The Witch's Daughter (Lamb & Castle Book 1)

by J M Sanford

  “Of course, of course,” Meg muttered, hurrying to unbuckle straps as Harold took Stupid’s cage and helped Amelia down to the ground. “Everybody under cover, and keep quiet. They may not have seen us.” Meg clung close to the gatepost, peering out from the shadows of the doorway, while Percival ushered the unworried and unhurried snail under cover of some nearby trees. Aware that her prize must lie so very close by, Amelia nevertheless joined Meg in staring up at the yellow-sailed skyship. It had stopped, low but not grounded, close to the temple. Amelia had her doubts about the idea of the Black Queen and her crew not having seen them.

  “Meg, Amelia,” Percival whispered, urgently, “We must keep moving.”

  Meg would not be moved. “Wait. They aren’t coming down. They’ve just stopped there, and I want to know what they’re doing.” As she spoke, the rope ladder unfurled over the side of the skyship, and although it was nowhere close to anywhere they could set down, a small thin figure climbed overboard and began to descend.

  Against the white of the moon, they saw the silhouette of a man leaning over the railings. “Miss Castle, don’t be foolish,” he called down to her, his voice carrying clear in the crisp open air of the night. “You still don’t even have a Mage, and the rules of the contest clearly dictate that –”

  “Oh, hang the rules!” they all distinctly heard the Black Queen shout. “I don’t see how the White Queen can have the crown if I get to it first.”

  Amelia and Meg exchanged a look. “She doesn’t have a Mage?” said Amelia.

  “No, but it sounds like she’s going for the crown anyway,” said Meg. If the Black Queen didn’t have a full cohort, as clearly stated in the rules that each Queen must, she couldn’t win the contest fairly. But she had come this far, and the lack of a designated Black Mage might not stop the Black Queen from stealing or destroying the prize. “Come on, we need to get there first.”

  “Miss Castle, if you don’t come back up here this instant…”

  The Black Queen had reached the end of the rope ladder, some thirty feet above the gardens, and there she let go. She floated down to the ground, where she landed in the grass with only the slightest stumble, close to the temple. She looked up, her brow still furrowed with concentration, and stared straight at Amelia and Meg in the doorway. Amelia saw the young Black Queen mutter something under her breath, but didn’t wait to find out what it had been. She turned and ran, through the temple gateway and into the shadows within.

  25: IN THE JADE TEMPLE

  Stairs led down beneath the temple, and Amelia descended with Meg close behind her. They took a turn, not thinking so much of where they needed to go, so much as the fact that the Black Queen would be close on their heels. Beneath the gentle swell of the hill, the jade temple spread its roots deep into the rock of the tower.

  “Meg, where do we go? Where’s this prize?”

  “The crown room, though I’ll be damned if I know where to find that.” Meg stopped, panting a little, but they could no longer hear the Black Queen’s footsteps behind them. “Damn it all, where did the boys get to?”

  Amelia bit her lip. “I don’t know. Didn’t they go on ahead?” They hadn’t just lost the Black Queen, they’d lost Harold and Percival, and perhaps worst of all, they’d lost themselves. Throughout the twists and turns of the hallways and stairwells, blazing torches lined the walls. Amelia thought again of the army of servants tending the jade temple and its grounds, keeping it in a state of perpetual readiness for the Queen, whenever she should arrive. She rather wished they hadn’t: it was a strangely unpleasant feeling, finding everything prepared for her arrival, thinking that someone had been waiting for her for hundreds of years. Waiting for her to do what? Pick up a prize, or die trying?

  She heard a panicked intake of breath beside her, and melted invisible against the wall almost by instinct. By the time she looked around, Meg was already invisible herself, or at least so Amelia hoped. The way things were going, she might just as easily have vanished altogether… Before she had the chance to ask what they were hiding from (if indeed they were hiding) she heard it: smart footsteps on stone somewhere close by, and a man’s voice. She strained her ears to hear what he said.

  “The young lady will be required in the crown room shortly. Where is she?” he asked, and then immediately answered himself, “She still prefers not to cooperate. Then she must be brought by force, if necessary. How regrettable. Indeed. Prince Archalthus is greatly displeased with her recent conduct.”

