The Wand & the Sea (9 page)

Everett turned back to Holly, his green eyes so round, they took up most of his face.
Grandor,
he mouthed.

Holly recognized him: the knight who had tried to kill them—more than once. The little group shrank into the shadows of the arcade.

“Sorry, my lord,” came a smaller, squeakier voice. “But it's for—”

“What matter who it's for? He's a prisoner, same as the rest. Do we feed him from the king's table?”

“N-no, my lord, from my own supper only.”

“That be folly, Dart. A squire needs strength. A traitor needs none. Bread is his fare. Now go.”

The group shrank behind the arcade pillars as the knight strode into the courtyard. A chill danced across Holly's shoulders, even where Áedán warmed her skin. The moonlight glinted off Grandor's chain mail and his dark hair. A cruel scar quivered down his cheek; one burly hand twitched against his scabbard. Holly held her breath, willing him to walk away. A moment later his footfalls faded into the shadows.

“That was close,” Ben whispered.

“The lad looks easy enough to deal with,” Bittenbender said. “If he's the only dungeon guard—”

“He's just a squire,” said Everett. “And an all-right bloke at that.”

“He's not even armed,” said Ben. “We're not killing any kids, and for sure not Dart.”

“Ben's right,” Holly whispered. “Nobody hurts him. That's final.”

“So ye're the general now, lass?” Bittenbender said in a low voice.

“She is the Adept,” Jade hissed. “There is no further discussion.”

The Dvergar fell back with his men and they muttered darkly among themselves. “Are you sure we can trust them?” Ben whispered to Holly.

“We don't have a choice,” she said.

For the next few minutes, they crept along in silence, the only truly awful part coming when they had to cross the moonlit courtyard, as Dart had done ahead of them. The entrance to the dungeons lay on the opposite wall.

Between them and the entrance yawned the broad, unyielding face of the keep.

The freestanding monolith in the center of the courtyard housed the great hall, where the royal family hosted everything from banquets to executions. Somewhere underground, passages connected it to the main castle, but from here, it looked completely separate. Though it was long past the hour of feasting, Holly feared its windows were not empty.

“We must proceed as if we belong here,” said Jade. “And not all together.”

They traveled in pairs, crossing the courtyard, then crouching in the keep's shadow while Holly continued to the dungeon entrance on the far side.

Holly kept an eye on the keep, but its windows were dark
. People walk across the courtyard all the time,
she thought.
No one will think anything about it.
And yet, when she and Bittenbender shuffled across the open space, her heart hammered like an overexcited drummer, losing the beat and catching up to it a measure later.

At last she reached the doors to the dungeon. Holly shielded the lock with her body and drew out the wand.
Finally
, she felt it saying, its restless tremble resolving into a clean, strong hum. It twitched in her hand like an anxious horse at the starting gate. She took a deep breath.

“Osclaígí!”
she said in a strong, fierce whisper, touching the wand tip to the lock.

The tumblers turned with a satisfying click, and Holly lifted the crossbar. A trickle of sweat ran down her spine as Áedán shifted position. She stepped inside. The others tiptoed across the courtyard, two at a time, and slipped in behind her.

Jade, winding around her ankles, put a velvety paw against her shin. Holly tried to think of some of the knights' names in case she was stopped. Grandor, of course. There were others. . . . She had met them only the once, when they had taken her before the prince. . . .

Loverian.

His name suddenly came to her, and then his face, which made her smile. He was young, with a strong chin and dark eyes and curling brown hair that brushed his neck. He had tried to speak up on her behalf to the prince, and later he had saved her life, when Grandor had nearly sliced her in two at the Battle of Midsummer.

“Are we standin' round here all night, then?” Bittenbender nudged her with the flat of his dagger. “Let's find the prisoners.”

Everett led them down another corridor to a tightly winding staircase that descended into the dungeon like a long black snake. “We'll break our necks going down there,” said Ben.

“Wait,” Holly said. “I've got a light.” She pulled off her backpack and rummaged in it for the lantern Almaric had given her. At least, she thought he had given her one.

