Back Under The Stairs - Book 2 in The Bandworld Series (41 page)

Stupid!

But not Golden. Golden was anything but
stupid. "Continue."

"Great Mage ... fearing for you ... unable to
protect you, I ... took ... your golden crystal. Escaped with it."
Saying that, Golden looked stricken, hurrying on. "But never fear,
it is safe."

So that's what happened to Melcor's crystal.
Golden had it. Why was John not surprised? Golden had always been a
tricky piece of work!

"You have the crystal? Maybe this is the time
to hand it over." Though John hated donning the magic gem, the
sounds of the pursuers had grown louder again. If fire failed to
discourage them, a couple of crystal blasts, would. Unless
Pfnaravin was leading them in person, Pfnaravin with the capacity
to produce counter blasts!

"It is safe, never fear. It is just that ...
I hid it ... in Xanthin Palace."

A bitter disappointment ... though John was
bound to be out gunned in any magical confrontation with an
experienced Mage like Pfnaravin. "You did your best," John said to
a clearly anxious Golden. "It was quick thinking to save the
crystal as you did."

Except for the fact that there was no sun in
this godforsaken land, Golden's smile could have been described as
beaming. When Golden smiled that way, the swarthy-skinned youth was
at least handsome enough to be the king he claimed to be.

"Thank you, great Mage."

"For now, go back and help the others. I've
got work to do here."

With a low bow, a much relieved Golden did a
crisp about-face and retreated down the hall, Golden forever moving
with the grace of the trained athlete.

Unexpectedly, John heard another crash in the
tower room behind him! At least the sailors were attempting to
carry out John's orders.

Delay no longer possible, it was time to see
if the plan, on which so much rested, worked.

Fishing out his lighter from its small, inner
pocket, John strode to the jumble of furnishings; spun the spark
wheel, and touched the slender blue flame to the corner of a
blanket at the bottom of the furniture pile. .... Saw the flame
catch and grow.

Yes!

If the bedding burned, the furniture would,
as well. No way the guards could get through what would soon be a
flaming mass. John smiled. What a surprise awaited them! First, to
see flames rising from something other than fire stones. After
that, attempting to force their way through the flaming barricade,
to experience real fire!

The blaze was growing nicely now, licking
into the hollow, upside down drawer of an overturned dresser. Blue
and yellow flames were also spreading laterally, smoke from the
fire licking at the low ceiling of the passageway.

Nothing else he could do in the corridor,
John trotted the short distance to the tower room to find ... a
rope hanging from the hole in the roof, a grapnel soundly lodged at
last. Standing beneath the breach in the tower's ceiling, were
Golden, Coluth, and the sailors.

Waiting.

For what?

"Well?" John said. "Is it safe? Can you climb
the rope?"

"Yes, sir," Coluth said. "Philelph and I have
both put our weight on it -- together. It will hold any single man
with ease."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

The delay had to be caused by something other
than feeling safe where they were, for they could hear triumphant
shouts from not that far down the hall, the guards closing
fast.

"We wait for you, great Mage," Coluth said.
"The salvation of the band of Stil-de-grain rests with you, alone."
Said as if this were a self-evident truth.

"Salvation? With me?"

"There is no other who can break the power of
the Malachite Mage. It is all important that the young king be
liberated."

Time to confess.

"There's something you don't realize," John
said, puzzling out what he should tell them as he spoke. "Though
few know it, this room is the bridge between this world and the
next. It was from here that I left Stil-de-grain that last time.
After the battle." The men understood. They knew he'd disappeared
before. "Like the Hero before me, there are times when I must visit
the other world. And this is one of them."

"But ... how will we fight the new Mage,
John-Lyon?" Coluth. Pleading. Not for himself, but for his ward,
Yarro.

"I go to renew my strength. To get ... ideas.
Like the Hero went in the long ago to come back with all the ideas
that built this civilization." Someone had told John that about the
"Hero" on John's first trip here. "When I've learned what I need to
know, I'll be back."

"It must be?"

