Fighting the surge of terror that swept over her, Danielle shouted to the stewards to go for help, and then turned and bolted for the door. Several arrows whipped past her, two struck against the wall in front of her while another shattered a led-glass window to her left. The stone beneath her feet seemed to shake with the thunder of her pursers’ boots. Then she was in the bright sunlight again and hurtling down the stairs. To her horror, her horse wasn’t where she had left it. She glanced around frantically, spotting the grey mare over by a gnarled oak tree munching at the daffodils growing up around its roots. It was a good forty yards from where she had left the animal and wholly out of character for Molly to wander so.
The pebbled path that ran the length of the cemetery offered the quickest route, and she broke into a run again. Bowstrings sung behind her, forcing her to duck in among the tombs. Keeping her head down, she continued on through the yard, using the tombs for cover. Everywhere, iron-tipped arrows caromed around her, smashing against stone and marble. She threw a glance over her shoulder. Oddly enough, no one was in pursuit. Instead, her robed assailants had drawn up on the chapel steps and were content to unleash arrow and bolts in her direction. Stranger still, they seemed more concerned with keeping her head down, rather than hitting her. That’s when she heard movement ahead and to her left and realized she was being corralled into a trap. Fool, fool, fool! She thought. Of course they wanted her alive; she was worth a kings ransom, and a great deal more than the wealth stored in the abbey.
The realisation brought another wave of fear. What could she do now? There was no way she could get to her horse. She glanced quickly to her right, glimpsing a black robe flitting between the tombs. She tightened her grip on her sword, but it was equally obvious she couldn’t fight her way clear. Pushing those thoughts from her mind, she tried to think of another way to escape. What would Faith do?
“Put the sword down, Milady, and we’ll be done with this quickly,” a voice called out from across the yard. Danielle frowned, not sure that she had heard correctly, for the demand was made in a language she didn’t expect to hear in this place. But when it sailed out across the yard a second time, there was no denying that this fellow was speaking ancient Trollic, the first tongue of Arkaelyon, the language of Kathius, the language of the Druids.
“What do you want!” she shouted back, wishing her voice didn’t sound so fragile and timid. At least she now knew this man was a gentleman, for only lords were permitted to learn and speak the old druid tongue. Even then it was illegal to speak it in public. But what lord would attack the royal cemetery to get at her? She could think of none so foolish. There were easier ways. They could have taken her on the highway with no one around to notice, and with little or no blood spilled.
After taking a moment to work out the right pronunciation in the odd dialect of Trollic this man was using, she shouted, “If it is I you want, then leave the stewards alone! And if you think to take me for ransom, I assure you; you’ll not live long enough to spend the coin paid for my release. So I suggest you be gone while you still can, for when my father hears of this, the full might of Arkaelyon’s army will be unleashed on you, and they will give no quarter. Now, go!”
“It is not Arkaelyon gold that we come for, Milady, and by the time word reaches your father’s court, there won’t be a life left to ransom or a soul to pray into the hallowed halls of Helhar.”
The statement made her involuntarily shiver. This was not abduction but an assassination attempt! So why had they not shot her in the back when they had the chance? Hoping to stall them while she decided what to do, she said, in jest, “Are you in the employ of my brother? Is he so snivelling scared to be beaten by a woman tomorrow that he would prefer to have me murdered? And by noble friends and paid bandits, I suspect, fluent in the Druid tongue and too afraid to show their faces.”
“Even one as clever as you, Milady, could not begin to comprehend the forces at work here,” the man called out. “We have been hunting your kind since Ariel the Steadfast converted to the Goddian faith of the Northerners and forsook the old ways of Kathius and began the slaughter of our kind and the annihilation of the true faith of Arkaelyon.”
The true faith of Arkaelyon? And hunting my kind? What was this man talking about? Danielle had no clue. “I don’t understand. Who are you?”
“We’re the swords of Larnian Quintius, blood of his blood, just as you are of the blood of Kathius Arkaelyus.”
