CHAPTER 8

It was slow going, even with the strength of Virgil powering the winch. He watched as the small platform receded, visible only by the dull glow of the candelabra in front of it. He dared not make a light here, in case it stirred something sleeping below the water. Instead he sat silent in the pitch dark, the only sounds the irregular splashing of the boat and the distant grinding of the mechanism.

It was a long time before the boat came to a stop, halting with a sickening crunch of gears. He couldn’t see a thing, but he could smell something different. The damp scent of stagnant water no longer filled his nostrils. The air was earthier, scented with something fouler - excrement. Was the Prince being kept here?

Yannick stood up carefully. He hadn’t heard the boat hit the edge on this side, so he stepped carefully with his foot into the unyielding darkness. He would be slower to retract his foot, and more off-balance if something did happen, certainly, but the idea of pressing his hand into that great maw of blackness… The image of Jeran, writhing in agony as his flesh melted away, came unbidden to his mind.

He felt something hard beneath his foot. As gently as he could, he shuffled his foot around, searching for the tell-tale give of pressure signifying a weighted trap. Satisfied, he took a deep breath and pressed his weight forward. The stone did not buckle or sink, and he let out a heavy breath.

Carefully he stepped his second foot forward, searching for another stone. He found it and stood carefully, his body trembling from the adrenalin.

“Very good,” said a deep, smooth baritone.

A low light filled the space, illuminating another platform similar to the other side. This one had three doors and a large pile of rubble.

“Who’s there?” called Yannick.

There was a short laugh and the rubble began to move, turning a strange head towards him. The expression was human-like, but something about it struck Yannick immediately. It was as if the perspectives were wrong: a face slightly too big, eyes too small, mouth too wide. Like a statue carved by an inexperienced sculptor.

“Just myself,” it said.

As Yannick’s eyes adapted to the low light, he could make out more of the creature. The face was woman-like, or at least intended to be so. It had the strong, muscular body of a lion. A thick tail flicked aggressively.

Draw tight, the inscription had said. Or so Jeran had thought. It came to Yannick now, as clear as if he was in the schoolroom learning Olds once again. The word was closer to suffocation. Asphuxia, in Olds.

That was what the inscription had warned him about, but they’d got it wrong. It wasn’t a warning about suffocation or drawing tight - that was simply the Olds name for the beast in front of him: like a lion, they crushed the windpipe of their prey. Asphyxiation.

Sphinx.

Yannick felt his heart pound with fear and his mouth turn dry. The beast stretched out its front legs, revealing claws that could break a limb with a single swipe.

“It normally takes them an awful long time to step off the boat. And if they do, they never search for traps.” The creature looked at him with deep, vacant eyes.

“Are you going to kill me?” asked Yannick.

The creature yawned.

“No.”

“Why are you here?”

“I am here to ensure the rules are followed.”

Sphinxes were immortal, impossibly rare beasts. Yannick had heard the legends of heroes being tricked and eaten by them, but he’d never seen one.

He took a deep swallow. “What are the rules?”

“Only two may return in the boat.”

“Is that all?”

The sphinx lowered its head. “I will eat anyone left on this platform.”

The words were delivered as casually as one might place an order in the tavern, but Yannick could feel the cold cruelty behind him.

He ran his hand over his head. Yannick might have been a powerful mage, but he was running at a low level of power after his summoning outside the tower. It was a struggle to keep his concentration even now, he couldn’t imagine the sort of spell he could need to fight this monster.

“The prisoners are behind two of these doors.”

“I am only seeking one prisoner.”

The sphinx licked its enormous paws and ignored his comment. “The one you seek is behind one of these doors.”

“If I open the wrong one, what will happen to me?”

A pause. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? I won’t die?”

“All men die.” The sphinx looked at him with the unreadable eyes and Yannick felt a shiver in his soul.

“Will opening the wrong door kill me?”

“I shouldn’t think so.”

“Are you lying?”

The sphinx raised the enormous head and stared at him with dull, expressionless eyes. “I could be, but you’ll have to take my word for it.”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Yannick didn’t trust the sphinx. He took his first steps forward, towards the doors. His whole body warned him to get away from the sphinx, that those monstrous claws would pounce upon him in a second. He pushed down the mounting fears and examined the doors.

There were three identical doors, arranged on a stone wall with a few feet of space between them. They were heavy, iron doors - the sort used to house gaol cells.

Which one to take? He guessed that banging on the doors and waiting for a response wouldn’t work - these doors were likely enchanted to be soundproof, if the sphinx would even allow that.

He studied each door in turn, looking for clues that might suggest someone living on the other side.

The left door was unremarkable: it was metal, and perhaps least rusted of them all.

The middle door was similar. It was a little more rusty than the other one. The only other distinguishing factor was a deadbolt slung across the door.

The right door was the same as the middle one.

The middle and right door must be the cells. The Sphinx had referred to them as prisoners, meaning it was likely they would be kept under lock - rust in these damp environs would suggest frequent use. It wasn’t much of a clue, but he had nothing else to go upon.

But which door to open first? The sphinx had told him his prisoner was behind one door - who was held behind the other? It could be anyone… or anything.

Will opening the wrong door kill me?

I shouldn’t think so.

It was a risk, but it was one he had to take. He looked to the sphinx, who was eyeing him with great interest.

“Time is running out. If you don’t open soon, I”ll eat you.”

