Berengar lowered his voice. “Stay close.”
“Look.” Morwen held her staff high, and her lightstone illuminated a hidden entrance under one of the mounds.
Vines and fallen leaves rendered the mounds’ entrances nearly invisible. Although a stone frame formed each entrance, there were no doors to bar the way inside. Shadows lurked beyond the empty doorways.
“So Lucien’s in one of these holes?” Berengar started toward the closest entrance.
Azura blocked his path. “Völundr has hidden King Lucien among the dead. These barrows are protected by far more than doors. If we enter the wrong mound, we will find only death.”
Berengar made no attempt to hide his frustration. “Then what do you suggest we do—wait here for Cathán’s spies to discover us?”
“Let me try.” Morwen closed her eyes and stretched her hand toward one of the doorways. “Teacht ar do ruin.” The rune of illusion glowed with purple light, but nothing happened.
Azura shook her head. “You underestimate the trickery of fairies. Völundr would never make such a choice that simple. We must look closer. He will have left some clue to the correct choice.”
The company spent the better part of an hour searching for a hint that might point them in the right direction. They inspected markings on the pillars, turned over stones, and even counted the number of skulls adorning each entrance—all to no avail. Berengar was about to give up hope when he caught Morwen staring into the marsh.
“It’s the reflection,” she mumbled to herself.
Berengar followed her gaze to the water’s edge. “What?”
She spoke louder, more sure of herself. “It’s the reflection! Look!”
Only one entrance was mirrored by the marsh water. The others cast no reflection.
“Clever.” Azura beamed at Morwen. “Perhaps the tales concerning the decline of Fál’s magicians are premature.”
A cold wind brushed by like a whisper as they passed through the entrance. Nothing happened when they entered, which was one good sign, at least. The light from Morwen’s staff revealed a long stone stair stretching down into darkness. When they reached the end, torches below burst into flame of their own accord, and their light cascaded over a sprawling stone chamber.
Morwen shuddered. “Be careful. There is strong magic at work here.”
Although hidden treasures and heaps of precious stones were strewn throughout the room, Berengar’s eye was drawn to one of several lidless, dust-covered coffins. A set of bony fingers curled motionlessly over the side. Beyond the reach of the torches’ light, a set of skeletal remains was visible tucked away in a hole carved into the wall. “This is a tomb.”
The added illumination provided by Morwen’s lightstone revealed scores—if not hundreds—of similar remains. “I have a bad feeling about this place.” Faolán growled in agreement. On the other side of the chamber, a narrow bridge led to a slab where a sleeping fair-haired youth lay on his back. A silver crown rested upon his head. “Lucien. Valmont has him under some sort of spell. We’ll have to wake him before we can remove him from the barrow.”
Teelah stopped Berengar from proceeding forward. “Wait.” A crease formed along her brow when she regarded the floor panels, which bore strange symbols similar to the markings found outside. “The floor is trapped.”
Azura agreed. “She’s right. Völundr expected intruders would take the simplest path to the king.”
Nervous, Morwen stared at the floor. “What will happen if we step on the wrong panel?”
Azura left the question unanswered. She scanned the chamber until her gaze fell on symbols adorning the various pillars throughout the room. The symbols matched those on the floor. “It’s a puzzle. We’re meant to follow the path laid for us by the pillars.”
When she stepped onto the first panel, Berengar tensed, prepared for the worst. Nothing happened. Azura laughed with glee and motioned for them to follow her. Morwen used the rune of illusion to highlight the safe sections of floor with purple light. The winding course took them the long way around the chamber. When they finally reached the bridge that led to the king, Morwen and Azura exchanged glances.
“What?” Berengar stared at the precipitous fall that awaited any who strayed from the path.
“There is an artifice upon the path.” Azura looked to Morwen. “Will you do the honors?”
Morwen raised her staff, held out her palm, and closed her eyes. “Taispeáin an litriú!” The rune of illusion again glowed with purple light, and writing appeared on the stone wall behind the king.
