“I must not do that again,” she admonished herself, pacing on the Egyptian rug.
She went to the scrying bowl and watched the men.
“You had her, and all you did was kiss her,” the sorcerer said, irritation evident in his tone.
“Let it go,” Braen returned, his eyes challenging the sorcerer.
“Well, which tunnel do we choose?” Callum stepped forward and they stared down five different possibilities.
Please don’t let them choose the middle tunnel.
“Drucilla said not to go down this one,” Braen said, pointing to the second tunnel on the left.
“It certainly is the largest of them all,” Tremayne added.
Callum walked to its entrance. “Let us go then.”
A shiver of excitement flowed through Drucilla. If they took that tunnel, it would lead them down into the earth for many days. Could her ruse actually work?
The sorcerer followed Callum into the tunnel while Braen stayed back. His gaze drifted from one opening to another.
“Are you coming?” Callum called, the glow of his flame brightened his flaxen features.
“Stop!” Braen called to them.
Drucilla’s heart dropped into her stomach.
“’Tis a ruse,” he added.
“How do you know?” Tremayne walked back to the wizard.
“I just do. The sorceress is too clever to give us the path to her holdings. Nae, this tunnel is the wrong way.”
Callum joined them, facing the entrances. “Then which one is it?”
Braen raised his nose and sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?”
“What?” Callum and Tremayne asked in unison.
“That flowery scent,” he said and walked toward the second tunnel. “I smell her.”
“How do you know it is she?” Callum asked.
He faced them, arching an elegant eyebrow. “I would know her exquisite scent anywhere.”
Drucilla tightened her lips and resisted the need to throw something across her room. Instead, she watched them walk down the right tunnel toward her palace and unknowingly into their greatest nightmare. It was only a matter of time before it would awake.
A knock sounded on the door. “Drucilla,” her father called.
“Come in,” she answered and covered the bowl.
Her father entered, dressed in full battle clothing with a shape broadsword wrapped around his waist, bow and arrows draped over one shoulder and a dagger strapped to his calf.
Silas followed him in; he too was dressed for war. In a black tunic and gray breeches, he fashioned the same weaponry as her father.
“Silas has agreed to protect you while I fight,” her father said and quickly looked out the window.
“That is unnecessary.”
Silas faced her. “Your father has asked me to take care of you.”
She scowled at him. “I do not know why.”
Silas tilted his head, suspicious with her harsh comment.
“I do not want anything to happen to you.” Phillip gathered her into his arms.
“Father,” she pushed him gently back. “There is something I need to tell you.”
“What is it?”
Drucilla swallowed hard. She could no longer stand the guilt of deceiving her father, keeping him here against his will, as she had been trapped all her life in one way or another.
Silas blocked her. “You must not,” he said, his eyes filled with fear.
She pushed him aside.
Dark shadows lined the wall bringing with it an oppressive air.
Mother.
“Silas you must turn back into a unicorn,” she whispered.
“It is too late. She already knows,” he replied.
Torella’s sensual, young form transformed into the chamber in one of Drucilla’s handcrafted black gowns, her cleavage dipped deeply into the satin fabric. Her scarlet eyes glowed and Drucilla stepped back by habit.
She glided up to Drucilla and slapped her across the face. The sting on her cheek burned her skin, but she glared at her mother all the same. She would not back away in fear. Not this time.
“You fool. You were supposed to kill the men.”
Drucilla raised her chin and slapped her mother back. “I will not kill anyone.”
Chapter Twelve
Trickles of escaped water dripped down black walls. Braen shifted the flame sconce into his other hand when he stepped over a moist boulder. He peered into the sinister darkness; the tunnel seemed to narrow as they traveled deeper into the mountain.
He stumbled on a jagged rock and straightened. It was becoming increasingly difficult to walk without tripping on the uneven ground.
“Are we even in the right passage?” Callum asked, his voice echoing down the tunnel. “It is getting cramped in here.”
“Aye,” Braen said. “I am sure of it.”
“Again, he is sure of it,” Callum repeated behind Braen. “Your instincts had better be right, because I am getting a bad feeling about this place.”
“This is the right way.” Braen swung around and stared at them. “I sense Merlin’s staff is closer than ever before. It calls to me, to my soul.”
The stench of rotten eggs mingled with feces burned the insides of Braen’s nose, and his eyes watered.
“Orrr, what is that?” Callum asked, swiping in front of his face.
Braen shrugged his shoulders.
“Whatever makes that smell cannot be good,” Tremayne added.
“Let us keep going.” Braen nudged a stone out of the way.
“I do not—”
“Shh,” Braen held his hand over Callum’s mouth.
“What is amiss?” Tremayne whispered.
“Did you hear that?” Braen asked. A sense of dread prickled the back of his neck. “It sounded as though something moved up ahead.”
They extended their arms with the flames to light the path, but only endless dark stretched beyond them.
“I did not hear anything,” Tremayne said.
“Something is in here with us.” Braen leaned over to touch the walls. Perhaps he could get a sense of what lived in these tunnels. The palm of his hand pressed against the damp, rocky wall. Torment, hunger and chaos seeped through his hand and up his arm. “I think we are in trouble.”
