Everwylde

by Donna Grant

  She looked around the dungeon, trying to think of other places in the keep. She didn’t want to fight the knights as well as the witches. Sybbyl and the others of the Coven would be plenty.

  Carac took her hand and pulled her after him back to the entrance to the dungeon. She liked the feeling of his long fingers intertwined with hers. It gave her a sense of security, much as his presence did.

  For the first time, she didn’t feel as if she were facing this fight alone. Margery was a good friend, but she didn’t make decisions. She always preferred for Ravyn to decide everything. It was one reason Margery didn’t go hunting on her own.

  Ravyn looked at the back of Carac’s blond head and smiled. A moment ago, she had been distraught about the Coven finding the Staff of the Eternal. Now, her thoughts were on confronting the witches and gaining the artifact.

  Because she wouldn’t stop until she had it.

  Sybbyl watched the knights tearing down the wall. Behind it lay the Staff of the Eternal. As soon as she learned that the Blood Skull had been lost to the Coven, Sybbyl had become more determined than ever to find another bone from the First Witch.

  The information hadn’t been easy to obtain. In fact, it had cost her greatly—but in the end, it was worth it. The witches who were servants to the elders had a wealth of information.

  They rarely spoke about anything they learned since the elders were quick to take a life if anyone did, but Sybbyl’s objective to become one of the elders had her watching everyone.

  She picked up small things here and there, and it was one of those little tidbits that’d brought her to Angmar’s servant. The young witch was often the brunt of Angmar’s wrath. All Sybbyl did was wait until she saw the young one with a new bruise, her anger visible.

  Then, Sybbyl merely said the right words as she healed the girl, giving comfort where there had been none. The lass was eager for a friend—or for anyone to treat her decently. It took less than a week for Sybbyl to pry the information from her—the next location where a bone of the First Witch was suspected to be.

  There were two potentials, and Sybbyl had chosen Bryce Castle after watching John for a single day. He was so easy to manipulate, but then again, most men were. It didn’t matter that he preferred the company of other men. With the right amount of magic, he was soon eating out of her hand.

  She looked down at Randall, who was on his knees beside her, his head hanging dejectedly. John was on her left, and knights surrounded them.

  Once she brought the staff to the elders, they would give her the reward she sought. All the years of scraping by to grow her magic while competing against others in the Coven were about to be forgotten.

  She deserved to be an elder. She had the power, the intelligence, and the wherewithal to get what others couldn’t. If the Coven’s plans were to come to fruition, then they needed her.

  Sybbyl was so confident in what was to come that she sent word to the remaining elders of what she had discovered. Matilda and Angmar should arrive any moment. And she couldn’t wait to show them the staff.

  Wooing John to join her and defeating Randall had been incredibly effortless. The only hiccup was the arrival of Ravyn, who Sybbyl believed to be a Hunter. The fact that Ravyn and her servant had yet to be found all but confirmed it.

  Not that Sybbyl was worried. She was more than capable of taking care of a couple of Hunters.

  The grunts of the men, and the sound of rock smashing against rock filled the area. With each piece of wall removed, she was that much closer to finding the staff.

  Thoroughly defeated, Randall couldn’t even look at what was happening. His gaze was on the ground. When the Coven found all the bones to the First Witch, this is what awaited the world.

  Everyone without magic would be slain. Those who were left would have a choice to join the Coven—or die. In the end, the only ones on the Earth would be those with magic. Because while the Coven was strictly made up of women, she knew for a fact that warlocks existed.

  She’d met one when she was very young. He hadn’t known she saw him, but there was no denying it. The very thought of a world where everyone held magic made Sybbyl giddy. No longer would she be the outcast because she had been born different.

  Everything she wanted was within reach, and she had done it on her own, just as she had done everything in her life.

  “Faster,” she ordered the men tearing down the wall.

  They increased their movements as John rubbed his hands together beside her. “Will you let me hold it?”