To Berengar, the markings were an indecipherable mess. “Morwen, what does it say?”
“I don’t know. I can’t read it.”
“It’s written in the fairy language. It says only one can cross the bridge and safely return.” Azura unfurled her wings. “Thankfully, I have other ways of moving about.” She waited for Morwen to make the journey on foot before gliding across the expanse, and the pair began working to stir King Lucien from his enchantment while Berengar and the others watched.
As time stretched on, Berengar found himself growing restless. “What’s taking so long?”
Morwen cast a reproachful look back at him and fished through her satchel for another spellbook. “It’s not as simple as it looks. We don’t know the nature of the enchantment he’s under.”
Azura showed signs of losing her temper. “Nothing. I’ve tried every method to lift a sleeping curse I can think of and nothing has made the slightest difference.”
Morwen glanced away from her spellbook as if a new thought had occurred to her. “What if it’s not a spell?” She put the book away and leaned in closer to Lucien’s motionless form. “What if it’s a sleeping potion?”
“I see. Völundr means for us to waste our time trying to lift a curse that doesn’t exist. How irritatingly clever. Any ideas?”
Morwen grinned. “Fortunately, potions are a magician’s domain.” She reached for another book from her satchel. “I have some potions and alchemy ingredients on hand, but I can’t attempt to administer an antidote until I know the potion used to put Lucien to sleep. Otherwise I could kill him.”
Berengar turned away to survey the barrow’s hidden recesses in time to notice Teelah silently reach for an arrow from her quiver. “What are you doing?”
“I promised to lead you here. Nothing more.”
She plans to kill the king. Berengar trained his sword on her. “Put down the bow.”
“I will not. Leinster’s soldiers slaughter nonhumans by the hundreds, all in his name. With this arrow, I will avenge my fallen kin and send a warning to all who would harm us.”
“Killing him won’t save your people. It will only further enflame humans against you. Don’t make Cathán’s mistake.” By now, the others had taken note.
Teelah pulled back on the arrow. “Do you know what it’s like to watch your family die, Berengar Goblin-Bane?”
Berengar’s jaw tightened involuntarily. “Put down the bow. Last warning.”
When Teelah raised the bow, Berengar whistled to Faolán, and they charged her together. The goblin slipped out of his grasp and managed to avoid Faolán’s teeth, but before she could take aim at Lucien, a floor panel shifted under her feet. Teelah instantly stepped off the floor panel, but it was too late, and the panel stuck in place. A rasping whisper emanated from somewhere in the dark, and the torchlight flickered as a gust of wind spread through the chamber.
Berengar took a step back, and his hand tightened around the hilt of his blade. For a moment, he thought he caught a glimpse of movement in the shadows. Faolán barked loudly at a black cavity filled with skeletal remains. One skull was visible among the various bones embedded within the wall. Darkness seemed to pour from the skull’s vacant eye sockets. Without warning, its jaw snapped shut, and the skull let out a hair-raising shriek. Skeletal fingers clenched and unclenched, as if waking from a deep sleep, and the wight slowly pulled itself free of the wall.
&n
bsp; When it staggered toward Berengar, one swing of his sword cleaved its head from its body, and the bones fell in a heap on the floor. For a moment, there was silence. Then a groan came from across the room, where a bony hand shot out from a casket. A chorus of inhuman moans joined the first, and one by one, skeletal figures came to life all over the chamber. Some wore the tattered remains of armor. Many wielded rusted swords and splintered bows from a time long forgotten.
The pile of bones at Berengar’s feet began to coalesce, and the wight’s hand grasped at his boot. He stomped the hand, shattering bone, but again the wight reformed. Teelah felled another with an arrow, but like the wight Berengar destroyed, it too pulled itself back together. Guided by whatever foul magic animated them, they dragged themselves toward Berengar and his companions.
Godfrey kissed his crucifix. “May the Lord protect us.”
