Sir Barm nodded but continued to look hesitant. Fear seized me—He knows!—and I was contemplating backup plans when the knight finally reached out, seized the edges of the capstone, and wrenched it from its iron brackets. All three of us held our breaths.

  Nothing happened.

  A moment passed. Stretched longer. Turned into a full minute … and still no rumbling. Sir Barm shook the stone, turned it around in his hands, and held it up to his ear, as if it might whisper to him like a conch shell. Then he looked at me.

  “Sage?”

  I scratched my chin. “Well, that’s … huh. That should’ve worked.”

  I took the capstone from Sir Barm, ran a finger over the runes, mumbled inaudibly. Then I slapped my forehead. “Gah! I must’ve gotten a bad translation of the rune writing in those secondary texts I studied. This clearly says that one must actually remove the stone from the castle’s premises to break the magic.”

  Garsteaodeafix’s golden eyes narrowed to slits as I spoke, but Sir Barm looked utterly aghast. He leaned over the parapet, clearly considering hurling the stone off the tower. But there was no chance it would clear the rooftops below.

  “Oh, dire fate!” the knight wailed. “Our enemies will triumph! What shall we do, Wizard?”

  I gritted my teeth. “There’s only one thing to do. As I told you in the tavern, the stone can’t be transported via magical beast—which means one of us must carry it out through a doorway. And since I’m the one who made this mistake …” I sighed. “You’re a young man, with your life ahead of you. Just promise you’ll use your years well. Live life to the fullest. And—pardon a piece of unsolicited relationship advice from an old fogy—when young ladies tell you they don’t want to be courted, try to respect their wishes.”

  What’s an adventure without a moral, right?

  Sir Barm was staring at me in dazed amazement. I’d already half-shoved him onto Garsteaodeafix’s back before his brain seemed to catch up with events. “Master, no!” he cried, dismounting and tottering dangerously close to the edge. “I cannot let you sacrifice your life for mine. I will descend back with you into the castle, and we shall cut our way out together or die in the attempt.”

  “You fanatical whelp,” I snarled. “Have you completely forgotten Rule the Second?”

  In Sir Barm’s expression, I read a war between his desire for heroic martyrdom and his slavish zealotry to rules. I doubt concern for my life came into it. Sir Barm stepped toward Garsteaodeafix again … then shook his head, as if to clear it of cobwebs, and planted himself. “No, Master,” he said. “I will not abandon you.”

  Uh-oh.

  “Listen,” I said, trying to look mysterious, “there’s something you should know about me. It’s my duty to deal with the Shadow Lord because … because I created him. I haven’t always done a good job of mentoring my pupils.”

  Sir Barm gasped, then frowned. “Wait … our enemy did not appear to recognize you, down below.”

  “He has amnesia.”

  “But the story of his life is recorded in many histories,” Sir Barm said. “The devil sired and raised him, and he came straight from the depths of hell to begin his conquests. At no time did he study under a mortal teacher.”

  “Um … all the historians have amnesia, too?”

  “Why are you trying to deceive me, Master?”

  I flung up my hands. “Just let me do this, all right? I feel as if my entire life’s journey has prepared me for this sacrifice, yada-yada-yada, etcetera.”

  Sir Barm rested a hand on my shoulder and looked down at me, his blue eyes somber. It made me feel shrimpy. “No matter our pasts, we can choose to be braver men in the future,” he said. “We will fight them together, Master. You will cast off your cowardice, and I … I will sever the compulsion that the witch must’ve laid on me.”

  “Hold on. Cowardice?”

  “Come, Master! Come … to a glorious end!”

  Seizing one of the fallen guardsmen’s swords, he brandished the blade aloft and, tucking the capstone under his other arm, rushed back down the stairs.

  Garsteaodeafix fixed her gaze on me, and I shrugged. “Well, now he’s broken Rule the First and Rule the Second. Gods spare us any more infractions.”

  The gryphon raised a brow and said, “Indeed. How unfortunate that you did not properly understand the capstone’s magic.”

