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Isadere’s eyes widened with terror, one hand pointing back toward the vaults.
“Shadows, and a red light beneath it all,” the Heir whispered. “A path my feet would not follow.”
“What are they talking about, Charlie?” Sorasa demanded hotly, coming to stand beside the two. Fear licked at her insides, but she ignored it.
The fallen priest gave a strange look as he searched Isadere’s face. No matter the enmity between Charlie and Isadere, he certainly believed their words, whatever they meant. Sorasa cursed under her breath. The last thing they needed was a bout of religious hysteria.
The Elders looked on in confusion, their faces blank. Until Lady Eyda raised her head, her eyes lifting from Isadere, back toward the passage.
“Do you hear that?” the Elder breathed. Her white hand trailed, reaching for the battle-ax across her shoulders.
The fear in Sorasa’s heart grew, burning like the dragon flames.
“Hear what?” she said softly, only to see the Elders around the room go wide-eyed.
Their focus shifted to something beyond Sorasa’s mortal perception. As they strained to listen, all others fell quiet, until the castle went silent as a tomb. The only sound was the battle far away, and their own heavy breathing.
It was not the quiet that bothered Sorasa, but the looks of terror rippling through the immortal Elders. Even Eyda, a warrior of great renown.
Without thought, Sorasa pulled Corayne close, her grip harsh on the collar of her armor. Andry followed, a wall behind them both.
“Hear what?” Sorasa said again, sharper. Her free hand went to a dagger, while Andry’s sword sang from its sheath.
Across the room, Garion caught her eye, his own rapier dancing free.
But Eyda did not answer. The ax swung in her hand, her face white as milk.
“Dyrian,” she whispered, charging from the room.
Dyrian.Sorasa’s stomach churned.Down in the vaults with the other young ones.
“Wait!” Sorasa screamed, trying to stop the other Elders. They hesitated, torn between following Eyda and protecting Corayne.
Whirling, Sorasa pointed to the scout still waiting at the door. “Send word to the walls,” she barked. “Get help. Something is wrong in this castle.”
The Elder runner disappeared in a swirl of purple leathers, sprinting out into the dying light. Sorasa wanted to follow, to get Corayne out into the open. Suddenly the castle felt like a trap. Already she could feel the walls closing over her, threatening to collapse and bury them all.
Another scream shattered through the halls of Tíarma, reverberating off the marble and stone. The last of the Kovalinn guard charged away, following the sound of Eyda’s wailing.
Sorasa gnashed her teeth, at war with her own instincts. Again she wanted to run. Instead, she dragged them all along, chasing after the Elders who were meant to guard Corayne, and not run off at the first sign of trouble. Charlie and Garion moved too, close at her heels. All they could do was follow, to stay behind the Elders, and stay within their circle of protection.
The Elders only made it a few feet into the next hall before they stopped short. Some yards down the long passage, Eyda stood alone, staring down the steps into the deeper bowels of the castle. Into the spiraling tunnel that was the vaults.
The Lady of Kovalinn remained in silhouette, a shuttered window above her. The last, dark rays of sunshine broke weakly through the gaps in the boards, flashing red against her chain mail. The Elder woman turned to ice, near frozen to the spot.
Sorasa clung to Corayne, holding the girl behind her. Every instinct she ever had, the ones she was born with and the ones the Amhara drilled into her, exploded in Sorasa’s body. They tore at her, screaming, until she could barely hear anything beyond her own body.
It was the smell that hit her first.
Sorasa knew it instantly.
There is nothing like rotting flesh. Nothing like the bodies of the undead.
The first of them lurched, their movements jerky and strange, their limbs dangling on rotting tendons and crumbling bones. Red light illuminated the corpses as they moved, edging them all in scarlet, drenched in old blood.
“Run,” Sorasa hissed, pushing Corayne.
In her heart, Sorasa was already out of the castle, to the stables, shoving Corayne onto a horse, and galloping out of Iona as fast as four hooves would carry them.
