Panic raced through Stacy like a thunderbolt. Her eyes could make out only the scantest of images. Blurs. Things wailing and falling, heaving rock swords in futility as other, more furious, weapons flashed and swept upon them. Bright lights flashed, and she felt her head spin like a whirlpool. The growls of the wolves grew dim — where were they? With all her effort, amid the raging tumult, she tried to raise herself to her knees. A blinding white light flashed before her eyes; a thousand stars came rushing at her. There was a sharp pain in the back of her neck, and clumsily she fell, a fall that felt like the descent into a bottomless pit. And that was the last thing she knew.
Chapter Twenty-Two
She awoke in semi-darkness. Very, very slowly and painfully, bit by bit, she let her eyes focus and became aware of the shapes around her. Above was a stone ceiling, seamed, and she realized that she was lying on something soft, a cot or a bed. The room itself, if you could call it that, was quite small, not much larger than the cabin she had shared with Melinda aboard the Brora. There were no windows, at least within her view, and no light save for the dim globe light that glowed from above. Soft hands were busy massaging the back of her neck. She barely had the energy to turn her head and see who they belonged to.
“Feeling better?” said a friendly voice.
She managed to twist around and peered up into the worried but smiling face of Melinda. The girl’s tunic was torn at the shoulder and hem, as though she had grappled with some unknown attacker. Her long hair was wind-blown, but she held herself with the poise and calm that were a Ranger’s trademark.
Lifting herself, Stacy saw that one of her wrists was encircled by an iron ringlet attached to a long heavy chain secured to yet another ring embedded in the opposite wall. Clearing a dry throat, she managed to ask, “Where are we?”
Melinda laughed bitterly. “I don’t even know how we got here, let alone where.”
Stacy frowned. “Well, how long have we been here?”
“More than a day, I think. But I’ve yet to see anything besides these walls and these chains.” She held up her hand and showed Stacy that she, too, was attached to an iron bracelet.
“Where’s Robin?”
Melinda shrugged, sighing deeply.
“Alryc?”
“Don’t know that, either, Stacy. But I do know I’m frightened.” She bit her trembling lip.
Stacy forced herself to sit up. She reached out and took Melinda’s hand. “Don’t worry, Melinda. We’ll find some way out of this,” she assured her bravely.
The Ranger snifled and smiled, then gestured to the corner of the prison. “There’s food here, Stacy. That is, if you can stomach eating.”
Stacy glanced to the corner and saw two large bowls, each filled with a cold mutton-like stew, and beside them, a pitcher, a colorful clay urn.
“It’s water. I found it there when I awoke,” Melinda said.
Stacy took a long draft from the pitcher, ignoring the food. The water was cold and fresh.
“What will become of us now?” Melinda said with a quiver in her voice. “I keep thinking that everyone else is dead, killed by things, and they’ve taken us here as prisoners. Toys to play with when they’re bored.”
“It wasn’t things that brought us here,” said Stacy, frowning in recollection.
Melinda’s eyes widened. “How do you know?”
“Don’t you remember what happened after the net fell? There was some sort of a fight. It happened so fast I’m unclear about it myself. But the things were attacked by something else. Some kind of shadowy, furry figures. I don’t know, Melinda. I’m confused, too. But believe me, it wasn’t things that caught us. It was something else.”
Melinda sat on the edge of her own cot and put her head in her hands. Stacy leaned over, the iron chain now taut, and touched her friend’s cheek gently. “We’re both still alive,” she said gently, “and that means the others probably are, too. Whoever caught us can’t be too cruel, otherwise they’d never have left that food for us. We’ll be safe, Melinda. You’ll see.”
“Do you really think so, Stacy? I mean really?”
Stacy lied. “Yes. And I’ll wager we’re a lot better off here than down in the caves.”
“If you ask me, I’d say we still are in the caves. Look, the walls are limestone. And if you touch them, you’ll see that they’re warm, the same way they were in the tunnels.”
Stacy reached out to the rough stone above her cot. It was warm. And where the room should have been damp and stuffy, it was quite the opposite. The air was fresh. Hidden vents must have brought down fresh air from above; the room temperature was comfortable.
