“So they all overdosed?”
“You might say they got a bad batch,” said Pasqual. He grinned, flashing his fangs.
“You mean you killed—”
Pasqual cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Let’s not dwell on the particulars of who killed whom.”
“When does the undertaker arrive?” Bael interjected.
“Should be here any minute,” said Pasqual.
As they waited, the corpses did not get any less rotten. It took all of Ursula’s willpower not to hurl.
At last, a knock sounded on the wooden doors, and Pasqual pulled them open. A gaunt man with a face like a mummified dog stared at them, gripping a long pitchfork. Behind him stood an open-topped wooden cart.
“Good to see you, Victor,” said Pasqual.
Victor just stared.
Seems like a fun bloke.
“I have some bodies for you,” said Pasqual. “Also, my friends would like a ride to the Necropolis.”
Victor nodded slowly, his eyes shining and mournful. He didn’t blink once.
“Excellent,” said Pasqual. He stepped out onto the cobbled street, and quickly looked in both directions. He gestured for Ursula and Bael to follow him out. “Hurry, hurry.” He pointed to the cart.
They hopped in the back, ducking down so they couldn’t be seen.
“Bael,” Ursula whispered. “If someone looks in, they’ll see us.”
The undertaker appeared in front of them. On the end of his pitchfork, he’d skewered a body. Ursula gagged. With a single motion he tossed it in front of them, and Ursula held her breath, trying to tune out her disgust while bodies filled the cart.
The undertaker climbed onto a seat in front of them. Without speaking, he handed them a wool blanket. Bael pulled it over them, and gently pushed Ursula down. Through the blanket and the pile of bodies, Ursula heard the undertaker slap the reins on his horse, and the cart began bumping over the cobbles.
After a few blocks, a shout pierced the quiet. “Who goes there?”
The cart slowed to a stop, and she felt Bael stiffen next to her.
“It’s a patrol,” whispered Bael. “Close your eyes and don’t move.”
Ursula lay perfectly still. Outside of the cart, horse hooves clopped over the pavement, and the sound of male voices floated above them. King Midac’s soldiers.
“You know there’s a curfew?” said one of the men.
If the undertaker responded, Ursula didn’t hear it.
“It’s the undertaker,” said another. “Do we really want him out during the day?”
Hooves echoed off the cobblestones, moving around the cart as one of the horses circled.
“Carry on,” said the first voice.
The cart lurched forward, and one of the bodies flopped into her. She clenched her jaw tightly, then clamped her eyes shut as they bumped along the street. With each bump over the cobbles, she felt a dull throb in her shoulder where she’d been stabbed.
They traveled through the city for what must have been at least an hour. Fortunately, no more patrols intercepted them. A faint breeze picked up, giving Ursula some breaths of fresh air, even in the corpse wagon. Throughout the journey, she kept her eyes shut, focusing instead on the warmth of Bael where he lay next to her. Once again, her thoughts drifted back to the beautiful, sun-scorched fields of Byblos where Bael had once lived.
She nearly jumped when he gently nudged her. “I think we’ve arrived.”
When she opened her eyes, a dead man’s face stared back at her, until Bael gently pulled her up out of the corpse wagon. They were still bumping along the road, and she held on to Bael for stability.
“Look,” he said.
In front of them stood an old stone wall. Broken crenellations, like gnarled teeth, lined the top. Victor directed the cart through an iron gate. On the other side, tall monuments of pale stone pierced the thick mist. They stood at odd angles, like broken teeth.
The cart stopped at a low building of gray stone, and the undertaker turned in his seat. He gestured for them to get out, and Ursula was more than happy to comply.
In the fresh air, she sucked in a deep breath and hopped down to a gravel path. Bael followed, and the undertaker slapped his reins. The cart rolled off into the fog, leaving them completely alone.
Ursula loosed a long sigh. “That may have been the most disgusting experience of my life. So glad I could spend it with you.”
A faint smile. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah.” The fog seemed to thicken in the air around them. “Any idea where we’re heading?”
