by Lea Doué
Hands on hips, she surveyed the room, hoping to find a rope like Oswald had been carrying the other day… and then she saw one, coiled in the shadows on a top shelf.
With a whoop, she dragged over a barrel, climbed up, and slung the rope over her shoulder. Planning to walk to the nearest village, if needed, she took the satchel Keir had used for the beach picnic and filled it with cheese, fruit, a waterskin, and a knife. She then fetched her cloak and rolled that on top of everything else. She picked a yellow geranium and tucked it into her braid for Wist.
She returned to the storage room, heart beating wildly and palms sweating.
After heaving a three-legged armchair to the window, she knotted the midpoint of the rope around one of the legs and threw the two ends outside. She’d watched dragon soldiers train often enough to know the basics of rappelling by using the rope itself to rig a harness, but staring at the ground with her rope falling five feet short made her knees shake. Although she wasn’t afraid of heights, she’d never tried such a feat before, and the tower had the disadvantage of slick obsidian sides with no toe holds.
She slung the satchel crosswise over her body and then straddled the window, one leg inside and one leg outside. Fog still filled the meadow, as if steam from the Burnt River had come for a visit and decided to stay.
Wist flitted in and out of the window near her head, his shrill squawk grating on her ears. He didn’t seem keen on the plan.
Neither was she, honestly, as she imagined a hundred different ways things could go wrong.
She pulled her leg back inside and slumped on the chair, knees drawn up to her chin, and covered her face with shaking hands. There had to be another way out.
Think, Neylan. Think!
She was in a tower with one door, which, up until Baz had ordered the upgrades, had also had only two windows. There would be hidden ventilation holes somewhere in the walls, too small to be useful. The tower had originally housed guards… who would never trap themselves in such a place without a back door. But where would it be, and where would it lead? She’d circled the tower and had seen no evidence of a door in the glassy surface.
Pushing aside the possibility of a door she’d missed, she wracked her brain for other options. Going up was out of the question in such a tall tower, but what about down? Perhaps there was a trap door that led underground. It would have to be in the kitchen or pantry. If she failed to find anything, there was still the window.
“Come on, Wist. Time for Plan B.”
She lit a lantern to better see the pantry floors. As she swung the light back and forth, she stomped and listened for any hollow sounds, but nothing stood out as unusual. She searched under the table, down the hall, and then returned to the pantry, where she moved around as many crates and barrels as she could. She even lifted the rag rug, but no secret doorway appeared.
The only place left was the bathing room.
After setting the lantern on an empty shelf above the towels, she lifted the thin rug.
Nothing.
Stomp, stomp.
No hollow echo.
She perched on the edge of the bath barrel and crossed her arms, at a loss. Reluctant to admit defeat and return to the rope, she reached for the lantern to start the search over again, more methodically.
She paused. Holding her breath, she watched the lantern flame flicker ever so slightly. Wist was licking soaps on a different shelf, so it couldn’t be his movement causing the breeze. Stepping closer, she inspected the wall and then reached to the back and tapped the wood.
Hollow.
She tapped the wall on the shelf above for comparison, but it gave back a definite solid thunk. The two lower shelves echoed hollowly as well.
The pantry stood on the other side of the wall, but perhaps the builders had squeezed in a secret back door. But how did she open it? If she were stronger, she could move the entire wooden shelf, but that was out of the question. Instead, after removing all the towels and toiletries from the bottom three shelves, and interrupting Wist’s taste testing, she slid the lantern into the depths. Finally, on the lowest shelf, a lock appeared like the ones on the windows.
She flipped the latch open and pushed on the wall. It swung inward to the left, revealing a pitch black space where the pantry should have been. A musty smell gusted over her, and she sneezed.
Wist’s nose twitched at the odd scent, and he scrambled to hide underneath her braid.
Did Keir or the caretakers know about the hidden door?
And, more importantly, where did it lead?