She let her eyes glance to the hinged door of solid rock set into the opposite wall. A small catch clicked, and a long metal bar slid open. Stacy gasped at the sight of two dark eyes peering at her. She leaped to the door, but her chain prevented her from reaching it. “Who are you?” she demanded. No answer came. The eyes continued to watch. “I demand that you release us right now!”
The strange eyes glared for a moment longer, cold and aloof, then the window slid shut. Frustration and anger burned inside Stacy, but there was nothing she could do. With a scowl she dropped back onto her cot and seethed. Melinda looked at her nervously. “I’m frightened again, Stacy.”
Stacy sighed. “Me, too. But at least those were human eyes. We’re not being held by things.”
Melinda’s eyes widened, and she put her hand to her mouth. “Hush, Stacy!”
Stacy froze. From beyond the door came a heavy shuffling of boots and the soft murmur of speech. A rattle of keys, the sound of a lock opening, and then the door was pushed wide open. Two stout men, bearded, wearing scarlet cloaks and belts of mail, shortswords dangling, pushed into the room. Their eyes were dark and fiery, faces lined and rugged. Crests above their hearts told her instantly that they were soldiers of some sort. They stood at either side of the door, barely glancing at the two frightened girls, who jumped to their feet, hearts racing.
Then into the room strode a woman — young, perhaps several years older than Stacy. Tall, with long, flowing, yellow hair, she stopped by the entrance, eyes examining the two captives. Ice-blue eyes, deep and brooding, with calculating intelligence behind them. On her head she wore a resplendent gold diadem. A gold bracelet inlaid with intricate design dangled loosely from a slim wrist. She wore a caftan, blue to match her eyes. Fastened at her left shoulder was a silver brooch, a fleur-de-lis, with a tiny translucent emerald that glowed and dazzled in the light.
A snap of her fingers brought a third soldier into the room. He grabbed Melinda’s wrist and unlocked the chain. Then he did the same for Stacy. And all the while the yellow-haired girl kept her eyes, cold and mistrustful, locked on Stacy’s. There was a definite regal air about her. She whispered in a low voice and the soldiers left the room. The language was rough and guttural, yet it did not seem entirely different from that of the Empire. Stacy wondered at the curious similarity between these people and those of her own Empire.
The yellow-haired girl said something directly to her. Something about “dark” and “nets.” Stacy was puzzled and shook her head in bewilderment.
The girl fumed and this time spoke slowly, in a clear distinct voice. “Can you understand now?” she asked.
Stacy nodded.
“How came you to the nets?”
“You mean the net that snared us? By accident. We were seeking a way from the tunnels.”
A hard slap across the face staggered her. She regained her posture and glared back at her captor.
“You will address me by my title!” snapped the girl.
Stacy rubbed gently at the side of her face, felt the sting linger. “What title is that?”
Her questioner looked at her with astonishment. “From which shala do you come?” she demanded.
A voice boomed from the corridor. “That will be all, Rani!”
The yellow-haired girl spun around and lowered her eyes at the sight of a tall hawk-no
sed man entering the room. She crossed her arms over her breasts and lowered her head respectfully. “I was told to unchain them, Minister,” she said curtly. “Are you questioning my authority?”
The man frowned and looked to Stacy and Melinda, then back to her. “To unchain them, no, Mistress Sigried. To interrogate them, yes.”
Sigried flushed with anger but said nothing. Stacy took a quick measure of the man and saw that he, too, wore a crest above his heart, the image of a black peregrine falcon emblazoned into his robe. Whoever he was, it was apparent to her that his own rank was superior to the Rani, Sigried.
“You may leave, Rani,” he said with a note of authority. “I shall take charge now.”
Yellow-haired Sigried shook her head vehemently. “I have as much right to be at the questioning as you do,” she hissed, fire burning in her ice-blue eyes.
The older man sighed. “Very well. We’ll both escort them. Have the others been taken from their cells?”
Stacy felt her heart leap. The others! Alryc and the rest were all alive after all!
