“Come in, Max,” said Connor calmly. “We haven’t much time.”
Max heard a gasp from behind them. Turning back to the hallway, he saw Lord Grael’s secretary crumpled on the floor. Eloise was crouching over him, checking for a pulse as she slipped a slim knife back into her apron. Her eyes met Max’s: young, frank, and purposeful. This little maid was no stranger to violence. Max turned back to Connor.
“Sarah and Lucia …”
“They’re safe,” said Lady Nico. “They ingested a sleeping draught and have been taken out of the castle along with your charges.”
“What’s going on?” Scathach demanded.
“A revolution,” replied Lady Nico. “Please come in. A rakshasa’s death is rather dramatic and it would be best if the door was closed.”
Max and Scathach entered, eyeing a group of dark, wolfish vyes that were cleaning their weapons by the bodies of Grael’s bodyguards and servants. Eloise followed, dragging Lord Grael’s secretary into the room and closing the door. The imp was still alive but would not be for much longer. From a wheeled trunk, the girl retrieved another pulsing, grapefruit-sized organism and set it upon the imp’s chest. Anemone-like tendrils sprouted from its glistening surface to probe the imp’s face. Hooking itself to the imp’s soft throat, the organism pulled itself up and over its chin as more tendrils sprouted to tunnel into the base of its subject’s skull. The imp’s body shuddered as though it received an electric jolt and the organism began to expand and contract like a luminescent bellows. Max was utterly repulsed.
“What is that?” he asked.
“A vampiric mnemonculus,” answered Lady Nico. “It’s leeching the imp’s memories, just as the other is stealing Lord Grael’s. No easy task to paralyze a demon of his stature.”
“So, he’s alive?” said Scathach, peering at the rakshasa.
“For now,” said Lady Nico coolly.
Max and Scathach entered, shutting the door behind them as the mnemonculi continued to perform their grisly duties. Vyes were straightening up the room and dragging Grael’s guards through a secret passage in the chamber’s far corner. The vyes were similar to others Max had seen but these were taller and had finer features than the norm. The ones that seemed to be in charge wore silver armbands, which might have indicated their rank. Max’s eyes returned to the mnemonculus at Grael’s throat. It was pulsing more rapidly.
“It’s almost finished,” Lady Nico observed. “Get Pascal.”
From a gilded box, a vye plucked a familiar, yamlike shape. It wriggled angrily and doubled back to seemingly (for it had no visible eyes) glare at its handler.
“Imbécile!” it roared in French. “I was sleeping. Put me back at once!”
The vye was unmoved. “You sleep enough. Time to work.”
The disgruntled creature was smaller than Toby and a slimy chartreuse rather than Toby’s mottled brown, but there was no mistaking the bulbous midsection, tapered ends, or pompous manner. The vye held the wriggling smee over Lord Grael.
“Okay, okay,” it grumbled impatiently. “I have him down.”
The vye tossed the smee high into the air. As it flipped end over end, the smee’s ignoble shape transformed into that of the regal and imposing rakshasa. With an acrobatic landing, Lord Grael’s doppelganger crouched over the original, peering closely at his motionless face. Max could not get over the smee’s transformation—even Grael’s finery and armor had been replicated to the last detail. For the time being, however, the smee’s voice remained unchanged.
“He’s coming to,” sniffed Pascal.
Lady Nico turned to Connor. “Are you prepared to do this? There can be no going back.”
The Irish boy nodded.
“Connor,” said Max. “What are you doing?”
But his friend didn’t answer as Lady Nico motioned to one of the vyes who brought forth a short bronze sword, not unlike a gladius. The blade was stained with age, its metal etched with ancient writing. Taking the handle, Connor hefted the weapon and glanced down at Lord Grael. He nodded to one of the vyes, who promptly took a firm grip of the pulsing mnemonculus. Raising the sword, Connor took a slow, deep breath.
With a squeal, the mnemonculus was snatched away. In one swift stroke, Connor beheaded the Duke of Malakos. There was a flash of light, a searing wave of heat, and the powerful demon melted away in a noxious, tumbling cascade of smoke and ash. When the smoke cleared, Max saw Connor’s sweat-begrimed face staring at the rakshasa’s empty armor. His hands were trembling.