  “Nay.”

  His head swiveled to her, his gaze serious. “I will beg. Just as you like,” he whispered.

  She smiled and patted his face. “We shall see. Now, head to the great hall. I want you there to greet the elders if they arrive before the staff is found.”

  “You want me to go?” he asked, taking a step back.

  Sybbyl laughed. “Are you scared, John?”

  “Terrified,” he admitted while nodding.

  “Good. Show them that. They will enjoy it.”

  “Will they...kill me?”

  “Most likely not.”

  His face went pale, which made her laugh again. Ah, but it was a good day. Tonight would be even better!

  She gave him a little shove to get him moving. Even then, he dragged his feet walking away from her. He even looked back over his shoulder, but she ignored him. John was like a puppy. He was loyal but a nuisance. He needed strict discipline at all times.

  In fact, he had come a long way since the first time she’d brought him to her bed. He was eager to learn, and keen to please her. It was really too bad that he would have to be killed along with all the others without magic.

  Then again, she would find herself a warlock. All would work out.

  Minutes passed as she watched the workers. A part of her wanted to use her magic to blast through the wall, but she didn’t want to take the chance of breaking the staff. Besides, the Bryce family had gone to a lot of trouble all those generations ago to hide the artifact. They would have put precautions in place for anyone—especially witches—to come looking for it.

  “You will not get it.”

  The whisper made her frown. She looked down at Randall. “Finally found your backbone, have you? Well, I hate to disappoint, but I will have it.”

  “You will hold it,” he said and raised his head to look at her. His hazel eyes burned with an emotion she couldn’t quite name. “But it will not be yours.”

  She faced the lord and glared at him. “What have you not told me?”

  “Nothing,” he replied with a grin. “I merely speak of what is to come.”

  “I have worked to acquire this staff. I even summoned Coven elders to show it to them. We are very close to finding it...thanks to you. It will be in my hands soon.”

  His smile never wavered. “Are you sure?”

  “I will hand it to the elders, of course, but then I intended to join their ranks.”

  Bryce chuckled. “High aspirations, I see.”

  “The highest.”

  “It will not be the Coven who wields the staff.”

  Everything he’d said before was irritating but nothing more than an annoyance. This was something entirely different.

  And it alarmed her.

  “What are you talking about?” she demanded.

  He looked at the wall being dismantled. “Did you ever wonder why the First Witch went to such trouble to disperse her bones? She knew what was coming. Already, the Coven has lost the Blood Skull.”

  How did he know about that? “That was a fluke.”

  He cut his gaze to her. “Was it? Ask your elder with the burns. The Blood Skull chooses its Warden. Do you think the staff will be any different?”

  There was a shout from the men as the last of the stones tumbled down, exposing a wall of earth. And an archway.

  Chapter 21

  Just as Carac had thought, it was easy to find Sybbyl and John in chambers below the dungeon.
He wasn’t overjoyed by the number of knights surrounding them, however. The men working to tear down the wall had removed their armor to allow better movement.

  The witch was so worried about uncovering the staff that she didn’t bother to post guards down the narrow corridor. She might not think it the best place for a battle, but he knew it was perfect.

  The only thing he would have to worry about was knights coming up behind them. But their attackers would have to get in line to fight them. The perfect way to ensure that neither he nor Ravyn were overrun.

  If only Carac knew where Simon and Margery were.

  He felt Ravyn move up behind him and peer around his shoulder just as Sybbyl commanded John to return to the great hall. Both he and Ravyn quickly backtracked. Ravyn hid in a dark corner. He found another and immediately did the same.

  John passed both of them without looking up. Carac suspected that it wouldn’t be long before either John or Sybbyl sent for him. Once he couldn’t be found, then others would begin looking for him.

  He hoped that they would be out of the castle with the staff before then. But that would only happen if everything went according to plan. And nothing ever went as planned.

