cares, he’s gone.”

  “He transformed into yellow-green smoke and disappeared a few minutes ago,” said Navashay.

  Still feeling a little dizzy, Krys turned his attention to the velvet bags on the table. Wary of finding another troll, or other kind of creature, he shook a bag and squeezed it to check for live threats. Peter and Navashay each picked up bags and did the same.

  Satisfied no other attack was imminent, Krys opened one and dumped its contents out. Elaborate jewelry and precious gems scattered across the table.

  “Wow.” Krys picked up a brooch and showed it to his friends. The late afternoon sunlight that streamed through the tall window made the gems sparkle and cast countless bright spots on the walls around them. He placed the brooch on the table. “I’ve never seen anything this valuable.” He raked the rest of the jewels into a pile in front of him. He picked up a ring with a large gem set in it and studied it. He turned it over in his hand. “Too small to be the king’s.” He placed it in Navashay’s outstretched palm.

  “It must have belonged to Queen Annabella.” She gazed at the inside of the band. “The love of my life,” she read the inscription. “How beautiful.” She passed the ring to Peter, who stuck it on his smallest finger, folded his arms, and looked over the pile of riches on the table.

  “Peter!” snapped Navashay. “Put it back!”

  “Well, she’s not using it.” Peter yanked it off his finger and slapped it into Navashay’s hand.

  “All this belongs to the kingdom, not to us.” She polished the ring on her sleeve. “It will stay in the castle.”

  “Fine!” Peter slumped back in his chair.

  “The king’s ring isn’t here,” Krys said as he shuffled through the pile. He grabbed another sa
ck and spilled its contents out on the table. Peter and Navashay dumped the remainder of the bags. Fine jewelry, gems and shiny coins covered the table, but there was no sign of the missing ring.

  “What else is in this box?” Krys pulled the heavy container across the table toward him. He peered in and found an ivory handled dagger in a silver sheath. “Look,” he said with a smile. He reached in and pulled it from the depths of the box. “This has to be the king’s dagger.” He closed his fingers around the handle, not discerning the feel of the embedded gems. It felt like it was made to fit his hand alone. He pulled the sheath from the silver blade. Intense light burst from the blade, so bright it almost blinded him. An instant later, a mournful howl pierced the room from the open window.

  Fear rose in Krys’ gut. He looked at Peter and Navashay, their frightened expressions compounded his own unease.

  “The lizardmen,” Peter whispered.

  Krys felt a shudder from within his pouch. He reached inside and felt the journal twitch. With shaky hands, he pulled it free. It shuddered again in his hand and popped open. The face of Norris Anderwood rose from the pages.

  “Descendant, you have alerted Grimm’s minions with the unsheathing of the king’s dagger. The wizard must be released before Grimm the Evil, can be summoned. Search the stone courtyard for the hidden passage that leads to the dungeon. He must be freed before the setting of the sun this day. If you fail, the Kingdom of Ravenwood fails and all of Lanterra will be lost. Make haste, for time is your enemy.” Norris Anderwood’s face evaporated.

  Krys held the open journal in his hands and stared at the page, which held a single line of text. A spell.

  “Krys!” Peter’s yell broke him from his trance. “Let’s move!”

  They gathered the scattered riches and placed them back in the box. Krys snapped it shut and shoved it back into its hiding place, then shoved the king’s dagger under his belt. Grabbing their belongings, they bolted for the door. They took the spiral steps two at a time, vaulting the dead warrior.

  The relentless howling of the lizardmen continued.

  At the bottom, Krys turned and entered the courtyard with its doorways, arches and passages. The lizardmen wailed again. The hair on Krys’ neck prickled. He ran to a wall that had no opening. “This has to be it.” He ran a hand over the smooth stone.

  “How do we get through?” Navashay surveyed the solid rock.

  Krys pitched the journal to Peter. “There’s a spell on the page Norris appeared from. I don’t know if it’s meant for Raven’s release, or getting through the wall.” He pressed his hands to his ears. “Why won’t that infernal howling stop? I can’t think through all that noise.”

  Navashay placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Relax, Krys. Take a few deep breaths and calm yourself.” She tipped her head in the direction of the howls. “Ignore the noise.”

  He met her insistent gaze and forced himself to take slow, even breaths. He felt the tension ebb away a bit. He channeled his thoughts, placed both hands on the wall, and felt for a way to enter what seemed impossible.

  Peter opened the journal. “How many lines of text did you say you saw after Norris disappeared?”

  “One.” Krys turned to face Peter. “Why?”

  Peter shoved the open journal toward Krys. “Because, now there’s two.” He smiled at Krys.

  Krys grabbed the journal and stared at the page. “You should do this.” He shoved the journal back at Peter.

  Peter crossed his arms over his chest. “Nope.” He shook his head. “You’re going to do this one. It’s meant for you, only you.”

  “Peter,” Krys begged. “This is important. You’ve got to do it.” He kicked the wall in frustration and tightened his grip on the journal, his other hand balled up at his side.

  “A tantrum?” Peter shoved Krys sideways. “Finished now?”

  Navashay scowled. “Will one of you do something? We don’t have much time.”

  Standing still, with arms crossed, Peter raised a brow. “Well? The fate of the kingdom and all of Lanterra rests in your hands, descendant.”