“Well struck,” said Lady Nico, taking the sword and embracing him. Several other vyes followed suit. The last mussed Connor’s hair and the baron grinned in spite of himself.
“We’re in it now,” he muttered.
“What is all this?” Max demanded. “Was that letter from Grael or from you?”
“Grael,” said Lady Nico, handing the bronze sword to an attendant. “I am sorry you couldn’t have your chat, but we couldn’t allow the demon’s schemes to interfere with our own. We have our own uses for Grael and they don’t involve an alliance with Rowan.”
“So you know what he wrote,” said Scathach.
“Word for word,” said Lady Nico. “We can see everything that happens in this room. Why do you think it was given to him?”
“Connor—” said Max warningly.
His friend turned to him. “You have to trust me. We’re not working against Rowan. We’ve got the same enemy. Grael’s more valuable like this.”
Max glanced at Scathach, whose expression made her attitude clear.
Do you trust him?
Lady Nico turned to the other vyes. “Get Luis. Once he and Pascal are settled, we must be off.”
Luis, a purplish smee, was brought forth in the same wriggling and grumpy manner as Pascal. It was apparently his job to mimic Lord Grael’s secretary, for moments later, an albino imp stood before them wearing the identical gaudy couture as his now-deceased counterpart. To Max’s immense disgust, both smees began ingesting the squealing mnemonculi.
“This is going to take a while,” Pascal remarked, his voice now a perfect replica of the duke’s baritone. “Grael is thousands of years old. Lots of memories to absorb.”
“You don’t need to know everything right away,” said Connor. “Just enough to fool other guests into believing you’re him. Let Luis do the talking at first. The imp will have fewer memories. You know what to do?”
Lord Grael and his secretary looked insulted.
“We have been working on this for months,” retorted the imp. “We know the plan better than you do.”
“Good luck,” said Connor. “Max and Scathach, please come with us. There’ll soon be—”
“Fire!” cried a voice elsewhere in the castle. The call was quickly taken up, followed by a distant stampede of running feet.
“That’s our cue,” said Connor.
Eloise darted into the secret passage, trailed by several vyes and Lady Nico. Connor came over to Max and Scathach. Somehow, the Irish boy looked both weary and exhilarated.
“Come on,” he urged. “I know you’ve got questions, but you’ve got to trust me.”
“Where are Sarah and Lucia?”
“At the other end of this passage,” Connor assured him. “I promise.”
Even if Connor had changed, he couldn’t imagine him letting harm befall Lucia or Sarah. And unless Eloise was a remarkable actress, her affection for his friends was real. While Max didn’t enjoy dashing off into the unknown, they had to seize this chance. Their mission was to make contact with the Elder vyes and win them over to Rowan’s side. This was certainly the opportunity—even if it came of crashing their operation.
Max nodded at Connor, who looked relieved as he led them toward the secret passage. Its entrance had been cleverly disguised within an ornamental buttress in the room’s corner. Slipping past the vyes awaiting Nico by its entrance, they followed Connor into the cold, dark tunnel.
Despite torches burning at regular intervals, the passage was still very dim and uncomfortably narrow so that Max jostled against the damp walls. Even less comfortable was the fact that there were vyes ahead of them, vyes behind them, and very little room to turn around.
“So,” Max whispered, “all of that was an act. You’re not really a debauched playboy but a cold-blooded assassin?”
Connor glanced back with a devilish grin. “I’d like to think I’m both.”
Max thought he heard Scathach groan.
The passage soon joined a larger tunnel that was better lit as it extended in a gentle curve to the north or northeast. Here, the group broke into a trot that went on for several hundred yards until they arrived at a ladder that extended up toward a rusted trapdoor. Eloise climbed the ladder first and knocked urgently with the flat of her small hand.
The door opened to reveal a vulpine-looking vye who reached down to pull the girl up as the others clambered after. Max climbed swiftly up the rungs, emerging into a musty cellar lit by a single oil lamp. Several vyes awaited them there. One handed Connor a cloak.
“This is my gamekeeper’s lodge,” panted Connor, taking the cloak and putting it on. “We have horses outside and a long ride ahead of us. Your things are already in the sleds. Wear these and pull the hoods low.”