“They are waiting at the hall,” replied Sigried dourly, but still with respect. “These two women are the last.”
The man nodded. “Very thorough, Rani. As usual.” He clapped his hands and the soldiers outside snapped to attention. Then he turned to Stacy and Melinda. “Follow me, please. Your companions are waiting for you.”
With the soldiers following directly behind, the minister and Sigried in front, Stacy and Melinda were led silently down the long dim passage. Stacy let her hand slide down to her dagger. It was then, for the first time, she realized it was missing. The scabbard was still there, but the blade had been lifted. Her eyes glanced briefly at Melinda’s waist. Her blade, too, was gone.
Shadows leaped across the high rock ceilings as they reached the incline of the corridor. To their right stretched another passage, parallel to this one, divided from it by a low wall. The roof above gradually became lower as they continued, increasing the multitude of shadows. Ironwood torches grew in frequency, suspended at sharp angles from the walls. Melinda seemed to hesitate with almost every step, but Stacy found herself walking with a strong stride that surprised her. If nothing else, she was determined to appear calm and relaxed and not let her mounting fears show — at least not while Sigried was there. But only she could see the sky!
As they walked, the passage sloped increasingly upward. Stacy became certain they were winding their way higher inside what could only be an enormous mountain. And she wondered just how far from the original cave they really were. At length they emerged from the labyrinth into what was no less than the most spectacular sight she had ever seen.
Above, the mica-encrusted ceiling rose to what must have been a hundred meters high. And from somewhere, far above, thin streams of brilliant sunlight poured throughout, bathing the cavern in warmth and light. What a cavern it was! A great hall, worthy of the finest king in a book of fables. As big as a castle!
Hanging from the walls were large disks of silver and bronze, each depicting scenes of snow-swept mountains and vast panoramas of the sea and the hills of the lowlands. Huge torches of ironwood burned at every turn. And beneath them stood more guards. Stacy’s mind flashed. She stared at the furs and realized that it was these men, hidden as they had been by the blackness, who had been the dark furry beasts that fought with the things in the black cavern when the nets fell.
The floors were lined with thick-piled rugs, and here and there the pelt or head of an enormous bear. A long carpet, dyed a deep indigo that recalled the spires of Rhonnda, ran from the entrance to a low platform far at the other end of the hall. On each side of the carpet stood throngs of onlookers. Bearded men dressed in colorful togas and long, fitted robes; women wearing soft linen fabric. Whispers and murmurs filled the hall; Stacy felt as though she were being gaped at like some strange animal.
The minister turned and faced Stacy, signaling with his hand for them to wait. From another entrance, leading from another tunnel, Stacy supposed, came a handful of soldiers. One yanked roughly at a chain behind him. And it was then that she saw Cicero and Snorri. Both wolves had heavy choke collars around their necks — so tight that even the slightest movement of their heads made them wince with pain. The wolves were being dragged into the chamber, the sharp tips of the guards’ spears jabbing at them from either side.
As the crowd caught sight of the wolves, they gasped; some cringed, some looked in horror. Cicero’s eyes caught Stacy’s and he growled. The chain pulled fiercely, the collar tightened. In pain the wolf stumbled, a spear swiftly at his throat. The minister waved a hand and the soldier lifted the spear. The other soldier holding the chain loosened his grip. Cicero bounded to his feet, snarling.
“Enough of this!” hissed Sigried. She looked around, glared at Stacy, then said, “The prince awaits you.”
Across the purple carpet they walked, the wolves right behind. More gasps rose from the crowd as they recoiled at the sight of these unknown strangers.
Upon the platform toward which they walked was a man sitting on a throne, dressed in a crested woolen tunic, with thin black stripes running from the V of the neck across his heart. His face was stern but not cruel. Dark, deep-set, intelligent eyes studied the strangers.
The minister stepped forward, crossed his arms over his chest and bowed respectfully. Sigried did the same. The prince nodded and gestured for them to stand. He looked at Stacy, to Melinda, then to the wolves. “And the others?” he asked casually of the minister.