A slithering reverberation scuttled among rocks. Braen stood perfectly still, his ears straining to hear more. A piercing bark with the sound of thirty hounds combined whooshed through the tunnel, making his blood turn cold.
“What was that?” Tremayne pulled his sword.
“Dear Gods,” Braen faced the men. “It is only a myth. It cannot be here.” He ordered Callum, “Give me your flame.”
Taking all the sconces, he threw them ahead of them, bringing a cold darkness to their backs. “Those noises could only come from one creature… the Questing Beast.”
The slithering noise rustled closer. Braen pulled his sword; his hands slippery on the handle, his brow beaded with sweat.
“Where did it come from?” Callum asked, his voice wavering.
“Merlin’s parchments tell of a beast borne of a human woman, an incestuous princess who slept with the devil. Many knights have searched for the beast, but all have failed to kill it.”
A dark shadow filled the height of the tunnel. Braen swallowed hard, his muscles tensed as he held his sword, waiting for the creature to move into the light. The only sound emitting was the heavy breathing of men.
Two green eyes penetrated the darkness. Braen stepped back and heard the other two do the same. His pulsed raced as his heart pumped an erratic beat. The Questing Beast released a loud bark, deafening Braen as it vibrated throughout his body.
“Stand still, men,” he ordered, gripping his sword tighter.
Slowly, the devil’s abomination moved into the pitiful light of the flames. The serpent’s neck slithered forward, attached to a leopard’s body with the haunches of a lion, and the feet of a deer. Its forked-tongue hissed, an
d then the bark of hounds erupted from the beast.
“How do we kill it?” Tremayne asked.
“We don’t.” Braen backed up another step. “All we can do is fight until it kills us.”
Tremayne pushed him aside.
“Don’t…” Braen shouted as Tremayne lifted his hands to use his powers, but the creature snarled and hissed, impervious to the attempt.
“You cannot use your powers on a creature sired by the devil. You will just end up vexing him.” Braen pushed the sorcerer behind him when the creature advanced.
“He is immune to all powers?” Callum asked him.
“Aye.”
The beast leaped over the flames and Braen stood his ground. “Run, I will stay and give you time to escape.” He swiped his sword through the air; the serpent’s head snapped only inches from his face.
Tremayne and Callum squeezed beside him and slashed with their swords, pushing the beast back. “We are not going anywhere,” Callum announced.
The creature barked again, and Braen’s ears rang. It was so close he could smell its putrid breath, reeking of dead bodies. He needed a plan. It was only a matter of time before they tired. Braen wracked his memories of his apprenticeship when learning the art of Merlin’s teachings. What had he read about the Questing Beast? Ugh, this was a fine time to forget!
The beast knocked over Tremayne and Callum sliced one of its legs. It flicked Callum with its head, and he flew backward.
“That is it!” Braen proclaimed, and then the creature turned its slimy head toward him. He backed against the wall as it advanced on him. He crouched and shuffled through his saddlebag. The drool from the serpent’s head dripped on his face. Anticipating his imminent death, he finally felt the round small vial in his bag. The beast opened its foul mouth and was about to swallow him when Braen threw the vial into its mouth. The creature pulled back, the vial crushed between its powerful jaws.
Braen pushed to his feet, holding his sword out, the jagged wall rough against his back.
The beast moved to strike, but it swayed on its legs. It leaned to one side, toppling against the wall, and then it stumbled toward Braen.
He leaped out of the way, just in time before the beast landed at his feet.
Tremayne and Callum rose slowly, staring down at the creature. “I thought you said magick would not work,” Callum said.
“Magick will not work, but a powerful sleeping draught will.”
“How long does it last?” Tremayne asked and picked up his sword.
“I gave him enough to knock out an army of men. I would guess half a day, one full day at the most.” Braen slung his saddlebag over his shoulder.
“Let us away, then. I do not want to be here when it wakes,” Callum said and sidled against the wall, avoiding the serpents head.
Fury burned in her mother’s eyes and Drucilla stood with her hands on her hips, refusing to break her glare. All the pent-up frustrations gathered in the pit of her stomach. She had lost her childhood living in purgatory, trapped in a mountain, lied to, betrayed—and she had enough of being subdued into something she was not: her mother.
“Ladies, please,” her father placed his arm around Drucilla’s trembling shoulders.
Her mother wagged a finger in her face. “If I did not need you alive—”
“What?” Drucilla asked. “Finish your sentence, Mother. If you did not need me alive for the next two days, what would happen?”
Her mother turned an accusatory glance at Silas, but he held up his hands and shook his head.
“I overheard you.”
“What do you mean?” Phillip asked.
“Stay out of this,” Torella snarled.
“Tell me the truth for once,” Drucilla demanded. Heat burned in her face, and she felt as if she would release the contents of her stomach.
The sorceress took a deep breath and then sniffed with a haughty scowl. “Very well. You will die on the rise of the next sun. Your soul will be taken to hell to pay for my sins.”
“This is your curse?” she asked, incredulous. How could her mother stand so regal and cool? Did she feel no compassion for her daughter at all? No remorse or love?