Two vyes handed Max and Scathach cloaks similar to Connor’s. As Scathach pulled hers about her, she seemed to blend in with a stack of barrels and jam jars behind her. Connor grinned.
“Pretty neat, eh? Better than standard camouflage.”
When all had their cloaks, the group filed upstairs—a score of vyes with silver armbands, Lady Nico, Eloise, Connor, Scathach, and Max. Max was almost certain the silver-armband vyes were an honor guard for Lady Nico, who must be a person of considerable importance. Out the cozy lodge they went into the frigid morning where the sun, a glowing sliver of red-orange, was peeking over the forest’s rim.
Mounts were outside, powerful horses clad in the same material as the party’s cloaks so that they were superbly camouflaged against the morning. Eight were hitched to covered sleds, but the others stood free, ears twitching as they grazed on nettles.
Eloise waded through the deep snow to pull back a sleigh’s blanket. Beneath it, Lucia, Sarah, Nox, and Kettlemouth were in a drugged but peaceful slumber.
“I had to give them a sleeping draught,” said the girl apologetically. “I had no time to explain, and Mistress Lucia was so angry. I didn’t think they would come.”
Max nodded. He was not happy, but he understood why she had taken the precaution. As he checked on his friends, he noted that the horses and sleds were resting easily on the snow’s icy crust while those on foot had to trudge through the deep powder.
“It’s the horseshoes,” Connor explained as a mounted vye led three bay stallions over to a tree stump. “Your mount won’t leave tracks for anyone to follow. Here, you ride Hob.”
Using the tree stump as a stool, Max gripped the pommel of Hob’s saddle and pulled himself up. From behind them, there were distant cries. Max turned his horse around to see dark smoke rising above the treetops.
“Not to worry,” said Connor, mounting his own horse and taking up the reins. “The fire at the castle is mostly show—just enough to create a little confusion, clog the road, and make me look like a victim.”
“So where are we going?” asked Scathach.
“Lady Nico’s lands,” said Connor. “We can talk there. I know you’ve got lots of questions.” With a rueful glance at his burning home, he followed Lady Nico as she spurred her mount into the woods.
They rode for hours, blending with the landscape and leaving no trail as Lady Nico led them over hills, through forests, and across icy streams. It was an exhilarating ride, if frigid. Snow was falling again and the flakes stung Max’s eyes as Hob forged ahead.
The long ride gave Max time to process what had just transpired. Lady Nico said a revolution was underway. A revolt by Harinean nobles against Prusias? Were Elder vyes the only ones involved? How did they intend to use Lord Grael’s doppelganger? Would the smees return to Prusias as assassins? As spies? And why had they required Connor to slay the rakshasa? Was that merely to prove his loyalty to the revolution or was there a deeper significance?
Max had a million questions and wished dearly that he could spend an hour with Connor to get candid answers. Would Connor provide them? We’re not working against Rowan, he had said. Connor identified with Lady Nico and the vyes—not with Rowan. Regardless of where Connor’s allegiance lay, Max’s objective was clear: to win the Elder vyes over to their cause.
Even if Connor could serve as a bridge or mediator, the mission would be difficult. They had failed to convince the Fomorian to join the war and he was Max’s own kindred. Rowan had fought and hunted vyes for centuries—there was a lot of history there, almost all of it bad. His own misgivings would have been far greater if he had not become friends with two Elder vyes during his stay at the farmhouse in Blys. Nix and Valya’s kindness had shattered most of Max’s assumptions about their kind. Rowan wanted to move beyond the past and reach an accord. Would the vyes?
David had given them vast latitude to reach an agreement, but Max was no statesman. At Rowan, Alistair Wesley used to insist that negotiation was both art and a science. The art derived from the negotiator’s experience and intuition; the science stemmed from data—from knowing as much as possible about the other party’s needs, resources, and urgency. As a negotiator, Max had almost no experience and very little data. He hoped he was up to the challenge.
Lady Nico’s lands lay thirty miles from Enlyll. Whether it was due to the magicked horseshoes or simply superb conditioning, their mounts maintained a tireless pace and they stopped only briefly to water at a stream and allow Max to check on his sleeping friends.
