Everwylde

by Donna Grant

  If he were going to find the staff, he needed to proceed. His gaze lowered to the dead man at his feet. Carac went down on one knee and inspected the man’s wound. To his disbelief, the cut was clean, the skin seared.

  Decapitation sometimes happened in battle, but not once had he ever seen such a thing. There were no jagged edges, no torn flesh. The blood that’d leaked from the body drained to the left and seemed to disappear into the ground.

  Carac really wished he had more experience with magic and witches. He was completely out of his depth here. At least he knew a few things, but would it be enough to keep him alive? He really hoped so.

  He stood but remained bent over to try and see where the knight’s feet had been when he was struck down. Carac moved forward gradually, his gaze locked on the dirt floor.

  With his eyes moving back and forth, looking for something he couldn’t define, Carac discovered the top portion of a sword. He went down on one knee again and raised the torch higher for more light. If only he could see, he would be better able to determine what was going on. But that was obviously what the builders had intended.

  He blinked to clear his vision and looked for the other half of the sword, which he found—still in the knight’s hand.

  Carac grimaced. The second man had also been beheaded, with the same clean wound. What was this weapon that could cut through bone and metal so easily? There was a very real possibility that he would find out soon enough.

  He swallowed and once more thought about unsheathing his sword. Again, he decided against it. A look at the broken blade of the dead knight was proof enough that his weapon wouldn’t help him.

  Carac returned to looking for the place where both the knights had been standing when they were struck down. When he found it, he wasn’t surprised to see that neither had taken a step back. They’d simply fallen backwards once they lost their heads.

  He rubbed his forearm along his brow. It was becoming difficult to breathe. The air was oppressive, but more than that, it felt as if something were pushing on his chest, constricting his breathing.

  Still, he continued onward. He needed to locate the third knight. If the man got past whatever had killed the other two, then there was hope for Carac.

  But that was quickly dashed when he found the third man. He lay on his stomach as if he had been attempting to run back to the entrance. Same wound, same blood flowing to the left and disappearing.

  “Shite,” Carac murmured.

  So much for the thought that one of the knights had survived. What Carac did find, however, was that all three had been struck down at different places. They were close to each other, but that meant that whatever the weapon was, it could move at will.

  Or...even worse, there were many.

  He closed his eyes and sighed. All of his training meant that he could outmaneuver most anyone on the battlefield, but this was something different, something he knew nothing about. Unfortunately, he would have to learn quickly. And adapt.

  If Ravyn had shown him anything over the last few days, it was how she adjusted to anything. If he wanted to survive this, then he needed to think like she did.

  He slowly stood. All three of the men had screamed in terror before they died. Had they triggered something? Or was something waiting for him? Either way, the knights had been truly petrified.

  “Caaaaaaaaraaaaaaaaac.”

  The whispered sound of his name came from all around him so he couldn’t tell where it originated. His heart began to thump with dread.

  “You know me?” he asked.

  Silence met his words, and he began to think that he’d imagined someone saying his name. The place was unnerving, and combined with the three dead bodies, it bordered on peculiar.

  He was one step away from being even with where the first knight had died. Carac lifted his foot and moved forward a step. Nothing happened.

  With his ears open to any sound, and his gaze darting around, he slowly took another step to put him even with where the second man had been cut down.

  Once more, nothing.

  Carac drew in a deep breath and lifted his foot. He hesitated in taking another step, but he couldn’t go back. There was no other choice but to continue on. He gradually walked to the spot where the last knight was killed.

  So far, he had come across nothing that would make him scream or that tried to attack him. If he were lucky, the dead around him had used up whatever had been added to the tunnel to keep others out.

  It was a logical assumption. Still, he paused before he took another step. Blood pounded in his ears from his vigilance. And fear of the unknown. He tightened his grip on the torch and licked his lips. Then, he moved forward.

  The scraping of metal on rock was faint behind him, joined by a second sound. Then he heard it in front of him. It was instinct that made him duck and roll forward.

  He got to his feet and turned to find four huge double-edged axes coming from the wall, their blades horizontal to the ground. So that was what had taken the knights’ heads. But what had made them scream?

  Carac turned around and came face-to-face with a figure with hollowed-out eyes, sparse, stringy hair, a skeletal face, and long fingers that were reaching for him.

  “Caaaaaaaaraaaaaaaac,” it whispered.

  He wanted to run. He yearned to draw his sword and kill it. But, somehow, he remained still.

  “How do you know me?” he demanded of the figure.

  Its response was a laugh.

  Chapter 24

  With the squeeze of a finger, this nightmare could end. Ravyn sighted down the crossbow. This was going to be the easiest shot she’d ever taken.

  And one of the most fulfilling.

  Ravyn’s finger tightened on the trigger. Every bolt she had was imbued with Edra’s magic. It didn’t matter what type of magic a witch had, once the arrow penetrated skin, it would kill them.

  She couldn’t wait until Sybbyl’s body disintegrated into ash. Then, she could rush after Carac and help him.

  “I would think twice before you do that,” Sybbyl said.

  Ravyn frowned, wondering who the witch was talking to.