A second arrow from Teelah disappeared through an empty eye socket. She hissed, nocked another arrow, and fired again. The wights continued undeterred, forcing Berengar and the others to retreat to the chamber’s center.
Azura glanced at Morwen. “Keep working. I’ll help the others.” She landed beside Teelah and shot her a dark look, which the goblin returned in kind. “Look what you’ve done. Those wights will keep coming until we’re dead.”
Berengar glanced back at Morwen. “You might want to pick up the pace.”
“I’m working as fast as I can! It’s not as if I’m reading under candlelight in my library at Cashel!”
Berengar bit back a retort and stepped forward to meet the closest wight. He lodged his sword in its rib cage and crushed its torso with a boot. He brought the sword around in an arc that dismembered all wights within reach and raised his shield in time to intercept an arrow from a skeletal archer. Teelah knocked the archer from its perch with a well-placed shot and spun around to fire at another. Godfrey held incoming wights at bay with his walking stick. The touch of his crucifix instantly shattered those that came within reach.
Berengar cut loose and rampaged across the chamber without restraint, smashing wights to pieces with each stroke of his sword while Faolán picked off those that eluded him. Yet for each wight he destroyed, two more took its place. The growing horde drove the companions back, closer to the precipice. The archers’ arrows vanished into the abyss, falling closer to Morwen with each volley.
Berengar battered an enemy swordsman with his shield and cast the wight off the ledge. “Keep them away from Morwen!” He went on the offensive to buy the others more time. Although the wights were weak and slow, their numbers made them dangerous, and it was all he could do to stave off multiple attacks. When two wights leapt on his back, he was forced to drop his sword to tear himself from their grasp.
A cry sounded behind, where Teelah had dodged an incoming spear and lost her balance. She toppled backward over the ledge and managed to clutch the side, where she hung helpless and exposed as more wights shambled toward her. At the last second, Godfrey—having lost his walking stick—reached out and pulled her back over the side, and Berengar fell back to join them.
“I’ve got it!” Morwen waved to them with a look of triumph. “It’s the Dreamer’s Delight! Now I need only prepare an antidote.”
Berengar groaned and turned back to face the army of wights. He was tiring, and the blasted things just kept coming. He sucked in a deep breath and readied himself for another bout, and the companions made one final stand as the wights closed in on them. He lunged past Teelah—who couldn’t fire arrows fast enough to keep the enemy at bay—and lost his grip on his shield to an axe strike. Legions of bony fingers wrapped themselves around him, and before he could free himself, more threw themselves on him from all sides. Completely enveloped and unable to breathe, Berengar clawed desperately for a way out, but the wights’ numbers were too many. At the last moment, Faolán bit his boot and dragged him out from under the wights, and Berengar gasped for air.
“Stand back!” Azura shouted a word of power, and the force of her voice leveled the area and reduced the approaching wights to scattered bones and ash. She bent over and put her hands on her knees. It was clear the display of power had taken its toll. “I don’t know how long that will hold them for.”
Berengar stooped to retrieve his sword. “Fall back to Morwen. If any more come for us, we’ll fend them off one at a time.”
They hurried across the bridge, where Morwen administered a decoction to Lucien. A shudder passed through his body, he coughed up a dark, purple liquid, and the king’s eyes fluttered open. When he saw Teelah looming over him, he screamed and fell back with a start.
“Monster! Keep that thing away from me!”
Teelah hissed at him but made no attempt to attack.
“It’s alright.” Morwen put her hand on Lucien’s arm. “You’re safe now, Your Highness.”
Lucien calmed to her touch. He took note of her staff and spellbooks and shrunk away from her. “What are you—a witch of some kind?”
“I’m no witch! I am Morwen of Cashel, former court magician to King Mór of Munster.”
Lucien raised an eyebrow. “The one that got him killed, you mean? Of course, he brought it on himself by involving himself in witches’ affairs.”
“I should have left him asleep,” Morwen muttered under her breath.
“That’s no way to greet your rescuers,” Berengar said.