  Once John’s footsteps faded away, Carac hurried to where Ravyn had hidden only to find the space empty. His lips pressed together as he strode to the entrance of the chamber where Sybbyl and the knights were.

  Sure enough, Ravyn was watching them. There was no way he could see for them to get out of the castle without a skirmish. His mind drifted to his men. No matter how this upcoming battle turned, he would not leave his men to the will of a witch. Whether they sided with him or not, they had a right to make up their own minds.

  He came up behind Ravyn, who glanced his way. Carac flattened his back against the wall as Sybbyl began talking to Randall. Listening to their exchange with interest, Carac was happy to hear Randall stand up to the witch—even if it was too little, too late.

  Not that Carac blamed the man. He would have done the same in the lord’s position. Most people would have after innocent lives were threatened.

  As Carac listened to Sybbyl’s confidence in the Coven gaining the staff, he wondered what kind of power could come from such an artifact. Ravyn hadn’t mentioned what the relic could do, and there was a chance that she didn’t know.

  That in itself worried Carac. Witches could already kill easily. With the staff, the Coven could do untold damage across the country. Even the world.

  He peered over Ravyn’s shoulder and waited until everyone’s back was to him, then he hurried to the other side of the doorway. No sooner had he gotten there than a shout went up, followed by the sound of tumbling rocks.

  The dust finally cleared, which allowed Carac to see the men moving away from the opening. He spotted what appeared to be an arched doorway that looked thousands of years old.

  Though he’d heard both Ravyn and Simon talk about what witches could do, he had yet to see anything. So when Sybbyl spoke a few words in a language he didn’t understand, he was surprised to see the heavy rocks holding up the wall sliding to the side to make a path for her.

  He glanced at Ravyn, but she didn’t seem interested in the show of magic. If he were going to fight those of the Coven, he needed to get used to such displays—and be prepared for them.

  But how did one get ready to fight a witch? They already had the advantage with their powers. It seemed a foregone conclusion that they would win in any conflict against those without.

  Sybbyl walked to the arch and halted before it. His gaze narrowed to try and determine what it was she stared at on one of the stones. It wasn’t until she reached up to trace the faded carving that he realized what it was.

  With a snap of her fingers, the torches in the chamber flared. The ensuing light was so bright that the knights within turned their heads away and raised their arms for protection. Even he and Ravyn jerked back from the flash, but Carac didn’t take his gaze from Sybbyl.

  It was the only reason he saw that there were many more carvings covering the entire doorway. The witch looked at them twice before she turned her head to one of the knights and motioned him to her.

  He grudgingly did as she commanded while the others took a tentative step back.

  “Enter,” she commanded the man.

  The knight withdrew his sword and grabbed a torch before he walked under the arch, his armor clinking. Carac and Ravyn exchanged a glance, each curious as to what was through the doorway.

  Seconds turned to long, silent minutes. Carac was beginning to think that there was nothing to be found on the other side when, all of a sudden, there was a startled, fearful shout that was cut off mid-yell.

  Then a torch rolled from the darkness to the entrance, still lit.

  Undeterred, Sybbyl’s gaze landed on another knight, one without armor. “Your turn.”

  The knight hesitated before turning to his sword leaning against the wall. He grabbed it and made his way to the torch. After bending to retrieve it, he straightened and met the witch’s gaze.

  Sybbyl raised a brow. “What are you waiting for?”

  He turned and faced the doorway and stared into the blackness for a long moment. Finally, he took a step. Little by little, the darkness swallowed his body and the light of the torch.

  Carac counted the seconds. The second knight lasted longer than the first, but, unfortunately, the sound of his strangled cry—cut off just like the first—reached them.

  Sybbyl whirled around, her gaze moving over each knight. “Who is my next volunteer? Surely, there is someone brave enough to go inside.”

