“Oh,” Ser Deirdre cut in before Sers Wardius or Micham could. “I should point out. Magic-user who did the work on the forge didn’t cast those light spells in the museum.”

  “That is interesting,” Aefric said. “More recent work?”

  “Can’t be sure about that,” Ser Deirdre said.

  “All right,” Aefric said. “Now I’ll definitely look forward to checking out this little forge. But what else is down that hall?”

  “Stairs down,” Ser Micham said. “We didn’t follow them, but I’m betting that’s where the castle cells are.”

  “I agree,” Ser Wardius said. “The door to those stairs is thicker than most, and has a bar.”

  “Plus,” Ser Micham added, “why else have all those guards there?”

  “Any secret or concealed doors?” Ser Beornric asked.

  “If there are, we didn’t find them,” Ser Micham said, shrugging apologetically. “Only hidden thing I found was a stash of love letters under the mattress of one bunk.”

  “I found a few other things, with the most interesting being a silver-edged dagger,” Ser Wardius said, holding up the find. “Nice workmanship, your grace.”

  He tossed the dagger to Aefric who caught it. No magic to it. But then, he didn’t expect any.

  “The other stuff I collected on a bunk, for whenever your grace wishes to see,” Ser Wardius finished, while Aefric examined the dagger.

  Ebony sheath, carved with the likeness of a raven. Straight dagger, about as long as Aefric’s hand. Double-edged, with most of the blade being steel, but the edging done in silver.

  “Make an excellent noble’s dagger, your grace,” Ser Beornric said.

  The noble’s dagger was a tradition in Armyr. Every noble carried a dagger at all times. No matter how elaborate their clothing, or formal or informal the circumstance.

  Aefric had been so accustomed to carrying a dagger on his belt from his adventuring days that, at first, he hadn’t even noticed that no one suggested he stop.

  Aefric suspected, though, that Ser Beornric made his observation to keep Aefric from offering the dagger to Ser Wardius, as a gift for finding it.

  That seemed like the sort of thing that Aefric the Adventurer would do by reflex, but Aefric the Duke wasn’t supposed to. After all, this was all his castle, and everything in it was his, and so on.

  Certainly he could make gifts later, after everything had been inventoried. But giving gifts in the moment was probably not the way to go.

  So Aefric fixed that dagger to his belt, and nodded thanks to Ser Wardius, who rewarded Aefric with a pleased smile.

  Aefric looked the question at Sers Arras and Leppina.

  “Hallway was better decorated on this side,” Ser Arras said. “Paintings, and little alcoves for busts of the former lords of Hrafnvigi.”

  “As for the rooms,” Ser Leppina said, “first, were a couple of common rooms.”

  “The kind of rooms where one might take a break from a feast,” Ser Arras said. “Couches and chairs arranged for private talks, small stage for musicians to help cover conversation, alcoves for more privacy, that kind of thing.”

  “Hollow spots along the walls of those rooms,” Ser Leppina said. “Likely hidden doors or spy holes or both.”

  “After the common rooms, meeting rooms,” Ser Arras said.

  “Three of those,” Ser Leppina said. “Each a different size. The first one only large enough for two. Second, maybe a meeting this size” — she gestured to the current grouping — “and the last for about thirty.”

  “Thirty?” Ser Yrsa asked. “Truly?”

  “Big oval calinwood table,” Ser Arras said, “with seating for thirty. Maps on the walls. Kivash, of course, but several of Malimfar, a few of Caiperas, and one of southern Armyr.”

  “They hadn’t cleaned up properly after their last meeting,” Ser Leppina said. “It’s pretty clear that the Hrafntonn family was heavily involved in the attempt to invade Armyr this past spring.”

  “Might be worth packing that stuff up and shipping it to his majesty,” Ser Arras said.

  “I might at that,” Aefric said, then looked at Ser Yrsa. “We’ll have to take a look first, of course.”

  “Thank you,” Ser Yrsa said, relief evident in her voice. “I was half-afraid you’d just pack it up in your hurry to make this castle your own. Your grace.”

  Aefric chuckled.