"Yes, Coluth. It must be."

"Then we will do what we can and wait for
your return."

"What you can do now, is escape. I'll need
you all later." ............. "Go!"

Though it was clear the others didn't like
it, the Mage had given them a direct order.

Nodding, Coluth motioned to Orig who, in a
minute, was climbing the rope like the sailor-monkey he was.

Behind them in the hall, was a burst of
running and a shout ... followed by eerie silence.

Yes! The realization of what had happened was
as clear to John as if he'd been there to see it. Racing around the
bend, the guards had come to a halt before the burning furniture, a
spookish sight in this world. One that had stopped them cold.

There was still time!

Orig already at the top of the ceiling, the
old sailor elbowed his way through the irregular hole and onto the
roof. Disappearing for a moment, the smallish man came back to
stick his head back through the gap, a grin on his withered face.
And just as quickly, was gone again.

Receiving the signal that everything was as
it should be on the roof, Coluth motioned to Philelph, the younger
sailor seizing the rope and starting to climb, hand over hand.

A scream penetrated the tower room, echoing
around the room's hard walls, everyone paralyzed with fear! ...
Until the sound's meaning became plain to John, John waving it off
as if of no importance. Just another, painful lesson learned from
John's world. That real fire ... hurt!

Golden and Coluth now eyed each other, Golden
bowing to Coluth, Coluth nodding back, grabbing the rope. Using his
arms and both legs, the older man shimmied up, his men on the roof
reaching down to help Coluth through the irregular, block shaped
hole.

Only Golden and John remained.

"If anything ... happens ... if I don't
return," John said to Golden, "you have the crystal. Use it to
become the next Mage of Stil-de-grain."

"No!"

The passion of Golden's response stunned
John! Never would he have expected Golden to refuse to obey a
direct command.

"I cannot be Mage," Golden continued in a
softer tone. "I am Cleadon, son of King Cleadon. The exiled prince
of Malachite."

"I see," John replied. Not really seeing, but
giving way before Golden's determination. "All right, then. Maybe
Coluth could be Mage."

Golden nodded.

A bow, a turn, and with another of his
amazing leaps, Golden was halfway up the rope and climbing with
ease.

Leaving John alone.

Feeling empty.

Lonely.

Disillusioned.

And cowardly. For John knew something few in
this world did. That for the Stil-de-grain crystal to "work" for
someone new, its former owner must be dead. With John living for,
who knew how long, even with the golden gem, Coluth would be
powerless against the magic of the real Pfnaravin.

More screams of pain from the passage outside
the room, suffering, the lot of men more brave than cautious.

John shook himself back to the business of
the moment. Brushed a film of clammy sweat from his forehead. Tried
to concentrate on what was important -- saving his own skin.

How long would the fire last in that quick
burning material?

By the sound of those cries, long enough.

Trying to banish thoughts about how he'd
failed -- again -- to bring peace and stability to Stil-de-grain,
John slipped over the dew-slick flagstones to the wall opposite the
door. Repressing his emotions like Auro deadened the minds of his
automatons, John counted up the black stone blocks until he came to
the secret compartment's false front. Seizing the stone, he pulled,
the slab giving way, John swinging it to the side after it had
cleared the surrounding blocks.

Reaching into the black cavity, first
touching the small book of Melcor's magic, John felt ... the metal
handle of the static-electric generator! Lifted out the machine.
Set it on the floor. Closed the secret door.

A shadow! A wraith ... creeping across the
light shaft that lanced through the enlarged ceiling hole!

Frightened, John whirled about, expecting to
see a guard who'd gotten through the flaming barricade. ... Saw
nothing ....

Saw ... Platinia!

No mistake. It was the girl, approaching from
the shadows across the room.

Impossibly ..... Platinia!

Behind the girl came shouts from the guards.
Luckily, still cries of pain and of frustration. Wisps of smoke
were now drifting through the chamber's archway, the scent of
burning wood helping to purify the poisonous odor of the tower.

