But the sound of dripping water from behind stopped her before she reached the cliff. Her heart rose to her throat as she saw, rising up from the mouth of the river, the shadowy figure of Lanngorm. She appeared to be standing on the water’s surface, taller than a warhorse, moonlight edging the tops of her scaly arms and the edges of her mane of river weeds and kelp which swirled through the air, growing longer. Her expression was unreadable in the darkness but Kaetha felt the malice she exuded as if an icy cloak had been draped around her.
Cold fingers snaked around her neck, squeezing firm, but before she could reach for them, Lanngorm’s river weed rope snatched hold of her wrists and ankles.
“I saw it in the water,” Lanngorm hissed.
“Saw what?” Kaetha croaked. Donnan tried to free her from her bonds but a thick blade of kelp-like rope whipped at him, sending him flying. He seemed winded but he staggered back to his feet.
“You have powers you should not have. It would anger the Daughter of the Stars should she hear of it, should she see the destruction those powers will cause. I have seen it. I will not let it happen.”
THIRTY FOUR
The Dungeons
Water was up to her knees and Lanngorm was dragging her deeper, even though Donnan and Tam had their arms around her, attempting to pull her back.
“Let go. Both of you, let go!” she yelled. “I mean it!” However, they only let go when her skin grew too hot for them to touch. Her Fire magic erupted, singing across the surface of her skin. Lanngorm hissed, releasing her, drawing back singed ribbons of river weeds and trailing the smell of smoke through the air.
“I only mean to use the powers for good,” said Kaetha, “but I will do what I must to protect myself and those I love.” She sent a blast of flame which had Lanngorm diving into the water. “Right. Let’s go.”
She led them up the cliff face. Several times, the wind crashed so hard against her that she had to hug close to the rock and wait for it to die down. Her arms ached and her hands were raw when she finally reached the top.
“We’ve avoided the lower defences,” she whispered. “Just this mound to climb and I think we’ll be in the section between the two great walls. The forge, barracks and stables will be on our left and the inner wall on our right, complete with watchmen above and dry moat below, with pikes set in it if Alistair’s tapestry was accurate.”
“Pikes. That’s comforting,” muttered Donnan.
“Just don’t fall in,” she said. “We’re looking for a tunnel in the hillside, like a narrow cave I should think. Steps lead down to a locked gate.”
“A locked gate,” Donnan repeated. “And that doesn’t strike you as a problem?”
“I’ve just built steps up a cliff face. Of course a locked door’s not going to be a problem.” She took the rope she’d been carrying, knotted one end of it and pushed it into a boulder. The rock appeared to swallow the knotted bundle whole. She tugged the length of rope firmly, satisfied that it wasn’t budging. “Good,” she said, flinging the length of it so that it hung beside her carved steps. “That should make climbing down safer.”
As they ascended the mound, she froze at the sound of scraping metal. A fire was burning in the forge, a strip of amber light cutting through the shutters. No guard. No drawn sword. Just a blacksmith at his work, she told herself, hoping that few others were up so late. Clouds rolled by, uncovering the face of the moon. Silver light sliced along the spikes in the dry moat and, glancing up to the parapet above the gatehouse on their right, she caught a blink of silver. A helmet. She pulled up Donnan’s hood.
She led them across the hillside, scanning the ground for signs of a tunnel. It felt like she was walking through MacWallace’s tapestry. Just where she expected, she reached a mound and, skirting around it, saw a hole in the side of it, like a gaping mouth, only distinguishable for the blackness within it that was even darker than the night outside.
Grabbing Donnan and Tam, she steered them down to the steps.
“Who’s there?” came the voice of a young man behind them. A jolt snapped through her.
Boots brushed against grass. The figure came closer. “Who’s there?” he repeated and, this time, Kaetha was struck by the familiarity of his voice.
“Archie?” she said. What was he doing here?
“Do I know you?”
“Archie, listen. You didn’t find me here, understand?” She sensed Tam moving beside her, shrinking down into the shape of a small animal.
“Kaetha?” There was the sound of something clattering to the ground. “It can’t be,” Archie breathed.
“Please, just go,” she said. The Earth stone thrummed so gently, she almost didn’t notice it. Her instinct told her that others were nearby. “You don’t know I’m here,” she whispered.
“But why are you—?”
“Talking to yourself, Pot-wash lad?” Two men approached with heavy steps.
Too late to go back, thought Kaetha and she gripped Donnan’s arm, keeping hold of him as they crept down the short flight of steps. Her hands found the cold, iron bars and she felt for the lock.
“Evening lads,” said Archie. “Hey,” nerves caught the edge of his voice, “Where are you going?” he affected a friendly tone but Kaetha thought it sounded too panicked.
“He’s on dungeons. I’m on gatehouse,” said one of them.
“Before you go,” said Archie, “I was wondering, how would a person go about becoming a guard?”
The other guard laughed, a sound that was sickeningly familiar to Kaetha. “Face it, Skelpt-Arse, you’re not tough enough. You’re only fit for lass’s
