The Seventh Daughter Page 5

  Finally, Tania had to look away, as a stony hatred for her sister hardened inside her. She was suddenly aware that the dog smell had become stronger. One of the Morrigan hounds was moving toward them, its great blunt snout to the floor as it snuffled its way across the wooden boards.

  Eden had seen the creature, too. The two of them crawled back into deeper cover under the table. The hound was only a man’s length away now. It lifted its head and sniffed, turning its muzzle from side to side as if trying to capture an elusive scent. Tania kept her eyes on the hound as it took a few ponderous steps closer to their hiding place, its huge paws pounding down in front of them like black pillars. Had Eden been mistaken about their scent being masked by the glamour?

  Every nerve in Tania’s body quivered. To fight was not an option: The hound could easily snap them both up with one bite of its massive jaws. But if they broke cover, did they have any hope of getting back to the hole in the wall before they were run down?

  “Eden?” Tania whispered. “I’m sure it can smell us. What are we going to do?”

  Eden’s long head turned to her and the eyes stared bleakly, hollow with despair. “What do we do? We die, Tania. That is all. We die.”

  The dog was only a few steps away now, its gigantic head almost coming under the table. As its slavering jaws were lowered and its wide nostrils flared the stench of its breath nearly made Tania faint.

  A harsh blare of trumpets rang through the Hall. The dog looked up, distracted by the noise. There was the sound of doors being thrown open. The dog trotted away, its tail wagging. The doors opened wide and a small group of figures strode into the Hall.

  The Sorcerer King turned, opening his arms in welcome. “Gabriel Drake!” he called. “You are most welcome, honored servant. What news of your quest in the Mortal World? What news of the lost Queen and her errant daughters?”

  Tania huddled against the wall, paralyzed with terror. The man she feared more than anyone else, the man to whom she had been betrothed for five hundred years and who had been freed from exile by the King of Lyonesse to pursue her into the Mortal World, had returned to Faerie.

  V

  Gabriel Drake strode up the long Hall with his Gray Knights at his back. Tania saw that the knights still wore dark jewels on bands at their foreheads—the black amber stones that had protected them in the Mortal World. Drake walked proudly with his head held up, but Tania noticed that his right arm was pinned against his body by a crude sling of gray material and that there was blood on his sleeve where Queen Titania had thrust a sword into his flesh.

  The Sorcerer King watched him intently as he approached the dais. Drake knelt—a little stiffly—and bowed his head as he spoke. “My lord.”

  “How fare our fortunes in the Mortal World, Drake of Weir?” asked the Sorcerer King. “Are our enemies dead as I instructed you?”

  “No, my lord.” Drake’s voice trembled as he spoke, and as he looked up at the towering figure of the Sorcerer King, Tania could see the fear in his eyes.

  “Are they captured, then, good my Lord?” There was an ominous edge to the King’s voice now. “Have you brought them to us as helpless chattels to be the subject of our will and judgment?”

  “I fear it is not so, my lord.”

  “Then you have failed us!” The voice hissed like a snake. The King thrust out his arm and although Drake wasn’t touched, he sprawled forward onto the floor as though a huge weight had come crashing onto his back. “Did we not tell you when we sent you hence into the Mortal World that you should not return until your duties to our sovereign person were fulfilled!” raged the King. “And yet you come crawling back to us with tidings of a task unfulfilled and a quarry not found? Damn you to a sleepless death!”

  The Sorcerer King opened his hand and Tania saw a ball of blue flame spinning in his upturned palm. His face contorted with anger, he flung his arm down—but as he did so Rathina threw herself forward, snatching at the King’s arm with both hands, pulling it to one side so that the hurled ball of fire missed Drake and burst like a thunderbolt on the boards beside him.

  The King swung his arm back, striking Rathina a savage blow to the side of her face. She fell backward with a stifled cry. “Do not impose upon our favor, Trechla—traitor-woman,” thundered the Sorcerer King. “You live only by our will.”