The sun was hanging like a dull red ornament behind a veil of gray clouds when they reached the high, thorny hedge that bordered Lady Nico’s lands. Iron gates swung inward at their approach, admitting them into a scenic expanse of snowy fields and old stone buildings where workers were stacking hay and tending to livestock. In the distance stood Lady Nico’s castle—a Gothic masterpiece encircled by a broad moat that reflected the reddish sky. Max spied something gliding in lazy circles about the tallest tower.
While its silhouette was batlike, its size was not. At a distance, the creature appeared to be no smaller than the tower’s entire roof. It circled once more before accelerating straight up like a glider catching a sudden draft. Rising high above the tower spire, it slowly crested and promptly disappeared in a dive beyond the castle.
Was that a dragon?
Max glanced at Scathach. She was standing tall in the stirrups, her eyes fixed on the tower. Clearly, she had seen it, too. The creature did not reappear, however, as they covered the final stretch and crossed the moat’s long causeway. Servants were waiting as they passed through the gatehouse and arrived at an inner courtyard. Swinging off her horse, Lady Nico walked over to Max and Scathach.
“Welcome to Wyrmwood,” she said, removing her gloves. “You must excuse me for the time being. As I said, there is a revolution under way. Lord Lynch and Eloise will see that you and your friends are comfortable. I should not be long.”
Ten minutes later, they were sitting in a comfortable library while servants brought roasted chicken, cheeses, and warm breads that crackled when Max tore off a piece. Using a dropper, the little maid placed amber liquid on Sarah’s and Lucia’s tongues. Instantly, the girls stirred. With a yawn, Lucia sat up and looked about.
“Where are we?” she murmured, blinking at the portraits and bookcases that lined the unfamiliar room. Her eyes fell upon Connor by the fireplace. “You!”
Connor winced but nevertheless braved Lucia’s glare to sit on the edge of the long sofa. “We’re at Wyrmwood, Lady Nico’s estate,” he said evenly. “I owe you many explanations and am praying you’ll hear me out.”
“Do you know why we came to Enlyll?” said Max.
“I thought it was to see me,” said Connor.
“I’m not joking,” said Max. “You asked us to trust you and we did. Now I want answers. Do you know why we’re here?”
“Yes,” said Connor plainly. “Rowan wants an alliance with the Elder vyes.”
“Then why haven’t you introduced us to them?” asked an outraged Lucia. “Sarah and I have asked often enough!”
“I’m sorry,” said Connor, “but Rowan’s Agents have killed an awful lot of vyes over the years. There are some trust issues there. But believe me when I say you’ve met a few Elder vyes already. Why do you think Eloise was assigned to you? They wanted to get a sense of who you really were—what better way than to see how you treat a servant? The fact that you and Sarah were so kind to Eloise is a big reason they decided to bring you here.”
“How do you know all this?” asked Max. “How did you get so close with vyes?”
“I think everything will make more sense if I start at the beginning,” said Connor.
Lucia narrowed her eyes. “Talk.”
Taking a sip of tea, Connor cleared his throat and looked at his friends. “When I left Rowan, I only wanted revenge against Alex Muñoz. I was willing to sacrifice anything to make that happen—even my soul. Since Rowan was conquered, I thought I’d have a better chance if I struck out on my own.”
Lucia was listening intently. As Connor spoke, Max was struck by the contrast between this young man and the drunken fool from last night’s médim.
“Honor’s a funny thing,” Connor continued. “When I settled in Blys, most of the people on my lands had nothing. Many lost their families when Astaroth came to power. They were confused—they couldn’t remember much of their past or even the world as it used to be. My own little crusade began to feel petty. I might only have been a minor baron, but my lands were good and I was able to get some things done.”
“What have you done?” asked Max.
“Protected my people,” Connor replied proudly. “Twelve thousand humans live in Enlyll. Not one’s been murdered or mistreated by demonkind since I got established. When demons come to Enlyll, they know to behave.”
“And how do you force demons to behave?” asked Scathach.
“Trade, natural charm, and powerful friends.”
“Friends like Elder vyes?” asked Max.
Connor nodded. “They call themselves the Raszna,” he said. “When I met Lady Nico, I had no idea what she was. Prusias had invited some Harinean nobles to attend his Arena games. We sat in the same box when Bragha Rùn fought his first match against a two-headed vye. Lady Nico seemed less than pleased.”
