by Donna Grant
There was a whooshing sound, and the door creaked as it began to open. Sonya jumped out of the way and unsheathed the dagger. She stood in shock when she found a wyrran standing before her.
Before it could let out a shriek and alert others, she plunged the dagger into its chest. She then jerked the blade out and took a swing at its neck.
She had seen all the Warriors take wyrran heads, so she hadn’t thought it would be too difficult. Her blade hit bone, and she realized too late she didn’t have enough strength to behead the creature.
The wyrran crumpled to the ground, taking Sonya with it when she wouldn’t release the hilt of her weapon. She scrambled to her feet and tried to remove the blade, but it wouldn’t budge.
She didn’t want to leave the dagger. It had been a gift from Broc, but no matter how much she tried to free the blade, it didn’t move. She dragged the wee beast out of sight and hurried into the mountain before the door closed.
Sonya entered a short entryway and halted, her heart pounding hard and slow. Evil, menacing and ominous, enveloped her. She pushed it aside and refused to listen to the niggling uncertainty that played in her head.
As soon as she penetrated the mountain a shiver of dread and foreboding raced down her spine. Every instinct demanded she turn and run as far and as fast as she could.
Somehow, Sonya held her ground. The evil was so thick, so prevalent, she found it difficult to breathe.
“You cannot do it,” a voice whispered in her mind. “You have no magic. Nothing. How can you save Broc?”
Sonya swallowed past the lump in her throat and squared her shoulders.
“It would take someone with magic in order to save Broc. Deirdre won’t even look twice at you now that you aren’t a Druid.”
“Enough,” Sonya whispered.
She closed her eyes and thought of the trees and how it felt to have them bend toward her and brush against her with their limbs. She thought of their whispers that would soothe her, comfort her.
And somehow, it blocked her mind from the incessant voice until it was no more.
Sonya opened her eyes. It was time to find Broc. She prayed she didn’t run into any more wyrran, especially without her dagger.
It was much darker in the mountain than she had expected. The light from outside pierced the doorway, but it didn’t go farther.
Sonya flattened herself against the stone wall and leaned to the side. She looked down to the left to see that the corridor that ran in front of her ended.
With a slow release of breath, Sonya peered around the corner of the entryway and into the hallway extending as far as she could see. Torches were mounted on the walls spaced evenly apart, but they still cast deep shadows around them.
From what she remembered hearing from the MacLeods and others who had been imprisoned in Cairn Toul, Deirdre’s chambers were at the top. The many levels of dungeons filled the lower half of the mountain and extended far beneath the earth.
Sonya didn’t know how long she would be able to search before getting caught, and she would never know, either, if she didn’t start moving.
Feeling began to return to her hands as she warmed, causing them to feel as if needles were pricking her skin. The attack on the wyrran and her attempt to find the handle to the door had ripped the skin from her palms.
The pain, however, was small compared to whatever Broc was enduring. Sonya forgot about her injured hands and stepped into the corridor.
She saw more blood on the stones at her feet. The drops turning into small puddles. Whoever it was had lost a tremendous amount of blood and was in need of healing.
Sonya didn’t tarry over the blood. She knew Deirdre’s chambers were near the door, and she needed to get past Deirdre in order to have a chance at finding Broc.
The mountain was eerily silent. The other Warriors had talked about hearing the wails of the tortured and the cries of the dying.
There was nothing now.
During the rescue of Quinn the prisoners had been released and most of Deirdre’s Warriors had been killed. Unfortunately, when the MacLeods had searched, they had found no Druids alive.
It hurt Sonya’s heart to think of all her kin—the Druids—dying at Deirdre’s hands or while trying to find their way off the mountain.
Sonya expected to hear the cries of the Druids who had run from MacLeod Castle. The group from Loch Awe had been small, but they were Druids. Yet, their fear of the Warriors and Deirdre’s infiltration into an elder’s mind had sent all but a few of the group running away.
And into the wyrran’s hands.
Those Druids had to be somewhere in the mountain. Sonya would have to search for them as well. After she found Broc.
Sonya moved as quickly and as quietly through the corridor as she could. There were several chambers where she would pause and glance inside. Once she knew no one saw her, and she saw no sign of Broc, she moved on.
The hallway stretched into eternity, curving as well as sloping downward. Sonya heard the unmistakable sounds of wyrran coming toward her. She ducked inside the first chamber she came to and held her breath until the wyrran had passed.
“Who are you?” came a broken male voice from across the chamber.
Sonya’s heart missed a beat as she turned her head and found herself staring at Dunmore. She had seen him attack with the MacClures at MacLeod Castle, had seen him throw the drough blood on Broc.
But he had never seen her. He was mortal, so he had no idea if she was a Druid or not.
“You doona belong here,” he said and grimaced as he clutched his stomach.
Sonya saw the blood oozing between his fingers. The drops of blood from the doorway led to him. So the blood she had seen outside the mountain and in the hallway had been Dunmore’s and not Broc’s. That alone caused a wealth of relief.
“Nay, I don’t belong here, and I won’t be staying long.”
He smiled coldly. “You came for Broc.”