“You’re a liar. There are no Druids. That faith is dead. Larnius Quintius destroyed the Druid council of Kathius at the end of the Goddian-Druid wars. And his perversion of the old ways was outlawed under threat of death after the fall of Brutarius Victorium and the sack of Amthenium two hundred years ago. The kind of which you speak, don’t exist. So stop hiding behind myths and fancy and tell me the truth; who are you?”
“Common knowledge and truth are often not the same, Milady. Secrets dwell in the recesses of every realm, even your father’s.”
Danielle laughed scornfully. “Oh, and that’s supposed to convince me is it?”
“Believe what you will; it matters not. What’s important is that you die this day.”
“Why?” she asked, gauging the distance to the woods that surrounded the cemetery and wondering if she could make the dash without taking an arrow in the back.
“Because you are Druid’s Bane, first among the Children of Light. In the old words you are bringer of death, a fate-turner, a curse the First Mother released upon her sister’s children after Larnius’ victory over Ariel and the traitorous Kathiusian elders.”
At a complete loss for what that might mean, and with pounding heart, Danielle glanced around the edge of the tomb to see where her attackers were positioned. If she knew where at least some of them were, she could perhaps dodge among the tombs to the cover of the forest, taking the route of least resistance and letting her sword do the rest.
“What makes you so certain I am the one of whom some old stories apparently speak?”
“You have a small birthmark below your left breast, do you not?”
Stiffening at the words, Danielle instinctively touched the spot the man referred to. How he could know that she had such a mark was beyond her. She realised her hand was shaking, and she closed her eyes, forcing herself to focus. The courage she needed to make the run for the woods was proving elusive, and her legs seemed unwilling to move.
But at least the men had stopped shooting, and there was no movement to suggest they were closing in around her. Their hesitation surprised her, for she was but one and they were many and well armed. Surely they did not fear her skill with the sword that much?
“I will not go easily,” she called out.
“This must be done in a particular way, Milady. Give up your sword and we will see that you feel no pain.”
Danielle laughed scornfully. “I will not.” She paused, and then added, “Perhaps you are mistaken, and I am not what you say I am. Not that I believe a word of what you say. If your master wants me dead, why play these game?”
“The prophecy names you, and there is no changing that.”
“Prophecy? What prophecy?” she called back. These men were talking gibberish.
“The Prophecy of the Fall.”
“I know of no such thing.” In all the years as a pupil under the Lord Protector’s tutelage, she had not heard any of this, Druid’s Bane, Children of Light, a curse bestowed on the Larniusian Druids by the First Mother, or a prophecy that involved her.
“It was given to Brutarius on the night of his end.”
To buy more time—for she wasn’t taking any of this seriously, Danielle said, “What does it say? That Danielle de Brie must die on the eve of winning Illandia’s champion crown from her bully of a brother?”
“Hardly, Milady. It foresees the rise of a new Hand of Maig. A great leader who will rise from the ashes of our annihilation. Born of Kathius’ bloodline, he will enter the world in the shadow of a sister during a time of g
reat prosperity and peace. Both bear a mark of the gods. His from Maig and hers from the First Mother.”
Danielle laughed this time despite herself. “You speak of Kane? A great leader? Now I know you’re mad. He would laugh at this nonsense, then sell your property from under you for wasting his time. Though, in truth, such words as you speak only confirm my belief that you work for my brother. He’s a vicious bastard, who would find amusement in terrifying me in this way. Now, be gone! For if you do this, my father and his armies will not rest until they have your heads. And you can tell my brother when you see him next that I will make sure that he pays dearly for this cowardly attack.”
“You underestimate him, Milady. When that which was stolen from Lord Victorium, marking our fall, comes into the knowledge of man again, Lord Kane will understand his destiny and accept it gladly. Those words are prophesied and only a fate turner can undo them.”
