Page 84 of The Wicked Lies of Habren Faire
“I’ll let you live if you leave me be!”
“You’llletus?” croaks the canary eater.
I swing my blade, but they nimbly dodge it.
He barks out a laugh. “You’ll stay down here with the rest of ’em.”
I rush him, but one of the others seizes my wrist, and the third yanks me off the protective tracks.
I lash his face. He screams gutturally and scampers back.
But vengeance is swift. The canary eater stabs at my skirts with his dagger, slicing through to the unprotected skin of my leg. I cryout and fall. My sword slips from my grip and clatters to the floor just out of reach.
The canary eater climbs atop me and scratches my cheek with clawed hands. The second appears over me, holding a pickaxe, ready to bring it down on my head. I roll away, dislodging the canary eater, catching the other coblyn with my injured leg and hurtling us both onto the tracks.
He fries like the other one, his scream ringing in my ears. The canary eater snarls through feather-filled teeth.
I seize the pickaxe, haul myself up. He makes one last lunge.
With a cry, I bring the point down on his skull.
He falls soundlessly onto the iron rail.
With a dull thud, the pickaxe follows. My sword lies discarded near the wall. The lone survivor is creeping toward it.
I’ve no time to do anything, but it doesn’t matter—the instant he grasps the hilt, he jumps away, burned by the iron. He screams and scurries off, disappearing through some crack too small for me even to see.
26
creiriau
(RELICS)
The lights flicker back on, revealing black veins that pulse along every wall, every turn.
My leg is throbbing and bleeding with each step I take. I have to stop.
Wincing, I ease myself onto a forgotten crate and slowly lift my skirt to reveal stockings stained red.
Biting down hard on my lip, I wiggle off my boots and then the long socks, my leg burning at even the lightest brush of fabric. Luckily, the dagger wound is not too deep, but to my horror I notice that the skin around it is tinged gray. I’m running out of time. How long did it take for the soldier to succumb to Y Lle Tywyll? How long will it take me? Maybe Ceridwen is already lost. I let out a strangled sob; I can’t let my mind go there. I tie one stocking as tight as I can over the gash in my leg. That’ll have to do to stem the bleeding. I need to keep moving; I need to get to Ceridwen.
Bracing myself, I yank my boots back on and push myself up. There’s a ventilation door up ahead, just big enough for me to pass through doubled over. There are hoof marks on the ground, left by the ponies that drag the heaviest drams. Ponies are brought into the tunnels at four years old, and the next time the sun touches their bodies, they aren’t there to feel it. I hope I won’t find any of them down here.
Relief washes over me as I pass the stables—empty—to find a ladder on the wall, leading down.
If I’m looking for the very core of the mine, down is the only way to go.
I ease myself onto the top rungs, wave the light and look down into thick darkness. A colorful metal sign hangs half off the wall, warning the reader to stay away.
I clamber down until I’m level with the next shaft and pause to shine my light into its mouth.
“Elin?” Ceridwen’s false name bounces off the walls.
Elin? Elin? Elin?
No reply. But no creatures rushing to eat me, either.
Down and down the ladder goes, level upon level, until finally I reach the last tunnel.
