Page 26

Stronghold

My faerie steed came to a halt, and I slid from its back and collapsed onto the ground. The sickness was horrible without the protection of my rose.

The margool hopped over and rubbed its muzzle against my cheek. I could not move my head to escape it, but the creature’s touch dissipated the effects of the magic on my body and mind. So I lay still, eyes closed, letting it continue its oddly healing caress.

It was fortunate my mount had brought me to a quiet, lonely spot—for had I been deposited in the middle of a cave of trolls, I could not have moved to safety while the sickness swirled through me.

But it was not as lonely a spot as I had thought. As my senses recovered, I heard soft moans. I lifted my head, turning toward the sound.

“Sir Oswain?”

And his was not the only voice groaning softly.

“Jack? Why are you here?” I asked, crawling to Jack’s side. “Margool, come and rub his cheek. ”

Sir Oswain, in better condition than Jack, sat up, looking displeased.

“You followed me?” he said. “You should not have done so.”

“I did not,” I replied. “That is, I did not mean to. I am not looking for the crown. I’m looking for my friend.”

“Perhaps,” said Sir Oswain, who had now drunk a little water and was regaining colour, “your friend is also at the dwarf lord’s lair.”

“Perhaps. I suppose there is only one way to find out.” I got slowly to my feet.

Sir Oswain rounded on Jack. “And you? Why are you here?”

“You told me to accompany Miss Lily,” said Jack, rubbing his forehead, as if to rub away the dizziness. “So I did. Couldn’t let her go alone. Didn’t know she was following you.”

“I was not following him,” I said. “And I didn’t ask you to accompany me. I asked you to see after Rose.”

“The lady Rose is safe,” Jack muttered petulantly. “Mother Hazel said so. But you —who knows what scrape you’ll get into next?”

“Me?” I was indignant. “I don’t get into scrapes. I’m too busy getting everyone else out of them!”

“I hope you are not referring to me,” Sir Oswain said stiffly. “It shall not be said that a mere maid delivered me from danger.”

“Who got himself drunk as a lord on meadow sap?” I shot back.

“Whose idea was it to jump into a well?” retorted Sir Oswain.

“If we hadn’t gone down that well, Jory wouldn’t have got bit by a monster,” Jack added .

I rounded on him. “And who was ready to elope with a mermaid and have their soul drained out of them? All because they put on a pretty face?”

The margool bounded up, pressing its head against my hand. I felt the fire of my anger dwindle away.

“Is this a curse?” I wondered aloud.

“Who’s a curse?” Jack asked sullenly.

“This is,” I said. “This arguing. This bad feeling.”

Now that the travel sickness had passed, my usual senses were recovering, along with my sensitivity to magic.

“There’s a curse of divisiveness here. I can feel it.”

I looked down at the margool, still nuzzling my hand.

“Come here!” I ordered Jack. “Quickly!”

He came, but like a resentful child.

“Put your hand on the margool’s head.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

I watched his face.

“Do you feel better?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “Not sick.”

“And not angry?”

“No. Not angry.”

I made Sir Oswain do the same and saw the anger drain from his face.

“There is dark magic here,” I said. “A trap to keep us arguing instead of looking for the entrance to the dwarf’s lair.” That, more than anything, told me we were very close to the entrance.

“We must stay close to the margool and each other, so we don’t fall under enchantment. We’re all here, whether we should be or not, so we must work together.”

My companions agreed. I shared some of the faerie bread I had brought. Judging by the position of the sun, we had ridden for hours, and none of us had broken our fast.

“Can see why this place is called Black Rock,” said Jack, craning his neck to view the towering wall of black granite, streaked with veins of grey. “But can’t see no fort.”

Sir Oswain turned to examine the massive rock face.

“I wonder,” he said, tracing the outline of the rock with his eyes, “if this rock is actually a fortress wall.”

I stood beside him. If I looked at the rock out of the corner of my eye, I could see a faint shimmer.

“I think you are right. There’s a glamour over it.”

“What is it with faeries and glamours?” Jack grumbled. “I’ll be glad to get home, where what you see is what’s there.”

I placed my hand on the margool’s head. The shimmer of the rock expanded, then cleared. I was looking at a castle wall. And before us, outlined in the stone, was a large door.

“I think I see a d—” I began, but even as the words left my mouth, the door swung open noiselessly, as only a fae door can—and out rushed six rough and fierce dwarf guards.

We were herded down granite corridors that twisted and turned like a maze.

The guards’ boots must have been hobnailed, for they made a clanging noise as they marched us along, gripping our arms. One of them held the margool, carrying it under his arm like a chicken, clamping its muzzle shut with his other hand to keep it from snapping at his arm and blowing red puffs in his face .

The corridors were gloomy. Our destination was a cavernous hall, where braziers of fire lit up impressive carvings on the walls—graven images that danced jerkily by the flickering light.

Granite pillars as wide as ancient oak trees were hewn out, creating archways, but there were many dark and shadowy areas where the firelight did not reach, making it impossible to gauge the actual height and depth of the cavern.

A throne of granite loomed between two braziers, and on the throne sat a sour-looking dwarf with a long, grizzled beard, and dressed in armour. On his head perched a jewelled crown that did not look dwarvish-fashioned.

Sir Oswain gasped as his eyes fell upon the crown. Was it the very treasure he had come all this long and dangerous way to find?

“Found them outside the south gate, my lord,” said one of the guards holding Sir Oswain.

“They stink of royal magic,” growled the guard gripping my arms tightly enough to bruise.