  “A real bummer.”

  “And you still have not told the knight—”

  “About the curse, yes. I know. He’ll learn in good time.”

  Garsteaodeafix chuckled as if this was all a very fine joke, then sprang away to drift on the hot air currents, her tawny fur and feathers magnificent against the sky.

  Grumbling imprecations, I followed my imbecilic mentee back down the stairs.

  The castle shuddered when we were halfway down, making Sir Barm yelp and throw out his arms for balance, though I’d already braced myself.

  “What devilry is this!” he cried. “Did you not say that the stone must be bodily removed from the fortress?”

  “You know, some translations are a bit ambiguous. I always forget if the ancient runes are meant to be read top to bottom or in a widdershins spiral.”

  “Master Sage, I begin to doubt your sagaciousness.”

  On some of the flights along the stairwell, we glimpsed servants and crystal guards scurrying back and forth, but with the same jerky movements as before, as if they were windup toys with their springs coiled almost to the breaking point. Still, most seemed to be heading for the exits, which reassured me.

  Pebbles plopped from the ceiling, and a couple steps cracked right before we put weight on them. It was with enormous relief that we both spilled from the stairwell onto the bottom floor. Short-lived relief.

  Chaos filled the great hall. An oak beam had tumbled from the center of the roof into the fire pit, scattering embers. Half the courtiers jigged madly to stomp out tiny blazes while their fortress collapsed around them. The other half fainted dead away or scrambled for the exits. I saw no sign of the Shadow Lord or his daughter.

  A couple of men glimpsed the capstone under Sir Barm’s arm and tried to stop us, but he knocked them aside and rushed to the door.

  “Ah-ha!” he cried, standing framed against the daylight. “Behold your fate, evildoers! Be buried under your sins!”

  He turned to rush out … and we both saw the entire garrison of crystal guards congregating before the gates. From the snarls on their faces, they’d heard Sir Barm’s speech.

  We sprinted back through the great hall and into a corridor. War cries and thumping boots echoed behind us as we took the turns at random, praying we wouldn’t strike a dead end. Hanging tapestries and suits of armor flashed past, and a thick scent of dust scratched at our nostrils as we tangled deeper into the warren of passages. We became thoroughly lost.

  The air grew chilly, and realization crept over me that we were descending below the earth … which meant Rule the Third was in serious peril. Of all my rules, it was the deadliest.

  I skidded to a halt in front of a low-arched doorway of brick. A sign stood next to the archway, with a helpful arrow pointing at the entrance and runes underneath it that proclaimed: “Ye Olde Family Crypt.”

  “Oh no,” I said. “I am not going in there. Nuh-uh, no chance. Not this side of the underworld. No crypts!”

  “Master, the tunnels are our last hope. Listen … our pursuers gain.”

  The tromp of footsteps was growing louder, but I backed away. “I’ll take my chances with the guards,” I said. “This is the part where a mentor always gets killed.”

  “Have you lived all your life on a mountaintop because you feared the world below, Master? You have spoken words of courage to many heroes … but have you kept no courage for yourself? You are strong enough for this! We shall risk this danger together!”

  “Easy for you to say,” I grumbled. “Your destiny will lead you right out the other side of this tunnel. That’s some nice plot armor you’ve got.”

  “Master, please.” He said nothing more. Just looked at me with those ridiculously piercing hero eyes.

  I shuddered—then took a step toward him. “When did you grow so wise?” I asked. “Truly, I have nothing left to teach you. It seems that I’m the ’prentice now, you the master. You know, if I’d ever had a son, I would’ve wanted him to be exactly like—”

  The crystal guards burst into the hallway behind us.

  We both froze.

  “Go, go, go!” I yelled, pushing Sir Barm into the crypt-tunnel ahead of me. “For all this to mean something, we must keep the capstone away from them!”

  “Master, we can both make it. We—”

  “No,” I said. I clasped my pupil’s hand. “It’s not cowardice this time. You’ve shown me the meaning of courage. Fare thee well, Sir Barm.”