  Carac grinned as not one of the men stepped forward. Finally, Sybbyl pointed to a man and crooked her finger at him. The man was also without armor. He visibly shook the closer he got to the doorway. Sweat rolled down the sides of his face. He opted not to draw his sword. As it was, his hands trembled so badly, he could barely hold the torch.

  Then he wouldn’t move. Sybbyl had to shove him through the doorway. The knight stumbled into the dark and tripped so that he landed on his knees. For a moment, Carac didn’t think he would get up, but the knight finally climbed to his feet and withdrew his sword.

  He vanished into the darkness. It was only a few moments later that a terrified scream drifted from the entrance. It went on awhile before it abruptly ended.

  The silence that followed was so eerie that it made the hairs on the back of Carac’s neck stand on end. While he and Ravyn watched the entire episode, the remaining knights had all been slowly inching backwards.

  The first few reached the doorway where he and Ravyn stood. The knights turned and rushed away without a second look at either of them.

  More and more of the knights made their escape. But not all of them. Sybbyl turned and saw them. She raised her hand, her face twisted in anger.

  “Run,” Ravyn hissed.

  He looked at her to find her moving back away from the doorway. Just as Carac was about to do the same, he felt something grab hold of him. A look down confirmed that there was nothing touching him, but there was no denying what he felt.

  “Nay!” a knight who was slowly being dragged back into the chamber with Sybbyl screamed.

  Carac tried to grab hold of something on the wall, but he came up empty. All the while, the knights were returned to Sybbyl.

  And then it was Carac’s turn. He briefly met Ravyn’s gaze before he was physically pulled into the chamber by Sybbyl’s magic. He dug in his heels, but it did no good.

  The witch’s eyes widened when she spotted him. She lowered her arm, which halted his progress. “Spying on me?”

  “I heard yells and came to investigate,” Carac lied. “Next thing I knew, I was being dragged in here.”

  She shrugged. “No matter. I have a use for you.”

  Carac knew what she was going to say before it came out of her mouth. He tried not to look at the arch and the awaiting darkness. It yawned like a great beast, waiting to devour its next victim.

&n
bsp; Which would be him.

  Of all the ways Carac had thought he might die, this wasn’t one of them. On the battlefield, aye. But not by magic.

  “I need what is inside there,” Sybbyl said and pointed to the arch.

  Carac looked around at the men. Some kept their heads down, some glared with utter contempt at Sybbyl. But their fear was palpable.

  “Why not go yourself,” he said as he returned his gaze to Sybbyl.

  She grinned, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “It requires someone without magic.”

  “Magic?” he asked, a brow raised.

  She rolled her blue eyes. “Stop pretending that you do not know I am a witch.”

  “A witch?” Carac thought it better to feign ignorance than have her push for how he’d gained the knowledge.

  He wasn’t sure what kind of magic Sybbyl had, and he wasn’t in the mood to have it tested on him. There were other—bigger—things to worry about.

  “Get inside,” she ordered.

  Carac shook his head. “I think not.”

  Sybbyl’s blue eyes blazed with fury. “You saw me pull you and the others in here. I can make you go through the doorway.”

  He glanced at the arch and twisted his lips. “If you could, why order me? Make me or one of the others do it.” When her nostrils flared, he grinned. “You cannot. We have to go of our own volition.”

  “I may not be able to make you go through the doorway, but I can do other things,” she threatened.

  Carac took a chance, and it backfired. Now, it was Sybbyl’s turn to grin.

  “What?” she prodded. “No witty response?”

  There were no words, but his hands itched to wrap around her throat and squeeze the life from her, to slowly cut off her air and make her feel as if her lungs were about to explode.

  There had been many people throughout his life that Carac didn’t like, but she was one of the few that he wholly detested.

  “Ah. At last,” Sybbyl said. “Now, I can finally see how you truly feel about me.”

  “Does it make you feel better to know that I detest you?” Carac asked.

  “I have known it from the first moment we met, but you went out of your way to hide it. Why?”