  “The furnishings in those meeting rooms are all quite good,” Ser Leppina continued. “High quality. Each also has a small stash of alcohol, as well as writing materials and such.”

  “We found what might be secret doors, in the small and medium meeting rooms,” Ser Arras said. “Might also be spy holes.”

  “Nothing like that in the large meeting room though,” Ser Leppina said.

  “After that,” Ser Arras said, “a military library, with a marvelous section about weapons.”

  “Nice furniture in there too,” Ser Leppina said. “Comfortable. If I had to guess, I’d say the former lords of this castle spent a lot of time in there.”

  “Finally,” Ser Arras said, “stairs going up.”

  “Should definitely be worth a look,” Aefric said. “Though the secret doors and spyholes can wait until we’ve figured out the secret passages.”

  “No magic down that hallway,” Ser Deirdre said, sounding disappointed.

  “Not even a scry ward on the meeting rooms?” Aefric asked, surprised.

  “Not even warding the big meeting room,” Ser Deirdre said, shaking her head.

  Aefric nodded, and turned to Sers Vria and Temat.

  “We had the double-doors on this side,” Ser Temat said. “Wide hallway. Series of paintings that look like a history of Kivash. How the city evolved around this castle and one other.”

  “One other,” Aefric said. “Not two?”

  “No,” Ser Temat said. “And if I had to guess, I’d say the largest castle on this side of the river is also the newest.”

  “Interesting,” Aefric said. “Go on.”

  “The rooms were offices,” Ser Vria said, “though we can’t be sure about a couple, because they were locked.”

  “The offices we did see were pretty well appointed,” Ser Temat said. “Quality furnishings and the like. Well-kept records.”

  “Didn’t see any hidden or concealed doors along there though,” Ser Vria said, “except for the one we mentioned in the office that holds most of the castle’s accounts.”

  “And we couldn’t get it open,” Ser Temat said.

  “Odd that the office was left unlocked,” Ser Yrsa said. “If others weren’t.”

  “Depends on whose office it was,” Ser Beornric said. “Could be that a few were locked because the people who used them weren’t here when the surrender order was given.”

  “I’d be shocked if there weren’t a number of Hrafntonn family members up at Frozen Ridge,” Ser Arras said. “Given what we found in that large meeting room.”

  Aefric gestured at the gory décor. “Hardly need to see that meeting room to guess that. I’d expect this family to find their way into any war that breaks out within a thousand miles.”

  “Other than that, two small meeting rooms, The kind with room for a round table, four chairs, and a supply cabinet. That’s about that.”

  “At the end of the hall, stairs going both up and down.”

  Aefric frowned. Shook his head.

  “Wait,” he said. He pointed to the concealed door at the back of the dais. “There’s about sixty feet of passage on the other side of that door, leading to the garden. Which means there’s about sixty feet of castle above that passage. But I didn’t hear about any of you finding hallways going that direction?”

  The knights all shook their heads, looking puzzled.

  “Perhaps behind one of the locked doors?” Ser Vria asked.

  “Doesn’t seem likely,” Ser Yrsa said. “More likely whatever’s in the back half of the keep, on the first floor, is intended for family only. Maybe with its own set of stairs.”

  “Well,” Aefric said, “we’ll have to figure out how to get to it.” He stood. “But right now, let’s see what we’ve found.”

  While Aefric and four of his knights went into the smithy to check it out, Ser Yrsa led Sers Vria, Temat, Leppina and Arras to check out the stairs down at the end of the hall.

  Aefric didn’t know much about forges. He’d never trained at blacksmithing, silversmithing, or any other kind of smithing.

  But he’d been in many smithies over the years, and what he saw around him now was unusual.

  The furnace was going, for one thing. He’d expected it to be cold, but no, he could see the reddish glow of the coals the moment he entered the room. Could smell the burning coals.

  Couldn’t quite feel any heat though…

  “Did one of you start the furnace?” Aefric asked. But both Sers Micham and Wardius shook their heads.

  “That furnace wasn’t hot when we were in here,” Ser Micham said.

  “Only magic I sensed from it was the air elemental work I mentioned,” Ser Deirdre said, sounding curious. “Nothing that would create fire.”