  I strode back toward the guards, spread my arms, and began to chant nonsense words. They pulled up short.

  A rumble shuddered the earth, as if we stood in the throat of some great beast. I pointed at the guards. “You fools dare challenge me? You would challenge one who has survived a thousand quests, destroyed a thousand evils, seen a thousand prophecies fulfilled? Come and get me, curs!”

  The very foundations of the castle cracked and heaved. Bricks showered the crypt’s entrance. A curtain of dust descended, through which I glimpsed the knight, staring back at me, arms outstretched … and then an avalanche of masonry collapsed the tunnel between us.

  I let my arms drop to my sides.

  “He’s a hard fellow to get rid of,” one of the guards observed. He lifted his helmet’s visor, revealing delicate, pasty features.

  “Tom,” I said, nodding to him. “Glad you got my letter.”

  We grinned and embraced. Always a pleasure to see old friends.

  The second guard doffed her helmet. Coffee-brown hair tumbled free. “Oh my gods, that knight was so annoying. And he was too old for me! I’m so glad he’s gone.”

  “You, young lady, were not very nice today,” I said, shaking a finger at her. “You know how much I hate recitations. And calling me ‘knees’? Really?”

  She shrugged, packing the gesture with insecure scorn as only a teenager can. “What was all that stuff you said at the end? Something about, if you’d ever had a son …”

  “I had to stall him somehow until you two arrived. You took your sweet time getting down here.”

  “My apologies,” Tom said. “We did not expect to need the backup plan. I had to trigger the spells manually to get that bit of tunnel to collapse on time. Also, a stone conked me on the head in the great room. I nearly lost control of the hex I’ve been using to enslave the minds of the castle staff.”

  “Any trouble kidnapping the real lord?” I asked.

  “None whatsoever. My dragon, Smoggy, thought he was delicious.”

  The corridor trembled again, dust dribbled onto our heads, and we beat a hasty retreat, aware once more that this fortress was disintegrating. If Sir Barm had flown off on Garsteaodeafix, as I’d intended, I would’ve had ample time to escape before the process started.

  “You’re certain that everyone will hear of the knight’s shame?” Tom asked me. “He must be punished for his disrespect toward my daughter and myself.”

  “Oh, people will hear,” I said. “That bard who I told you to set free is excruciatingly good at what he does. He won’t be able to resist composing a ballad of these exploits—especially when he learns that the castle Sir Barm destroyed was a fortress of goodness and light, not the summer home of some scummy evil lord. Er, no offense, Tom.”

  Tom grinned wickedly at me. “None taken.”

  The next time I beheld Sir Barm, his head and arms were trapped in a wooden stockade. Egg yolk dripped down his clean-shaven cheeks. Rotten, by the color and smell.

  “You addlebrained dunce!” a peasant woman shrieked at him, pelting his rear with a tomato. “You destroyed our lord’s castle! Lucky we don’t chop off your head, you are.”

  “Good damsel, you must believe me! I have been betrayed. My mentor—”

  “Rubbish! Seems to me that a real knight, an honorable knight, would take the blame for what he’s done, and the punishment, too.”

  “You impugn my honor!”

  “I’ll show you impugnment, I will!”

  A volley of rotten produce plastered him with fetid juices.

  It took a few hours for the crowds to grow bored and drift away. I waited across the courtyard, nursing ales at a table outside The Rusty Ploughshare. When Sir Barm was alone, I stood, yawned, and ambled into his line of sight.

  His eyes widened when he saw me. “You scoundrel! You fiend! You are the architect of my downfall.”

  “Harsh words,” I said. “But not untrue ones, I guess. What can I say? Having you destroy this castle was an honest mistake, and I’m terribly remorseful.”

  “A mistake? You caused me to tear down an innocent wonder of the world! You have heaped disgrace upon my name.”

