Flattening both hands on the slab, she pushed with all her might, but the rock did not budge. Perhaps it required more strength than she possessed to open it.
She stood back, hands on her hips. Or perhaps the animals were trying to tell her something. Putting her weight behind her, she pushed the salmon and then the snake. Nothing. Not willing to give up, she shoved the goose and the bull. Still nothing.
“Open, you bloody wretched thing,” she snapped. With two hands on the boar, she vented her frustration. And it swiveled open. Not enough to let her pass, but enough to coax a euphoric shout from her throat. “Aye!”
Isabail put all her weight behind another push on the boar. The giant slab opened farther, with an accompanying groan of stone, and Isabail stepped inside. The corridor on the other side of the slab was pitch-black, so she ran back and retrieved a torch from the cave.
Much better.
She could now see the floor in front of her, including a decorated pathway of stones leading around a curve in the corridor. Isabail stepped forward.
The harsh rasp of rubbing stones immediately told her something was amiss, and she pivoted... just in time to see the great stone slab swivel back into place and another stone drop from the ceiling to seal it shut.
* * *
Aiden swung his sword with power and precision. He had only one chance to fell this soldier. He could not afford to miss. His blade collided with his opponent’s with bone-rattling force, sending a shower of sparks into the air. The soldier stumbled under the brute power of the attack and took a step back.
It was exactly the opening Aiden had hoped for.
Vaulting from his position on the rope roll, he gave the soldier’s exposed knee a ruthless kick. The man screamed and collapsed. His weapon dropped from his hands as he grabbed his leg. Without pausing, Aiden whipped around and stabbed the other guard in the sword arm.
Both men now disarmed, Aiden pounced on the winch. The furious beat of boots on the steps accompanied every crank of the winch handle. He barely got four turns in before the garrison soldiers reached the top of the stairs. He threw the lock to hold the portcullis in its partially opened state and then leapt for the dark stairs to the third level.
He counted the stairs as he climbed, and when he reached the eighteenth stair, he dove to the left. Crashing through a wooden shutter, he fell out a small window and landed on the slate roof of the stable one story below. The impact temporarily robbed him of breath, but he managed to roll off the roof to the hay piled next to the animal stalls.
The metallic clash of swords told him the rest of the Black Warriors had entered the close through the partially opened portcullis and engaged the soldiers. He pushed to his feet and raced to join them.
Cormac had already taken out several of the archers on the walls, but Aiden played it safe and veered left and right with erratic movements as he closed the gap between himself and his men. The moment they saw him, the Black Warriors began a strategic retreat—they ran for the three-foot opening beneath the iron spikes of the portcullis.
A shout went up from the captain of the garrison. “Drop the portcullis! Quickly.”
Aiden knew it would take only a well-aimed slice of a sharp blade to sever the rope and drop the portcullis to the ground. He ran. He was still ten paces away when he saw an ax swing toward his head from the doorway of the gatehouse.
He parried the ax with his sword but felt the weight of the mighty two-handed blade vibrate up his arm, numbing his fingers. The sword slipped from his grip, flying off into the dark, and his boot slipped in the mud.
Mourning the loss of a good weapon, he recovered his balance and resumed his run for the gate. He could only pray his delay was not costly—if he rolled under the portcullis at the wrong moment and it fell upon him... well, Niall would be forced to wear the mantle of chief.
Aiden sent a prayer skyward and dove for the mud under the gate.
* * *
Isabail bit her lip, trying not to panic. She was trapped in a secret room in the dark of the night, with no one aware of her location. Even if Muirne came in search of her, the maid would never realize she was buried behind a huge rock.
Isabail’s hand massaged her throat.
Breathe, Isabail.Do not assume the worst. Perhaps there is another way out.
Holding the torch aloft, she turned away from the door and faced the tunnel. Several feet along, it changed direction, making it impossible to see what lay ahead. Praying that none of the other tiles in the footpath were about to bring the ceiling down upon her head, she walked forward. Thankfully, the only sounds she heard were the shallow draws of her breath and the soft pad of her boots on the stone floor.
She rounded the corner and entered a small chamber. A sepulcher, it would seem, complete with a large stone burial chest. Atop the chest, a loose bolt of purple silk served as a bed for several silver items.
Isabail stepped closer.
One of the items lying on the silk was a sword. Half as long as the chest and clearly well maintained, the sword gleamed in the torchlight. But it wasn’t the sword that held her attention. The centerpiece of the display was a simple silver band set with the most glorious sapphire Isabail had ever seen. Perfectly cut to catch the light, it glowed with a noticeable fire under the torch.
It was clearly a crown.
One worn by a Pictish king, perhaps?
