Chapter 45
A Fight to the Death

When Hans had scurried down inside the pillar five minutes earlier, he had had no idea what to do next. In stories, prophecies always came in threes, but Hans had hoped that in real life having the great forest march on the capital and an eagle rise out of stone would be enough to overthrow Arnulf. Apparently not. He’d have to make the archduke’s severed hands sail over a sea of bones. But how?

Above, the archduke had broken a bigger opening in the stone coffin and was charging down the pillar.

Hans ran toward the dungeon in search of a weapon. Walls of bones rose above him. He skirted the catacomb lime pit, sprinted past the skeletons on the wall of the central passageway, and burst into the dungeon cavern.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” the archduke taunted from behind.

Should he hide? No. That might do for a grave robber’s apprentice, but not for a prince of Waldland. He ran to the fire pit and seized a red-hot poker.

“So there you are,” came a low purr.

Hans whirled around. Arnulf was framed in the archway.

The villain unleashed a hideous grin. “You’re trapped.”

“We’ll see,” Hans said, and waved the poker.

“It wants to live, does it?” Arnulf advanced, swinging his broadsword like a scythe. Hans moved backward to the left; Arnulf countered. Hans moved backward to the right; Arnulf countered again.

“You and your father love the people,” Arnulf spat. “Fie on you. The world works on fear, not kindness. Leave goodness to fairy tales.”

Hans imagined the hermitage pell. He charged at Arnulf with a roar. Arnulf blocked the strike and sent Hans reeling backward to the wall.

“Here’s how iron hands strike a pell,” Arnulf mocked. He brandished his sword over his head and ran at Hans, swinging hard. Hans dropped and rolled to the side. Arnulf’s sword clanged on the rock face. Hans jabbed Arnulf’s thigh with the red-hot poker. Arnulf howled and punched a fist at the ground. He hit the poker; it broke at the handle.

Hans leaped up. Arnulf diced the air with his sword. Hans dodged, grabbed a torch from the wall, and ran to the torture rack. He slid underneath. The archduke followed.

Hans turned and shoved the torch in Arnulf’s face. His greasy hair burst into flames. Arnulf pushed himself out from under the rack, and spun to the lagoon to douse the fire. It was too far to run. In panic, he stuck his head in the dungeon poop bucket.

Hans laughed and scrambled up the pulleys of the torture rack to the rafters.

“You’ll pay for this,” Arnulf screamed through a haze of steaming pee. He raised his sword to sever the ropes and send Hans toppling—but a shrill eagle’s cry filled the dungeon.

Arnulf whirled around. He saw the shadow of a giant bird. It flared its wings and flew across the cavern walls.

Arnulf shivered, then spotted Angela hiding in a rock crevice by a torch. “Why, it’s a shadow puppet!” he sneered. “You’re here to die too, are you, girl?”

“No. To see the third prophecy fulfilled!” she tossed back.

“Arnulf!” Hans called from above.

Arnulf looked up and around. Hans was holding an iron pulley weight. He pitched it at the archduke’s head. It made a direct hit.

The archduke doubled over in pain. The reliquary box on the gold chain around his neck swung back and forth.

Hans grabbed a hooked rope. He tossed it through the loop of the swinging chain and yanked. The hook caught the chain and broke it; the reliquary box crashed across the floor.

Hans swung from the rafters on the rope. His heels hit the archduke square in the jaw. Arnulf fell to his knees.

Hans scooted for the reliquary box. He snapped the catch and grabbed the severed hands.

“Unhand my bones!” Arnulf hollered.

“Run!” Hans called to Angela. They barreled down the corridor into the catacombs, Arnulf in pursuit. At the lime pit, they split down separate alleys. Arnulf ran to the end of the widening. “The only exit leads by me,” he crowed.

He saw the shadow of a wolf on a wall of bones. “Ah, the girl who cried wolf,” he laughed. “I’ve seen your puppet tricks before.” A low growl. “I’ve heard your vocal tricks too.”

Hans popped from an alley. “But this is no trick. Is it, Siegfried?”

The great wolf appeared. Arnulf swung his sword. The blade shattered against a wall support.

Hans held up the hand bones, clasped in a mockery of prayer. “Fetch!” he cried, and threw them into the air above the lime pit.

Arnulf leaped at them blindly. But Siegfried leaped farther and faster. He snatched the bones with his teeth and cleared the pit. Arnulf wasn’t so lucky. He splashed face-first into the lime. He screeched to his feet, flesh bubbling.

Hans circled the pit. Arnulf raged right through it. He swung at Hans with his iron fists. They hit the wall supports as Hans bobbed and weaved. The beams began to crack and splinter, their shelves to tilt.

“You can’t escape me!” Arnulf yowled. “One strike is all I need.” He wiped his forehead. It slid right off. “I’M MELTING!” he cried. He hammered the beam by Hans’ head. His fist wedged in the split timber. He yanked it out. There was a terrible sound, like a ship breaking apart at sea.

The beam buckled. So did the beams around it. Shelves tipped over, spilling their walls of bones in torrential waves. Arnulf was caught in a swell. Arm bones pulled him under. Leg bones held him fast.

Hans and Angela ran toward the cathedral cellar.

“Siegfried?” Hans called.

The great wolf frisked beyond the archduke.

Hans whistled. “Here, boy!”

Siegfried made a short bound and a mighty leap. In his powerful mouth, Arnulf’s severed hands sailed over the sea of bones.

“I believe that’s the third prophecy,” Hans called over his shoulder.

Arnulf was drowning in skeletons. He tried to swim his way out. No use. The weight of the bones pinned him in the dark.

All around was scurry and squeak. Rats. Hundreds of rats crawling out of the catacomb skulls to feed.