Stolen from Lord Victorium, marking his fall; Danielle knew of the myth of the Book of Minion. The so-called gift the Mother of darkness had given to Larnius in return for his service. But it was a myth, only a myth! It didn’t exist.
“I care naught for your lies! You’re nothing more than vile assassins who spill innocent blood for coin,” she shouted.
Despite the warmth of the sun, Danielle shivered. It was as if the words the man had spoken, as nonsensical as they were, had some strange power to steal away her will and rob her of her mental faculties. The only way to break that spell is to run, and to run now! The thought had hardly flashed through her mind and she was up dashing between the tombs, making for the woods at the edge of the cemetery.
She had gone only ten yards before her first assailant burst out from behind a tomb. His shadow had given her fair warning, and she deflected his spear with a downward stroke before opening his belly with a lateral cut. Five more steps and the next man came at her. Like the first, he was attired in a coarse black robe, the hood drawn, and armed with a simple wooden spear. A bow and a quiver of arrows were slung over his shoulder. He hesitated at her approach, setting his feet firmly on the ground and then thrusting out at the last moment, aiming for her left shoulder. But as the iron point came at her, Danielle ducked beneath it and sank her blade into his groin. He howled and grabbed at himself, blood pouring from between his fingers as she ran on.
There was movement to her right, and a spear flew past her legs and clattered off a tombstone. She was through the cordon, but two score of Druids were giving chase. One of their number, the same man who had spoken earlier, was ordering them to take her alive.
In the woods now, Danielle ran on blindly, cutting and weaving among the trees.
“You only prolong the inevitable, Milady!” The shout sailed after her, edged with annoyance. “For if we do not have you, your brother’s blade will.”
Physically fit from all her training, Danielle intended to prove him wrong. Her only hope was to lose them in the woods, then perhaps double back to the cemetery and retrieve her horse. Once she was mounted, no one would catch her. She was a master horsewoman, after all, and held three of Arkaelyon’s four equestrian titles. Whether she should then make for Illandia or ride up to the little mining town a few miles on, she had not yet decided. She could reach the hamlet in a few minutes of hard riding, but if these men followed her there with the numbers they possessed, she could likely be putting the townspeople in considerable danger, just as she had put Thomas and the other cemetery stewards in danger.
Deciding that Illandia was the safer option, Danielle glanced back over her shoulder. The Druids were coming on in numbers, but their heavy wool robes and their weapons were slowing them down. Her plan seemed to be working, for she was rapidly outpacing them. The closest man was now some seventy yards back.
Pushing through the undergrowth and ducking branches, Danielle ran as hard as she could for the ridge ahead. If she could reach it, she would be out of sight of her pursuers for a time. With any luck, it would give her the lead she needed to change direction and lose them altogether.
But it seemed she wasn’t alone in thinking so, for the man in charge of this band of murderers was now shouting desperately, ordering his men to shoot her legs out from under her.
Danielle scrambled up the slope to the ridge, her blood racing in her ears. The thick duff of last winter’s leaves on the forest floor made for difficult going. Bowstrings twanged behind her in rapid succession, and she flinched as arrows swept past her like a swarm of angry wasps, the nearest lodging in a tree to her right.
Teetering on the edge of panic, Danielle threw herself over the top of the rise, scrambled to her feet, and clambered down the other side, struggling to keep her footing as she slid through the slippery-smooth dead oak leaves and crashed through the bracken. She was alone and safe for the moment, the forest quiet around her, the noise of her pursuers blocked by the ridge.
But as she glanced back the way she had come, waiting for her first assailant to appear on the ridge top, a sadistic chuckle echoed though the woods around her. It was an old woman’s voice and yet like nothing she had ever heard before, seeming to come from everywhere at once. A superstitious fear prickled her skin as she glanced around her. The voice was so unnatural, she could not be sure that she hadn’t invented it in her fear and growing exhaustion.
Then it came again, husky and ominous: “He’s waiting for you, my dear.”
