***
It was apparent as she returned to the pale light of the day chamber that Hunor and Jem had been discussing her and also that Hunor had been observing her progress through a chink in the doorway. He made a show about being disinterested in her return, but she could see his eyes focused on the gold key.
Emelia handed him the key and then began to make towards the main door from the day room that lead out onto the corridor. She saw her pendant lying under the table as she neared the door and with a sigh of relief she picked it up and tucked it away safe. It was then she realised neither man was following her. Jem was pacing slowly across the floor, muttering to himself. Hunor had a leather roll out on the same table that had borne Uthor’s bottles of wine hours before. He seemed to be examining a selection of spindly metal picks and hooks.
Jem looked up and gestured her over to where he stood. She walked over as he pulled a small ball of food from his pouch. He offered it out to her and indicated for her to begin chewing it.
“It’s a mixture of mint and coriander herbs, bound by sap from the golden willow tree,” Hunor said as she winced in distaste.
“How do you plan to get past the first door below?” Emelia asked, attempting to take her mind from the pungent taste. “Lord Talis is the only one who can open it. I’m certain I heard them say it was enchanted.”
“It would be a challenge,” Jem said. “The nature of the enchantment is probably too elemental and complicated for me to break. I would propose—I suppose obviously—that there’s been some help in its creation from the Air-mages.”
“Then how are we to get past it?” Emelia asked.
“It’s one of Jem’s party tricks, love,” Hunor said, taking her hand. “There’s a proper magic name for it but I call it fizzy wall.”
Jem snorted in derision and took both Hunor’s hand and Emelia’s other hand so that they now stood in a small circle.
“The term amongst Wild-mages is phase-shifting. It’s hard to explain to the uninitiated and I don’t mean to be patronising by that. In essence I use the magic to stretch the Web and we slip ourselves through the gaps by precisely lining our auras up.”
“But it feels like your backside is sat in a pool of frisky minnows,” Hunor said to her out of the side of his mouth. “Keep chewing the cud and you’ll not feel as sick.”
Emelia felt a sudden sense of panic but Jem and Hunor held her hands tight. The air began to coalesce around them as Jem uttered arcane words. Emelia noticed a bright green glow pulsing in his eyes, like two radiant emeralds. Then a sudden cramp struck her stomach and she nearly bolted the chewy concoction from her mouth. With terror she realised she was sinking through the wood floor. The chairs and tables now loomed over her head and as she looked down in astonishment she saw her waist appeared to begin within the floorboards. Her legs were numb and tingling, the sensation she would occasionally get from lying with her arm pressed against the hard rim of her bed in the dormitory.
Emelia stifled a cry as the floor ascended up her chest to her neck. She felt a cold tingle that flowed like icy water through her head and then her vision went black.
An instant later she was drifting slowly down through darkness. Her body was light and felt insubstantial, as if she were now a spirit. After what seemed an eternity, yet in truth was but a few seconds, her feet touched solid floor and the tingle disappeared, leaving a wrench within her gut. The heady scent of the mint and coriander overpowered her and she retched violently, feeling warm vomit splash down her arms.
Emelia pulled her hands away from Jem and Hunor and stood straight. Hunor chuckled in the pitch black.
“Don’t worry, love, I caught it at the lower end my first time. Thought someone had sat me on a cursed privy! I swear I never left it for an entire week.”
Emelia pushed out her wet arms, trying to orientate herself in the inky blackness. Her hand brushed against one of the men’s backs.
“Easy, darling,” Hunor said. “We’ve only just met. I haven’t even asked your name. Some gallant Thetorian I am, eh? Now hang on a second. That’s the trick.”
A spark flashed in the dark and a torch sputtered to life, Hunor’s flint box having caught the oily material that wrapped around its top. Hunor took the torch and lit the six others in the cold chamber they now stood within. Jem was rubbing his arms clean with a large cloth, a look of intense concentration on his face.
The roof was vaulted with six pillars rising from the room’s edges and then curving at their apices to merge in to the stone of the ceiling. It gave the chamber the feel of a shrine and despite the glow from the torches there was more shadow than light. Emelia shivered, partly with the cool of the room, partly with the awareness of how she was crossing a line of no return.
“What is it then?” Hunor asked as he approached one of the doors in the chamber.
Emelia looked puzzled at him as he slid the key into the lock of the door.
“Your name?” Hunor asked as he opened the door.
“It’s Emelia. My name. Emelia. Just Emelia,” she replied and moved forward to join Hunor at the door. Jem took one of the torches from its sconce and followed.
Hunor smiled and then stepped carefully into next room and the other two followed.
Lord Ebon-Farr’s vault contained the culmination of the heirloom of perhaps fifty generations of his family and Emelia was rendered speechless by its content. She heard Hunor emit a slow whistle as the torches cast a warm light over the array of gold and platinum that cluttered the room. The walls had a heaviness that seemed to soak up the sound so that their footsteps were eerily silent as they strode across it. Racks of gilded goblets leaned against the pale walls, interspersed with bejeweled platters, tiaras, sceptres and rings. They had a certain order to them that spoke of some attempt to catalogue the treasures that sat within this place. Jem slid his torch into a vacant sconce and set about rooting through the glittering prizes, like an oversized squirrel.