  But Rathina’s actions had given Drake time to get to his knees. He glanced at the circle of fire that flickered on the burned boards, then turned to face the King. “Kill me indeed, if it is your will,” he exclaimed. “But in your wisdom, allow me to speak first.” He got heavily to his feet, his good hand cradling his injured arm.

  The Sorcerer King glared down at him for a moment, and Tania saw the anger fade a little from his face. He stepped back and sat in Oberon’s throne. “Speak, then, and mayhap save your life,” he said.

  Drake stepped up to the dais. “Your enemies are powerful and cunning, my lord,” he said, and his voice was as smooth and even as velvet. “I did not engage them in full battle, for I wished for them to lead me to the Queen, so that all could be ensnared and slaughtered. My lord, you told me that the way between the worlds was shut, but they summoned some enchantment to their will. I know not what it was, save that it took the form of a black sword. The Seventh Daughter wielded the sword and cut a path into Faerie. They passed through and the way closed behind them. I tried to open the door again by my Mystic Arts, but it was in vain.”

  He paused, licking his lips, and Tania knew he was watching for a reaction from the silent King. “I gathered the Knights and we rode swift as arrows through the Oriole Glass to bring you these tidings.” His head lifted a little and he looked clear-eyed into the Sorcerer King’s face. Clearly he was encouraged by the silence with which his words were being received. “They entered Faerie in Bonwyn Tyr, my lord. They have been in your Realm for but a brief time. Send out your Knights, and upon my word, the women will be dead within the hour. I wish only one favor: that you do not kill the traitor Edric Chanticleer, who came through with them.” His silver eyes glinted. “I would beg that pleasure for my own, and I promise much sport ere his soul be teased forth!” He spread his arms and bowed his head. “And now, my lord, kill me if that is your will.”

  An expectant hush came over the Hall, pierced only by the groans of the Faerie captives. All eyes were on the King as he sat looking at Drake with his deep, hooded eyes. Tania saw fire flash under the dark brows. A cold, thin smile curled the King’s lips.

  “’Tis well,” he murmured. “The woman and her brats are within our reach at last.” He surged to his feet, his cloak billowing. He pointed to one of the Gray Knights. “Gristane, take three of your most trusted knights and go with all speed to the Royal Library. Mayhap the Queen will go there to retrieve the Soul Books of her family. Burn the library—wood, leather, and paper! If she comes, let her find only ruin!” His hand curled into a fist as he stared around the Hall. “Knights of Lyonesse, go now. Hunt down the Royal Family and put all to the sword. Our favors upon he who brings us the Queen’s severed head!”

  He lifted his arms and shouted words that Tania didn’t understand—harsh words like axes ringing on stone. A black mist formed in front of him, swirling and condensing as the bars of the iron cage had done. Moments later, a half circle of gray swords hung in the air around him, their blades shining dully in the blue torchlight. The King made a sweeping gesture with his arms and the swords glided through the air until they hovered above the Gray Knights that stood at Drake’s back. The other knights shrank back—without the power of black amber to protect them, they were as vulnerable to Isenmort as the Faerie folk.

  “Weapons of Isenmort we give to you!” howled the King. “Use them well to destroy our enemies. And know this: once the woman and her brats are dead, nothing shall stand between us and the mine of Tasha Dhul! And upon that day, all our knights shall bear black amber upon their brows, and nothing in Faerie nor in the Mortal World shall be able to stand before us!”

 
Pandemonium erupted in the Hall as the Gray Knights streamed out, the baying hounds running along with them like a black tide. Now that the King’s attention was turned away from him, Tania noticed that Drake’s expression changed, his face betraying the relief he must be feeling at having survived his master’s anger. Shivering in fear, she turned her eyes away from him and looked to where Rathina had fallen from the Sorcerer King’s blow. She had lifted herself on one elbow, her hungry eyes on Gabriel Drake.

  But Drake seemed completely unaware of her as he bowed to the King and then turned and swept from the Hall. His knights followed close behind, each of them wielding a sword of darkly shining steel.

  “We must go,” Eden hissed at Tania’s side. “We must warn the others before this hell-spawn falls upon them.”

