Running through the trees, I followed Tristan, my heart pounding as the torchlights danced nearby us. Could they hear us moving around? He didn’t seem to think we needed to be secretive any longer, his footsteps crunching over the undergrowth, breath puffing out strongly.
“Who’s there?” Someone called, a light twisting and heading straight for us.
Hissing, Tristan swung around, slashing across the man just as he came upon us. With a startled gurgle, he fell to the ground, his torch tumbling out of his grasp.
“Pick it up,” Tristan ordered, sheathing his sword and turning in the direction he wanted to go. “The door is just up here.”
Doing as he asked, I stumbled after him, trying to get my bearings. Where on the island were we? We continued on the invisible path, suddenly coming out into an opening that I recognized.
“Where is the swamp?” I asked in surprise, seeing dry ground in the area for the first time.
“What swamp?” He was searching around the few trees that were there, eyes trained on the earth.
“In my time, this whole thing is a swamp,” I said in awe. “A freshwater swamp.”
“Here,” he spoke, stopping in front of one of the trees and sitting between its roots. Suddenly, he was just gone, not a trace of him anywhere.
“Tristan?” Panic filled me as I was left wondering where he could have gone in the half second I’d looked away.
“Sit between the roots,” his muffled voice answered. “The door is weighted and will rotate to let ye in.”
“Okay,” I replied shakily, doing as he said.
It felt like normal ground, and for a moment I didn’t think anything was going to happen. But then, the dirt began to move just under the tree, a small opening appearing, Tristan’s face filling it.
“Hand me the torch,” he instructed, reaching out. “Then slide through. It’s not far to the floor, just a few feet.”
Handing the light over, I waited for him to move out of the way before entering, the entrance closing behind me immediately.
We were in a long tunnel, just tall enough for a man to stand in and only wide enough for one at a time. It seemed to stretch on forever, in the direction of the pit.
“Stay close,” he ordered. “If we get separated, just follow the light.”
“How can we get separated in a tunnel?” I half laughed, feeling a little bit of my dinner rise and settle uncomfortably. My emotions were torn between the terror of what we were going to do and excitement at seeing what was down here.
“Trust me. I’ll have to put the torch out at some point or Thomas will see us coming.” Grabbing my hand, he started leading me forward, the path slanting steeply downward after a few moments. “There’s a rail to hold on to,” he said, “in the wall. Feel it?”
“Yes,” I breathed, the musty smell of earth filling me to the brim.
“It’s going to get cold—it always is here. Are ye ready?”
“Yes,” I urged him. “Hurry!”
He nodded, the torch casting odd shadows over his face, and then turned, practically flying down the path. Gripping the anchor in the wall, I trailed him, doing my best to keep up and not fall.
Down we went, the air like ice around us, the path plunging even further into the earth. When it leveled out, I felt as if I had suddenly lost my land legs, wobbling across the even ground. Tossing the torch on the floor and kicking dirt over it, Tristan plunged us into darkness, his hand finding mine as the light faded.
“There are three rooms,” he whispered. “They’re in the farthest one. There should be light from the pit, but just in case, don’t go in it unless I say so.”
“Okay,” I muttered back, squeezing his hand.
He pulled me forward, moving slowly as he felt around. I could feel the change in the air around us as we entered the first room, the walls falling away. We passed through it rapidly, apparently on some course he knew, and I wondered how big the space was and what was hidden in it.
The earth closed in around us again as we pressed on, moving just as quickly through the second room as we had the first. As we neared the last chamber, I could see a small light, the vision growing as we neared.
They had dug the pit almost exactly in the middle of the room, the ladder from above reaching down to the floor. A few torches had been lit along the walls and I bit my lip, eyes wide as I looked at everything laid out.
It was a display of such magnificence; I almost couldn’t believe it. Large baskets overflowed with gold coins, the floor bathed in currency. Silver statues taller than Tristan stood nearby, renderings of ancient gods and goddesses. Pottery etched with beautiful, intricate designs crowded the space as piles of scrolls lay out on tables. There were other instruments leaning against the walls, but none of it held my attention like the display in the center of the room.
It was a multi-level platform, built in a large square. On each tier, there were items set up with the utmost care—some covered by protective sheets, while others left bare for all to see. There was an old helmet next to a spear of sorts, with points on each end. A lion skin, complete with head, hung from a pedestal, and what looked like a set of armor just beyond that. Something large and round was hidden, as well as the tall, rectangle beside it. On the last shelf, a tiny gold bottle sat, the same type of symbols painted on it that I’d seen on the vase.
