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When he didn’t elaborate, I raised my eyebrows. “Is there a gag order on it? Can we not even say its name?”
“It’s advisable not to. Certain names have power, and certain powers can be woken on naming them. We have enough problems on our plate. We do not need to be adding more.”
“The third hoard can’t be too dangerous if its relics were on display at the museum,” Lugh commented.
“They were neither the most powerful nor were they named. Each card simply gave a date and description of usage.” Cynwrig reached for a slice of toast, then started mopping up the remains of his egg yolk. “The only reason they were allowed to be displayed at all was the time and effort the museum took to retrieve them. But these are very different times, and the risk too great.”
I glanced at Lugh. “All this happened before you started at the museum, I take it?”
He nodded. “There hasn’t been a major exhibition of godly relics since Rogan was promoted, and I believe it’s one of the reasons he’s so intent on getting the Claws. He’s determined to achieve what no other hunter or curator has before he retires.”
Which would never actually happen now if what Cynwrig said was true. “Does that mean he was responsible for finding the third hoard items?”
Lugh nodded. “The success of that hunt is part of the reason he was promoted, though from what I’ve been told, he was extremely reluctant to accept the position. It was only after he and the department were granted full permission to accessallvaults and records—not just the antiquities departments—that he finally agreed.”
I raised my eyebrows. “He wanted to stay in the field? Gee, I wonder whothatreminds me of.”
Lugh laughed. “I’m never likely to be promoted. I’ve a long habit of saying exactly what I think, and it’s rubbed too many people the wrong way.”
And, sadly for him, most of those people sat on the governing board. “Do you believe this determination to get another hoard exhibition is what lies behind his sudden urgency? Or do you think someone is pressuring him?”
Lugh grimaced. “Hard to say. He sounded genuine, but I just don’t know anymore.”
“Meaning our trap at Cwmorthin didn’t amount to anything?”
“A lone photographer did appear, but he was questioned and was legit. Been staying in the area for the last week, apparently.”
“Which suggests Rogan is neither bugged nor the source.”
“Or that our bait simply wasn’t taken.” He shrugged. “Sgott is keeping his man at Cwmorthin for a few more days, just in case, but I’m not hopeful it’ll amount to anything.”
“And the background search he was going to do on Rogan?”
“Not a priority, I suspect.”
Which was understandable, given everything else that had happened over the last few days. We got down to the business of finishing our meals, then once we’d paid our bill, we climbed into the hire car and headed for Pynwffynnon. It was well after midday by the time we turned into the dirt road that led down to the village, but we’d barely gone half a mile when we hit a roadblock—three large round boulders sitting in front of an uneven wall of dirt. Beyond that again was a high metal fence that held numerous warnings that the area was not only dangerous but also regularly patrolled.
Those signs did not look old.
Lugh pulled to one side, and we all climbed out.
Once I’d slung my pack over my back, I zipped up my coat and shoved my hands in my pockets. The wind was bitterly cold, but at least she held nothing more than the promise of rain. “Someone remains damnably determined that no one is getting past this point.”
“The valley is well known for landslips,” Cynwrig said. “The Myrkálfar have on numerous occasions been called in to stabilize the ground around various other villages in the area, but even we cannot fully stop the earth from destruction if she so wishes it.”
“Do you think that’s why this area remains closed?” Lugh asked. “Because whatever did happen here was a long time ago, and it seems strange it remains secured.”
“Until we know what lies ahead, that is a question I cannot answer.” Cynwrig walked through the boulders and pressed a couple of fingers into the soil. “This earth is from a slide that happened six months ago. The rocks were placed here decades ago, however.”
I walked around the barrier and stopped near the gates. The fence to the right and the left was covered with deciduous climbers. The road that stretched away from the gate was full of potholes and rubble from past landslips, and quickly disappeared into the shadows of a gorgeous old woodland. Aside from the obvious evidence of landslips, there was nothing here that looked or felt particularly dangerous.
Lugh stopped beside me and studied the thick padlock. “It’ll take a heavy-duty bolt cutter to cut that damn thing. Just as well we have the Myrkálfar equivalent.”
Cynwrig snorted but stepped past Lugh and gripped the chain. Several seconds later, it lay in pieces on the ground. While all Myrkálfar could manipulate earth or stone to some degree, it took a lot of time and training to become proficient enough to manipulate each element with a degree of precision. The Lùtair line were one of the few who were not only masters of manipulating earth and stone, but also metal. According to Sgott, the IIT had been forced to develop special cells just to keep them contained. Not that the Lùtairs were often on the wrong side of the law. Or rather, they weren’t oftencaughton the wrong side.
Cynwrig pushed the gates open but had barely gone more than a few yards when he hit something hard enough to rebound a few feet.
Lugh, in Captain Obvious mode, said, “An invisible barrier. Whatever they’re hiding must be pretty damn bad to go to this extreme.”