Lucien looked him up and down with skepticism. “And who are you? You look even less trustworthy than the goblin.”
“Warden Berengar. You might have heard of me.”
Lucien reacted poorly to the mention of Berengar’s name. “Bishop McLoughlin sent the High Queen’s Monster to rescue me? Where is Warden Niall?”
“McLoughlin’s dead. Niall’s out searching for your cousin, the prince regent.”
The king did not take the news well. “I should have known. What kind of trouble has the errant fool gotten himself into now?” Lucien held up a hand, as if to dismiss the question. “Never mind that. Where am I? I command you to tell me.”
“You’re in the Elderwood,” Morwen answered. “Put in a trance by a sleeping potion.”
“Valmont.” Lucien’s expression darkened. “That treacherous fairy. When I return to Dún Aulin, I’ll have him burned at the stake.”
“We shouldn’t linger here. It’s not safe.” Morwen offered her hand to help the king to his feet.
Lucien ignored the gesture. “I’m not going anywhere with you, witch. None among your company look particularly trustworthy, save perhaps the priest. For all I know, you’re in league with Valmont, especially if you travel with her.”
Azura merely laughed in amusement when he pointed to her.
Berengar took a step toward him. “You’re coming with us, one way or another. Even if I have to carry you back to Dún Aulin myself.”
Lucien’s brow furrowed in anger. “I am the king of Leinster! I will not be ordered about like a child!”
A violent tremor shook the chamber. Berengar turned around, the king temporarily forgotten. Bones rolled across the floor, amassing in an ever-expanding heap. Remnants of individual wights stitched themselves together to form a multi-limbed monstrosity that nearly towered to the ceiling.
“Run!” Morwen said.
This time, Lucien didn’t argue. The group took off running along the bridge with the ground shifting under their feet. The living bones lashed the bridge, which gave way just as the last of the company made it to the other side. When a bony tendril reached out for Lucien, Berengar chopped through it with his sword, and Morwen cast a ward to deflect another tendril aimed at Godfrey.
The mass of bones rushed to block their path to the staircase, but Azura unleashed a verbal assault that blasted a hole down the creature’s center, and the company rushed through the gap before it reformed. Faint light loomed ahead at the barrow’s entrance. Almost there. A roar came from behind, where the monstrosity squeezed itself into the narrow passage to continue its pursuit. As the others sp
illed outside the entrance, a tendril wrapped itself around Berengar’s ankle just before he crossed the threshold. The tendril threatened to drag him back inside the barrow, but Godfrey, Teelah, and Azura pulled him free at the last moment.
Morwen thrust her staff at the barrow before the monstrosity could emerge behind him. “Buille a bhriseadh!” A crack formed along the entrance, and the barrow caved in on itself, burying the remnants of the dead beneath.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Lucien dusted himself off and nodded to himself, as if resolving some inner dispute. “Very well. I shall allow you to escort me to Dún Aulin.” He started on the path that led from the marsh and looked back impatiently. “What are you waiting for? We’ve no time to tarry.”
Berengar exchanged a glance with Morwen, shook his head, and trudged after the king.
Chapter Thirteen
Azura’s sparrow friend waited for them near the barrow’s entrance. After a brief exchange with the bird, Azura addressed the others. “The path we took to reach the marsh is under watch. We must return to Dún Aulin by another route.”
Although they had escaped the barrow, Faolán remained uneasy, a sign they weren’t out of danger yet.
“Blast it.” Berengar stared at the sky. They were losing the light, and he had no intention of learning what other horrors lurked within the marsh. “Where will we go now?”
Azura posed the question to the sparrow, which took flight after answering. “She says there are men not far from here.”
Lucien rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Excellent. Let us be on our way. My loyal subjects will greet us with open arms.”
Berengar would rather they seek shelter than spend the night outdoors, but that didn’t mean they could forsake caution altogether. “Not so fast. Cathán has spies everywhere, and so does Valmont. We should keep our heads down until we’re out of the Elderwood.”
The City of Thieves Page 22