Each object seemed to hold some type of electricity around it, the air practically buzzing with power.
Standing in front of this bottle was Randall, his eyes wide and hungry looking as he licked his lips in anticipation. James was behind him, still holding Tristan’s stolen treasure chest.
Motioning for me to follow, Tristan slid behind some of the giant pots, nestling securely into a space where we could watch without being seen.
“What is this?” Randall asked angrily, gesturing to all of the things on display. “Where is the rest of it?”
“What do ye mean?’ James asked, his swollen eye barely able to open at all.
“I mean, this is only the Greek stuff,” Randall growled, turning on him, raising his sword so the tip was pressed against his chest. “Where is everything else?”
“Maybe there’s more rooms.” James shivered, clutching Tristan’s box tightly, flinching as the point of the blade pushed harder against him.
“This is the place! You told me so yourself!” Randall replied, lowering the weapon and grabbing James by the collar, shaking him. “This isn’t even half of the things I’ve seen brought to this island! Where did it all go?!”
“He doesn’t know,” Tristan muttered in satisfaction. “That’s good.”
“Doesn’t know what?” I whispered back, his meaning lost.
“You’re worthless,” Randall said in disgust, shoving James to the ground, his ire drawing our attention back to the two of them. “Stay here and rot, for all I care.”
James whimpered where he fell, his strength completely exhausted, his will to go on drained.
Turning from his victim, Randall reached out and grabbed the small gold bottle, stowing it in his pocket.
“I’m not so sure ye want to be doin’ that, Thomas,” Tristan said, emerging from our hiding spot and drawing his sword.
“O’Rourke.” Surprise flitted across Randall’s face and he laughed, lifting his own blade. “I see you made it off your ship.”
“No thanks to ye,” Tristan replied smoothly. “Surrender now, and I might have a mind at letting ye live.”
“You? Letting me live?” He threw back his head and laughed, the derisive sound echoing about the room. “I outnumber you by at least a hundred men. All I have to do is shout and they will come to my aid. Just how do you suppose that you have any chance of winning?”
Taking a deep breath, I pulled out my own sword and stepped out beside Tristan. “There’s a man of war outside, full of Templars,” I said in as strong a voice as I could. “You are the ones outnumbered.”
�
��Miss Greene!” He sounded positively delighted to see me, but the expression on his face said otherwise. “How lovely for you to join us.”
“It’s Mrs. O’Rourke, actually,” I stated, letting a sickly sweetness drip into my tone.
We stood there, staring at each other, the anticipation of the fight burning in my veins, James moaning slightly on the ground.
“Mrs. O’Rourke, then. Congratulations on your nuptials.” Sneering, he moved slightly to the right, lining us up on either side of him. “How long did you wait, after you murdered the captain?”
“About as long as ye waited before burning an entire port to the ground,” Tristan shot back, scowling.
“Yes, I have an affinity for fire, as you noticed when I had the Adelina set ablaze. It was quite a sight to behold, her sinking.” His nostrils flared, the tension between the three of us growing by the second, aided by the energy being put off by the objects around us.
“Those men treated ye like family. Is this how ye repay them, then? By killing them without mercy?” Tristan growled as he spoke, his blade twitching in his hand.
“We were never a family. We were pirates, robbing and killing others for our own gain. I remained aboard so long as it worked in my favor. You must remember what it was I said, before every battle?”
The window of opportunity was coming any instant now. I could feel it, like a crescendo of a great symphony, rising to its head with magnificent force, before being cut off and leaving the still air in its wake. Suddenly, I could feel it—the silence had arrived.
“Victory or death, Mr. Randall,” I whispered, jumping into action.
Spinning around, Randall blocked my first strike, shoving me to the side as he parried a blow from Tristan and jumped back, trying to gain better footing on us.
My mind closed off to what was happening around me, thinking only of my training and how to stay alive. It was two against one, which heartened me some, but Randall was one of the best fighters I’d ever seen, somehow managing to snake out of each attack we dealt him.
Leaping onto the platform, Randall swiped down, blade sparking off of Tristan’s before his foot connected with my jaw, knocking me over. Dazed, I rolled to my feet, blinking hard as I raised my sword again.