“It upset her a vye was fighting in the games?” asked Lucia.
“No. It upset her that Straavh fought like a brute. She called him an embarrassment—as though his performance reflected poorly on her. Funny thing for a human to say.”
“When did you find out what Lady Nico was?” Max asked.
“After the final match,” Connor answered. “Bragha Rùn had slain Myrmidon and left the Arena. They paraded Myrmidon’s body around and I thought it was Max. Others thought so, too, because a cheer went up that the Hound of Rowan was dead. Lady Nico’s servants clapped with everyone else, but she told them to stop when she saw I was upset. When she asked if I’d known you, I said you’d been my closest friend. She then asked if you were as bloodthirsty as your reputation.”
“What did you say?” asked Max.
Connor shrugged. “I said you were worse—that you dined with ogres, supped with hags, and chased lymrills all over Rowan’s Sanctuary.”
Even Lucia gave a reluctant chuckle.
“Nah,” said Connor, waving off the joke. “I said you were my best mate and not to believe all the stories. She said she didn’t—she’d heard a kind word or two about you from other quarters.”
“Nix and Valya,” Max mused. The aged couple had lived near Max’s farmhouse in Blys and had become trusted friends.
Connor nodded. “They talked about you like you were their son. And someone else vouched for you.”
“Who?”
“I’m not allowed to say,” said Connor curtly. “What I can say is that Lady Nico became my mentor. Once she trusted me enough to share she was Raszna, she’s helped me become a better ruler, continued my education in magic, and become the closest thing I have to family. When Prusias devoured King Aamon, Lady Nico knew he’d eventually turn on his own braymas and seize all power for himself. We started planning a revolution. That’s when I sent Lucia that love letter urging her to ‘seek the Elders.’ ”
The Italian’s eyes flashed. She stabbed a finger at Connor. “If you were planning something, you should have told me!”
Connor gave her a pleading look. “I couldn’t, Lucia. Some landless braymas arrived weeks ago and requested lodging leading up to the médim. My castle’s been crawling with them and their servants for weeks. Some were undoubtedly spies for Prusias or one of the dukes. I had a role to play and couldn’t afford to break character for anyone—not even you. It was my job to play the happy, helpless drunk. Your disgust actually helped sell it.”
“I’m glad you could use me,” snapped Lucia. “I hope it’s paying off.”
“It is as we speak,” said Connor.
“How?” asked Sarah.
Connor’s face took on a grim, set expression. “Not one brayma that’s loyal to Prusias will make it out of Enlyll. Even now, they’re being ambushed.”
“And ‘Lord Grael’?” Max said.
“His imposter will return to Prusias with false information about the Harinean revolt before resuming command of his legions.”
Max gave a low whistle. “You trust a smee to do all that?”
“Don’t forget about the mnemonculi,” said Connor. “The smee won’t have Grael’s abilities, of course, but he’ll know everything the duke did.”
Max whistled again and glanced at Scathach.
“We need to tell David,” she said pointedly. “He needs to know an imposter is commanding some of Prusias’s forces.”
Lady Nico’s voice sounded from the doorway. “That will have to wait,” she said. “I apologize, but we’ve had to confiscate the spypaper in Agent McDaniels’s pack.”
Max turned on her. “What is this?” he demanded. “You have no right to—”
Lady Nico held up her hand. “Again, I do apologize. This is a delicate time for all concerned. Half my servants refuse to come near this library.”
“Why?” asked Max.
His hostess laughed. “Because Max McDaniels is here! Do you have any conception of your reputation among vyes? We are in uncharted waters. Even I’m anxious. We are taking a risk and you must be patient. I’ve just been communicating with our leadership and they would like to meet you. If you are willing, I will take you to them. They are a few hours away.”
“We’re willing,” said Max at once.
“There are conditions,” Lady Nico cautioned.
“What are they?”
“You must surrender your weapons and agree to be bound.”
“Please understand,” said Lady Nico diplomatically. “Rowan has traditionally been our enemy. My masters will not permit you and your companions to enter our realm armed.”
Max considered a moment. “We’ll go unarmed, but none of us will be bound. We’re not prisoners.” Unbuckling the gae bolga from his baldric, Max placed the short, heavy blade on a side table. “A pledge of our good faith.”