  She cocked her head at Aefric. Pawed the air briefly with her fingers moving. “I believe there’s a fire elemental in there too. And it’s responding to the Brightstaff.”

  “Possibly,” Aefric said, frowning. Hoping it wasn’t responding to him, instead.

  The room looked too small to be a proper smithy. Only a half-dozen strides across. Tools all over the white stone walls, and a closet filled with stock for making armor and weapons. Two anvils. Cooling barrels. One long worktable.

  All of it looking cramped.

  No ventilation in the room, either, save for a few tiny arrow slits.

  Aefric approached the furnace.

  Here it was, late summer. A hot day outside. Not so hot inside the castle, behind all that stone, but still reasonably warm.

  And yet, this room didn’t feel particularly hot. Even though that furnace was raging.

  Aefric opened the furnace door with a gesture. He could see the waves of heat within it. But still, even inches away, his hand could barely feel the heat.

  Aefric stretched out his senses. Chuckled.

  “You were right about the air elemental, Ser Deirdre,” Aefric said. “But it’s balanced in there. A little fire, a little water, a little earth and a little air. Each doing their job.”

  At his silent command, the furnace fell cold. As it did, even the feel of its magic retreated, leaving only a hint of the air elemental behind.

  There had to be … compartments, of a sort, within the furnace, housing each of the small elementals. That would—

  A shout came from down the hall.

  “We’re under attack,” Ser Beornric said, drawing his sword.

  Ser Deirdre was already past him into the hall, sword and dagger in her hands.

  Sers Micham and Wardius drew their swords and moved to guard Aefric.

  “Keep his grace here until I know the situation,” Ser Beornric said, and stepped out into the hall.

  “You’re kidding,” Aefric said, but Ser Beornric didn’t answer.

  At least he didn’t close the door behind him.

  Aefric started forward.

  “Please, your grace,” Ser Micham said, putting one hand on Aefric’s shoulder. “This is why you have us.”

  Aefric gnashed his teeth. If the Brightstaff weren’t already lighting the room, its yellow diamond would have started glowing from Aefric’s sheer frustration.

  He could hear the sounds of fighting now, down the hall. Clash of steel. Shouts.

  Aefric drew a quick, deep breath. Didn’t help with his frustration. He could feel the tension in his muscles. Feel his heart speeding.

  Those were his knights out there. Fighting some unknown foe, while Aefric was “asked” to stand aside and do nothing.

  He’d never been good at doing nothing.

  “You both understand that I can enter a fight and help out, even while standing safely behind the two of you,” Aefric said. “It’s kind of how we spellcasters work.”

  “He does have a point,” Ser Wardius said, and Aefric suspected that at least half of that concession was intended to get them out into the hall to at least see what was happening.

  “And Beornric knows that,” Ser Micham said.

  Wait. That was magic Aefric was sensing from somewhere down the hall. Ser Deirdre’s, yes, but not just hers…

  “There’s magic involved,” he said urgently.

  “Your grace,” Ser Micham said, reasonably, “General Yrsa is already on the front lines. If she needs magical support, she’ll call for it.”

  Ser Micham was right. But knowing that didn’t make waiting any—

  “Your grace!” Ser Yrsa’s voice.

  Aefric didn’t wait to hear what else she might say. He pushed right between his knights and out into the hall.

  Sers Micham and Wardius stayed on his heels.

  In the hall, Aefric saw the kind of fight he hadn’t seen in a long time.

  Skeletal warriors. At least six or eight of them. Armed with swords and shields. They’d clearly pushed Aefric’s knights back up the stairs — or Ser Yrsa had ordered a retreat to a pinch point.

  Sers Temat and Arras were on the floor, bleeding beside the doorway.

  “Down!” Aefric bellowed.

  His knights dropped.

  Aefric thrust the Brightstaff forward and sent white lightning crackling down the hall.

  The skeletons raised their shields.

  The shields didn’t help. The skeletons were blasted apart in a flash of light and a boom of thunder.

  Aefric rushed down the hall, while most of his knights came to their feet.

