The Black Fortress

by E. G. Foley

  Sturdy brick chimneys towered above the steep roofs, and matching topiaries flanked the heavy front door like a pair of green lollipops.

  Because the Chancellor’s House was not connected to the palace, Ramona was confident that they could talk here with strictest secrecy.

  Moments later, she joined the others in Sir Peter’s snug drawing room. It had a fine white fireplace, a Persian carpet softening the hardwood floor, and a low ceiling with dark timber beams running across the white plaster.

  As they all exchanged greetings, Oriel smiled at Ravyn. “You’re looking quite a bit better.”

  She was. There was more color in her cheeks, and the dark circles under her eyes were fading. She smiled back at the clairvoyant.

  “I’m feeling better, thanks.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Sir Peter said. “Never mind the healers—that son of yours has been acting like quite the mother hen.”

  Ravyn laughed. “It’s strange, isn’t it? I think he’s actually starting to like me. At least that’s one good thing to come out of all this.”

  “That, and you learning this news about the spy,” Ramona said.

  At that moment, Jillian poked her head in the door. “Would anyone care for tea?”

  They all declined, and she retreated with a smile. “Very well. If anyone changes their minds, just ring for me.”

  Ramona thanked her with a nod. She had always found Jillian a charming woman—and her husband certainly did, as well.

  “Give us a few moments, dear,” he said as she withdrew. “If anyone comes by, we’re not to be disturbed. I’ll miss you!” he called, only half teasing, by the sound of it.

  Ramona shook her head.

  “I’ll miss you too, dear.” Jillian pulled the door shut with a chuckle.

  Oriel smiled fondly, but Ravyn arched a brow.

  Then Sir Peter turned back to the three ladies, gesturing to them to make themselves comfortable on the slouchy velvet furniture.

  They sat down, and, at last, their little meeting was called to order.

  “Well! It’s certainly been an interesting day, hasn’t it?” Oriel murmured.

  “It’s not over yet,” Ramona said. “We have to get to the bottom of this, and quickly.”

  “Agreed.” Peter glanced around at all of them. “Thoughts?”

  They were silent for a moment, then Ramona glanced at the Guardian. “Ravyn, I know we can rely on you to use your preternatural senses to listen and watch around the castle for any signs of suspicious activity.”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  “You know,” Oriel spoke up, tilting her head, “Ravyn’s not the only one who can keep watch. As head clairvoyant, I could certainly speak to the castle ghosts to keep their eyes and ears open. Ghosts make excellent spies—or counterspies, in this case. I’m sure they’d all be happy to help. At least the more benevolent spirits, like Constanzio, the Gray Lady, and perhaps a few others.”

  “Excellent idea, Oriel,” Ramona said.

  Peter nodded. “A good start. So…any thoughts of who our spy might be?”

  Oriel hesitated. “Well, I hate to bring it up, but Prince Janos is on the grounds of Merlin Hall at the moment. And we all know his loyalties have been divided for a long time.”

  “You think Janos might be the spy?” Ravyn turned to Oriel in surprise.

  Even Ramona raised an eyebrow.

  “I doubt it.” Sir Peter frowned. “The poor fellow just sacrificed his entire family for the cause.”

  Oriel shrugged. “Still. We know he’s long been a double agent.”

  Ramona nodded to her friend. “I can understand why you would doubt him. But ever since the children came into the picture—Jake, I mean, and Isabelle, and all of them, really—Janos seems to have been sliding in our direction. He’s very fond of them. I can’t imagine he’d do anything to hurt them.”

  “Well, he’s on our side now, whether he likes it or not,” Peter said. “The Dark Druids will never have him back after he freed Red, helped Ravyn, and brought back Tex. If you ask me, they’re probably out for his blood as much as ours, if not more.”

  “Good point,” Oriel admitted.

  “I could talk to him,” Ravyn offered.

  Peter gestured for patience. “Give the poor man a few days to mourn. I wouldn’t try him yet. It’s too soon to push him.”