On hands and knees, she crouched low and crawled onto the lowest shelf, sliding the lantern ahead of her. Wist shivered at her neck. At least she wouldn’t be alone in the dark.
The opposite wall of the passage appeared almost immediately ahead of her when she entered, so that she had to turn to the right to fit inside. Her hands slid across a smooth wood floor, and the door bumped closed behind her, leaving her in darkness except for the lantern light.
Carefully, she stood, her head inches from the ceiling and her shoulders brushing the sides of the passage. For the first time in her life, she understood Gwen’s fear of confined spaces. She dried her sweaty palms on her tunic one at a time, the lantern casting quivering shadows on the walls.
Four steps ahead, a hole appeared in the floor. There was no ladder or stairs, but instead, what looked like a wooden slide. Straight down and too steep to walk, it had likely been built to get people out as quickly as possible. She would have to trust that it led to a chamber at the bottom and then to an exit somewhere.
She sat on the edge of the hole, feet dangling. The path was dark and mysterious, but not as steep as the window route. She could still turn back, but she refused to let the darkness scare her. The passageway wasn’t a trap, but a back door. She would be all right.
Holding the lantern tightly, she took a deep breath and dropped down over the edge, using her feet to slow her momentum as much as possible.
Abruptly, her feet slammed into hard earth, and Wist’s talons dug into her neck as he braced himself.
She stood and held the lantern over her head. The passage cut through the hard-packed earth, straight as an arrow. After one last glance at the slide, she moved forward slowly, watching for holes in the floor or cave-ins. With no way to tell time, she counted footsteps, roughly one per second. By the time she reached two hundred and forty, she estimated about four minutes had passed. She had to be near the end.
Eager for fresh air and sunlight, she sped up, but no sooner had she taken three steps when the lantern flickered out.
She stopped and breathed deeply, wiping away the cold sweat that broke out on her brow. She’d been in the dark before.
“Some adventurer I am. Next time we try to make an escape, remind me to fill the lantern first.” She set the useless object by her foot. Come to think of it, she probably should have left a note. What if Keir or the caretakers returned and found her gone?
She put one hand on either wall and felt her way forward one step at a time, sliding her feet out in front before committing her weight, lest she fall into an unseen hole and twist her ankle. The tunnel ended somewhere ahead of her. It had to. Who built an escape route without an exit?
Her toes bumped into something solid. She moved her hands to the front and inched forward until she reached what felt like an earth wall.
And a ladder.
She climbed until, finally, her knuckles scraped against a wooden hatch. When she shoved, a crack of light appeared. She pushed harder, and the door arched open and landed with a soft thud on the ground above. Her eyes watered with the sudden light.
She’d made it to the edge of the woods.
After climbing out of the tunnel, she closed the door behind her, sat in the dirt, and gulped water from the waterskin. The tower could barely be seen through the trees and mist, but there was no sign of the stables.
Wist crawled down her arm in a subdued manner, shaking dirt from his wings and possib
ly wondering why they had taken such an odd route to the woods. She tipped the waterskin sideways, and he stuck his head in for a drink.
Before heading deeper into the woods, she returned to the tower first to try the door—no use senselessly running off if someone had returned during her time underground—but when she arrived, it didn’t budge.
“It was a long shot,” she said to Wist. “Let’s get going. We got a late start, but hopefully we can be at the village by nightfall.” And hopefully, they would find Keir and the caretakers there, safe and sound, with some answers.
She set off, keeping to the hard-packed road, and Wist kept pace beside her, happy to be outside. The thick fog blurred the landscape and made her progress seem especially slow. She’d never been an enthusiastic hiker, unless she could stop at will and study whatever plant or animal caught her eye, but she enjoyed watching Wist explore and taste the local leaves and flowers. He stopped once to perch on a wild rose bush and watch a brown butterwing dragon, scarcely bigger than himself, dig for bugs in the underbrush, its yellow wings like bright splashes of sunlight in the gloom. Eventually, he helped himself to the geranium and the peppercorn tucked into her braid and then settled on the satchel and slept.