Bael pointed to a knoll in the distance, where a tower loomed above the hill. “That’s the White Tower.” He started into the mist, his footsteps crunching over the gravel path until he turned off into the grass.
Dressed in a simple woolen skirt, button-down shirt, and shawl, Ursula followed Bael between the gravestones and obelisks. Ursula’s clothes grew damp in the thick mist, and she pulled her cloak tighter around her.
Eventually they ran into another gravel path, and Bael picked up the pace until they reached the base of the hill. As they climbed it, Ursula wished she’d brought a sword instead of the small dagger Pasqual had given her. She was good with a sword—a dagger might not get her very far. What if it was some kind of trap?
The White Tower stood in a small clearing of oaks at the top of the hill, built of pale marble with only narrow windows interrupting the stone. Cautiously, they encircled the monument, searching the shadows for signs of their mysterious “friend.” A door was inset into the stone tower, but no one seemed to be lurking around the place.
“Do you think he’s already here?” Ursula whispered.
“There’s only one way to find out.” Before Ursula could respond, Bael charged at full speed into the tower door. He slammed through it, wood splintering around him.
So much for the stealth approach.
Taking a deep breath, she rushed in after him. Already, Bael seemed to have disappeared into the tower, and she stood alone on a marble floor. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she made out a marble staircase that curved upward.
Drawing out her dagger, she began to climb the curving stairwell, winding her way up the interior of the tower. The arrow slits illuminated brief portions of the stairs, but for the most part she was hidden in shadows. Of course Bael had to rush ahead on his own.
As she neared the top, more silver light began to filter in from an open doorway that she thought led to the roof. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of the dagger. From her position in the stairwell, she had no way of knowing who or what was on the roof.
Keeping as low as she could, she peeked out.
The first thing she saw was Bael’s body lying on the stone only a few feet from her. As she stepped out onto the tower’s balcony—about to kneel down next to Bael, a metallic clicking sound stopped her. From behind, something hard and cold pressed into the back of her head. Not good.
“If you move, you die,” said a man’s voice. Gruff and cold as the night itself.
Bloody hell. Ursula remained still, but the muzzle of the gun pressed against the base of her skull.
“Drop the blade.”
Ursula let go of the dagger. It struck the tower stairs, then spun off into the darkness below.
Ursula stared at Bael’s prone body on the stone balcony, and panic clawed at her chest. “What did you do to him?”
The man didn’t answer, instead pushing the gun harder into the base of her skull. His intent was clear—leave the relative safety of the stairs.
Slowly, she climbed onto the roof of the tower. A pair of glowing manacles lay on the stone.
“Cuff yourself.” He pushed the barrel of the gun harder into the back of her skull.
She knelt and clasped her wrists together. The man pushed her forward, toward the edge of the tower, and her gaze flicked to Bael. He lay face down, and the sight of glowing manacles on his wrists eased some of the panic in her c
hest. If he’d been cuffed, he was still alive. A rope had been tied around his feet, and white cloth was wrapped around the back of his head. He didn’t move as she passed.
The man directed her forward, until she reached the crenellations that ringed the tower’s edge. Her muscles tightened. What does he want from me?
“Don’t move, or I will have to pull the trigger,” said the man. He pulled the muzzle of the gun from the back of her head.
Ursula stood as still as she could. Far below her, the gravestones rose from the mist like the stumps of an ancient, petrified forest. In the distance, the gray slate roofs of Mount Acidale pierced the fog beside the broken towers of Calidore Castle. A cold wind nipped at her, and she shivered.
From the opposite side of the tower roof, the man spoke. “Now. Turn around slowly.”
Chapter 21
Ursula turned to survey her assailant. Dressed in a soldier’s uniform, he was older than she expected, his hair a shock of white in the darkness. One of his arms was missing, but with his other hand, he pointed a pistol at Ursula. Narrowing his eyes, he moved closer to her, staring at her face as though trying to memorize it.
After a moment, his eyes widened, and his jaw dropped slightly.