  Then, Sybbyl slowly turned and looked at her. “I was beginning to think you lost your nerve, Hunter.”

  “Hardly.”

  Sybbyl’s lips curved into a grin. “Or is it that you are worried about Sir Carac?” When Ravyn didn’t answer, Sybbyl’s smile widened. “I see.”

  Ravyn wanted to fire the arrow, but she was too far away. The witch would be able to stop it. If only Ravyn had done it earlier while Sybbyl’s attention was on the knights entering the doorway.

  Instead, Ravyn had been too intent on what would happen. She’d lost her chance for a surprise attack. Now, she would have to face off with the witch.

  “What are you waiting for?” Sybbyl urged. “Fire the arrow.”

  Ravyn took her finger off the trigger and lowered the weapon. The fact that the witch wanted her to use the crossbow was what made her put it down. For the moment. Once she got closer—because she would get close enough—Ravyn would use it.

  Sybbyl shook her head of golden hair. “All this fuss over Hunters. I just do not understand it. I have finally met one of you, and you do exactly as I want. You will be my gift to the elders.” Sybbyl then looked around. “Where is your servant?”

  “She was never my servant,” Ravyn said with a grin. She didn’t have any idea where Margery was, but she knew her friend would find them eventually.

  Sybbyl’s eyes widened. “Another Hunter? Even better. Tell her to come out.”

  “Did you not hear me? I said, I do not know where she is.”

  “Come now. We both know you are the leader.”

  Ravyn chuckled. “We are equals.”

  “Nonsense,” the witch scoffed. “If you were, you would have both come as ladies instead of her posing as a servant.”

  “You think you know what kind of people we are because of the roles we played?”

  Sybbyl
raised a perfectly arched blond brow. “Of course.”

  “Tell me, do you even know what she looks like?”

  The witch opened her mouth to reply, then closed it.

  “As I thought,” Ravyn replied. “We each have our uses and special skills.”

  “What is yours?”

  “I have many.”

  Sybbyl grinned as she eyed her up and down. “Oh, I imagine you do. How many men have you taken to your bed?”

  “You assume because I am a woman that I use my body?”

  “Please, my dear. Do not bother to lie to me. I know what I see, and I see a beautiful woman who knows how to charm a man. That means you have used your body.”

  Ravyn didn’t see any reason to deny it. She wasn’t ashamed of her life or the choices she had made. “What of it?”

  “That’s what I wanted,” Sybbyl said. “For you to admit it.”

  “Why? You think to embarrass me somehow? Do not bother.”

  Sybbyl smiled suddenly. “Nay. I was not thinking about that at all. In fact, I have something else in store for you.”

  “Such as?”

  “Why spoil it? I want it to be a surprise.”

  Ravyn tightened her hand on the crossbow. Sybbyl knew she was a Hunter, yet the witch didn’t seem the least bit disturbed about it. Which meant that Sybbyl hadn’t seen what the Hunters could do.

  “I see you are as tough as I thought you might be,” Sybbyl stated.

  Ravyn frowned at her words. “Because I do not cry and beg you not to hurt me?”

  “Aye,” Sybbyl said with a nod. “Most women are annoyingly predictable.”

  Ravyn could say the same for witches, but she kept that bit to herself. “You seem very assured of your success.”

  Sybbyl shrugged, her gaze sliding to the doorway. “Carac seems extremely capable. He does not realize it, but I have seen him in battle before. Magnificent does not even begin to describe him.”

  How Ravyn hated that Sybbyl had seen him when she hadn’t. “Does that mean you chose him to come here?”

  “With the right words whispered into a man’s ears, magic was not even needed. John was so easy to manipulate.” Sybbyl grinned. “I am sure you know what I mean.”

  “Oh, I do. Why did you need Carac?”

  Sybbyl’s eyes brightened as her teeth flashed in a smile. “Is that jealousy I hear?”

  “Curiosity,” Ravyn corrected.

  The witch shrugged indifferently. “I wanted him in my bed. And I will have him there.”

  “If he survives whatever is inside that doorway.”

  “He will,” Sybbyl stated confidently.

  Ravyn wished she had such conviction in Carac’s survival. He was strong and cunning, but there was no telling what was through the arch. Already, it had killed three knights. Although, even she had to admit that he had been in there for nearly twice as long as the others.

  But was that good news or bad?

  “Carac.”

  The orange light from the torch danced over the grotesque face of the figure before him. The clothes were in rags, hanging upon a skeleton that appeared ready to fall apart at any second.

  Until you looked into its eyes. The black holes were like bottomless, soul-sucking voids. There was very little that scared Carac, but this...thing...certainly did.

  He didn’t know why it kept saying his name. It had yet to reply to his questions. For all he knew, it couldn’t hear him. It moved closer, and he fought not to take a step back. Or reach for his weapon.

  As if reading his thoughts, the head shifted to the side and down, as if looking at his sword. He frowned. Surely, the thing couldn’t read his mind.

  Carac couldn’t stand around staring at the being for the rest of time. He needed to retrieve the staff and help Ravyn, because if he knew the beauty, she was likely to go after Sybbyl while the witch was occupied.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  The figure returned its gaze to his face.