  Tania looked up at the captives in the iron cage. “Can’t we do anything to help them?”

  “No, alas,” Eden said. “We can do nothing.”

  Tania felt sick at heart that they had to leave those poor prisoners to their fate but she knew Eden was right: How could they possibly rescue them from the Sorcerer King? If they attempted it, they would be discovered and killed—and then what of Faerie? She turned away and, trying to block out the sounds of their cries and moans, she went scudding along the floor in her sister’s wake.

  VI

  The transformation back into her human shape was no less shocking to Tania than the change into rat form had been. If anything, it was worse. For some moments after Eden had cast the reversing spell, Tania lay panting on the roof beams, trying hard not to be sick. Her stomach was churning, hot and cold flushes wracked her body, her limbs shook. She watched with bleary eyes as Eden dressed herself.

  “Come, Tania, make haste. Time is against us.”

  Trembling from head to foot, Tania struggled into her clothes in the confined roof space. Gradually the fever left her and she managed to gasp out a single question: “Why did the King tell them to burn the Library? I don’t get it.”

  “He fears the power of the Soul Books,” Eden replied. “He has no understanding of what the books truly are, but he fears them and would have them destroyed rather than risk their falling into the Queen’s hands.”

  “Are they powerful, then? I didn’t know that.”

  “They have power, but not in the way that he thinks. For him power is but a means to an end—a way to conquest and destruction. The books are not weapons; they cannot be used against him.” Eden frowned. “But to destroy them would be an evil deed that would strike at the very heart of Faerie. It would be as if we had never existed.”

  Tania looked at her sister in alarm.

  “Let us be gone,” Eden said. “Death stalks this place.”

  They made their way down from the roof space, always on the alert for Gray Knights as they ran along the upper corridors, heading eastward to the part of the palace where the orchards would afford cover for them to get back to the forest. From a window in a corridor, Tania glanced down into the ravaged gardens. Gray Knights were riding hard through the withered flower beds, heading no doubt for the brown tower with Morrigan hounds following in a black flood. From other windows she saw more knights on horseback, swords in hands as they rode, and they all had the familiar, joyless grins fixed on their faces: the battle-smiles of Lyonesse, a grim mockery of mirth.

  The hunt was up—and the Royal Family was the prey.

  They were halfway down a wide staircase when Eden stopped, her arm coming across Tania’s chest. From the stairwell below them came the sound of booted feet. Without a word they turned and ran back the way they had come. Tania leaned over the banister and saw two Gray Knights on the stairs. Beckoning, Eden led her through a series of interconnected rooms and along a gallery above a broad, high-ceilinged atrium. An ornate oak stairway led down. The floor below them was of red and green tiles, lined with tall candelabra. Light poured in through broken doors under a stone archway.

  Tania recognized the room; those doors led to the gardens. She looked at her sister. “We can get out this way,” she said. “Can you do that glamour thing again? Maybe turn us into birds or something this time?”

  Eden shook her head. “I have not the strength yet for another such enchantment,” she said. “I will need time and rest to summon my powers.” She stiffened suddenly, her hand coming onto Tania’s shoulder, her fingers biting into her flesh.

  “What?” Tania stared around, afraid that Gray Knights were approaching.

  “Zara is close by,” Eden said. “I feel her. She is running. She is full of fear.”

  Tania gasped. “She’s still here? How come?” Edric and Zara were meant to take Sancha back to the forest—they should all be long gone by now.

  “I do not know. She is close. Very close. Come, we must go to her aid.” Eden turned and ran back along the gallery.

  Tania followed her. “What about Edric and Sancha?” she panted as she ran alongside her sister. “Are they still here as well?”

  “Indeed they are,” Eden told her. “Sancha is desperate. Edric fights for his life.”

  Twice they had to backtrack to avoid Gray Knights. Then they came to a long spiral stairway. As they descended Tania heard the patter of feet approaching. Not booted feet this time, but the soft sound of shoes on the stone treads.