The guard holding the margool shouldered his way past us and held out his captive. “Look what else we found.”

The dwarf lord leaned forward. “My promised margool . Amara’s missing prize.” He peered toward me, saying keenly—“Is that the other prize? Is that the princess?”

My captor shoved me forward.

Greedy eyes examined me from head to foot. “Who are you?” the dwarf lord demanded.

I hesitated. What should I tell him? If I was of no value to him, we would all be violently dispatched. Drawing myself up tall, I tried to emulate Rose’s queenly posture and tone .

“I am the princess,” I announced. “Order your brutes to release me and my servants!”

The dwarf lord raked me over again. “Why are you here?”

“Because… I want to be queen.”

I could not read the meaning of the gleam in the dwarf lord’s eyes. “What think you, Dryden?” he said in his harsh voice.

Out of the shadows stepped an ancient-looking dwarf with a long, white beard, his hooded cloak casting his face in shadow.

“Sire,” said Dryden in a raspy voice, “I say we bring the witch to tell us who this mortal is.”

“Bring Amara!” ordered the dwarf lord, and two guards departed.

I heard Jack give a little groan. I, too, groaned inwardly. My ruse was about to be swiftly exposed, and there was no telling what the consequences would be.

What fools we are, I thought. Turning up on the doorstep of a tyrannous, kidnapping dwarf lord without any weaponry, protection, or plan, while the border was closing fast—what utter fools.

The figure brought in between guards did not look like a powerful sorceress. She looked more like a tired old woman, her strength dwindled. What a blow Mother must have given her in taking away the source of magic this Amara had once wielded. She stood scowling before the throne.

“Tell me,” demanded the lord, “who this mortal girl is.”

Amara might have been bowed down in body, but her eyes still flashed fiercely as she looked at me.

“One of the guardian’s wards,” she said. Her face contorted as she snarled, “Are these the fools who burned down my house?”

Then her eyes fell upon the margool, and she hissed, “ It was you ! You stole my prize and burned down my house !”

She lunged at me, catching everyone off guard.

I cried out in surprise—my cry turning to a gasp of pain as my hair was yanked hard, and my throat seized by unexpectedly strong fingers.

Chaos broke out. Guards rushed at the witch to make her release me, the dwarf lord bellowed orders, Jack yelled my name over and over, and Sir Oswain wrenched free of his remaining guard to draw his sword.

Then came a roar that echoed around the cavern, causing even the guards to freeze momentarily and look at one another in dismay.

“He broke loose again!” said a guard, catching hold of the witch by her cloak, while Jack wrested her fingers from my throat with both hands, crying, “ Let her go, you hag !”

“ Hag ?” shrieked the witch, releasing my throat—but not my hair. “ I am Amara ! Sorceress of the island !”

“You’re nowt but an old crone!” yelled Jack. “ You leave her alone !”

The margool had broken free, for it took all the guards to restrain Amara, whose strength seemed to rise with her fury.

The dwarf lord bellowed for more guards, and footsteps drummed along the cavern floor.

Up flew the margool, sinking its talons into Amara’s shoulder, pecking at her face until she released my hair.

The deep and monstrous roar again resounded around the cave—it was hard to discern its source, but one thing was certain—the sound was drawing closer .

Amara darted away into the shadows with a hiss.

“He’s broke loose!” yelled someone.

The dwarfs ran to form a defensive line before their lord, pulling clubs and maces from their weapon belts and raising them high.

“What beast is coming now?” said Jack. “Are you hurt, Miss Lily?”

“N-no,” I croaked.

I was shaken and sore and apprehensive about what unearthly creature now approached, causing even the guards to quail. More guards stormed in, weapons in hand.

“The queen’s army is coming!” bellowed another guard, charging in from a different entrance. “They’re riding through the valley! They’ll be at the east gate!”

The dwarf lord roared out orders. Everyone was shouting, their rough voices resounding against the cavernous stone.

“We must run!” urged Sir Oswain.

“Run where?” I said, seeing guards in every direction.

Another hair-raising bellow echoed louder and closer. I watched in confusion as the guards scattered, their formation thrown into disarray as a great black beast charged into the cavern from between two pillars—an enraged animal with broken chains swinging from its limbs and neck.

And the creature was charging straight toward me.

The guards fled. Sir Oswain pushed me aside and took a brave stance before me, sword drawn. Jack looked terrified, but he snatched up a dropped club and stood trembling beside Sir Oswain.

“Stop!” I cried, pushing between my would-be protectors. “Don’t hurt him! ”

I flung my arms wide to shield them as the enraged black bear bounded up in long strides, knocking guards sprawling.

“Beran!” I cried, rushing to meet him—“Oh, Beran, what have they done to you!”

Chains trailed behind him, hanging from cruel manacles on his limbs.

Jack looked ready to faint. “Oh, my,” he gasped, staggering back. “I thought we were done for this time! It’s that bear that was in your house!”

“Bear in the house?” said Sir Oswain, staggering back a step, but still holding his sword in readiness. “Is it the same?”

“Don’t let him loose!” bellowed the dwarf lord. “Kill him!”

The dwarf lord took up a fearsome dwarvish sword and charged at Beran from behind.

“Beran!” I shouted in horror as someone shoved me aside.

A terrible clash of weaponry rung out—my ears were filled with dreadful noises reverberating around me—roars of pain and fury, shrieks and bellows all echoing and echoing—“Don’t look!” cried Jack, pulling me away. “ Don’t look !”

When I finally broke free I turned to see two bodies lying on the ground—that of the dwarf lord, and that of my friend.