“Ye mighta thought of that afore now,” said Swikehard, and Bittenbender chuckled unpleasantly. Her face grew hot as she threw things aside looking for the lantern. How could she have forgotten it? Wasn't she supposed to be the leader?

A sharp
scratch
came from behind her, and Wiggers held up his own round light. “Will this do, Lady?” he asked. The other two Dvergar sniggered.

Holly thanked him and stepped to the front of the group and started down the steps. It wasn't enough that Ranulf was suffering, maybe
dying
, in his dirty cell somewhere below them, nor that somewhere in the castle, a full garrison of knights was ready to cut them down. No, she had to add being inept into the bargain. She carried a wand she could barely use, hadn't planned ahead, and half her party didn't respect her. She had heard the term
fearless leader
before, and it was not one she could apply to herself.

“We have no leisure for such thoughts,” came Jade's voice, almost inaudible beside her. She didn't know how he had read her mind, but it wasn't the first time.

The lantern threw tall, jumping shadows on the close walls as they descended the stone steps, which continued for several minutes before ending in a dank, holelike space. Everywhere the lantern light shone, the rough-hewn stone walls dripped with damp from some unseen source.

“This passage goes on for a little, then turns a corner to the dungeons,” Everett said. “Then there's an open space with cells that go off in different directions.”

“If yer right,” one of the Dvergar muttered.

As he spoke, they came upon the last turn. A dim light shone around the corner. Holly swallowed hard and beckoned to Bittenbender. “There must be a guard,” she whispered.

“Nae fer long.” The Dvergar slipped back against the wall and into the shadow.

“Don't kill him. Just knock him out.”

“This is our bit,” said the little man, gesturing to his friends. “You do yer own.” With that he rounded the corner.

Holly forced herself to stay still, though she didn't trust the Dvergar to do as she asked; a moment later Wiggers appeared and motioned to her. He led the way to the dungeon cells.

She winced, though they weren't any different from what she'd expected—a length of filthy, cramped spaces, lit only by a single lantern hung on the opposite wall. Off to one side a knight sat slumped, senseless, in a chair. A cold finger of dread touched Holly, but then she saw Swikehard looping great lengths of rope around the chair. He spat on a handkerchief, wadded it up, and stuffed it into the knight's mouth. “Happy now? Takes twice the time to do it this way.” He knocked the knight's chair over for good measure and handed a ring of keys to Bittenbender.

“Find the lads,” said the little man, and he and the other Dvergar spread out.

Holly traveled down an empty length of cells to the center, where she could barely make out a huddled form in the gloom through the bars. “Ranulf?” The smell of the place was horrid, a mixture of waste and sweat and fear and despair. The bundle in the corner only moaned in response. Holly touched the cell door with her wand and muttered,
“Osclaígí.”
The lock clicked and the door swung open.

Holly held up the lantern, and Jade slipped in ahead of her, approaching the centaur. The dim light illuminated the sharp planes of his sunken cheeks and the fresh cuts and bruises on his chest. His breath came in shallow puffs. “Jade, is he all right?”

The cat prodded Ranulf's cheeks gently with his paws, and then did a funny thing she had never seen him do before: He breathed on Ranulf's face in little puffs of air. The centaur stirred at last and opened his eyes.

“Who goes there? What—”

Holly nearly cried hearing his voice, however raspy it was, for it was still deep and carried its Gaelic lilt. His eyes, however dulled, lit up when he saw Jade, and then widened when Holly crouched down next to him. “Lady . . . Lady Holly. You mustn't be here. He is coming for you. You must go. . . .”

“No way. Everett! Help me get him up.”

It took both of the boys and Holly together to help Ranulf to his feet, which was an awkward business because his hooves kept slipping on the stone floor, and no one much wanted to be kicked, even accidentally.

“Can you walk?” Holly asked doubtfully.

“What of the guard, Lady?”

“He's . . . taken care of.”