Sonya raised her chin, proud of herself for getting as far as she had. Without magic. “I did.”
“You’ll never find him, and even if you do…,” he paused to cough, “you willna be able to get near him.”
“Where is Deirdre keeping him?”
Dunmore’s beady eyes narrowed. “Why should I tell you?”
“Because I can heal you,” Sonya lied.
That gave him pause. “Do it.”
“Not until I get Broc free.”
“You’re going to need me. Heal me now, or I call for the wyrran and Deirdre.”
Sonya knew by the stubborn way Dunmore looked at her he wouldn’t tell her anything until he was healed. But if she healed him, he would most likely hand her over to Deirdre.
Then there was the fact she had lied. She had no magic to heal him. When she wasn’t able to mend him, he would then call for Deirdre.
Sonya pushed from the wall and closed the door to the chamber. Once it was bolted, she turned to face Dunmore. “I know who you are. I know what you’ve done. I should let you bleed to death. You are very near it now.”
“I can help you.” The earnestness in his voice didn’t soften her heart. He was a cold-blooded killer who had aligned himself with evil.
Unfortunately, she did need him.
Sonya knelt before him and pulled his hand away to see the wound. There were five deep gashes across his stomach. The cuts were long and spaced widely apart. Warrior’s claws.
“Broc did this, didn’t he?” Sonya asked with a satisfied grin.
Dunmore nodded his head as he coughed again. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “He’s a fighter, that one. Even with the poison in him, he fights.”
“If I heal you, I want your word you will not tell Deirdre about me. That you will help me and Broc escape.”
“Aye. If you heal me, I’ll do as you ask.”
“Does your word mean anything?”
“I suppose, Druid, that you’ll find out.”
Sonya stared at him for several moments. “Pray, Dunm
ore, that you don’t deceive me, because if you do, you will regret it.”
“Nothing you can do to me will be worse than what Deirdre has threatened. Now, get on with it. Unless you want Broc’s torture to continue.”
Sonya hated Dunmore. She would rather see him die, but the simple fact was he knew the mountain, and he most likely knew where Broc was being held.
She closed her eyes and thought of her magic. If Broc was right and there was still some inside her, she would find it. For him she would do the impossible.
Deeper and deeper Sonya went inside herself. She searched for the warmth of her magic, sought the glow of calmness which always filled her.
Sonya didn’t rush it. She knew if there was any magic left inside her, she would have to look deeper than ever before. But the more she looked, the more she feared it was well and truly gone.
Then, just as she was about to give up, she caught a spark.
FIFTEEN
Sonya held her breath, willing her magic to grow and fill her as it used to. She expected to be flooded with it. Instead, there was just a small, tiny ribbon of magic that spiraled up inside her.
She could feel her hands healing, feel the skin mending together and her wound close up. She tried to make her magic ignore her wounds and tend to Dunmore, but it was already too late.
With her injuries mended, Sonya poured what little magic she had found into Dunmore. His wound was severe, and she feared the slight magic she had wouldn’t be enough to repair him properly.
But she would do all that she could. For Broc.
The nagging fear about not having her magic when she would need it most roared to life within her again. Sonya didn’t have time to let that panic take hold as it had in the past. Not when Broc’s life was in jeopardy. She pushed the fear aside and focused on healing Dunmore.
She didn’t move, didn’t utter a sound until she became too exhausted to use any more magic. There were limits to her healing, and with the small spark she had found, Sonya was glad she had been able to do something.
It might well have been the last of her magic, but it would be worth it if Dunmore led her to Broc.
“Is that all you’re going to do?” Dunmore demanded.
Sonya dropped her hands and opened her eyes. She pushed aside his hand to see the injury. It had stopped bleeding, and the wound had closed up, but it had not entirely healed as she should have been able to make it do.
“I thought you Druids could do magic!”
Sonya glared at him as she sat back on her heels. “Be glad you are no longer bleeding everywhere. The wounds are closed and mending.”
“Heal me fully.” His face twisted with rage.
Sonya raised her brows. “That is as good as I can heal you. If it isn’t good enough, I will reverse it and leave you bleeding again.”
She couldn’t, but he didn’t need to know that. It was a threat, and by the way his face went slack, it worked to her advantage.
“Once you get me and Broc out of the mountain, I’ll finish healing you.”
Dunmore wiped the blood from his hand on his tunic. “I doona suppose I have much of a choice.”
“Nay, you don’t.”
Sonya climbed to her feet and waited impatiently for Dunmore to do the same. She knew she couldn’t trust him, knew he would try to do something, but he was all she had. The mountain was too big and there were too many wyrran for her to try and search herself.
Dunmore rose slowly, testing his body. When he stood beside her, his eyes were too bright, too eager. Another shiver of dread raced down Sonya’s back.
She would have to keep her guard up. At no time could she turn her back on Dunmore. She glanced at his hip to find his sword gone.
He smiled cruelly when he saw where her gaze had gone. “I gave you my word, Druid. Do you doubt it?”
“Most certainly. Tell me where Deirdre is keeping Broc.”
Dunmore sighed and glanced at his wounds again. “He’s been taken below.”