  He took a deep breath. Maybe if he attempted to talk to it... “I mean you no harm. If you wou—”

  His words halted when the skeletal remains suddenly transformed into a beautiful woman with black hair and vibrant blue eyes. He could see through her body, and she hovered just off the floor. Her clothes looked to be made of the finest material but were obviously hundreds of years old.

  “Carac, you are not a Bryce.” Her gaze shifted over his shoulder to the others. “Neither were they.”

  He glanced at the knights behind him. “Nay, I am not. Lord Randall is in the chamber.”

  “He should have been the one to come.” Her forehead furrowed. “But then, this tomb was never meant to be opened.”

  Tomb? Had she said tomb? Shite, just what had he gotten himself into.

  “Is this your resting place?” he asked.

  She blinked at him, her head cocked to the side as if she were debating answering him. “Aye. I guard this place for any who seek to walk this path.”

  “If you are here, why the blades?” he asked, referring to the axes.

  Her lips turned up into a grin. “That was my brother’s idea. As you can see, it works beautifully.”

  “Aye. So it does.” He swallowed. “Are you a Bryce descendant?”

  “I am.”

  “And your name?”

  She paused as if considering his request. “Rossamond.”

  He rubbed his free hand over his jaw, his whiskers scraping against his palm. “I know what you guard here.”

  “Just as I know you have come to claim it.”

  “There are those who seek the staff.”

  She blinked. “The Coven.”

  It was his turn to frown. “You know of them?”

  “They have been around for thousands of years. It was because of them that my brothers and I decided to put the staff in a place where they could not reach it.”

  “But they can force others.”

  “Which is why only a descendant can retrieve it.”

  He shook his head, his gaze dropping to the ground. “Sybbyl will not allow Randall in here. She knows he will destroy the staff or kill himself.”

  “There is only one way to destroy the staff, and there is no way Randall can do that.”

  Carac pointed behind him. “There is a member of the Coven here with elders on the way because of the staff. They knew the artifact was here, and Sybbyl has killed hundreds of Randall’s people to force him to give up the location.”

  “That was to be expected.”

  “You do not sound worried that the Coven will claim the staff.”

  “Because I know they will not.”

  He blew out a frustrated breath. “If I do not return with it, Sybbyl will kill everyone in the castle as well as my men.”

  “Many have died to ensure that the staff remains hidden and safe. I was one of them,” the woman said. “A witch cursed me to die a very painful, very slow death that could spread to everyone if I refused to tell her where the staff was. This was after she murdered dozens of our people—including my parents. We had already dug this place, so my brothers hurried to finish it. Then I took my place and was sealed inside.”

  It was a horrible way to die. Carac couldn’t imagine the pain she must have endured. All to save a relic.

  “It is more than a relic,” the woman said.

  Carac’s gaze snapped to her face. “You know my thoughts?”

  She shrugged. “The Staff of the Eternal holds the thigh bone of the First Witch. One bone from her can cause a multitude of problems for others if it falls into the Coven’s hands. Then there are those few bones that have triple the power.”

  “The Blood Skull,” he said.

  There was a flare of surprise. “Aye. That is the most powerful piece. Does the Coven hold it?”

  “Nay. They were thwarted by my friends. They are Hunters, and they spend their days tracking the Coven and stopping them.”

  Rossamond smiled. “If only we had such a group back in
my day. I wonder if things might have turned out differently. But it does not matter. The staff holds significant power, and because of that, it must be hidden at all costs.”

  “Then why make it into a staff at all?” he asked without thinking.

  The woman sighed, her eyes briefly closing. “Long, long ago, my family came to guard a bone from the First Witch. It remained buried for hundreds of years. Then, one of my ancestors dug it up to move it after a witch began looking for it. What he unearthed was a bone that resembled a piece of wood. He believed the best way to hide it was to keep it in plain sight. So he hollowed out a long piece of wood and put the bone inside it.”

  “It was a brilliant idea.”

  “It was,” she agreed. “Until others began to realize that whoever held the staff also commanded power and wealth. People tried to steal it. And then the Coven returned to look for the bone.”

  Carac nodded. “That’s when you hid it here.”

  She gave him a faint smile. “I like you, Carac. It really is too bad that I have to kill you.”

  Chapter 25

  Timing was everything. Ravyn had learned that lesson the hard way, but it was a mistake she didn’t allow herself to make twice.

  Sybbyl was confident in not only Carac’s retrieval of the staff but also her success delivering the artifact to the elders of the Coven.

  And Ravyn simply wasn’t going to let that happen.

  She didn’t know how much longer she had before the elders arrived. What she did know was that she would have to fight Sybbyl. That was the main threat right now. Afterward, Ravyn could figure out where Carac was and get the staff. She refused to even think about coming up against the elders. Her mind had to be focused entirely on Sybbyl.

  Ravyn glanced at Randall who hadn’t moved from his position on his knees. His gaze was on her, a slight frown upon his brow. There was worry in the lord’s eyes, and she understood his concern all too well.

  Sybbyl walked to stand beside the man. She put a hand atop his head and forced it down until it was bowed. “Men have dominated women and ruled everything for many, many years. It is time for us to take their place.”