The minister gestured grandly. From behind thick curtains strode Alryc, his hands bound with heavy iron shackles. Behind him came Robin, and after her the Valley soldier, Kent. Alryc walked proud and tall, the way Stacy knew he would. Written across his lined face was a scowl and a look of defiance. Even his chains had not diminished his fiery stance. If anything, they intensified it. Shoulders back, chin high, he gazed coolly at the man on the throne.
Robin and Kent, however, showed none of his courage. Unbound they walked slowly, heads bowed, nervously darting their eyes at the glistening blades of scimitars.
“There is still another prisoner,” announced the minister after the group had been gathered before the prince.
The prince raised his brows in speculation. “Oh?”
“A wounded one,” added Sigried, with open contempt aimed directly at Stacy. “We found him huddled at the mouth of a cave with a companion. The companion was dead.”
Trevor! They had found Trevor! Stacy breathed with thankful relief.
“The man is being attended to by our physicians,” informed the minister. “His leg has been severely injured and he is in high fever. I thought it best to let him be until later.”
The prince looked at Alryc, then directed his words to the hawk-nosed minister. “And why is this man in chains?”
“He gave us much trouble, my liege. We were forced to keep him bound lest he strike at us like a madman.”
The prince appraised Alryc’s powerful frame. “I see. Are you the leader?” he asked. “What is your name?”
The astronomer scowled and rattled his chains menacingly. “I am Alryc of the Blue Fires. And if my hands were free, I would show you whether I am a leader or a follower!”
The prince’s eyes narrowed angrily. “You seem to beg for your death, Alryc of the Blue Fires. Are you so eager to die?”
“I am eager only that my chains be lifted,” shot back the astronomer. “And that I be treated more like a man than a dog!”
Sigried sneered. “Let me deal with them, my liege.”
The prince shook his head. “No, Rani. At least not yet. They are strangers. Better that we know more about them.”
“Spies, you mean! Have done with them now — before more ill comes of it!” She shot a hateful glance at Stacy and said; “Speak, girls! From what shala have you come?”
Stacy drew a long breath and gritted her teeth. “I told you before, I don’t know what you mean. I don’t even know what a
shala is.”
“Ha!” cooed the blustery Sigried. “Do you see? She will answer none of our questions! Let me put my knife to her pretty face, my lord! Then she might have a few things to say!”
She waved a tiny dagger at Stacy’s face, pointing the tip at her jugular. It all happened in a flash. Stacy whirled and grabbed the startled Rani by the arm and hauled her to the floor. Alryc raised his powerful arms, brought the iron manacle down on the neck of an unsuspecting soldier. Melinda kicked swiftly, literally wrenching the scimitar from another, and threw it to Stacy, while Snorri threw his weight against the guard holding his leash and broke free. Screams of panic swept throughout the hall. Bowstrings twanged, and Snorri slumped to the floor, an arrow through his neck. A dozen fierce soldiers came racing from behind. The prince rose from his throne and raised his hands. “Hold!” he thundered.
Everyone froze in their spots.
Stacy crouched, scimitar in hand, and pressed it at Sigried’s neck. “Move one of your men and I’ll kill your Rani! I swear it!”
“Do so,” replied the prince coolly, “and all your lives are forfeit. Is it worth it? Would you see your companions die?”
Stacy bit her trembling lips and looked around. At that moment she would have given her own life gladly, but how could she bear the blame for the deaths of her companions? Reluctantly she took the curved blade and flung it down. A harried soldier ran and hastily picked it up. As other soldiers drew around the captives with their drawn swords, Stacy knelt down and gently closed Snorri’s eyes. Blood ran over her hands. Onlookers, horrified, watched with amazement. Even the prince stared. “Why do you have pity for the wolf?” he asked, astonished.
Stacy glanced up through watery eyes. “Not pity. I cry for a friend.”
“She is bewitched!” cried the shaken Sigried. “I demand their deaths! All of them!”
The prince ignored her. He was completely intrigued by the sight of the girl and her tears for the dead wolf. “Why have you such love for a beast?” he asked.
Lady of the Haven (Empire Princess Book 1) Page 25