“Who are you and of whom do you speak?” Danielle demanded as she ran.
“I go by many names, but I suspect you know me best as Maig.”
The name sent ice through Danielle’s veins. She shook her head in disbelief. She couldn’t count the number of dark fables that had been handed down about the First Mother’s dark sister. This simply wasn’t possible; her mind had to be playing tricks on her. Gods do not speak directly to mere mortals, she told herself. Just run, Danielle, just run!
She bounded between two ancient beech trees, their thick trunks shaggy with moss, and hopped over a narrow, stony brook. Looking up again, her eyes immediately alighted on a terrifying visage standing between two trees on the adjacent ridge. As all the stories had portrayed her, Maig, goddess of death, had the head of a stag and was draped in earthy green robes. Danielle screamed in fear. Momentarily distracted, she missed her footing and went down hard, striking her head against the root of a caraba tree. There was a flash of blinding light and pain, and for an instant, she saw herself lying on her four-poster bed in her chambers. She was screaming and writhing in terror, and two frightened chambermaids were trying to restrain her. The image vanished as quickly as it had come, and the darkness closed in again. Then she came awake with a gasp. She was back in the forest. Blood was running down her face from a cut above her left eye. Remembering the fearsome deity she had seen between the trees, Danielle glanced up with a jolt. Mercifully, Maig had gone…assuming it had been Maig. She wasn’t sure. Was this a dream? Part of her thought so, but most of her didn’t know.
In the distance she could hear her pursuers coming on, only now they seemed to have dogs. She could hear the animals baying. She wasn’t sure how this could be, and odder still, they didn’t seem to be getting any closer, for they were all still on the other side of the ridge.
Danielle struggled up and staggered on. She knew not if this was a dream, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
She climbed another slope and bolted down the other side before crossing another brook and pushing in through a high thicket of flax. The Druids and their hounds weren’t in view. If anything, they sounded farther away, as if they had lost her scent. She was beginning to let herself believe she had lost them—that she might survive this day after all.
But as she stepped through the thicket, her breath caught in her throat and she stopped short at the edge of a rocky precipice. The sight took her completely by surprise, mostly because the barren landscape was utterly foreign and dark, as if she had stepped from day into night, from one world to another. What lay before her in the gathering darkness were
the rocky sulphur plains of Magbaja that, according to the holy writings, stood at the mouth of the underworld and were occupied by Maig’s minions. This isn’t possible! I’m dreaming. I have to be dreaming, she thought.
A cruel, mocking cackle carried on the stinking breeze that now assaulted her, buffeting her hair and clothes.
Danielle backed up quickly, intent on finding another way, but when she turned around she found her way blocked by a man. She yelped in fright—it was Kane. Before she could defend herself, he lashed out and grabbed her wrist, preventing her from using her sword.
“You think to be rid of me,” Danielle hissed, trying to pull free. “Father will hang you.”
He smiled, amused at her fear and anger, his demeanour as calm and assured as if they had met in a corridor of the palace. His fashionable attire was as immaculate as ever.
“This isn’t real?” she said, her voice becoming vulnerable despite her efforts otherwise.
He chuckled as if this were the most childish thing he had ever heard, then reached out and gently brushed a lock of hair from her face. “By the gods, you are a pretty thing, Dee, even with your attire soiled and your hair a mess.”
She smacked his hand away from her face and tried to pull free again. “I’m dreaming. You’re not here. I’m not here, none of this is happening. I want to wake! I want to wake!”
“A dream you say?” His grin widened and he pulled her close, his free hand going to the dagger at his belt. Danielle cried out in fear and tried desperately to break his grip, but Kane’s hold on her wrist tightened with such strength she heard her bones crack. She shrieked at the searing pain and then relented, the sword dropping to the ground as she sunk to her knees.
The point of his blade lifted her chin, forcing her to look into his cold mocking eyes. “If it’s not real, then why does it hurt so, do you think?”
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