Page 178 of Crown of Darkness
And then there’s the sensation of a sudden looming darkness turning toward me. I give Amaya one last squeeze, and then I tuck myself up small and quiet, severing my link to the lands.
Silence.
Nothing follows me down that link.
But I can almost feel a pair of eyes turning outward from the keep, as if that other entity knows that something’s not right.
I don’t know how long I’ve been gone, but fog blankets the valley.
The walls and towers of the keep are carved from obsidian that’s been strengthened with spell craft, but with the sun no longer shining, it merely looks like a dull black castle now.
“Are we ready?” I ask.
Thiago lowers his hands.
And then he nods.
* * *
We cross the bridge,the other four marching in unison around me. My hands are bound loosely in front of me with rough rope, and the hood of my cape is drawn over my head.
“Halt,” calls a rough voice, and a sentry strides through the gates. “Who are you?”
“Isbarrion of the Wyldwoods, come to rally to Angharad’s banner,” Thiago lies, his helmet obscuring most of his face.
“I’ve not seen you before.”
Thiago stares at him insolently. “I’ve not been here before. We came to make a pledge to our queen, if she’ll have us.”
“Oh, she’ll have you. War’s on the winds.” The sentry grins. “Vengeance is coming to those down south who thought to force us to our knees.”
“I’d like to see that. Do you know where the royal sorcerer is? We were riding for the keep when we caught this one”—he jerks a thumb over his shoulder toward me—“by the lake. Thought she’d make a nice little gift for Isem, considering we’re late. You know he likes them young and pretty.”
The sentry glances at me. “The pet is busy.”
“Careful where you say that,” Thiago growls. “The walls have ears, and I’ve heard it said the sorcerer is always listening.”
Their eyes meet, and maybe there’s enough truth in that to disabuse the sentry of any uncertainty here.
Isem sits at Angharad’s right hand, and I’ve met the pale little weasel several times; enough to know that to the common folk—the warriors in Angharad’s armies—he’s probably not well-liked.
The sentry spits. “They’re in the Well of Tears. His Pastiness gave the order that they weren’t to be disturbed.”
“Guess there’s time for me to have a little fun with my prize,” Thiago leers, grabbing a handful of my backside, “until he’s got time for me.”
A horn suddenly cuts through the mountains behind us just as I try to slap his hand away.
I freeze, my head whipping around.
And then Thiago growls under his breath, still playing at being the guard who’s drawn a shitty duty. “Now what?”
“Trouble,” the sentry says, then curses under his breath. “Looks like none of us are getting any rest tonight. Take her to the dungeons and lock her in. Then you’d best get your ass back to the yard. That horn belongs to Vargas, and he was due to take over the watch at the Hallow.” The sentry steps aside. “Let them in, boys. And send a runner up to the keep to fetch Urivel. Tell him they’re calling for backup out there by the Hallow.”
Thiago tugs on my ropes and jerks me into the keep. The others follow.
“Prize?” I growl.
“They’re a little more primitive here in Angharad’s court. This way,” Thiago says, taking an abrupt left into the heart of the keep. He grabs me by the forearm. “Glare at me as though you want to bite my throat out.”