  “The golems,” Amelia breathed. The strange gentlemen, talking amongst themselves with one voice, politely taking turns. That she could hear the slight hint of agitation in their flat tone at all suggested she was giving them a great deal of trouble. “Why do they want me in the crown room? Isn’t that where I’m trying to get to anyway?”

  “I’m not so sure they’re talking about you,” said Meg’s disembodied voice, very quietly at her side.

  “They mean the Black Queen?” Amelia remembered the Black Queen’s Paladin shouting at her as she went running off, against his instructions. “Oh, what on earth is going on here?” she whined.

  Meg, satisfied that the golems weren’t coming their way, melted back into view with a shrug. “Just be on your toes, whatever happens. And keep moving.”

  ~

  As they scurried around like rats in a maze, they heard the monotonous voice of the golems more than once. Amelia couldn’t be sure how many of those gentlemen there were, almost completely identical in face, voice, clothes, and mannerisms. There had been two at Lannersmeet, she thought, and two at Ilamira, who might or might not have been the same… They seemed to go around in pairs, but for some reason the thought kept nagging at her that there might be more than one such pair at large. Trying to sneak by them undetected, she and Meg heard them discussing the ‘recalcitrant young lady’ again, and more than once the golems talked of ‘the venerable Archmage’. It shocked Amelia when she heard one of them, up ahead in the narrow corridor, mention ‘the snail mistress’.

  “They know you’re here!” she squeaked, just barely keeping her voice down.

  Meg grumbled quietly as she melted out of view. “Seems they do. Turn around; we’ll have to backtrack for a bit.”

  At first, Amelia had done her best to keep herself orientated so that they didn’t end up going round in circles in the dark tunnels, but found it completely impossible. “This isn’t the way we came,” she whispered, hoping that she was keeping pace with Meg as they hurried back down the corridor, away from the golem twins.

  All she got in answer was an impatient hiss to be quiet, and a sudden jangling of bracelets.

  Amelia looked back, alarmed, sure that the golems would hear the discordant noise of spell-casting. But they were gone. The long, narrow corridor had been replaced by a dead end.

  “There,” said Meg, coming back into view. “Two can play at that game.”

  “What?”

  “You noticed it earlier, didn’t you? This place keeps jerking about and twisting back on itself. You could have said as much, instead of letting me wander around in circles.”

  Amelia mumbled an apology. She hadn’t been sure. There was no denying it now though, as she looked again at the sudden dead end. She touched the wall hesitantly – the stone cool and smooth under her palm. A bas relief carving of a dragon tying itself in knots decorated the end of the corridor, and she ran her fingertips over the knobbliness of it. No illusions here. “It only does it when you’re not looking,” she said, suddenly feeling very cramped, down in the torchlit gloom underground. The temple felt like a living thing, irritated by the presence of intruders. She took a deep breath, trying to think calmly and rationally. Or at least, as rationally as magic would allow. She hadn’t seen the exit so far, in all their lost and panicked running around.

  Meg noticed her distress. “You need to stop doubting yourself, Amelia, for all our sakes. You’re no fool, you’re just inexperienced. Somebody’s set it up so that whichever path
we take turns us away from the crown room, but I think I can sort out this mess, now that I see what’s going on.”

  Every corner, every staircase, every frieze and statuette had grown to look terribly familiar, and as they pressed on, Amelia realised the temple couldn’t really be that big. She’d already walked every square foot of it… almost. Over the doorway at the end of this corridor was a carving she didn’t recognise: a woman’s face, pretty but for her odd expression of simpering constipation. Her long hair flowed out in stylised curls from beneath the elegant crown she wore. Amelia’s chest constricted, her breath coming rapid, shallow and almost painful. Her face grew hot and her limbs weak. Oh dear. Oh dear. This must be it: the crown room… The door was ajar, voices coming from within. Meg and Amelia exchanged looks of panic, and stood listening.

  “I don’t care,” a man was saying. “Just keep them out of the way for another hour or two while Master sorts out the young madam.”