“Holly, we need to go,” said Everett.

“Ranulf, are these the only cells?” They crept out and peered through the dark down the line.

“Nay, there be another passage beyond—at least two Dvergar prisoners that I know of,” Ranulf said.

“I'll see who else is there,” Everett offered, and took off down the corridor.

A minute or two passed, but there was no sign of Everett or the Dvergar. “I'd better go check on him,” Ben said.

“Ben! Come back here!” Holly whispered fiercely, but he was already gone. Why couldn't the boys stay put for once? They all needed to stick together.

The centaur leaned against the cold stone wall. “Go after him, Lady Holly. I will bide here.”

She didn't like leaving him, but Jade crept ahead of her in the dark and she followed. But before she had reached the corner, her lantern light fell on a huddled form in the last cell.

“Loverian?”

Everett followed the dungeon passage around the corner just as Bittenbender came out of the gloom at the far end with Swikehard and Wiggers. Two other Dvergar clung to them, barely conscious, bruised and asking for water. “We got what we came fer,” Bittenbender said. “Did ye find the Mounted?”

“Ranulf, yes, he's—”

But whatever he'd been about to say vanished from his throat. From behind Bittenbender, a figure emerged, and Everett froze in place, a chilly sweat breaking over his shoulders.

Prince Avery.

The prince hadn't changed much. He would be fourteen now, Everett quickly calculated, but he was still quite skinny and no taller than Everett himself. He wore a simple scarlet tunic with a high collar that brushed his curly blond hair, and leggings with hose. His deep-set blue eyes, which he usually trained in a kind of haughty, I'd-just-as-soon-squash-you-as-a-bug sort of disdain, right now were wide-open circles of utter shock. Even his voice, in his surprise, forgot to sound princely.

“Everett?”

Avery wasn't even looking at the Dvergar, who froze in their tracks for a split second, and then, as if they had anticipated this, sprang into action. Swikehard and Wiggers drew back, melting into the shadows with the men they had freed, and Bittenbender seized Avery from behind, pinning his arms. Everett could tell from Avery's wide eyes that Bittenbender's dagger was probably pressing into his spine.

“Ain't this a pretty prize?” said the Dvergar in a low voice. “Now mayhap we can make some real bargains with the king.”

“What—” Avery started, and then gasped as Bittenbender gripped him tighter.

“Don't hurt him,” Everett cried, then wondered why. What did he care what happened to Avery? He'd betrayed them, pretending to be his friend and Ben's, and then tried to turn them over to the king. They'd all be dead if it hadn't been for Holly and Ranulf. Still, for a minute, seeing Avery look so scared, Everett couldn't help feeling sorry for him and remembering how they had been friends, if only for a short while. But then his anger bubbled up all over again. “I mean, we need him alive.”

“Too right that is.” Bittenbender kicked at Avery's legs, frog-marching him forward.

Suddenly Ben appeared around the corner. “What's going on? Did you find the—
wow
.” He stood almost comically frozen midstride. But then his face bloomed red, and with his sword drawn, he was really quite frightening, even given his size. Avery backed away, stumbling over Bittenbender, who kicked him again.

“I—if you please, may I—”

“Shut it,” Bittenbender said, and jerked his chin at Ben. “Gag him. We're takin' him along. Swikehard, get some rope.”

Everett was surprised how quickly Ben whipped out a handkerchief, his face still grim with that awful expression. “On yer knees,” Bittenbender said, and the prince complied. His eyes were wide and wet, as if he were biting back tears. Ben shoved the handkerchief into his mouth and yanked it around the back of his head, pulling it so tight that Avery winced. But before he'd gotten it tied, Avery bit down hard and head-butted Ben, who sprawled backward, knocking into Swikehard coming forward with the rope. Bittenbender, caught by surprise, loosened his grip, and Avery twisted out of his arms. The dagger flashed, and Avery cried out, but he'd suffered only a shallow scratch across one arm. The prince rolled out of the way, Bittenbender cursed, and Everett ran to help Ben up.