“Aw, Sammy’s learned some new tricks!” Randall mocked, losing his focus as Tristan slammed the edge of his blade across his front, cutting the pocket from Randall’s jacket.
“The vial!” he yelled to me, kicking the fabric wrapped bottle towards me. “Don’t let him get it!”
Roaring in anger, Randall jumped down, tackling Tristan to the earth as he attempted to get past him to me. “Give it to me!” he commanded. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with!”
Snatching up the parcel, I looked toward Tristan, who was struggling to keep from getting stabbed or letting Randall go. When kneed in the groin, his reflexes forced him to, though, and Randall stood before me, blade pointed at my throat.
“Give it to me,” he snarled, “or I’ll kill you right here.”
“You’re going to do that anyway,” I snapped, immediately wishing I hadn’t been so snarky as I held the bottle tightly to my chest.
Grunting in rage, he pulled the pistol from his belt, pointed it at James, and fired, shooting him in the stomach. “Give it to me now,” he ordered again, dropping the used gun to the ground and pulling out another, pointing it at Tristan, who was getting to his feet, sword in hand.
“Don’t do it, Samantha,” Tristan said calmly. “It’s one of the most sacred items in this room. If he drinks the ichor, there’s no telling what will happen.”
“What’s ichor?” I asked, trembling in front of them, feeling my fighting mindset slip away as I watched the gun trained on the love of my life.
“The blood of the gods,” Randall answered, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Power to defeat all those who stand in my way. Give it to me now, woman, or I will kill him, too, and send you back to drown in your own time.”
Freezing, I felt the color drain from my face, my limbs going cold. “How did you—”
Randall cackled, the cocking of the gun ringing in my ears. “Abby told me everything! How it must feel, to have seen a time you didn’t belong to. And you,” he said, glancing at Tristan. “What was it like to bed a woman so many years your junior? She looks like she would be mighty fine to have.”
Tristan hissed at the statement and I growled, tightening my hold on the vial.
“What would happen, I wonder, if I were to open Pandora’s Box right now?” Randall sounded like a maniac as he spoke, his breathing hard as he stepped back, forcing Tristan to move. “Would she disappear?”
Seizing the moment, Tristan lunged forward, knocking the flintlock out of the way as he tackled Randall, punching him in the face and breaking his nose.
“All these years in the Order,” Randall chortled, taking the beating. “I was never advanced. Never asked to help with the actual treasure I so wished to see. I had to sneak into your room and the hold of the ship to even know what we were carrying, while you and your mates knew every little detail. I won’t bow to your will this time, O’Rourke. I will take everything you’ve ever loved and destroy it,” he hissed. “I am the strongest, not you!”
“Ye are a stupid man who knows not what he meddles in,” Tristan replied simply, breathing heavily.
Shoving him off, Randall hopped to his feet, brandishing his sword as he screamed, spit flying from his snarled lips, the edge of his blade slicing Tristan’s body in almost the exact same spot that Rodrigues had. Infuriated, I leapt forward, joining in their dance, every fiber of my being wanting to end it all now.
“I’ll take that,” Randall snapped, cutting across the back of my extended hand and stealing away the severed pocket and vial.
“Stop him!” I screamed at Tristan, stumbling as I tried to catch his foot, the cut burning painfully.
Running for the platform, Randall ripped the cover off the round object and a hissing filled the air. Tristan immediately turned around, knocking me to the ground.
“Don’t look at it, Sam!” he yelled over the sound. “It’s Aegis!”
“I don’t know what that is!” I screamed back in terror, struggling against him as I tried to see what Randall was doing. It sounded like we’d fallen into a den of snakes, my mind instantly remembering the rattlers from back home.
“Medusa, lass! It’s Medusa’s head on the shield!”
“Come and face me now, O’Rourke,” Randall taunted, his voice drawing closer. “See if you can defeat an opponent who can’t be looked at!”
Smashing my face against the earth, I screwed my eyes shut, feeling like a sitting duck. There was nothing I could do, not unless I wanted to chance being turned to stone. Terror made my heart feel like it was about to burst and I glanced up, looking at James, who lay bleeding to death on the floor.
Seeing my attention, he nodded slightly, moving his hands to reveal the vase resting on his chest.
“Ye may not be able to stop him,” he croaked, “But I can.”
Twisting the lid, blood splattered hands shaking, James opened the jar.
Swept Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book One) Page 65