  Ravyn nodded.

  “I had another thought, though,” Peter said.

  “Yes?” Ramona asked.

  “Whoever the mole is, our primary objective should be ending his or her communication with our enemies, correct?”

  They nodded.

  “Well, why not use a silencing spell so this traitor can’t talk to anyone?”

  A smile spread across Ramona’s face. “You are much too cunning for so amiable a man.”

  Peter grinned. “I’ll work the spell. It takes a few days to prepare, but it’s sure to be effective. I developed a new variation as the ultimate means of quieting students who won’t stop talking in class.”

  Even stern Ravyn Vambrace chuckled at that.

  Ramona appreciated his jest. They were all on edge, but the young wizard had such a talent for defusing tension.

  “Very well, what else can we do?” Oriel mused aloud after a moment.

  “Here’s a thought,” Ramona said. “We would need some pretext for doing this, but what if we put together a panel of our most skilled and trustworthy empaths to interview our possible suspects? I’m not sure what excuse we could give for conducting these interviews…”

  “But if we would say it applied to everyone,” Ravyn chimed in.

  Oriel nodded. “And if we started with the Elders, leading by example, it would demonstrate that everyone is expected to cooperate.”

  “Oh, I hope it isn’t one of the Elders,” Ramona murmured.

  Ravyn gave a terse nod. “It’s a good idea. Only someone who’s guilty or at least hiding something would refuse.”

  “Not…necessarily,” Peter said. “We wish to create harmony among all of Magick-kind here at Merlin Hall, ladies. I fear this tactic seems a trifle heavy-handed. ’Twould bring an atmosphere of needless paranoia for everybody. Only one is guilty; the rest are innocent.

  “Besides, I hate to lie to our own people—or subject the public to such intrusive measures. It could especially cause problems among members of the magical parliament. You know a lot of them have giant egos.”

  Ravyn snorted. It was definitely true.

  “An interview by an empath is no small thing,” he continued. “That is serious inner scrutiny. We don’t wish to become the Inquisition here.”

  “Fair enough,” Ramona said, then she sighed, out of ideas.

  It was only then that Ramona realized she herself had a very big secret to hide. She quickly masked a look of shock as she wondered all of a sudden if a panel of empaths would be able to tell that she had been meeting secretly with the head of the Dark Druids.

  Good Lord, what would they think of that? She herself might come under suspicion for being the mole!

  Her heart was pounding as Peter spoke up again.

  “Perhaps we could compromise, though,” the wizard said. “If all else fails, the interviews do sound like an effective last resort.”

  “I agree,” Ravyn said, a warlike gleam in her dark eyes. “We could claim that the reason for them was that something had been stolen, for example. Some important artifact of Merlin Hall. A historic jewel of some sort?”

  Ramona and Peter both nodded, but Oriel looked at Ravyn with amusement.

  “I thought Guardians didn’t know how to lie,” the clairvoyant Elder said.

  Ravyn grinned. “Oh, we do—but only when using deception as a battle tactic.”

  Oriel chuckled. “I see.”

  “Very well.” Sir Peter looked around at the ladies. “It seems we all have our starting points, at least. Ramona, why don’t you begin putting together a list of our most qualified empaths—just in case—
while I get to work on the silencing spell? Oriel can recruit the castle ghosts as our counterspies, and Ravyn can use her Guardian senses to keep watch, and then question Janos in a few days, as well.

  “But do be gentle with him, won’t you?” he added. “I can’t even imagine what the poor fellow’s been through.”

  “I’ll go easy on him,” Ravyn promised.

  “Good. Well, then! In the meanwhile, let’s just keep our fingers crossed that whoever the traitor is, he hasn’t told the enemy anything too important yet.”

  They nodded, clear on their tasks.

  “Once we find this person,” Ravyn said, “what do we do with them?”

  All of their expressions darkened, but nobody said a word, for they all knew.

