CHAPTER NINETY-NINE

CYWEN

Cywen suppressed a shiver of fear as they rode past a huge carcass, its flesh mostly gone, picked clean by the forest’s myriad predators. As she looked at it she could still see its flat-muzzled skull and long teeth bearing down on her, scythed claws raking the earth.

For an instant she wished that Buddai were with her, but he was still limping from his last encounter with a draig. So she’d left him tied up at their camp hospice, with Sif and Swain keeping an eye on him. Buddai had not been happy about it, but the bone of a large boar had helped to soften the blow.

Haelan was sitting in front of her, her arms around him holding the reins. He’d followed them into the forest, Pots and Shadow with him, and the trio had quickly been discovered by Coralen and Storm. Brina had interrogated him and to Cywen’s surprise Haelan had stood his ground. He’d guessed where they were headed and was adamant that he could help. So Brina had let him stay.

And then the smell hit her.

Draig dung.

The horses started to whinny and snort, ears twitching fearfully.

“We’ll have to walk from here,” Coralen said. Cywen and Coralen led the way.

The smell became progressively worse, and then Cywen saw the dung hills. The group crept forwards until they saw the rim of the slope that went down to the draig mound and the tunnel that led to their lair. All of them fell to their bellies and crawled the final part of the way until they lay in a row along the slope’s rim, peering over.

“Well, I’d best get on with it, then,” Kulla said matter-of-factly.

Dath caught hold of her hand.

“I don’t want you to do this,” he said.

“I know, but this is one of those things that has to be done, and I’m the best one for it.”

“I can run fast,” Dath said.

“Aye, but not as fast as me.”

Dath stood and stared at her, face twisting and knotting with worry.

Kulla stroked his face and smiled.

“I love you, my Dath,” she said, then wrapped a strip of cloth around her mouth and one around her eyes. She reached out, hand touching one of the dung mounds, and then she threw herself into it.

The stench was overwhelming, an explosion that assaulted Cywen’s senses, even from where she was lying on the slope’s rim. She saw Dath sway as the smell hit him.

Kulla rose from the ground smothered from head to toe in draig dung. She pulled the two strips of cloth off, blinked at Dath and then strode down the slope to the draig lair. She looked back once, at the cave-like entrance, and then she was gone.

Dath came and lay down beside the rest of them, looking about as miserable as it was humanly possible. Corban reached out and squeezed his arm.

They all lay there and waited, then Cywen heard a noise. A rumbling roar, deep underground, echoing out through the tunnel entrance. More roaring, louder, overlapping, and then Kulla exploded from the passage entrance, a draig egg tucked under one arm, speeding straight up the slope and onto the flat forest floor, still running as fast as she could in the opposite direction from her companions.

Then the draigs were coming: one, two, three of them bursting from the passage that led into their lair. The three of them fanned into a line on the slope, pausing to flicker and taste the air with their tongues, then their huge-taloned claws were hurling them up the slope and into the forest after Kulla, even though she had run so fast that Cywen could see no sign of her.

They can smell their eggs better than they can see.

And that was entirely the point.

Corban and Brina had gone over the plan with the others a thousand times. The fastest runner, covered in dung, snatched an egg and then ran, leading the draigs out and away from their lair for as long as the runner could manage. Meanwhile, the others would take advantage of the draigs’ absence and head into the tunnels. When Kulla was at her limit the plan was for her to hurl the egg away and freeze. Cywen was certain that being covered with draig dung and remaining motionless would make anyone undetectable to the draigs. It had worked for her.

“Come on,” Corban hissed, and then all of them were running down the slope, hurrying into the darkness of the tunnel. Storm, Shadow and Pots followed last.

Cywen ran behind Corban and Coralen. Haelan sped ahead of them, his torch leading them through a long passage. It opened up into the chamber that contained the nest. Haelan slowed to look at the eggs, piled in the middle like charcoal-stones in a forge. He ran on, taking an exit almost directly opposite the one they’d entered the chamber by, leading them on, deeper and deeper into the labyrinth.

At the next turning Corban called for a stop and Haelan paused. Corban counted, making sure they were all still together, Storm and Shadow’s eyes glowed in the torchlight.

Cywen looked at the fork in the tunnel before them, and for the life of her could not remember which way led to the roots and crack in the roof that burrowed into Drassil.

“Haelan,” she hissed, “do you know which way to go?”

“Of course,” Haelan said, holding his torch high. “It’s that way,” and he pointed to the right-hand fork.

“How do you know?” Cywen asked.

Haelan waved the torch lower to the ground. Cywen saw something on the ground flash white. Then she remembered.

“Sif’s stones,” Haelan said with a grin.