“It’s really you…” said the soldier, sounding stunned. “I’m sorry, but I had to be sure it was you.” He lowered the gun.
Fury rippled through Ursula’s mind. Might as well gain the upper hand while I can. She charged across the tower and slammed her left side into the soldier’s chest, pain splintering her own shoulder. His pistol flew over the side of the tower, and he fell hard on the marble. He stared up at her, stunned. Her hands were still manacled, but she pressed them to his throat anyway and began to channel fire into her palms.
The soldier gasped. “Gods below, Ursula. What are you doing?”
“I want you to answer some of my questions. Starting with—who the hell are you?”
He stared at her. “You don’t know?”
Ursula continued to let the fire simmer in her veins as she studied the man’s face more carefully. He looked about sixty, with a long, white scar that bisected his left cheek. Still, he might have been handsome once, with a strong jaw and blue eyes. There was something familiar about those eyes.
She gasped, realization dawning. They were the same deep blue as her own eyes.
“How did you know my name?” She couldn’t keep the tremble out of her voice.
“I’ve known your name for as long as you’ve been alive, Ursula Anne Thurlow. Please stop trying to burn me.”
Ursula’s mind whirled. He had her eyes. He knew her name. He’d just said her full name, in fact. A name she hadn’t remembered.
She blurted the only thing that came into her mind. “What was with the gun bollocks?”
The man sighed. “I just had to be sure it was you. I thought you were dead. I’m your grandfather, Ursula.” He looked at the fire licking about her fingers, then he ran his fingers through the flames. “Your fire doesn’t hurt me. It runs in my veins as well. I pledged myself to Emerazel, too.”
Ursula fell back on her haunches. “Are you my mother’s father?”
“Yes.”
She swallowed hard. “Then you managed to survive even after she committed treason.”
Her grandfather laughed, but there was no joy in it. “I’m a tough old codger.”
He slowly crawled to his feet. His collar was scorched at the edges, but he was otherwise unharmed, the skin of his neck unblemished.
Ursula stood, and a million questions flowed through her mind. What had happened to her mother and the rest of her family? Why hadn’t he looked for her? Okay, Ursula. One question at a time.
She swallowed hard, staring at him. “How did you find me?”
“I’m the head of King Midac’s guards. I was there when Lucius told the king that he’d been attacked by a demon and a woman who fit your description. Fortunately, the king’s spies report directly to me. I was the first to learn your whereabouts.” He paused to look at her, concern showing on his face. “But here’s what I don’t understand. You don’t seem to recognize me at all.”
“I have no memories of my childhood. When I was fifteen, I turned up in London with complete amnesia. Nothing but a scrap of paper with my name on it, and a warning about turning eighteen.”
Her grandfather stepped toward her. He limped, but it was his expression that unnerved her, sadness shining in his blue eyes. “You’ve been in London all these years? I thought you were dead. Hard to believe it’s really you here.”
“I was in London. No idea how I got there. They found me in the smoking rubble of St. Ethelburga’s Church.”
Her grandfather nodded. “There was a sigil there. It stopped working. Was the church completely burned?”
“There was nothing left after I arrived.”
“Why can’t you remember anything?”
She shook her head. “I have no idea. I thought you might.”
“Then you don’t know about your mother?” he asked softly.
“I know she died.”
Her grandfather nodded without looking at her. “My daughter did a terrible thing. I believe she deserved her fate.” When he looked back at her, his eyes shone with tears. “What happened after you arrived in London? How did you find your way back here?”
“On my eighteenth birthday, Emerazel sent a hellhound for me. I’ve been working for her ever since. I was supposed to collect souls, but I had a bit of a detour in the Shadow Realm, and I got caught up in an incubus’s plan to overthrow the god of night. You know how it goes.” She folded her arms. “How is it that you came to have Emerazel’s fire? Isn’t it outlawed here?”
