“Are we going to the mines?” Brenna asked. “After we rest?” she added hopefully.
“I need to rest.” Galvin stood shakily. “There are beds in the apprentices’ chambers, where we put the slaves. I’d like to sleep there. I’d feel more comfortable—for a change—with plenty of company around.”
“I’ll join you later,” the centaur said, eyeing the long, circular staircase. “I’ve got some thinking to do first.”
Brenna and Galvin slowly climbed the stairs. Above, in the chamber, they saw that many of the slaves were sleeping. A few groups remained awake, talking in low voices among themselves and examining some of the baubles they had collected.
The hare, mole, and hedgehog rested on a large silk pillow beneath the window.
The druid approached one of the older slaves. “We need to sleep awhile. Wake us in the early afternoon. I have to go into Amruthar to buy horses before the market closes.”
“Horses?” Brenna asked incredulously. “There’s nothing wrong with the ones we have. They’ll certainly be rested enough.”
“We can’t ride dead ones.” Galvin’s tone was terse. “It seems that some of the zombies got hungry last night while we explored the tower.”
The druid selected an unoccupied bed against the far wall, far from the windows, where it was darker. Removing his sword belt, tabard, and chain shirt, he pushed them under the bed, lay down, and made room for Brenna.
The enchantress paused, uncertain of what to do.
The druid stretched and raised his head off the satin-covered pillow. His green eyes gazed up at her. “Brenna … ?”
The young councilwoman eased off her boots and climbed in beside him. He curled about her protectively and held her close about her waist.
“I thought you preferred to sleep on the ground,” she said.
“Shhh,” he replied, nuzzling the back of her neck.
She enjoyed the sensation, but it stopped much too quickly. Already the druid was sound asleep.
Fourteen
The dense fog lay across the land like a heavy gray blanket, its wispy tendrils wrapping themselves tightly around the dead trees, concealing them. Galvin picked his way through the cloaked terrain, one hand extended in front of him. The fog was so thick he could barely see six inches in front of his face. His other hand was firmly wrapped around Brenna’s wrist.
Slowly he inched forward with one foot, discovering a fallen limb and gingerly stepping over it. He knew he couldn’t afford stepping on a branch that would crack and give them away.
The druid was uncertain how long they had been moving away from Maligor’s tower, but he knew they hadn’t covered enough ground to satisfy him. He tried to increase the pace.
His hand met a branch, spooking a horned owl that had been perching on it. The bird hooted loudly as it flew high into the fog, and Galvin’s heart raced.
Behind him, quite nearby, he heard the rustle of bushes and the snap of twigs. It was the sound of their pursuers. The druid considered standing still like a statue and pulling Brenna close to him; those following might pass by harmlessly in the fog. But then he heard their voices. Panicking, he ran, pulling Brenna along behind him.
“Death we will bring you,” hissed a hollow voice. “We will tear the muscles from your bones and wash our bodies in your blood. You will taste sweet death.”
Faster and faster Galvin and Brenna ran, scraping their skin against the coarse bark of fog-concealed trees, nearly stumbling over unseen rocks and fallen branches. The air felt chill, signaling the nearness of the advancing wraiths, but still the druid and enchantress ran on.
“Hurry, Brenna,” Galvin whispered. “We’ve got to make it. We’re almost to the escarpment.”
The fog seemed thinner here as their feet continued to pound over the Thayvian soil. The druid could begin to make out the shapes of trees and bushes and a horse and rider—no, it was Wynter—ahead. He pulled Brenna toward the centaur.
“Galvin!” Wynter shouted at the sight of his friend. “I’ve been looking for you. I’ve been wanting to tear out your weak, mortal heart.”
The druid halted, open-mouthed, in front of his Harper ally. From a distance, the fog had masked the centaur’s undead state. Wynter’s angular face was now skeletal and covered with bits of rotting flesh. Ribs protruded from his equine rear portion, and he reeked of the grave.
Galvin screamed, then immediately awoke to find himself curled about Brenna in a soft bed in Maligor’s tower. The enchantress slept soundly, oblivious to the druid’s nightmare.
The druid withdrew his arm from about Brenna’s waist and rubbed his eyes. He guessed he must have slept eight or more hours, and he was surprised one of the slaves hadn’t awakened him earlier. Reluctantly he left the soft bed, gently moving away from Brenna. He wanted to let her sleep a little while longer.
The slaves—and most of the furnishings—were gone. Galvin surmised that the slaves had looted Maligor’s tower and fled while he slumbered. He pulled his chain armor from under the bed, dressed, and strapped on his sword. Then, carrying his boots in the crook of his right arm, he shoved Szass Tam’s black tabard back under the bed with his bare feet.
Galvin strode to the far side of the room, where he had spied a basin full of water. The bowl was porcelain, and the slaves likely would have taken it, he thought, had it not been so large. The druid bent forward and splashed water on his face and arms, then padded out into the hallway and put on his boots.
Galvin knew he needed to get to the Amruthar market quickly, to purchase the horses for himself and Brenna. Running down the circular stairs, he found Wynter at the bottom.
“I was just coming in to wake you,” the centaur said, grinning broadly. “I’m glad I didn’t have to. I didn’t want to climb all those stairs.”
The druid scrutinized his friend. “How are you feeling?”
Wynter frowned. “I feel terrible. I’m in Thay.” The centaur paused and reached up to scratch the spot on his head where the plant had attacked him. “But at least I’m remembering things. We came to this country on purpose.”
The druid exhaled slowly, relieved that his friend seemed to be returning to normal. “I’m in a hurry, Wyn. I’ve got to get some horses and some food. We’ve got to get going. We can talk later.”
“I’ve already bought horses,” the centaur replied smugly. “I went to the market an hour ago.” The centaur pointed at the large double doors. “They’re outside. And you’d better get out there, too, so the undead don’t eat this pair as they did the others. Oh,” he said, nodding toward the concealed door that lead to the bowels of Maligor’s tower, “I let the skeletons and zombies out. They’re waiting outside. The wraiths might still be down there, though.”
“They’ll find a way to join us after it’s dark.” Galvin turned and sprinted up the stairs to get Brenna.
Several minutes later, the entourage, with Galvin, Wynter, and Brenna at its lead, was gathered outside Maligor’s tower. The horses Wynter purchased were a pair of sorrel mares, healthy, but not of the quality that Szass Tam had provided. The enchantress chose the smaller of the two horses and mounted while Galvin kept an eye on the guards who remained in force along the walls of Amruthar. The druid estimated he saw two hundred perched on the western wall alone, and all seemed armed with longbows.
The druid leapt into the saddle and urged his mount forward. The clinking of bones behind him signaled that the undead were following. He cast a last glance at the city, then faced north toward the verdant Thayvian landscape and the distant hills where the mines were nestled.
When they had put a few miles between themselves and Amruthar, Galvin pulled out the crude map of the mines they had found in Maligor’s tower and rested it against his horse’s neck. Studying it, he guessed it would take at least three days for the slow-moving undead to reach the mines. Replacing the map, he wondered what Maligor would do in those three days.