  Krys harrumphed and glared at Peter. “Okay!” he snapped. He read the spell from the journal and muttered it under his breath several times to set it to memory. He shoved the journal at Peter and raised both hands, pointing his fingertips to the wall. He closed his eyes and ran the spell through his mind once more. Somewhere deep in his soul, he knew he would be successful. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes and belted out, “Gradundisare troparans.” A stream of smoke and silver sparks poured from his fingers. Overwhelmed by the power of the spell, Krys’ concentration faltered. The vapor and sparks dissipated.

  “Try again,” Navashay yelled with excitement.

  “You can do this. You’re meant to do it.” Peter said. “Now hurry up!”

  Krys extended his arms and closed his eyes. He willed his thoughts into one intense stream of energy, channeling it through his hands as he spoke the spell again. He felt energized and detached from his body. He opened his eyes and concentrated on the barrier before him. A stream of vapor and silver sparks burst from not only his fingertips, but also his hands. The energy slammed into the wall and spread across it in ripples. Startled, he dropped his arms and jumped back.

  “What happened?” Peter said. “Did it burn?”

  “Did it hurt?” Navashay’s voice cracked and her eyes widened.

  “No. It just surprised me a little. I didn’t expect it.” He glanced at Peter and then back at the wall.

  “What did it feel like?” Navashay asked with excitement.

  “It—tickled.”

  The stone sparkled and wavered.

  Navashay stared at the wall. “Amazing!”

  “Now that’s something Master Myt should have seen!” Peter said. “I bet he couldn’t have transformed solid rock any better!”

  Even though he tried to keep a nonchalant expression, Krys couldn’t stop a broad smile from forming.

  Peter slapped Krys on the back and grinned, “There’s hope yet for you.”

  Walking toward the shimmering wall, Krys paused and took a deep breath. Closing his eyes and steeling himself, he exhaled and stepped into the wall. The stone undulated and swallowed him. It felt nothing like the illusion he passed through to get to the Great Hall. Cold, filmy residue slid across his skin as he moved through the rock. “It feels like I’m walking through water, but I’m not getting wet,” he yelled from within the wall. “And, I can breathe! It’s kind of like the barrier at the edge of the dark forest.” He emerged on the other side. “Now that was interesting!”

  A passageway opened up before him and extended into pitch-blackness. He turned around to face the barrier once more. Peter and Navashay stood on the other side, shrouded as if a veil hung in the archway.

  Peter strode toward the liquid wall but connected with solid stone and bounced backwards. He recoiled and rubbed his nose. An outburst of laughter came from Navashay as she doubled over in hysterics. Krys couldn’t help but laugh.

  “It wasn’t funny!” Peter muttered.

  “Yes, it was!” Krys and Navashay said at the same time.

  Krys recovered some facade of seriousness and hollered through the wall, “The spell must only let one through at a time. I guess you need to cast the spell to come through too.”

  “You think?”

  His hands extended in front of him, Peter invoked the spell. Even from his side, Krys could see the wall glimmer.

  Peter took one step toward the barrier but stopped and shoved Navashay through ahead of him, following close behind while holding on to her shoulders.

  Navashay emerged in front of Krys. But Peter dallied within the substance, his expression dancing with boyish playfulness as he moved through the rock. He stopped in the middle, spun around and waved his arms.

  “Peter, quit messing around! We don’t have time for your games.” Krys reached into the wall and yanked Peter through by the front of his tunic.

  Turning
around, Krys spied iron gates standing open against the walls on either side of the dark passage. He ran his hand over the smooth metal and stopped at the heavy latch. He peered into the dimness ahead. The only light came from the courtyard beyond the magic passage at their backs. He attempted a light ball, but failed.

  Peter tried three times, but he too, was unable to conjure any light.

  Krys plucked three torches from their mountings on the wall to his right. “I hope we can light these.”

  “Hedro barous,” Peter said. A feeble flame appeared and he shoved it toward the torch. The torch head caught. He evoked the charm two more times and handed a lit torch to Krys and Navashay.

  Oily, black smoke filled the air.

  All three of them pulled their tunic fronts upward and covered their mouths and noses.

  Thick cobwebs hung everywhere, rippling in the heat of the torches.

  They walked several paces downhill and descended a long spiral staircase. Two heavy, wooden doors stood at the bottom. Krys reached out and tugged on the sturdy locks and chains.

  Peter pointed at them. “Quantajis oliastomar.” The locks popped open.

  “That was easy,” said Krys.

  “A little too easy, if you ask me,” Navashay added. “Especially since some of the other magic hasn’t worked.”

  With difficulty, Krys pulled one of the doors open. The hinges creaked, the sound echoing off the walls and filling the small enclosure.

  Peter held out his torch and another sturdy iron gate came into view. He grabbed the sturdy iron and rattled it. Like the large doors, it was locked. He spoke the proper spell and released the locks. He shook his head. “You’re right—this is too easy.”

  Krys’ stomach clenched as he picked up on the uncertainty in Peter’s voice. Cautiously, he led Peter and Navashay across the threshold, into a long passageway lit only by their torches. His skin tingled as he anticipated what the darkness might be hiding.