The echoing corridors of the Lost Castle held many surprises. Adalon knew that most were dangerous, some deadly – but the urge to explore overwhelmed such considerations.
In the month since Adalon and his friends had returned to the Lost Castle after saving the villagers of Sleeto, he'd stalked the mysterious halls and chambers, hunting for some clue as to the fate of the long-gone A'ak. Whenever he could find the time, he scanned the passageways and frowned at empty room after empty room, trying to make sense of the castle's enigmatic former inhabitants. Where had the A'ak gone? Why had they disappeared? What sort of saur were they?
Seek to understand, his father had always advised, lest the unknown become your enemy. Adalon knew they could not afford another enemy, not with the power of Queen Tayesha looming against them, so he spent precious sleep time gnawing at the mystery of the A'ak.
Despite the safety the Lost Castle had provided, Adalon felt uneasy about the A'ak, unsettled deep inside himself. At times, he found the place shuddersome, as if the stones had seen unspeakable deeds and were now whispering of them in patient, weary voices.
On this day, he'd almost overlooked the opening to the narrow spiral staircase, concealed as it was by ornamental carving, which was common in this part of the castle. It was only when he happened to swing his lantern that the shadows disappeared enough for him to see the stairs leading downwards.
He descended, opened a solid wooden door at the bottom of the stairs, and entered a small, square room. The walls were rough stone, most unlike the smoothly dressed masonry he'd become accustomed to in the rest of the castle. The blocks were irregular, with uneven faces, and looked hastily put together. Three empty niches at shoulder height were set into each wall.
A stone door stood before him. A pile of rocks was heaped next to it, nearly reaching the ceiling. It was as if lazy workers had thrown them aside before slouching off.
A soft click came from behind him. Adalon whirled in time to see that the door – which he was sure he'd left open – was now shut. He tried to open it, but it wouldn't move. He bared his teeth, alert, eyes darting. He turned and sidled along until he had his back to a wall. He placed the lantern in one of the niches and held his clawed hands on guard, ready. Unarmed though he was, his thumb-claws were sharp and deadly. He cursed himself for exploring alone.
His friend Simangee had tired of exploration. She had decided to spend more time high in one of the towers, in the chamber of power, investigating the many magic potions in the room. Targesh was busy helping the villagers settle into their new home.
Adalon was trapped. He hissed. His heart began to race, setting his Clawed One blood afire. He swallowed and, with difficulty, he composed himself. When his heartbeat slowed, he tried to open the door again. His tail twitched with frustration when he found it as solid as the stone walls that surrounded it.
He eyed the door opposite. It was a great slab of stone banded with metal. He took a careful step toward it, hoping it wouldn't be locked.
Next to the door, the pile of stones moved. Adalon wrinkled his brow, wondering if he hadn't disturbed it. Then a pebble tumbled, bouncing off the larger rocks until it reached the floor, where it skittered along before coming to rest in front of him.
This time, he was certain he hadn't disturbed it.
The pile shivered. Near the base of the pile, larger stones ground together and shifted. Adalon's mouth was dry. It was as if something was trying to get out from under the heap. He snapped his claws together and raised himself on his toes.
His chest tightened, and then he remembered a lesson from the Way of the Claw: Do not run the race before it begins. He sought for stillness inside and tried to steady himself.
Adalon jumped backward as the entire top half of the rock pile lurched, then fell forward. But he was puzzled when nothing appeared from under the rocks. Cautiously, he took a step toward them.
With a grating sound that set Adalon's teeth on edge, the stones edged together, dragged together by an unseen force. The movement seemed random at first, with stones jostling and scraping against each other until, finally, they heaved themselves up in a single mass.
Numbly, Adalon saw that the rocks had assembled themselves into the crude figure of a giant saur. It had two arms, two legs, a thick tail and a featureless, rough head, which scraped the ceiling.
Adalon's tail twitched as he tried to keep fear at arm's length. Magic, he thought. How I loathe magic.
The stone creature stood still for a moment, then its head swayed, as if it were tasting the air. With a jerky step, it came toward him, the floor shaking beneath its slab-like foot. Adalon moved left, keeping his back to the wall. The creature took another ponderous step. It paused and the stones that made up its body ground together as it settled. Then it swung a massive arm.
Without hesitating, Adalon threw himself forward, underneath the deadly blow. He rolled and came to his feet in time to twist away from a backswing that would have torn off his head. He feinted left, then darted right. A rocky fist crashed into the wall, and splinters of stone lanced through the air. One sliced Adalon's cheek. Blood streamed down and he realised he'd barely missed being blinded.
He lunged for the monster, then reeled back as it slapped at him with its tail. Desperately, he sought for its vulnerable spots. The stones scraped against each other, nothing presenting itself – no eyes, no soft belly, nothing. He danced left and right, not standing still, furiously searching for a plan. He felt the wall behind him, and he pushed off, spinning to his left. Perhaps if he could lure it to one side, he could reach the door it had been guarding.
Adalon sprang toward the monster, then he slipped to his right. It tried to grapple, clutching at him with both arms, but Adalon squirmed away with Clawed One speed. He left some skin behind, but the way was now clear to the door.
He raced for it, grinning and pleased with himself, but at that instant the monster swung its tail again. Adalon tried to stop and duck at the same time, but his feet skidded out from under him. The massive tail clipped his forehead. His head rang like a bell and it felt as if his bones turned to liquid. He slid to the floor and echoes ran around inside his head.
He lay there, dazed. He knew he should be climbing to his feet, but his thoughts were wrapped in fog.
Adalon looked up to see the monster dragging itself around to face him. Dizzy, his head swimming, Adalon could see his death shambling toward him.
For a moment, he despaired. His vow would remain unfulfilled. His father's death would be unavenged, Queen Tayesha would bring war and ruin to the seven kingdoms of Krangor and General Wargrach would be triumphant.
He shook his head. It hurt, but it cleared a little. He was determined not to die lying down. He struggled to his knees, then used his tail to help him to his feet to meet his foe.
At that moment the door to the stairwell splintered and flew apart. A torrent of water burst into the room with a roar that shook the walls.
Adalon was driven backwards by the flood, spluttering and gasping. Amazed, he saw Simangee leap into the room. She held a glowing potion bottle in one upraised hand and a lantern in the other. 'Adalon!' she cried. 'Get back!'
Simangee, waist deep in water, threw the potion at the monster. The vial shattered in a ball of light. Adalon shielded his eyes and when he looked again, the creature was melting. Slowly at first, then more rapidly, like an ice statue thrust into the midday sun. In a few scant seconds it had lost its shape, becoming a grey mound, which then slumped and was absorbed by the water.
Adalon stood, blinking and rubbing his head. Simangee waded to his side. 'Adalon,' she said, 'when are you going to learn not to go anywhere dangerous without me?'