  By tradition, the Order burned traitors at the stake.

  CHAPTER 31

  Dark Visions, Deepening Gloom

  Archie stared out the carriage window, bleary-eyed, while the others dozed, but, lost in his brooding, he barely saw the sunlit English countryside rolling by.

  The only one besides him in the coach who seemed fully awake was little Teddy. Snuggled next to Isabelle, the wee brown dog sat across from him, panting, watchful, and alert.

  The carriage smelled of dog breath and Gryphon feathers.

  Red snored quietly, taking up the whole carriage floor, and thus leaving the four human passengers no choice but to prop their feet on him as though he were a giant feathered footstool. He didn’t seem to care.

  As for the people, Izzy’s head bobbed against Miss Helena’s shoulder in time with the rumbling of the carriage wheels; the governess leaned her cheek on Izzy’s blond hair.

  Everyone’s eyes were closed except Archie’s. Beside him, Jake had nodded off with a newspaper over his face to shield his eyes from the midday glare.

  The men were topside, of course, Henry driving, Derek waiting with rifle in hand to shoot anything that came at them with a bad attitude.

  Archie wondered if he should go up there, too, into the fresh air. He felt restless and caged inside this stuffy coach; he had too much to think about, and he was sick of thinking.

  It was all too grim.

  Truth be told, he feared he was still a bit in shock, though he’d taken pains not to burden anyone with his horrified reaction to his cousin’s revelations.

  Jake was already horrified enough about the prophecy, and Archie refused to make it any worse for his best mate.

  But, privately, Archie was aghast.

  Everything Jake had reported overhearing in his eavesdropping session had only confirmed Archie’s last round of visions, which had started months ago, during their Grand Tour.

  All of it had just proven true, accurate down to the smallest detail.

  Particularly the part Jake had shared about Tex’s account of unconscious Lightriders being kept alive in glass coffins with tubes in their arms.

  Archie had already seen this—months ago—in his dreams.

  Of course, the Order would rescue them, somehow, someway, sometime. That was not what concerned him.

  What had shocked him to the core was this ghastly confirmation of his gift.

  He did not want it to be true. But the thing was unavoidable now. There was no more denying it. The Kinderveil had definitely lifted and revealed him to be some type of clairvoyant.

  He knew that he should tell his busy, distant parents, and soon. But, frankly, he wasn’t ready to deal with the headache of their reactions when he himself barely knew what to think.

  Father was going to be so happy. And Mother was sure to make some big, embarrassing fuss. Lord, she’d probably throw him a party. Ugh.

  Because Archie wanted no part of this talent he’d inherited from them, he feared his parents would be insulted. He didn’t want to hurt their feelings. But didn’t have the heart to pretend to be happy about this.

  Still, like it or not, there it was.

  As if the world did not think him eccentric enough—as if his head were not already overstuffed with more facts than one brain should carry—now it seemed the weirdo “boy genius” could also access hidden knowledge in his dreams.

  Archie sighed and slumped down in his seat at the thought. He tried to cheer himself up with the reminder that some scholars believed his idol, Leonardo da Vinci, had possessed certain uncanny gifts, as well. Even Sir Francis Bacon had been a known visionary…

  For once in his life, however, Archie was loath to follow in their footsteps.

  Indeed, ever since Jake had shared his information, he had been in a quiet and polite state of private terror. The reason was simple.

  If his first round of visions had been true, then the probability increased exponentially that the next one would come true as well—the vision that frightened him so much that he hadn’t even mentioned it to Jake.

  He felt as though saying it out loud would only make it real.

  But it was real, wasn’t it?

  Eyewitness accounts had just confirmed that the Lightriders were being held prisoner, exactly as he’d glimpsed months ago. He had been right.

  As usual.

  But that meant the question now was not if but when one of their tight-knit group was going to die.

  And, more importantly, whom?

  He squeezed his eyes shut at such a hideous question. Teddy gave a small whine and cocked his head curiously, as though sensing Archie’s distress.