  “An hour or two?” The second voice cracked, gave a disbelieving laugh that turned to pained coughing. “I’m telling you, they know. They know the spells I’m trying to put in place here, and they’re fighting –”

  “Try harder, then.”

  “I’m giving it my all, Mister Breaker –”

  “That’s Commander Breaker to you.”

  Meg tiptoed to the half-open door, fading from view even as she beckoned Amelia to follow suit. A hand reached out of nothingness and took Amelia’s. Warm flesh and cool rings. It squeezed reassuringly, and pulled. Amelia held her breath to get through the doorway without giving herself away.

  It didn’t look much like a crown room. It didn’t look much of anything. The only hope it offered was in the form of an archway not unlike the one that had led them into the gardens in the first place – walled off now, but awaiting the right moment. In front of the archway, a very elderly man knelt on the floor with some sort of stylus in his hand, and his long white beard brushing the floor. He had on a set of rings something like the ones she and Meg wore, with many jewels that flashed constantly in the torchlight as he scratched feebly at the stone of the floor, his hands shaking badly. He must be the Archmage the golems had mentioned. The man lounging idly against the wall close by was dressed a little like the guardsmen she’d seen in Ilamira, and must be the Commander.

  “You’re asking too much,” the old man whined, close to tears, probably close to a temper tantrum. “I’m seven hundred and ninety-three, you know.”

  “Well do your scribblings faster, if you want to get to seven hundred and ninety-four.”

  “I can’t! I can’t do it right, not with you breathing down my neck and snapping at me!”

  Amelia couldn’t help but feel sorry for the old man, even though she realised that he must be the reason she and Meg had been running in circles for the past hour. She forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. They’d have to get past the two men, and the best way would be to stay invisible and sneak past very, very quietly. But what then? What if the next walled doorway didn’t open until the next phase of the moon? What if she was wrong and it wasn’t a magical doorway at all, but just an ordinary wall with a bit of decorative carving?

  What else? Wait for the two men to go away? Not her best bet. Fight them? Archmage or not, she hated the thought of fighting a poor old man who shook with fear and age. Besides, she didn’t know what magic he had. If Meg had to fight the Archmage, could she overpower the Commander? A pike-type weapon leant in the corner, out of easy reach of anyone, but she soon saw that he had a short sword at his side too…

  The old man raised his head, shaking all the more as he stared almost directly at Amelia. “Somebody’s here!” he cried, his watery eyes seeking her like a blind man’s. “Look what you’ve made me do!”

  “What?” Commander Breaker looked, trying to follow the old Archmage’s line of sight. His hawkish gaze swept right through Amelia. “What are you talking about, you ridiculous old fart? Nobody’s here but me and you.”

  “The enemy!” the old man wailed, “I couldn’t write the spell properly with you harassing me like that, and they got through – they’re here!” He raised an arm to point, the damning line of his forefinger shaking all over the place. “Invisible, but they’re right there!”

  “Is that so?” The Commander grinned, showing teeth more suited to some deep sea horror than to a man.

  “Oh, to hell with it,” said Meg, appearing out of thin air. “You: be quiet,” she gestured in the direction of the old man, who clapped his hands to his mouth in dismay, having being caught unawares by her spell. “And you: stay right where you are,” she warned the Commander, flicking her fingers almost casually in the direction of his boots. He made a lunge towards her and almost fell flat on his face, his feet stuck firmly to the floor. With a growl, he recovered his balance, staring in consternation at his uncooperative feet.

  Meanwhile, Amelia grabbed the pike from the corner, more to keep it safely out of the Commander’s hands than with any thought of using it herself. She circled widely round him to get to the walled up doorway. Even as she approached it, the barrier melted away like ice before flames, but Amelia hesitated. The way ahead led into darkness so thick she couldn’t see a thing beyond the doorway. She conjured a light spell, but it still didn’t penetrate the darkness more than a few inches, and she was too afraid to go on alone. “Meg?” As she looked across the room, she saw a small dark figure lurking just at the threshold of the door by which they had entered. The Black Queen had caught up with them. “Meg!”

