'Newt?' asked Tavish as they watched the man ride. 'Are you still here?'
'Of course!' Grinning broadly, the faerie dragon reappeared.
'If you don't, there'll be trouble,' the bard said ominously. 'Where is this 'thing' we have to see?'
'Come on!' Newt darted away. Unfortunately he popped out of sight in his excitement, and they couldn't see where he went.
'Wait! Come back! Newt!' A chorus of cries brought the dragon back into sight, and he finally preceded them across the undulating terrain at a more sedate, and visible, pace.
For several hours, they followed the rolling surface of the highlands at a brisk canter. The rugged crest of the Fairheight Mountains loomed to their right as they traveled northward, so they knew that they remained on the Gnarhelm side of the border that bisected Alaron.
Though the ground dipped wildly to the sides, rising and twisting through a chaotic network of valleys and ridges, Newt led them along a path that kept to the high, yet easily traversed, regions of heather.
Eventually their path-it could not be called a trail, since there was no evidence that anyone had followed this route in the memory of man-took them up a soft domed rise in the land. At the top, they found a smaller hillock in the very center of the grassy, rounded summit.
The dragon finally paused, hovering before a square black hole that indicated a passage into the oddly symmetrical hillock. 'A burial mound,' Tavish said softly. 'And a great one, at that.'
Alicia, too, recognized the earth-covered tomb for what it was. The grassy dome rose perhaps thirty feet into the air and formed a perfect oval shape. The low door was framed by a heavy timber over the opening, though the weight of years had bent the beam gradually downward.
'But a barrows mound of the Ffolk? Here, in this kingdom of the north?' she asked, puzzled and awed. 'And one so huge as I have never seen before!'
'This was not always the territory of the northmen,' Keane reminded her in his best tutorial tone.
'It has been for hundreds of years,' she retorted. 'Since the troubles shortly after the reign of Cymrych Hugh, when the northern raiders in their longships stole half of our lands! And,' she added, driving home her points with a certain sense of pleasure, 'this cannot be the burial tomb of a northman, for their greatest heroes are always buried at sea.'
'Then we know that this is very old, don't we?' her teacher replied, pleased with himself.
'Well, aren't you going inside? It doesn't seem very smart to come all this way and then stand around bickering outside the door.' Newt buzzed about the low doorway, lecturing. 'Of course, I don't know why I should have expected anything else! You haven't exactly demonstrated your brilliance or anything. I mean,
'Let's go,' said the bard, swinging down from her saddle. Alicia saw that her broken harp was slung on her back and that she held Robyn's staff in her left hand, leaving her right free to grasp her dagger or short sword.
The princess herself felt the faint stirrings of misgivings, coupled with awe, as she thought of the place they were about to enter. Through the long centuries of their people, the Ffolk had buried their greatest rulers and most honored and wise citizens in such barrows. Yet never had she seen one so large. The remoteness of the location was also highly unusual.
Nevertheless, it was with the caution of a warrior that she approached the dark entrance. Her slim longs word in her right hand, she took in her left the sturdy, albeit small, shield that her father had given her. Crouching, she peered underneath the sagging timber, seeing a rubble-lined passage that swiftly vanished into utter darkness.
'I get to go first!' Newt cried, diving around her and hovering in the passage. 'Follow me!'
Alicia came next, followed by Keane and then Tavish. Each of them had to stoop to pass beneath the doorframe, though within the tunnel, the two women could stand upright.
'Ouch!' cursed Keane, as he tried to do the same and crunched his scalp against another low support beam.
As soon as they started to move forward, Alicia tripped over an unseen piece of rubble, nearly falling. The footing proved treacherous, with alternating large rocks, slick pavestones, and patches of thick mud.
Newt huffed impatiently but continued to weave back and forth, leading them down the apparently interminable tunnel. None of them made any sound save for the noise of carefully placed footsteps that crunched softly in the dust or gravel.
Abruptly the space around them yawned dark and vast. The light spell seemed to dim. In reality, it was diffused through a much larger chamber. Overhead, massive tree trunks served as beams to support a lofty ceiling. Though mold and rot could be seen on the wood, the beams were all intact and appeared to be sturdy, albeit very ancient.
Columns of great trunks stood along either side of the room. The Ffolk couldn't see into the shadowy niches between the huge posts. The far end of the long, rectangular chamber lay lost in shadow, out of range of the spell.
'Well, here we are!' boasted Newt proudly.
Still silent, the trio of humans advanced slowly while the dragon buzzed in excited circles around them. They approached the shadowy end of the hall, and as the light advanced with them, they began to discern more of its nature.
They saw a great war chariot, gilded around its frame, with huge silver wheels. The skeletons of two gigantic horses stood at its front, still in the traces. The faithful creatures had been buried with their owner, no doubt.
As they moved closer, the light glinted off the facets of many emeralds, diamonds, rubies, and other gems gathered in heaps around the base of the chariot. Somehow, even in this dank chamber, they remained clean and clear, as brilliant as if they had just come from a jeweler's polishing.
The body of the king himself lay upon a high bier of solid gold just beyond the chariot. They came around the vehicle to see the form, still wrapped in the honored silks of his burial robes. A great axe, a longbow, a spear, and the empty scabbard of a sword rested across his chest, seeing him well armed on his journey into the world of death.
'The empty scabbard. .' said Alicia, awestruck, studying the sigils embroidered in golden thread on the ornate sheath. She couldn't read them, but the thing itself seemed of great portent-more for what it didn't contain than what it did. 'A king, but his sword is lost. …'
'Indeed, a great king-the greatest of them all,' agreed Tavish, her voice as hushed as Alicia's.
'Are you certain?' asked Keane of the bard.
But it was the princess who replied. 'Yes-this barrow mound, the place where we now stand, is the tomb of Cymrych Hugh himself!'
Brandon watched in astonishment as the pack of huge, shaggy hounds raced at his men, disrupting the carefully laid ambush. The northmen would fight bravely against any foe they could understand, but there was something unworldly about this bizarre, sudden onrush. Unnerved, several bands of warriors broke from their cover and fled, while others chopped and hacked at the surrounding maelstrom of fangs and stiff-backed hackles.
Snarling and lunging, the dogs ran with their bellies low, their bodies elongated in liquid strides. Thick fur bristled along broad backs, and powerful jaws snapped around the men of Gnarhelm, a more frightening attack in its unnaturalness than any charge of human infantry.
But though they attacked with savage growls and barks, the hounds did not press closely. Several felt the bite of an axe blade or the sting of an arrow, but the dogs seemed content to circle out of reach of the humans' weapons, and their quickness and nimble maneuvering made them difficult targets for Brandon's archers.
Finally, after several minutes, the dogs broke away and vanished into the dips of the rolling highland, disappearing as mysteriously as they had arrived.
'Tempus curse you!' cried the prince of the northmen as those of his men who had fled came shamefacedly back to the band. In truth, he couldn't be terribly angry. This hadn't been the kind of battle for which his men had trained and readied themselves.
'This is an ill-omened march,' growled Knaff the Elder, who had stood beside his prince throughout the