  Moments later, Zara appeared on the stairs below them. She stared up with desperate eyes. “Angels of mercy, I have found you!” she said. “Come. There is little time.” She turned and ran back the way she had come. Eden and Tania followed hard on her heels.

  “Sancha and Edric are in the Library,” Zara explained breathlessly. “Gray Knights are upon them.”

  “Why aren’t you in the forest like we agreed?” Tania demanded.

  “Sancha recovered swiftly after we left you,” Zara said. “She said we must go to the Library and take our father’s Soul Book away with us. She said it would hold the secret of his imprisonment.”

  “Indeed it will,” panted Eden. “I had not given thought to the Soul Book. Sancha will be able to read it. The story of our father’s life will lead us to him.”

  “If she has the chance to cast her eyes upon it,” Zara said. “We had only just entered the Library when four knights of Lyonesse fell upon us. I was outside, keeping watch when they came. They had torches with them. I fear they mean to burn all the books. While I fought with one the others entered the Library. I slew the one that remained outside, but the others had barred the door against me and I could not get in. I heard Edric shout that I should seek you out.”

  “How long ago was this?” Tania asked.

  “Not long, though we may yet be too late.”

  “Have no fear,” Eden said. “They live still. I would know if it were otherwise.”

  They reached the corridor that led to the Library without encountering any Gray Knights. The tall doors were shut but there was the smell of burning from beyond them. A sword lay on the floor alongside a guttering torch and crumpled gray garments: boots, a suit of mail, and a broad cloak. Of the knight Zara had slain only a scattering of white ash remained. The Gray Knights of Lyonesse were not alive in any real sense; they were animated only by the will of their Dark Master. When their hearts were pierced, they turned to dust.

  The sisters could hear the sounds of combat from beyond the doors. Tania hurled herself at the wooden panels. She was thrown back, her shoulder throbbing with pain.

  Eden stepped in front of the doors. She raised her arms and pressed her spread-fingered hands over the wood. Her head dropped and Tania heard her speaking soft words. Eden stepped back and shouted a single word of command. The doors burst open, the wooden bar that held them closed splintering into flying fragments. Smoke was billowing through the Library, spiraling up to the glazed dome of the roof. The circular galleries with their carved wood balustrades and shelves laden with thousands upon thousands of books could just be glimpsed through the thick gray fog. One whole side of the Library was already ablaze, the greedy yellow flames swarming up
the ornate stairways and leaping over the galleries. Curled and blackened pages were falling through the smoke, ash white scraps leaping in the heat.

  Smoke caught in Tania’s throat and stung her eyes as she ran into the burning room. She saw Edric fighting with two knights who had backed him against a wall. One hacked at him with a slashing sword while the other sought a way through his defenses with a long spear. The swordsman’s head turned at the sound of the door being blasted open, and Edric lunged with his sword. There was a gust of exploding ash and the knight’s empty clothing collapsed to the floor, his sword ringing on the tiles.

  Tania ran forward, shouting and brandishing her sword. The spearman turned quick as a snake toward her and she almost ran onto his spear-point. Edric’s blade sang through the air and the spear was broken. A following thrust took the knight in the middle of his narrow chest. A burst of white ash foamed where his face had been. The gray mail slumped and the broken spear rattled on the ground.

  “Where is Sancha?” Zara shouted above the roar of the flames.

  “She went up to get the King’s Soul Book,” Edric called. “She may be trapped by the fire.”

  Tania stared up into the smoke. The upper galleries couldn’t be seen now; the fog of the burning surged and rolled against the roof. She threw down her sword and leaped for the winding wooden staircase. “Don’t follow me!” she shouted. “I’ll get her.”

  The heart of the fire was still some way off, but the flames were spreading fast, feeding greedily on the ancient books. Tania tried not to think of all the wisdom and knowledge that was being devoured by those leaping yellow tongues. She began to cough as she pounded up the stairs. She had been to the gallery where the Soul Books were kept and knew it was four flights of stairs up. The smoke wrapped around her like ghostly hands and the stench of burning filled her head, clogging her throat. She coughed, doubling over, clinging to the banister rail. She was almost there.