With no better way to make a decision, he went for the middle door. It was covered in less rust.

The deadbolt screamed as he pulled it back, sliding into place with a resounding thud.

He glanced at the Sphinx. It was smiling, the stone lips stretched wide. It sent shivers down his spine.

Yannick opened the door.

It was dark inside the cell. “Hello?” he called. He heard coughing and shuffling. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Was it another of the undead monsters he had seen above?

“Hello,” called back a weak voice. “Who goes there?”

“Are you Prince Rallo of Kestria?”

“Who are you?” The voice was male and strained with fear.

Yannick took a step into the darkness. “I am Yannick Oswestry. I have been sent by the Archbishop of Camberton to rescue you from this place, and return you to your home.”

There was a great, hacking cough. “Do you have any proof?”

Yannick raised his arm and pulled back the loose sleeve. He muttered a short incantation and the angry, fierce crest of the Guild burned into life on the underside of his forearm. The symbol was as good a guarantee of authority as any: the magical signatures were slight, but maddeningly complex - and thus impossible to fake.

“A sight for sore eyes,” said the Prince. “You might want to take a step back. I have had little time for hygiene in my stay.”

Yannick stepped away from the doorway. A moment later, a grim looking figure emerged. He was tall and rake thin. A dirty thatch of beard covered his chin. His hair was long and matted. Dark circles enveloped sunken eyes. Beneath a camouflage of dirt and a once-flush hunting outfit that now hung too loosely, Yannick could make out the swirling black tattoos that marked the Duchy’s royal line, ending at his throat.

“Do I really look that bad?” asked the Prince.

“You look worse.”

The Prince barked a commanding laugh that belied his frail frame. He turned his brown, studious eyes on Yannick. “You’re not a Kestrian.”

“I am Cambercian.”

The Prince nodded. “Very well. I’ll take your word for it. You all sound the same to me. Apologies for the suspicion - my gaoler here has had a rather dark idea of fun.”

The Sphinx cast another too-wide smile at them.

“We should not tarry, your highness--”

“Another was brought in recently,” said the Prince, turning to the other, unopened door. “And I’ll be damned to leave another to this fate, Sandinghamese or not.”

“We can only take two in the boat,” said Yannick. “We go, and now.”

The Prince looked at Yannick. There was a second of doubt before the princely authority reasserted itself. “If you don’t open that door, I will.”

Yannick could feel the Sphinx’s grin widening.

“It’s a trap,” he said.

“Tic toc, so move the hours of the clock,” said the Sphinx.

The Prince made a dismissive noise and went to the third and final door. He pulled back the deadbolt and a slam and yanked the door open with surprising strength for such a malnourished man.

“Who’s in there?” called the Prince. “Come out, we’re taking you away from this place.”

There was shuffling from inside the cell.

“Yannick?” said a familiar voice. “Is that you?”

Yannick felt his blood run cold. It was a trap after all.

Audie appeared at the doorway, blinking in the dim light and looking from Yannick to the Prince. “You came back for me,” she said faintly.

“One of yours?” asked the Prince.

“What was the first thing I said to you?” asked Yannick. He’d been fooled by a shade once before. He wouldn’t let that happen again.

“What?” said Audie, visibly confused.

“When we first met, what did I say to you?”

“I…”

“Enough man, we don’t have time for this nonsense--”

Yannick held up a hand. “Quiet. Let her speak.”

The Prince huffed angrily at being dismissed, but held his peace.

“In the market,” said Audie. “You said that looking at bad meat was a rotten cover.”

Yannick sighed in relief. “My dear, I am so glad to have you back.”

Audie smiled, although still confused.

“Now, to the boat,” Yannick said.

“Only two may return in the boat,” said the Sphinx again. She couldn’t contain her excitement now. “I will eat anyone left here.”

“Were I with my platoon I’d smash that thing into dust,” said the Prince, glaring at the Sphinx.

The Sphinx smiled back. “Too bad you’re not, lizard boy.”

The full weight of the situation sunk in. This was the trap: the tower had taken Audie earlier in order to force this choice. Either he saved the Prince and his comrade was disembowelled or he saved Audie and returned back to Camberton empty-handed. Kestria would declare war on Sandingham over their missing prince, dragging Camberton into the mix and all but signing the death warrants of thousands.

“I will stay,” he said. “Quickly, both of you need to be in the boat.”

“Yannick,” began Audie. “We can fit three of us in the bloody thing--”

He silenced her with a hand and gave her a small smile. He was about to speak, but was interrupted by an ear piercing growl.

“Only two may return in the boat.” The Sphinx was standing now, the playful expression entirely gone. She eyed them hungrily.

“The Prince here must go,” Yannick said quickly. “Too many innocents will die if he stays in this place.” He turned to Audie. “You did not ask for this. You came along because I forced you. You do not deserve to die for that. Do as I say, Audie.”

Audie shook her head.

“There is no time,” said Yannick. “Get in the fucking boat.”

He readied the incantation for a flare in his mind.

“I will swim,” said the Prince.

Yannick laughed at the absurdity of it. “It’s a mile at least, with God knows what in the water and you don’t look like you could even walk a mile.”

The Prince grinned back. “Appearances can be deceiving. Your reward for rescuing me will not be death at the hands of this chimera.”

With that, Prince Rallo turned and leapt into the dark water.