“Aye, well, your curse for being of my loins.”
“Why did you not tell me?”
“I made a fatal mistake in telling my son. I would not do that again.” Torella turned to Silas. “Drop those weapons. You look like a fool.”
Silas unlaced his scabbard and sword, then shrugged off the bow and arrows.
“Turn back into the animal you are,” she commanded and walked over to the window. “Damn that ridiculous beast. They are almost here. I can sense my son.”
“I do not understand any of this,” Phillip interjected. “Your son is one of the heathens you want killed?”
“Aye,” Torella answered. “If you do not fight them, they will attack the palace without reserve.”
Phillip pulled his sword and gave Drucilla a kiss on the forehead. “Find a hiding place, my daughter.”
He ran out of the chamber.
“Father,” Drucilla went to follow when her mother blocked her path. “You must stop him from fighting his son.”
“If you had killed them as I told you, he wouldn’t have to do the duty for you.” The black garment snaked in angry jerks around her mother’s feet.
Drucilla’s own white gown came to life with defensive energy roaming through the soft fabric. “I will break the enchantment over him.”
“He will leave you,” Torella hissed, voicing Drucilla’s fears.
“Maybe he won’t,” she whispered.
The black material twisted around her waist and squeezed her tightly. “You will not do anything but protect yourself until your twenty-fifth.”
The edges of Drucilla’s gown pulled on the black, tugging it off her waist. Drucilla opened her palm and shot a heavy energy at her mother but she absorbed the impact with little effect.
She laughed at her attempts of defiance. “Think you are more powerful than I?”
The sound of swords clashing outside filtered into the chamber. Drucilla ran to the window and found her father fighting the sorcerer.
“Do not harm him,” Callum yelled.
Pulling his sword, Braen’s gaze jerked up at her and then narrowed to slits when her mother joined her at the window.
Torella grabbed a handful of Drucilla’s hair and dragged her back. Pain shot through her scalp, and she stumbled across the thick rug. Suddenly, she lifted off the floor, her mother using her powers to pin her against the wall.
“Silas, help me,” Drucilla called to the unicorn.
His eyes rounded with uncertainty.
Her mother laughed. “Think you that insipid animal could help?”
Drucilla struggled against the invisible force, her gaze pleading with her friend.
The unicorn pawed at the floor and tilted his head down, then rammed his horn into the sorceress.
Torella screamed and arched her back. Silas stumbled backward, dark blood dripping from his horn. The hole in her flesh instantly closed, and she faced the unicorn, rage darkening her face.
The sword left on the floor flew into Torella’s hand, and she advanced on Silas.
“Nae, do not…” Drucilla closed her eyes when her mother raised the sword toward the unicorn. A high pitch cry rent the air, and Drucilla eyes shot open. Silas fell to his knees and rolled onto his side, silver fluid oozing from his head. In her mother’s hands, the sparkling white horn turned to black.
“This will complete my plans,” Torella held the horn in the air.
“Mother.” Tears formed in Drucilla’s eyes. “How could you?” She had hoped that somewhere in Torella’s dark heart, there was a spark of good. Perhaps even… love. The heartache ripped through her soul.
Torella pursed her lips, waved her hand and Drucilla fell to the ground in a heap.
“I will miss you,” her mother offered, “but you must die, Drucilla. There has to be balanc
e.” She blew her a sentimental kiss. “Goodbye.”
Drucilla pushed up on her hands to see her mother vanish.
She crawled over to Silas, watched his fur turned from white to ash-gray. She cradled his head on her lap, and he transformed back into a man. “Do not die on me, Silas.”
He grabbed her hand. “Get the staff and take it into the far reaches of the mountain, so they won’t find you.”
She shook her head. “I do not care anymore.”
“You must go, before they come for you.”
“I will not leave you.”
Her tears dripped from her cheeks onto his curly hair. His eyes glazed over with death, his head rolling to the side.
She wanted to crawl into a ball and cry, but the sound of battle outside pulled her out of her despair. Her father was in danger. Rising up, she transported herself to the room with the staff. She took a deep breath and steeled herself for the horrible chill when she touched it. Slowly, she reached out and grabbed the golden rod. The metal did not send waves of ice though her body, but was warm to the touch.
Lifting her head, she transported down to the garden.
Both Callum and Tremayne defended themselves, never pressing the attack, but keeping Phillip from running them through with the sword.
“Father, stop fighting us. We are here to save you,” Callum said and leaped out of range of Phillip’s blade.
“I am not your father!” Phillip maneuvered to the left and knocked Tremayne off his feet. The sorcerer went down hard, his head hitting the ground with a thud.
“Please, drop your sword,” Callum demanded.
Phillip and his son clash swords, metal against metal, skill against skill, their abilities matching. Drucilla swallowed, she could not take it anymore.
“Father!” Drucilla called, but he remained focused on the battle. She yelled louder, yet he continued, sweat dripping from his temples.
The wizard circled Phillip, and just when Callum tripped and her father was about to plunge his sword into him, Callum stepped in and defended the deadly blow. “I tell you we are not here to harm you.” Braen parried while Phillip lunged.
Lady of the Mountain Page 9