The old man sighed. “Before your mother died, King Midac had a magical dagger that allowed him to carve people with Emerazel’s sigil. He used it to build a great army.” His eyes seemed to burn into Bael. “When Nyxobas learned of what Midac was doing, he sent his demons to attack—”
Something shifted behind Ursula and she spun. Bael had rolled onto his side, and he glared at them. Her grandfather had wrapped the white cloth around Bael’s mouth as a gag.
Her grandfather spoke gruffly. “Do you want the honor of killing this shadow-creeper? I can’t imagine what the demon did to you while you were his captive.”
Ursula blinked in surprise. “He made me soup, for one thing. I’m not his captive.”
“You are aware of what he is?” Ursula could sense confusion in her grandfather’s voice.
“I am. He’s a friend. He saved me in the Shadow Realm.” Probably best to leave out the whole engagement bit.
Her grandfather’s brow furrowed. “So he didn’t kidnap you?”
“No. He’s helping me.” Ursula suddenly remembered what her grandfather had said about being the head of the king’s guard. “We’re trying to steal Excalibur from Lucius, the Drake. We think the Darkling has arisen, and only Excalibur can defeat him.”
Her grandfather’s expression was indecipherable. “Do you really believe the prophecy is being fulfilled?”
Ursula nodded. “Have you heard of Abrax?”
Her grandfather nodded. “He and this one”—he pointed to Bael—“led the assault on Mount Acidale.”
Ursula sucked in a deep breath. “We’re pretty sure he’s the Darkling. He’s trying to overthrow the gods. He says he wants to free mankind, but honestly, he just wants to rule them. He’s got a bit of an ego problem.”
Her grandfather shook his head. “Even if that’s so, it would be impossible to take Excalibur from Lucius now. He’s shifted into his dragon form. The blade is part of his body.”
“The prophecy says, Darkling, remember. Will you ring death knells for Mount Acidale, kingdom of fire? If we don’t stop Abrax now, he will destroy the Shadow Realm, and then he will attack Mount Acidale.”
Ursula’s grandfather thought for a long moment, stroking his chin. “Well, there is one possible way—”
From the ground, Bael sl
owly rose to his feet, clearing his throat loudly, but Ursula ignored him.
She held her grandfather’s gaze. “Tell me how I can defeat Lucius. I’ve been told no one’s ever defeated him.”
“That’s not entirely true. The White Dragon defeated him.”
Hope rose in Ursula’s chest. “And how do I find the White Dragon?”
Her grandfather shook his head. “She hasn’t been seen in millennia.”
“Is she dead?”
“I don’t think so. Dragons are immortal as long as they aren’t killed by man. No one has claimed to have killed her.”
“So where do I find her?”
“That’s the problem,” said her grandfather. “She is believed to live on Mount Acidale itself.”
Ursula glanced at the city’s gray roofs.
“No,” said her grandfather. “Not the city. Hidden behind all these clouds and smog is a great mountain. It’s where the White Dragon is said to dwell.”
“Do you believe the rumors?”
“I don’t know…” said her grandfather. “But people disappear every year. There are tracks, markings in the snow—”
Bael grunted, his pale eyes gleaming in the darkness.
“Maybe I should take off the gag now,” said Ursula.
Her grandfather stepped back, and Ursula crossed behind Bael, reaching all the way up to untie the gag from behind his head.
Bael glared at her grandfather, his eyes pure ice. “The White Dragon is a myth. And even if she were real, she would kill us in an instant should we find her.”
Ursula’s grandfather’s eyes narrowed, and Emerazel’s fire began to dance about his fingers. “The only reason you’re alive right now is because my granddaughter said you were her friend.”
Ursula held up a hand. “It’s already decided. Bael, I’m going to look for the White Dragon.”
Bael cursed under his breath.
Her grandfather raised his hoary eyebrows. “It’s not the worst thing in the world. You’re not safe here. Midac will learn who she is, if he hasn’t already. Once he does, his guards will search every house in the city until he finds her. Go up to the mountain for a few weeks. Let things cool off down here, and then you’ll be able to leave.”
Eternal Magic Page 12