  Beyond distress. These questions were torture.

  How awful to know in advance that death was coming for one of them, and yet to be helpless to do anything about it—especially for an expert problem solver like Archie.

  That was the main reason why he hadn’t told the others yet. What was the point of forcing them to share his torment, when he had so little information?

  Should they go around petrified twenty-four seven, like him?

  Certainly not.

  They had enough troubles of their own. Jake, shaken by the prophecy. Isabelle, wrecked over the death of Janos’s family. Dani, just starting out her bright future with the Lightriders.

  And Nixie.

  Her Archie couldn’t tell most of all, because he knew she would go too far in figuring out how to protect them. His witchy little sweetheart wasn’t always the best when it came to good and evil.

  Rather like Jake.

  They were both pragmatics, unafraid of stepping over certain lines if they had to, but Archie knew down to the marrow of his bones this wasn’t wise. Himself, he was always very careful of staying within certain ethical boundaries.

  He had to. His beloved science could be too dangerous if one started ignoring right and wrong. He did not want to turn into Zolond, after all, making monsters in the lab.

  Plus, he had seen those dreadful screens showing battles past, present, and future in Odin’s war room when he and Jake had visited Valhalla.

  As the Norse god of war before he had retired, Odin had a whole wing of his gleaming white palace dedicated to the art of war.

  Archie would never forget the scenes he had witnessed on all those countless moving picture screens. His heart had nearly broken to realize that, at some point in the future, mankind would turn his beloved flying machines into weapons of war. He did not ever want to become one of those scientists who helped take a wonder of invention and turn it into an instrument of death.

  Nixie, however, wasn’t quite as persnickety about such boundaries. She and Jake were more the type who’d do whatever it took to get the job done.

  Archie did not blame them for this, of course. Both had been alone for a long time and struggled to survive. Who was he to judge? As the son of a lord, he had never had to endure that sort of hardscrabble life.

  But it was just a fact. He knew that if push came to shove, his dear Nix might well resort to using her magic in ways that Aunt Ramona would not approve of.

  Archie was banking on the hope that it would not come to that.

  If only his visions would hurry up and give him more specifics! But
, at present, he had insufficient information to take any sort of measures against this vague threat of impending doom.

  He knew no variables: no who, what, when, where, or how.

  So what could he do? Be ready around the clock to combat anything and everything?

  Thus his addiction to the little Italian coffees.

  But when the nervous energy they gave him wore off, he was oh-so-tired. More exhausted every day. He could feel fatigue starting to break him down. His mind wasn’t as sharp as it had been.

  Maybe he should sleep.

  Up until today’s eye-popping confirmation that his visions weren’t just a figment, Archie hadn’t been sure which was more important: sleeping to try and get answers, or staying awake to watch out for catastrophe.

  He let out another sigh, heavy-hearted with his secret.

  If he could not prevent anything from happening, then he wasn’t sure he even wanted to know which of them was fated to die. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop obsessing over the matter.

  What if it’s me? What if it’s Jake? What if it’s my sister? Or Dani? God, what if it’s Nixie? Or Derek or Helena or good old Henry? What if it’s Mum or Dad?

  Each possibility brought a different flavor of pain. His mind spun through the awful choices like the click-click-clicking of some dastardly carnival roulette game.

  He shut his eyes again, queasy with the rocking of the coach and the torment of his dreadful secret.

  Perhaps there was a chance that he was wrong. That it was all just a marvelous coincidence or maybe just a one-time thing.

  His mathematical mind knew better, of course; the odds of that were ridiculous. Nevertheless, he clung to this threadbare hope.

  But never in his life had knowledge felt like such a curse. Never had his brain posed questions whose answers he was too scared to learn.

  He did his best to ignore the knots in his stomach and flicked his bleary eyes open once again, determined not to doze off like everybody else had.

  For, unlike them, Archie was afraid of what he might see in his dreams.

  PART III