  “Just a minute, dear.” The witch crouched face to face with the silenced Archmage, eyeing him warily. “I shouldn’t have been able to do that to a mage of your standing. Exhausted your power, has he? Your Master?”

  The Archmage nodded.

  “That must have taken some doing. Yes, I bet it did…”

  Amelia worried she knew what was coming next. “Meg, don’t. I really don’t think he’ll tell you what you want to know, and I’m afraid the first thing out of his mouth will be some spell against you.” On the opposite side of the room, the Black Queen kept to the shadows, assessing the situation.

  “If he wanted to, and he still had the strength, he’d have used his rings by now,” said Meg. “I want to know who he’s working for.”

  “I’ll never tell you!” shouted Commander Breaker, still struggling with his feet.

  “And that’s why I’m not asking you, sunshine.” Meg returned her attention to the Archmage. “So, if I give you your voice back, will you tell me who your Master is, and what he’s been having you do that’s left you so weak?”

  Amelia could see the sly look in the ancient Archmage’s eyes from clear across the room. “Meg, please, don’t…” She didn’t know what the Archmage had in mind, and didn’t want to find out. But he nodded, and Meg snapped her fingers once.

  “Thank you ever so much, kind lady,” said the old man, his eyes glittering fiendishly. “Of course, as an Archmage, you must know that no man is truly my master. However, the one that brute over there calls Master is the Prince Archalthus. I must warn you though, Prince Archalthus has been in a terrible mood ever since we got here,” and he gave her a mocking conspiratorial wink.

  Commander Breaker swore, sat down, and began to untie his bootlaces in the greatest hurry.

  “Archalthus?” said Meg.

  The Commander yanked furiously at the knots in his laces. “Don’t say his name!” he screamed.

  But it was too late. A great boom shook the walls of the temple, and a wave of heat hit Amelia’s face. Massive looping coils of red-gold filled the room, gleaming and hot. The sinuous ever-changing curves of shining armoured scales threw Meg and the old Archmage aside like straw dolls, and a low rumbling grew to a definite growl as the creature turned its head to find Amelia standing there in shock.

  “Who has spoken my name, and for what reason?” the dragon snarled.

  26: THE WHITE QUEEN

  The pike slipped from Amelia’s
hands and clattered on the stone floor. A dragon? This was more Sir Percival’s business, surely. If only he hadn’t vanished, lost in the ever-shifting labyrinth of the jade temple.

  Meg seemed to agree. “Perce, you damn fool, where are you?”

  “Meg, do something!”

  But Meg shook her head. “I daren’t use magic on him!”

  Heart racing painfully, Amelia seized the pike again, gripping it tightly with both hands, and levelled it at the dragon.

  Its round gold eyes blazed with fury and it sneered at her, showing white fangs as long as steak knives. “Who are you?” it demanded.

  She looked it dead in the eye and – feeling not at all like Amelia Lamb – she told it. “I’m the White Queen.”

  The dragon hissed and reared back like a snake about to strike. With not a fraction of a second to think of right or wrong, Amelia dodged, jamming the pike into the dragon’s side. The dragon thrashed in pain, yanking the pike from Amelia’s hands, its writhing coils knocking her off her feet. She cowered with her arms over her head, pressing herself into a corner. She heard men shouting, and the dragon screamed, deafening.

  When someone grabbed her arms and pulled her to her feet, she screamed too; thin and shrill, but then above the noise and confusion, she recognised Harold’s voice. She opened her eyes to see him white-faced and his shirt blood-stained. Stupid’s golden cage dangled from his fist, the fire sprite fizzing incandescent purple.

  The dragon quietened, huffing steam as it circled awkwardly in the room too small for it. Hot blood dripped from its underside and splashed steaming on the floor. Sir Percival’s armour clanked as he prepared to defend himself again with sword and shield. But before the knight could strike again, the dragon collapsed in on itself like a paper marionette folding in steam. Silence fell. Everyone had been pushed aside by the dragon’s great bulk, so that with it gone they lined the room, staring at each other, nobody sure what would happen next.