rapier. The smell of sea salt was growing stronger and stronger, and the air was colder and colder, and the sound of waves crashing upon the jutting rocks was growing louder and louder. It seemed to take an eternity, but finally he could feel Brecan descending, and he dug his knees in and wrapped his arms around the unicorn’s neck so he wouldn’t fall off. Brecan’s hooves struck the ground hard, jarring Raettonus and causing the contents of his backpack to clink together. “Easy!” he hissed, opening his eyes.
“Sorry,” Brecan said quickly.
Raettonus straightened on the unicorn’s back. “I just about bit my tongue in two,” he complained. He glanced at the dark outline of the fortress looming over them from atop its mountain. “Is that it? You could’ve landed closer.”
In the darkness, the Kaebha Citadel was a gloomy place. Its walls were built of enormous stone blocks, which had been cut from the mountain around it when they had leveled the peak to make a place for the fortress to sit. It had been an expensive undertaking by King Ryahnrish, who many considered Zylekkha’s most paranoid king—and in a kingdom like Zylekkha, that meant a lot. It had thousands of arrow slits in it to accommodate the enormous garrison it had housed in its stronger days. Now the number of defenders was far smaller, though no one was sure how many men there currently were. The battlements were lined with a cage of wicked iron spikes to prevent aerial attacks, and a number of middle-sized catapults were visible upon the roof. Centaurs in full plate armor patrolled the fortress with longswords and spears and bows slung across their backs, and several guards with halberds were positioned at each entrance. They watched Raettonus approach on Brecan’s back with subdued curiosity. As they drew near, one of the guards—whose armor was more ornamental than his companions’—nodded to Brecan and raised the visor on his helm. “Hello there,” he called, trotting forward. Where the plate mail didn’t cover him, Raettonus could see that his horse portion was chestnut in color. “I remember you from before. Brecan, was it?”
“It was!” exclaimed Brecan happily. “Still is, in fact.”
“I take it that this, then, is the magician General Tykkleht was expecting?” the guard asked, looking at Raettonus. “Good evening to you.”
Raettonus dismounted. “Yes, yes,” he said. “My pleasure, or whatever you’re wanting to hear. Is the general up?”
“I’m afraid not,” the guard said. “He left instructions for me to show you to your chambers, though. My name’s Daeblau. I’m the Captain of the Garrison.” He held out his hand, but Raettonus didn’t shake it.
“All my books are there, I assume?”
Daeblau nodded. “Yes, Magician,” he said. “We’ve arranged them for you and everything.”
Raettonus scowled. “Wonderful. Now I’ll have to spend the rest of the night fixing what you bumbling idiots have messed up,” he said. “Lead the way, sir. Brecan, with me. You can ask the general tomorrow whether you can stay for the duration, I suppose.”
The centaur turned and called to someone within the citadel in Kaerikyna—the hard-sounding language of the centaurs—and, after a moment, the portcullis rose and the sturdy, iron-banded double doors swung open, moved by a pair of centaurs. Raettonus entered alongside Daeblau, Brecan taking up the rear. As they entered the wide hall, the guards behind them swung the doors closed again and lowered the portcullis. Most of the torches in the sconces on the walls weren’t lit, leaving the high-ceilinged hallway full of gloom and shadows. Squinting into the darkness, Raettonus could make out tapestries on the walls, but not what was upon them. Massive pillars made of gilded brick and decorated with red and purple hangings were set along each wall to hold up the heavy stone roof. The entry hall, however, was the only extravagantly decorated corridor they passed through. They walked a long way, past many smaller hallways that branched off the main, and passed simple staircases that ascended sharply and were soon lost in darkness. They walked up a broad stone staircase with wide, shallow steps—the kind of steps Raettonus was used to seeing in centaur-built habitations. The landing above was better lit, and here Raettonus could see painted shields hanging on the walls, which he paused to look at.
“Who’s this, here?” he asked, pointing to one of the shields. It showed a centaur with dark red fur drawing back a bow with four arrows nocked. The artist had neglected to paint his eyes, it seemed. “Daebrish?”