Hours passed. Neylan stopped three times to rest and have a bite to eat and drink, and each time, her feet protested at being put to work again so soon. The fog finally lifted as they traveled farther inland. Dusk descended, stars sprinkled the sky, and there was still no sign of a farm or a cottage, much less a village. Had she missed a turnoff?
She moved away from the road into the trees and settled at the base of a broad birch for a quick nap. Fifteen minutes tops. She slung the satchel off her shoulders and fastened the cloak around her. Leaning her head against the tree, she listened to Wist explore, enjoying the sweet, fresh scent of evergreens and wildflowers. After a minute or two, she curled up in the grass and closed her eyes. Just fifteen minutes.
Pain zinged along Neylan’s jaw. “Ouch!”
She woke to bright moonlight, groggy and grumpy from whatever had rudely caused her to lose her dream of dancing in a gown that twirled like a giant moonflower. Her wrist burned again, and she rubbed the cuff absently while trying to figure out what had woken her.
Wist pawed at her ear, and his talons pricked her cheek. When she sat up, he flitted away, but he returned immediately and grabbed the wrist cuff, tugging as hard as he could.
He clearly wasn’t trying to practice his tying skills in the middle of the night.
The woods were unusually quiet, as if every creature had fallen asleep along with her, but hadn’t woken up. What was Wist warning her about? Aconites were shy creatures, preferring to fly away rather than stand and fight, despite their venom-spitting abilities, so the perceived danger could be any number of things.
She stood slowly, tensed to run. Her foot crept forward, but Wist tugged harder on her wrist. He didn’t want her to move? No, that wasn’t it. He hadn’t stopped her from standing. As she tried to work out what he wanted, he darted behind her. Grabbing the end of her braid, he flew straight up into the air with it, laboring under its weight. She looked up, which threw him off balance, and he zipped out of sight into the canopy.
He wanted her to climb?
She put her hand on the pale bark. Wist landed on the trunk near her fingers and tugged on her thumb, his tiny talons scraping her skin as he tried to make her understand.
“I get it,” she whispered, “but I can’t climb this one.”
Widening her eyes to better see in the dim light, she finally spotted a promising birch several yards away. She rushed to it as quietly as she could and wedged herself upwards between a double trunk until she reached the first branch.
Something shrieked in the distance.
A razor-tail dragon.
Her foot slipped, but as soon as she regained her footing, she flung herself onto the next branch, and then the next.
Only once in her life had she heard the cry of a juvenile razor-tail, and her traveling party had been well-escorted by two quads of dragon guards who had dispatched the creature immediately. She’d never expected to hear one in Mazereon. Baz’s father was supposed to have eradicated them all.
The cloak snagged, so she unfastened it and let it flutter to the ground. Step by step, she climbed until the canopy surrounded her with thick, leafy branches too precarious for the razor-tail to climb and too dense for it to fly through.
That was her hope.
There was no question of getting comfortable. Every muscle in her body screamed in protest, and her temples throbbed in sympathy. She hugged the trunk, trying to melt into it, willing the tree to camouflage her from the razor-tail’s senses.
Another shriek, off to her left.
Wist cowered under her braid. Why hadn’t he flown to safety?
Moments later, the razor-tail crept into view, a wolf-sized darkness among the shadows. Iron grey, with pale scales around its neck that looked like a collar, it slunk from tree to tree, sniffing and pawing the ground, its wings tucked tight against its body. Its deadly tail, tipped with scales as lethal as a double-edged sword, flicked from side to side, slicing down everything in its path.
Thankfully, it was only a juvenile, otherwise there would be a whole pack hunting with it. That fact didn’t stop her hands from shaking.
A sudden thought caught her off guard, and a lump formed in her throat.
Keir must have known about the dragon.