  “Oh, it’s not that bad. Tell you what. I’ll get you out of these stocks, we’ll buy some supplies, and we’ll journey up to the Ash Lands for a real adventure, like you wanted in the first place. We’ll pay that Lord of Shadows back for tricking us, I tell you.”

  I could actually hear Sir Barm’s teeth grinding. “Do not touch me,” he growled. “I swear on my honor as a knight, you will never mentor another hero. You think my name is shamed, now? By the time I am finished, there will not be a person in the world who won’t have heard of your ineptitude. Adventurers will mock your name! You will become a tavern jest, a byword for duncery … and then you will be forgotten! No hero will come within a thousand leagues of your wretched mountain!”

  I hung my head and whimpered. “Please,” I said, “mentoring is all I’ve ever known. What do you expect me to do with my time … read books? Live a life of boredom in my cozy cottage, drinking endless tankards of ale and mugs of tea? I beg you, give me another chance!”

  “You should have died in that crypt,” Sir Barm said. “Then, at least, you would be remembered as a martyr, and knights might foolishly venture to your cottage, hoping to find you resurrected. Leave me, now. The next time I behold your face, I will strike you down.”

  I blinked fake tears from my eyes and shuffled away from the stockade. A chilly breeze made me shiver. Glancing up, I saw gray clouds mounding above us, threatening snow. The summer-spell had been broken.

  At the very edge of Sir Barm’s vision, I paused and glanced back. “Good knight,” I said, “I should give you a warning. I’ve pondered the runes on the capstone—the ones that I misinterpreted before. I’ve made one last translation of them, and this time I’m sure it’s correct. Be warned, Sir Barm: A curse lies on the stone! Its power is not that of turning winter to summer, but of revealing hidden natures. Just as it pulled back winter’s veil from this town, showing the land beneath, so will it strip away the pretenses from anyone who possesses it for any length of time. For a truly good person, that’s not a problem. But for a hypocrite—say, someone who withheld healing from a scabrous beggar woman until she cleaned up a field of auroch dung for him—well, for a person like that, I can only imagine the punishment would fit the crime.”

  I smiled at him. “You have a little something on your cheek, just there.”

  Sir Barm stared at me, then rubbed at his cheek with his shoulder, smearing the egg yolk more thoroughly. The skin beneath was already scabbing over.

  I chuckled to myself and took the main road out of Omlath, stopping briefly to purchase a couple books. I’d arranged to meet Garsteaodeafix on the town’s outskirts. The gryphon didn’t know the extent of my deception, but she’d volunteered to fly me back to my mountaintop. Judging by the weather, that was a good thing.

  It was starting to snow.

  The Redemption of Brother Adalum

  written by

  K. D. Julicher

  illustrated by

  Isabel Gibney

  * * *

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  K. D. Julicher has been writing for as long as she can remember. She has a master’s in computer science, which leaves her with an unfortunate fondness for semicolons. Since college, she has lived in every time zone in the contiguous United States. These days she lives in Nevada, where she collaborates with her husband on stories and children. Turns out all the best brainstorming happens while off-road.

  She is proud to have been a published finalist in Writers of the Future Volume 32. She made it her goal to return as a winner and now has. She also won the Baen Fantasy Adventure Award and had stories published in InterGalactic Medicine Show, Abyss & Apex Magazine, and Deep Magic.

  Her next goal is to publish a novel series featuring the bear warriors that have graced her most popular stories.

  To learn more, go to www.kdjulicher.com.

  ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR

  Isabel Gibney was born in 1998 in Washington, DC. She began creating stories at a young age. That passion led her to pick up the crayon, and later the stylus, to share her worlds with others through art. Their responses inspired Isabel to continue and refine her work and push her skills in engaging emotion through color and light.

  Isabel is finishing her degree in history of art and architecture from Harvard University. She hopes to combine a love of narrative, history, culture—everything from food to archaeology—to encompass more diverse perspectives and expand the realm of storytelling through art.

  More of Isabel’s work can be seen here: isabelgibney.com.