inconspicuous as possible while he waited for Abigail to free his family.
They approached along the stream that fed into Whitehall’s cistern, moving cautiously, maintaining a keen sense of awareness with every step. Magda tapped both Abigail and Anatoly on the shoulder, signaling that they were close enough for her to disable the guards on the nearest tower.
After a few moments, two scything pinwheels of faintly glowing magical force appeared over her head for just an instant before they shot forth, decapitating each soldier without a sound.
“Nice,” Anatoly said … just a moment too soon.
A horn blew from the topmost tower of the keep, followed by a blindingly bright light emanating from the same tower and illuminating the spot where they stood, alerting the entire fortress to their exact location.
“How did he see us?” Anatoly asked, spinning his axe into his hands.
“Magic,” Magda said. “If I had to guess, I’d say a sensitivity spell.”
“So much for that plan,” Abigail said, heading toward the grate.
She slipped into the frigid water, bracing for the sting of cold that never came, thanks to the dragon draught. The grate was made of stout steel bars that fell to the Thinblade without resistance.
Anatoly entered the passage first, followed by Abigail and then Magda. It was narrow and dark and they were up to their armpits in water so cold they would have already succumbed were it not for the magical protection of the dragon draught.
Not three steps into the passage, the water several feet in front of Anatoly erupted, spraying everywhere. He ducked his head, shielding his eyes from the sudden spray as an explosion rocked the passage. Fine steel darts flew in every direction, emanating from a device that had sprung out of the water and detonated in a deadly shower of well-honed steel. Anatoly’s armor protected him and shielded Abigail and Magda behind him as well, but he had no doubt that normal armor would have been no match for the force behind each needle-sharp dart.
“What was that?” Abigail asked, working her jaw to pop her ears.
“A trap spell,” Magda said. “I know similar magic … it’s called a porcupine spell. It’s cast upon a specially prepared item, which is then placed and activated. From then on, anyone who approaches the spell will trigger it.”
“Can you tell if there are any more?” Anatoly asked.
“Yes, but it may trigger the security field.”
“I don’t think that matters now,” Abigail said.
“Fair enough,” Magda said, working her way past Anatoly in the narrow passage. After nearly a minute of whispering to herself, a wave of hazy blue energy emanated from her hands and spread out down the passage. As it passed over two spots in the water, hidden objects pulsed blue, as did the security field.
“Looks like two more,” Anatoly said. “I’ll trigger them while you two stay back.”
Anatoly approached the devices with his arms raised across his face and his head down so his armor would take the entire attack. Once the danger had passed, Magda came forward and dispelled the security field. As they pushed through the water, they heard shouting from behind them—soldiers had discovered their point of entry.
The sound of the soldiers’ voices faded before they reached the second grate barring the way into the main cistern. Abigail cut it open in seconds and then they were struggling to swim to the ledge surrounding the majority of the cistern.
After they reached the ledge and helped one another out of the water, they heard the muted roar of a drakini. The water was far too cold for the soldiers to survive, but the drakini had no such weakness.
Alexander appeared next to them. “All of Zuhl’s forces are either moving to engage you or falling back to the main manor house to reinforce its defenses.”
“Zuhl thinks we’re after him,” Anatoly said, chuckling.
“If you’d ever had a conversation with the man, you’d understand,” Abigail said. “Which one of these passages leads to his manor?”
Alexander smiled, pointing to one of five large grated passages leading out of the cistern that fed the entire keep with water.
“Watch for the drakini,” Abigail said, drawing the Thinblade. She made her way to each grate, cutting it into pieces with a few well-placed slices. She cut through the last of the five when the first drakini reached the entrance and launched into the air.
A light-blue magical rope leapt forth from Magda’s hand, wrapping itself around the drakini, binding its wings and sending it tumbling into the water. Abigail calmly drew an arrow