  “Ten more,” Ser Yrsa said quickly. “Coming up. Ser Deirdre is still down there. Our weapons are useless against them.”

  “Correction,” Ser Deirdre said, sauntering through the doorway, dusting her hands. Her rapier and dueling dagger were back in their scabbards. “Zero skeletons remaining. And your weapons were useless against them.”

  She looked at Aefric. “Whoever created them had made them proof against regular weapons. But they fell to magic weapons — and magic — just fine.”

  “Ser Wardius,” Aefric said, “fetch that gladius and spear. Just in case we face more of them.”

  “Yes, your grace,” Ser Wardius said. He ran off, sword in hand.

  Sers Vria and Leppina were already baring the wounds of their two fallen comrades.

  “There are field kits in the guard post,” Ser Micham said. “I’ll get them.”

  “How bad are they?” Aefric asked, stepping closer.

  Ser Temat looked to have taken a stab wound that slipped between the plates of his armor around his left armpit. Ser Arras’ wound was lower, closer to her waist.

  That had to have been a stab that got under her breastplate. How?

  “Can’t tell yet,” Ser Vria said, working quickly on Ser Temat.

  “Not … too deep,” Ser Temat said, though he was covered in sweat and bleeding more than Aefric liked.

  “Then the scar on your throat won’t get lonely anymore,” Ser Vria said, hushing him.

  Silly statement that. Likely a jest to calm him. Ser Temat already had a scar across the right side of his chest.

  “Flesh wound here,” Ser Leppina said. “Cut along the waist, just above the pelvis.” She smirked at Ser Arras, who was doing her share of sweating too. “Finally a real scar on that pretty skin of yours.”

  “Jealous.” Ser Arras sounded strained, trying to smile through gritted teeth.

  “Are you kidding?” Ser Leppina said, catching a field kit that Ser Micham tossed her. “Once it’s healed I’m going to lick it. You don’t know how much fun it can be to have a big scar. Those little things on your hands and wrists hardly count.”

  If they were teasing each other, they’d live, Aefric decided. Which was good. He’d considered bringing down a healer for this, but he’d listened to the assurances that one wouldn’t be needed.

  He moved past the knights, then to examine the skeletons…

  …but they were already crumbling to dust. And their magic had already faded away.

  Soon nothing remained of them but their weapons.

  Soon Sers Temat and Arras were wrapped in bandages and resting on cots in the nearby guard quarters. Both were sleeping, thanks to a soothing powder in the field kit, mixed with some water from the kitchen.

  Ser Beornric had posted two soldiers from Aefric’s personal guard to stand beside the closed door to the room where they rested.

  Aefric suspected those guards were there as much to make sure Sers Temat and Arras rested, as to keep them safe from any other threats.

  However…

  “What happened down there?” Aefric asked.

  He was standing now at a small guard post on the landing at the top of the stairs that led down to the cells below. Sers Yrsa, Beornric, Deirdre, Vria, Micham, Leppina and Wardius were with him.

  “We were checking out the cells,” Ser Yrsa said. “One by one, using keys we’d found on a hook here.”

  She pointed to a hook just inside the door.

  “Two dozen cells down there,” she continued. “First twenty-three were empty. The last had those things in it. Moment the door was open, they started attacking.”

  “So a trap, then,” Aefric said. Shook his head. “I should’ve sent Ser Deirdre with you, watching for magic.”

  “Ser Temat took his wound opening the door,” Ser Yrsa said. “Ser Arras took hers pulling him back. After that, we fought a defensive retreat to the pinch point at the top of the stairs.”

  “By that time,” Ser Deirdre said, “I’d already leapt over the main part of the skeleton force, to present them with a second front to worry about.”

  “Yes,” Ser Yrsa said. “We’d’ve been worse off without Deirdre. We might not all have made it up the stairs.”

  Wow. Admitting she’d needed Ser Deirdre’s help was probably physically painful for Ser Yrsa.

  “I just don’t get it, though,” Ser Yrsa said. “Swords having trouble with a skeleton, that I could see. Maybe the blade slips along a rib, instead of biting into the spine or something. But my maces?”