"There's a path into the deeper caverns," she breathed softly, hardly able to speak in a less reverential tone. This was one spot where familiarity did not breed casual disregard. "Come, I'll show you."
She led the way across the cave, pointing out the black opening where the cavern descended along the edge of a bottomless sink. Myrddin peered into the hole, down which the roar of water could be heard. "Does the cavern ever flood?"
"Not this high, so far as anyone has ever recorded. Of course, most of what we know about the history of these caves is preserved only in our family's most secret lore and we've lost bits and pieces through untimely deaths, over the centuries. The deeper parts of the cave flood with the seasons, of course, but most of these upper chambers are relatively dry."
"And the monks know nothing of this?" He swept an awed gesture at the glittering beauty of the cave.
"Not a thing," she said cheerfully. "We made certain the cave used for the abbey's cold storage was closed off when the abbey was built. By my ancestors, I might add," she chuckled.
"Is the chapel the only way in?"
"No, there's a passage just beneath the walls of the labyrinth, which opens out at the bottom of the hill."
"Inside one of the forge houses?" he guessed. "It would be the only place you could hide the entrance from the youngsters."
Oh, yes, he was far too clever, was Emrys Myrddin. She had little doubt that, left to his own devices and with no more clue than the existence of the springs, he would have poked and prodded until discovering the way down. She smiled. "Indeed. In a true emergency, of course, we could shelter everyone from the abbey and the village. Which my people have done before, in times of great peril. I wanted to put your mind at ease, before you leave in the morning."
"I only regret I can't stay longer."
"Yes. A pity," she agreed. "I also wanted to show you where we forge our most sacred blades. Artorius' sword, Caliburn, was forged here."
"In the belly of the dragon," Myrddin murmured, glancing at the dragons' teeth stalactites overhead. "How symbolically fitting."
"We put great store by symbolism in my family."
They made a sharp turn where the walls narrowed down to a passage a mere three feet wide, then emerged in the showplace of Covianna's ancestral clan. Myrddin let go a shocked sound.
"It is impressive, isn't it?" she asked smugly.
He simply stared, mouth coming adrift. Before them stretched a black river, into which thundered the cataract from the chamber above. Water spilled out of the ceiling in an endless roar, catching the light of torches she'd carried down and lit earlier, gleaming like a thousand fireflies in the starlight. Ribbons of stone flowed along the edges of the ceiling, looking like so many long, curling strips of bacon hung for smoking. Near the center of the cavern, the river widened out into a black lake some fifty or sixty feet across. In the center of the lake stood a stone island, ringed by glittering white crystalline walls some three quarters of an inch high. On the island stood a forge, its hearth glowing like balefire where she had patiently stoked the coals in preparation for Myrddin's visit.
A column of stone had been cut away to form a standing pedestal on which rested a massive iron anvil. Leather bellows hung above the coals, held in place by iron brackets in a neighboring flowstone column. A path of stepping stones had been laid across the lake, a pathway which would, if previous experience were any indication, soon be underwater, given the amount of rain falling above. At times, the entire island was underwater. Her timing tonight was, as ever, flawless. Her tools stood ready, waiting only her hand and Myrddin's unwitting cooperation.
"I wanted to show you everything," she murmured, slipping her hand into his. "I lit the fires and brought down all the tools I would need to finish forging a dagger blade I'm making just for you. Help me operate the bellows?"
He laughed in open delight. "It would be the greatest honor of my life, dear heart."
She kissed him, then led the way quickly across the stepping stones. She had already poured wine into two silver goblets. A full wineskin stood nearby. "A toast," she smiled, lifting them and handing the drugged goblet to Myrddin. "To victory."
He touched rims with hers, then drank deeply. "Show me what to do."
She sipped, then demonstrated how to operate the bellows. "Yes, that's perfect," she nodded as the coals hissed and flared brilliantly gold in the center.
She lifted a nearly finished dagger, which needed only a final touchup with the hammer before tempering the blade. She used heavy tongs to slide it into the coals, watching the color of the metal with a critical, practiced eye. The moment it was ready, she slid it out, laid it against the anvil, and snatched up the hammer, striking sparks and quickly working up a sweat.
"More wine?" Myrddin asked, gulping the last of his as he pumped the bellows. That was hard work in itself.
She shook her head. "No, I'll not pause a moment until it's done. Pour another for yourself, you can leave the bellows a moment while I hammer."
He drank, then worked the bellows again at her direction, sending gusts of air across the coals. He made a hefty dent in the wineskin as she evened out the blade along its length, working more for show than because the knife needed more shaping. She was nearing the point of completion when the drugged wine began to tell on her victim. He was blinking more often and he lifted his arms with increasing difficulty when directed to operate the bellows. When he started to stagger, nearly going to his knees, Covianna flashed him a bright smile. " 'Tis hard work, operating the bellows. Even young apprentices find it exhausting."
He muttered something into his beard and made an effort to hold onto the big wooden handles. She smiled to herself and waited a bit longer, putting the finishing touches on the weapon of his destruction. It didn't take long. He slid to the ground, blinking in confusion.
"Almost done," she said cheerfully. "All it needs now is the quenching."
Lifting the glowing dagger in her tongs, gripping with the strength she had gained over many years at the forge, Covianna turned and knelt. She smiled down into Myrddin's eyes—and slid the blade deep into the old man's belly.
He screamed, eyes flying wide in shock and pain.
She ruffled his hair. "Poor old fool. Don't you remember the secret of Damascus? You taught it to me, yourself."
The blade hissed and steamed in his wine-laden belly while blood poured across the haft and dripped off the end of the tongs. His mouth worked. One hand came up to grip her arm weakly.
"Why?"
She brushed his cheek with her fingertips. "You should never," she murmured, kissing his mouth softly, "have urged Artorius to murder Marguase. She was my first mentor and a far better alchemist than you could ever hope to be. My poor, gullible little fool." She pulled the blade out and blood gushed from the wound. He collapsed backwards, ashen from blood loss and shock.
"Don't worry, love. You won't be long in dying. Even if you managed to stop the bleeding, the water is rising."
As she spoke, she bound his wrists and ankles, tying him firmly to the base of the nearest flowstone column, dragging him across the stone floor in a long smear of blood. He cried out weakly in pain, unable to do more than shudder. She bound him with his head down, toward the water lapping at the rim of the island, less than six inches below his face.
"It'll be over your head soon," she smiled. "If you're still alive when it reaches your mouth and nose. Oh, before I forget—and just in case you're wondering—this is precisely how I forged Caliburn. Artorius' young cousin was as great a fool as you. Don't worry, darling. Once you're nicely dead, I'll come cut up the pieces and let the Goddess sweep them away, as I did with that little idiot. You deserve no less than he, after all. And who knows? Perhaps I'll give birth to your brat and send it to the afterlife to join you."