“‘Below’? What does that mean?”
“Broc is well below the mountain. He’s beneath all the dungeons. He’s in a place where there is one way in and one way out.”
And if Deirdre was there, Sonya knew the outcome wouldn’t be favorable. “Take me to him.”
“You doona want to go down there.”
The truth shining in Dunmore’s eyes made her stomach clench. Nay, she didn’t want to do it, but she would. “Take me.”
“As you wish.” Dunmore walked past her to the door and opened it before he stepped into the corridor and turned left.
Sonya followed him, keeping just to his side and behind him. It was imperative she keep him in her sights at all times.
* * *
“Ah, Broc,” Deirdre whispered. “You know what I can do. You know how far my knowledge stretches. I haven’t lived this long and bound myself to the black magic for nothing.”
“What do you think you know?” he asked. If he kept her talking it prolonged whatever she had in store for him and helped him to formulate a plan.
Since she wanted him coherent for their conversation, she had done something to hinder the pain of the drough blood inside him, but he didn’t doubt for a moment that she would let it loose the first instant he made her angry.
She walked behind him, trailing her hands over his shoulders and back. “Oh, I know one of the artifacts I searched for is now being held at MacLeod Castle. I know the artifact is none other than a Druid named Reaghan.”
“You think you know so much from being in Mairi’s mind.”
Deirdre laughed. “What little I didn’t know from Mairi the Druids from Reaghan’s village told me.”
“Would you like me to clap for you?”
“This is a side of you I’ve never seen,” she said as she came to stand in front of him. Her white gaze was curious and much too interested. “Have you kept this need for mockery and sarcasm inside all this time?”
“There is much you doona know of me.”
“I know the important parts,” she whispered.
Broc’s nostrils flared in anger. Of course she would know the vital parts. She had been the cause of all of them.
“I’ll tell you a little secret—”
“Why?” he interrupted her. Deirdre didn’t tell anyone anything, and if she did, no good could come of it.
Deirdre’s smile was slow as it spread across her face. Her gaze was calculating, her intent clear. “I’ve found the location of another artifact.”
Now Broc was listening. This was information they could use. All he had to do was discover the spot and get to it before Deirdre. After freeing himself from Cairn Toul first, however.
“Ah, I see that got your attention.” Deirdre once more rubbed her hands along Broc’s chest. “I will find all the artifacts, and I will have Reaghan in my clutches. There is nothing you can do to stop me. I’m too powerful, Broc. There isn’t a Druid alive who can compare to my magic. They all know it. Which is why they hide.”
“They hide because you hunt and kill them.”
She chuckled. “Thanks to you and the MacLeods, my army of Warriors is gone. It’s going to take me weeks to build it up again.”
“My heart bleeds.”
She cut her eyes to him and lifted her lip in a sneer. “You will be my first. You will take lead over my Warriors.”
“I willna.”
“You know I can make you. I will send you after the second artifact to ensure it’s mine. Then, I will send you to the MacLeods. You can spy on them for a day or two before you kill the others and bring me the Druids and the MacLeods.”
Broc shook his head. “Never.”
“Few can withstand the evil once it seeps into your soul,” she said as she leaned close. “With your god inside you it will only spread the evil quicker. You won’t stand a chance.”
“If the artifact is so important to you, why doona you get it yourself?”
“I cannot get to it.”
Her confession surprised him. “The artifact must be of great importance if someone has gone to so much trouble to keep you out.”
Then, a plan formed all of a sudden. It was reckless and would most likely turn his friends against him, but he had to try. “I’ll get the artifact for you.”
“Why would you do that?”
“You want it now. I will fight you as you waste precious days killing me and bringing me back, days the MacLeods could have learned where the artifact is and retrieve it themselves.”
Deirdre’s eyes were hard and icy. “Why are you so willing?”
“In exchange for leaving the MacLeods and all who reside at the castle alone.”
“An appealing bargain, but one I’m not willing to accept. Those of you who betrayed me will be punished. The Druids who thought going to the MacLeods would save them will die at my hands. And you already know my plan for the MacLeods.”
Broc gripped the chains and wished he could pull them from the wall. But they were held with magic, a magic too strong for even his strength to break through.
He remembered then that Isla had said there was a spell, a chant Deirdre used to unlock the shackles. Was it the same chant Deirdre used on other things? Broc’s mind raced to remember the words, words he thought to never use.
“No quip, Broc? Nothing clever to say?” Deirdre said.
“Apparently no’.”
She trailed her hand down his arm to where his hand gripped the chains. “You are a striking man, but I always did prefer you in your Warrior form. The indigo skin and those magnificent wings of yours. Very impressive.”
“Where is the next artifact?” He figured he had nothing to lose.
Deirdre cocked her head to the side. “You think I will just tell you?”
“Aye. You are full of your own importance and think I will never get free.”
“You won’t,” she stated. “You are mine now.”
“Then what harm will come to tell me?”
For several moments Deirdre silently watched him, calculating. “Glencoe.”
Broc hid his surprise. He had never expected her to reveal the location, especially not so easily. There had to be a reason. Deirdre was too manipulative, too shrewd to give away information so freely.