"How did you get past the guards? Past the
fire ....?"

"I was already ... here," said the girl in
her small, velvet voice.

"Already ...?"

"There." She pointed at the dark wall by the
passageway.

"You were here when we arrived?"

"Yes."

"But how ...?"

The girl looked down, then up at him with her
wide, black eyes. "I knew where you would go, great Mage. Even
while you were trapped in the cage, I was ... with you. Hidden."
She looked down at her small, slippered feet. "But the soldiers
raised your prison in the air. I could not come to you in the
night. So ... I waited. I saw the others come for you."

"And you didn't call out to us to take you
along?"

"It was ... too fast. All were quickly
gone."

"But how did you get here ahead of us?"

"I know ... ways ... in the palace."

That's right, John reminded himself. Between
his first and second trips here, Platinia had lived in the castle.
Knew its passages. While he blundered down this corridor and that,
the girl could easily have taken a shortcut to the tower room, her
dark good looks and black, floor length robe making her invisible
until she'd chosen to reveal herself.

"The others are already up the rope as you
probably saw." Platinia nodded. "And you must go, too. If Pfnaravin
finds you were with us when we escaped, he'll take away your
freedom."

At that, a rare smile flickered at the
corners of the girl's full lips. "The other Mage is not the one who
has taken away my freedom."

"Not yet, but he will if he sees you as one
of my party."

"It does not matter," Platinia said, looking
at the floor again, "I cannot climb."

Naturally.

But not a problem, John able to carry the
small girl on his back.

That was the plan, then. To boost Platinia to
the roof.

John stepped forward. Took Platinia's small
hand to lead her to the rope. And ....

Without knowing how it happened, almost as if
Platinia had thrown herself at him, the girl was in John's arms.
Nestling into him. Making him feel warm. Safe. Loved.

Bending, John kissed her. Gently. On the
lips.

Then kissed her again, more passionately, the
girl's arms flying around his neck, John lifting her off the floor
so they could kiss more fully.

The world ... stopped ... Platinia fused into
John's soul!

How long they kissed -- gently, desperately,
eternally -- John didn't know, the kiss only ended by a sharp
metallic sound. As if ... a metal object ... had fallen to the
floor.

No matter. It was in the quiet of that,
forever kiss, that John decided. That he must take Platinia home
with him. Not that he would desert his friends forever. For no
matter how long it took, John would find a way to stanch the open
wound that was his nation, Stil-de-grain.

For now, confident that Golden would find a
way to retrieve John's yellow crystal, John would return to be the
Mage of Stil-de-grain! With all the responsibilities of that high
calling!

As for his sudden, passion for the girl
cuddled in his arms; as for his decision to take her with him to
his world, John knew it made no sense.

But then, love never did!

###

John G. Stockmyer is an individual whose
irrepressible creativity has manifested itself in many ways: as a
poet, teacher, produced playwright, author, co-owner of an
educational materials business, creator of a time-machine
simulator, and, more recently, as a podcaster and producer of
eBooks. During his career he has received awards for scholarship,
numerous teaching awards and, as a writer, was a Thorpe Menn
finalist.

He is the co-author of three non-fiction
books:
Unleashing the Right Side of the Brain
- The Stephen
Greene Press,
Life Trek: The Odyssey of Adult Development
-
Humanics, and
Right Brain Romance
- Ginn Press. He is also
the author of over 20 works of fiction, including the
Crime/Hard-Boiled "Z-Detective" Series, and the
Science-Fiction/Fantasy "Under The Stairs" Series. He has also
written a quirky vampire novel titled,
The Gentleman
Vampire
.

John G. Stockmyer is now semi-retired from a
40+ year career as an Ancient/European History Professor at Maple
Woods Community College, but still teaches and writes part-time. He
currently lives in Kansas City, Missouri with his wife Connie.

For more information about the author, and to
download or purchase Print Books, eBooks and Audio-Books from the
"collection," please visit the John G. Stockmyer "Books" web site
at:
www.johnstockmyer.com/books