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She pulled on his hand, making him turn to face her, demanding a reason. The moonlight glinted from his eyes. She saw how worried he was.
"The place this path leads to is not the center. But it is where Veldor and his men will be waiting."
"Veldor?” Of course. She chastised herself for not realizing sooner. He would be here as well. As if their task was not immense enough. A new wave of dread swept over her.
"I believe they will have followed the path. When I came here before, I discovered the path led to the ruins of a town. It seemed as if that was the place, but I could not sense it. I went beyond and found the true battleground. We can go around them, but I need to be sure where they are and I don't want to lead them to you. I need to hide you somewhere until I come back for you."
"Bron, no!” She reached out for him, clinging to his shirt beneath his cloak.
He put his hand against her back reassuringly. “Don't worry. I will not leave you for long. Come and hide, quickly.” Without giving her another chance to refuse him he led again, feeling the way with his staff.
Moonlight filtered through here and there and she noticed that they were beneath the skeleton carcasses of ancient trees. The bare branches looked ghostly against the night sky. She shivered. Ahead of her, Bron was testing ground at the base of one of the trees with his staff.
"Here's a sturdy tree with cover.” Pulling back a web of vines, he revealed a hollow between the roots of the tree, just large enough for her to hide in. “Climb in and I'll cover you over with the vines.” He touched her face and then bent to kiss her mouth. “I will be gone only enough time for you to think upon how many kisses we have shared."
"Bron,” she murmured against his lips, her hands clutching at him. She ran her fingers into his hair. A sound rose in the distance. Thunder, the echo of battle cries. She jolted, turned around, but saw nothing.
"Veldor's presence stirs them; they sense the time is near. Hurry, climb in.” When she moved, he gripped her hand. “Whatever happens, make no sound.” He pushed her toward the hiding place.
She squeezed herself in between the cold, dead roots, quelling a whimper when she felt the earth beneath her feet shifting, loose as it was around the carcass of the tree.
She heard him whisper in the dark. “I will return shortly, my love.” And then he was gone.
Her heart beat into the void. The hiding hole was deathlike, close. It smelt of musty earth and dead things. Above her head where Bron had thrust vines to cover her hiding hole, she could see chinks of moonlight and counted them. Each one represented a relived kiss.
"Hurry back, my love,” she whispered.
* * * *
Bron let the staff lead him, his eyes almost closed. Soon enough he became aware of life, figures gathered around a fire. As he expected, Veldor had taken up residence at the ruined town close to the center of The Strangeling. They had built the fire in front of the largest dwelling, a sprawling manor with a spire reaching into the dark sky. This spire was what he had once believed was the place represented in the elder scrolls. Nearby the shells of other dwellings remained. Deserted, rotting. Dust drifted to the walls of the houses and therein Bron had found his clue when he had visited before. The wayward wind that carried the dust in this direction also carried the howl of the underworld creatures through the atmosphere. It came from the direction of the true spire, the one that took its form in death—and it lay beyond this point.
He moved quickly, creeping through the dead undergrowth. When he got close enough to see, he crouched down next to a wizened tree trunk, taking cover and straining to hear. Veldor was pacing up and down in front of the fire, gesticulating and reasoning with his men. Cale sat on the ground with his head in his hands. Resigna
tion and the scent of fear hung heavy in the air. While Bron watched, two of the men separated off and walked toward his hiding place. He scurried behind the tree and flattened against its trunk.
As they grew closer, they began to whisper in conversation. There was some kind of disagreement between them. One wanted to escape now. The other was too afraid to disobey Veldor. They had sensed Veldor's growing madness. They did not believe what he said any longer and feared for their lives.
Bron smiled wryly to himself. They had seen the truth too late, he feared. However, for their own cause, it meant Veldor's senses might be blocked, courtesy of the disgruntled signals of his men.
If they remained cloaked and silent, they were safe to take a different path and go to the true spire. As soon as the men left and uneasily rejoined their leader, he moved on, skirting the ruins, seeking out the best route.
* * * *
"By the gods’ eyes!” Maerose cursed aloud then clamped her hand over her mouth. Beneath her, the earth had moved. Shifting, it had given way. She swallowed, barely daring to take another breath. A moment later, she felt movement again and her body was shunted inside its hiding place. She grasped the nearest tree root with both hands and strained to hear any sound, praying to the gods that Bron would return.
A burrowing sound reached her from below. As she fathomed its direction, she was shunted again. She dropped down half a man's height, the ground disappearing beneath her feet, her body wedging in between tangled roots as the earth slid all around her. She scrambled, holding on for dear life, her boots sliding against the ground as it moved.
Her cloak ripped at her back, she moved but could not free it. Her body was being tugged down where it was trapped. Against her legs, she felt something hard, moving. The roots of the trees? No, too sinewy. It slithered higher, twining around her right leg, cold and slimy with damp earth as if from far below. A snake? Her hands clutched at the wood, splinters embedding deep in her fingertips. The pain fuelled her to climb away. A second protrusion moved at her back, hard and strong. It settled and then moved against her with force.
Bron. She cried his name in her mind.
A hissing sound surrounded her, voices speaking in tongues. It hit her in that moment—demons. They were here. They had found her. It was hands that reached for her; they were pulling her down into the underworld. Her heart froze. Her leg was wrenched, bodily, from below. She gulped air, clambering away. Something snaked between her thighs, probing at her. She had but a feeble grip on the tree roots and was sure she was about to meet her fate, when a tiny chink of light from above caught her eyes. An arm thrust through the roots, grappling for her.
Bron. Her thudding heartbeat broke its pattern, and she sobbed aloud.
He grabbed her and hauled her out, clutching her to him as he moved away from the spot and onto the path. Coughing on dirt, and gasping for breath, she took solace against his large, warm body, now so familiar to her.
The stone upon his staff gleamed bright, pulsating with life as if a thousand hearts beat there. He clutched her to him, looking her over in the halo of light from the staff, stroking her back.