Hunor looked with admiration at a suit of plate armour, its enamelled breastplate emblazoned with a silver eagle. He gently stroked the front and commented to Jem. “It’s a magnate alloy, really light. I’ll bet that’s what those air knights wear.”
Jem nodded, rifling through a rack of swords and maces. He paused as he found a broad sword and slid it from its scabbard. The torchlight reflected off the blade and Emelia gasped at the beauty of the weapon. The hilt and grip were gilded and the pommel was hooked into the image of an eagle’s head. Jem muttered some strange words and Emelia saw symbols carved on the blade begin to glow green.
He turned, re-sheathed the sword and then tossed it to Emelia. She squealed in surprise and caught the weapon, then looked sheepish at her clear inexperience with such an item.
“It’s got some Galvorian enchantment on the blade I think. It must be magnate too, to be able to hold the charm,” Jem said. Emelia looked in awe at the sword, afraid to draw it from its scabbard again. It was amazingly light in her hands.
“Well, Emelia, that’s the first payment in your apprenticeship. In the markets of Azagunta that’d be worth twenty times your pretty face, I’m afraid to say. Perhaps for the first lesson Jem’ll show you some card tricks and I’ll show you how to stick that in some ruffian before he sticks a cheaper one in you.”
“Hunor, I think this is the chest we need. Take a look,” Jem said.
Emelia noticed a change come over Hunor, as if a switch had been clicked in his mind. His face became serious and he handed Emelia the torch as he stalked past.
The chest was small, perhaps two feet across and eighteen inches deep and tall. It was made from polished mahogany inlaid with golden bands and small discs of platinum. Each disc was inscribed with a protective rune and the central disc had a tiny keyhole in its centre.
Hunor scratched his light stubble, his gold earrings glinting in the torchlight. His hands slipped over the surface, probing its contours and crannies before settling on the keyhole.
“O
ddly enough I’d have said it was Pyrian in design, but I think that’s a red herring. It’s a Mirioth trap-chest,” Hunor said.
“I assume you can crack it, Hunor?” Jem asked. “The runes mean that it’s protected against magic which ultimately means that I can’t phase-shift it back up with us.”
Hunor glanced at Emelia and Jem, then grinned.
“Is Esmerelda Fishgusset the least successful harlot in the port of Kir? Of course I can crack it! The trick’s not losing my face or my fingers from the acid behind the lock whilst I open it.”
Jem nodded and subtly stepped back from Hunor. He indicated for Emelia to hold the light closer to the crouching thief. The chamber suddenly felt very claustrophobic as Emelia watched her new mentor begin his work.
Hunor had pulled out a leather roll of picks and implements and was carefully selecting two to use. He slid two long picks gingerly into the lock and then gently began to manipulate the tools. Sweat beaded his brow and his concentration was total. Emelia found herself holding her own breath.
After about five minutes Emelia heard a click. Hunor placed his hand on the lid of the chest as a spring began to propel it open. He reached to his leather roll and pulled out a slender pair of tweezers and then slipped the implement under the crack between the lock and the lid. He slowly extracted a minute vial of purple liquid.
Emelia backed away as he placed it in a cloth bag and then slid it across the stone floor. “Acid cloud. That’s just really mean.”
Jem had been busy arranging some of the treasures he had disturbed back into order. Emelia noted the pedantic way he had lined the rows of weapons and shields against the wall.
Hunor opened the chest and chuckled in delight. The interior was padded with velvet—within it were three diamond rings and the blue triangular crystal that Emelia had seen the day Inkas-Tarr had returned it to Lord Talis. Hunor slipped all the items from the chest into one of the pouches that hung from his belt and stood with a flourish.
“The job’s in the bag, my friends. Let us make haste from this chill place and into the frigid embrace of Lower Eeria!” Hunor said, drawing the sword he kept strapped to his back.
Despite the tension of the last ten minutes Emelia burst out laughing, taken up by the charm of this man. She smiled at Jem, who shook his head in mock despair and drew his own sword. Emelia awkwardly pulled out her new sword. Both Jem and Hunor stepped back as it jerked out from the scabbard and almost sliced them both. They both grinned at the deep blush that blossomed on Emelia’s face.
Their moment of silliness over, the three exited into the antechamber that they had first entered, re-sheathing their swords. Jem gestured at the ceiling.
“Back up is the better option, I’d say. We can’t go through the vaults walls or floor as it’s enchanted and if we descend from here I’m fairly sure we’ll land in the officers’ mess, which will be good for my strange love of vintage port, but not so good for our escape. So up we must go and then a swift and silent escape the same way we came, eh, Hunor? No diversions to take some impressive work of art?”
“You loved that bust we took from that merchant in Kokis, Jem. If you hadn’t made me drop it…”
“It weighed eighty pounds and we were sliding down a rooftop four stories up,” Jem said to Emelia.
“No appreciation of art these Goldorians,” Hunor said as he began to chew the mint once more.