Chapter Eleven
Neylan squeezed herself against the tree trunk, trying to will herself invisible to the razor-tail dragon prowling the forest floor barely a stone’s throw away. One thought echoed in her mind.
Keir knew about the dragon. He told me to stay inside to keep me safe.
He hadn’t wanted to scare her, but he’d said they would be back by noon.
Why hadn’t he returned?
Ysmay had ridden off in a rush, her errand possibly to warn the village and send for help.
She and Oswald were retired dragon soldiers.
And none of it mattered at the moment.
The razor-tail found her satchel under the tree where she’d slept and ripped it open. Within moments, it had consumed everything edible, and then it pressed its nose to the ground and followed her scent to the cloak lying on the ground below her.
It shrieked again, its voice grating with a metallic tone like rusty door hinges. After slashing at the cloak, it stretched up onto the tree trunk and stared directly at her hiding spot.
Shaking so hard he seemed to vibrate, dear little Wist peeked out from behind her neck and hissed.
She was helpless. Her knife lay on the ground within the mauled satchel, but it would have been useless against the teeth and talons and razor-sharp tail of the dragon.
Her muscles burned, and her legs shook with the effort to stay on the swaying branch.
The razor-tail began to climb.
She looked frantically from the dragon to the surrounding canopy, desperate for a higher branch, an escape route to another tree. Anything.
The dragon reached the first large branch and paused, its gaze locked on her. Its tail lashed back and forth, and it spread its wings and flapped them furiously, as if it planned to fly straight at her.
“Go AWAY!”
Wist echoed her with a scream of his own.
Without breaking eye contact, the dragon folded its wings. It advanced another foot… and then it screeched as if in pain, writhing its way back down to the ground.
Neylan glanced around, expecting to see a bowman among the trees, but the forest remained empty. What had happened? Had Wist spit his venom at it?
Suddenly, a wolf howled, its cry splitting the silence.
The dragon rushed at her as if it hadn’t heard, lunging its way up the tree, but it fell back again at the same spot it had retreated before. It shook its head and looked over its shoulder.
The wolf howled again, and another answered.
The razor-t
ail snarled at her. Then it whipped around, its tail cutting a deep gash in the birch’s trunk, and raced away from the wolves.
Neylan sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve.
The wolves howled off and on, gradually making their way closer. She counted several different voices, but she couldn’t pinpoint the exact number. Not that it mattered. It was enough to scare off a solitary razor-tail.
A few moments before the first wolf appeared, Wist rustled his wings and pointed his snout to the left. Two more wolves followed the first, and then she lost count as they darted in and out of the shadows. One of them found the satchel and tore into it with loud snarls, recognizing the razor-tail’s scent.
Compared to the dragon, the wolves looked like friendly dogs. One of them found her cloak and sniffed the gash in the tree before marking it with his own scent. Another stretched up beside him on the trunk, but it seemed more interested in the dragon’s talon marks than her.
“We’re safe,” she whispered. “Wolves can’t climb trees.” She repeated the words over and over in her head until the pack finally lost interest and moved on in search of easier prey, their rustling and howling fading into the darkness. She wished them luck in their hunt.
She loosened her grip on the tree and rubbed the back of her neck. Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth, and her head throbbed. There was no way she was climbing down anytime soon, and not just because she was sore.
“Still with me, Wist?”
He crawled around to her shoulder and chirped in her ear.
She stroked his tail, glad for his quick thinking in getting her off the ground and for his company. She’d never been so truly and completely alone. She couldn’t walk through a door or run down a hall and find people whenever she’d had enough solitude. It was just her and Wist.
For the next couple of hours, she shifted and moved as often as possible to ease the cramping in her knees and hips. Wist moved with her, napping at times on her knee, her head, and finally on her collarbone, as if he didn’t want to go too far. The woodland creatures returned to their normal nighttime activities, including a curious raccoon who found something in the satchel the razor-tail and the wolves had missed.