The beast behind him huffed as the rotating wall sent it sprawling. Duvan took a glance back to see its shadow go reeling. The darkened shape of large membranous wings stretched across the stone wall as it used them to right itself.
Taking advantage of the few seconds’ reprieve, Duvan scanned for a way out of the tower. Going down the stairs was no longer an option; the tower was jutting nearly horizontally out from the ledge. All he found was a stone wall-breaking apart to be sure, but with holes and cracks too small for him to fit through.
His gaze passed over the floor, wall, and ceiling, growing more desperate when all he saw was stone and more stone. Getting trapped inside the tower would mean certain death when the tower hit bottom.
Behind him, the manticore finally righted itself and jumped for a closer position to Duvan, then clung to the door frame that was the only thing separating Duvan from being killed and eaten. He hoped, at least, it would be in that order.
A flash of light, up and to his left, caught Duvan’s attention. A small slit window, previously too narrow for him to squeeze through, had widened a little. Duvan didn’t know if he could get through, but it wasn’t as though he had an abundance of choices at the moment.
He sprang for the wall and jammed his fingers into the cracks between the stones. Scrabbling, he pulled himself up, then swung his feet onto the window’s sill.
His feet found purchase and pushed him higher. Using the grip of his right hand as an anchor, he swung across and extended his left arm to reach for the edge of the small window slit. Outside, thick wisteria vines stretched and snapped as the tower’s extra weight proved too much for them to support.
It was coming down.
Behind him, the monstrous creature turned and flicked its tail again. This time Duvan wouldn’t be able to dodge. Through sheer force, he lunged up and into the narrow window. The tail spike would hit him, he knew. But he still might be able to escape.
The spike hit, and Duvan felt the impact. But the deadly needle didn’t touch him; instead, it penetrated his backpack and stopped, blocked by something inside.
That was lucky.
The window opening was tight, and the stone scraped rough against his skin as he squeezed through. In seconds he was out-and hanging off the side of a crumbling stone tower that stuck out over the abyss. Just the place he wanted to be.
If he got on the top of the cylinder, he might make it back to the ledge, assuming it was still there. A glance to the cliff face showed him that Beaugrat and Seerah had already started climbing back up to the jungle.
Oh, how he longed for level ground.
Inside the building, the manticore launched itself at the window. Not the smartest move, as it was nigh impossible that it would actually get through. Duvan climbed away from the opening anyway. He’d been wrong about the manticore’s demolition skills once.
After pulling himself to the side of the tower that was most horizontal, Duvan half crawled, half scampered down the structure. The manticore battered itself against the stone behind him, but this time the baron’s construction held together.
Duvan was about halfway to the ledge when several thick wisteria vines snapped and the tower’s weight grew too heavy for the remaining vines. It started to fall from under him. His stomach lurched into his throat with the sudden freefall, while his mind raced. Was this the end? The long fall to oblivion?
Nothing he had in his pack or on his person could help him now. There was his glideskin-a triangular patchwork of wyvern leather and pegasus feathers that he’d made as an apprentice. He might be able to use the glideskin to slow his fall, but it was buried in the bottom of his pack.
No time to get it out. There must be another way.
The vines holding the tower to the jungle above snapped one by one in front of him. In a flash he realized that if he held on to the right one-a vine still connected to the jungle-he could make it.
He grabbed one and held on, hoping that the vine he held was attached above and not to the tower. The rock beneath his feet crumbled away as he climbed the knotted vines.
The old citadel fell away below him, and the echoing roar of the creature inside it faded and was gone.
Duvan gripped tightly to the vine as he crashed into the pitted stone wall where the tower had once clung, slamming his shoulder and nearly jarring his grip free. He bounced off but was able to twist around to get his feet in front of him to brace the impact of the second hit.
After he stopped swinging, Duvan found purchase on the cliff face. He took a moment to calm himself and get his bearings.
He was about thirty yards below what was left of the ledge where they’d first landed, where the end of his rope still hung. Most of the ledge was gone now, and what remained looked precarious. The flagstones hung loose, and if they came free they could fall right on top of him.
Duvan climbed carefully up the network of vines to the ledge and found a section that felt solid. He spent a moment taking stock, giving himself a quick once-over. No injuries. He had his haversack and all of the prizes he’d taken. The tome that Tyrangal had sent him to get was still inside it, as was the manticore spike that the book’s heavy cover had managed to stop.
There was a hole in his pack, but that could be patched, and the heavy book had saved, if not his life, then at least a good deal of pain.
Duvan had to smile. All in all, things were looking good.
He decided to keep the manticore spike, which as about the size of his forearm and very sharp, with hundreds of small barbs along its length. He winced at what could have happened to him had the spike impaled him the way one had the sorcerer.
Duvan took his time making the climb back to the top. No need to hurry it. The manticore was gone, and he would emerge from the Underchasm relatively unscathed, all things considered.
When he reached the top, he flopped over the edge and lay on his back, breathing heavily. A wave of exhaustion washed over him as he rested and thanked the gods he’d made it out.
“Thank the gods you survived,” came Beaugrat’s deep voice. “Did you get what you came for?”
Duvan grinned, but there was something in Beaugrat’s tone that raised Duvan’s hackles. “Certainly.”
“Very impressive,” Beaugrat said, running his fingers through his blond hair. “I must say, I thought you were going to die when the manticore landed on the tower.”
Duvan looked over at his two remaining lackeys. The ranger, Seerah, had her crossbow aimed directly at Duvan’s chest, while Beaugrat himself drew a huge two-handed sword. This could be bad; Duvan hated crossbows.
“What do you want?”
“Actually, all the loot you’re carrying will do just fine,” Beaugrat said. “Give it to me.”
“Or what?” Duvan asked, pushing wearily to his feet.
“Or we kill you.”
Standing below a reddening sky in the monastery courtyard, Slanya tried to retain her calm while absorbing this new request. Leave the monastery? All right. But travel to the changelands? And go past the border where the change-land was rampant? That was impossible to accept.
“I can see that this is a surprise for you,” Gregor said. “Follow me and I will explain.” Putting his arm around her shoulder, he guided her into the chapel. They crossed the mosaic inlaid in the chapel floor, a skeletal hand holding a balance-Kelemvor’s scales-and walked into the alchemist’s laboratory.
The laboratory was Gregor’s domain, and Slanya rarely visited it. The smell of sulfurous powder mingled with the aroma of crushed red-bark leaves. One whole wall held racks of crystal vials that contained purified ingredients for Gregor’s concoctions, each labeled with a glyph. Another wall housed floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books and scrolls, and a door leading to what Slanya assumed was a storage room, although she’d never been through it. On the third wall, coal burned in a narrow oven, and an iron ring bolted to an elaborate stand held a ceramic cauldron over the fire.