Lady Nico motioned to Eloise, who went to take the weapon. Max held up a hand.
“Handle it by the scabbard. On your life, don’t unsheathe it. Understood?”
The girl plucked up the awful weapon as instructed, using a handkerchief as a buffer. The blade moaned hungrily. Blanching, Eloise carried it swiftly to where an armored vye was waiting with a wooden case. The gae bolga went into it, followed shortly by Max’s dagger, Scathach’s poignard, Lucia’s boot knife, and Sarah’s longsword. Scathach’s spear and Sarah’s naginata, a polearm with a curving blade, were taken by another vye.
“Thank you,” said Lady Nico. “No one will touch your weapons, I assure you. Now, if you would come with me.”
Hefting a groggy Nox into his arms, Max followed the others as they filed after Lady Nico. Lucia shooed Connor away when he offered to carry Kettlemouth, who was dozing in his cushioned cage. As Sarah and Lucia joined Scathach toward the front, Connor fell in step with Max.
“She’s pretty upset,” Connor observed.
Max shot Connor a sideways glance. “Why would she be upset? You’ve only ignored her for weeks, flirted with other girls, drugged Kettlemouth, and kidnapped her.”
“Nonsense,” said Connor. “I hosted her in a glorious castle, exposed her to some amusing anecdotes, provided her charge with some much-needed rest, and whisked her out of a dangerous situation.”
Max gave an admiring grunt. “Nice spin.”
Baron Lynch shrugged. “Facts are facts. A smart ruler polishes them up a bit.”
“Well, Mr. Ruler, what’s going to happen to Enlyll now that it’s rebelled?” asked Max, shifting Nox as they descended some stairs.
Connor gave a wry grin. “Oh, Enlyll hasn’t rebelled,” he said innocently. “Landless braymas attacked my poor barony following the médim. Unfortunately, many of the attending braymas were killed in the fighting, my castle has been damaged, and I was badly wounded. Lord Grael himself will confirm these rumors while pointing the finger at several supposed loyalists. The ruse isn’t perfect, of course, but it doesn’t need to be. With Rowan’s army closing on Blys and half of Harine in revolt, Prusias will be far too busy to bother with little Enlyll …”
“And if Prusias ultimately wins this war?”
Connor shrugged. “Then we’re all up a creek.”
He lowered his voice as they reached a small chapel. Oil was burning upon an altar before a bronze statue of Romulus and Remus suckling from a wolf. A pair of towering black vyes clutching halberds stood guard on either side of a door that presumably led down to the castle’s crypts. Their eyes were bright yellow and had a feral, defiant glint as they settled upon Max.
“Don’t stare,” whispered Connor, leading Max up the nave. “They’ll perceive it as a challenge.”
Passing between the fearsome guards, Lady Nico, Eloise, Sarah, Lucia, Connor, Max, Scathach, and several other vyes descended a steep flight of stairs that continued for a surprising distance. Initially the walls were dressed stone, but they soon became rough, bare rock. Torches guttered in their brackets as warmer air blew up from below. The descent reminded Max of the seemingly endless stairs down into Rowan’s Archives.
“How far down does this go?” asked Sarah.
“Pretty far,” said Connor. “If it didn’t, visitors might hear the—”
A raptor’s screech, hoarse and raw, sounded from far below them. Lucia stopped dead. “What was that?” she hissed.
Lady Nico turned on the stair. “Wyverns,” she said. “Wonderful creatures if properly handled. I don’t believe you have any in Rowan’s Sanctuary.”
“No,” said Sarah. “Not that I’ve ever seen.”
“Was that a wyvern I saw circling the tower when we approached?” inquired Scathach.
“It was,” said Lady Nico, continuing down the steps. “We’ve been breeding wyverns since the Middle Ages. The one you saw this morning was Phineas—he’s the grand old man around here and has a few special privileges. He was born the same year as Louis the Fourteenth.”
“Are they dangerous?” asked Lucia, glancing at the plump and juicy bullfrog in her arms.
“Not the ones at Wyrmwood,” said Lady Nico. “And I have yet to see a wyvern eat a Nile Croaker. Sheep are more to their taste.”
The steps ended at a twelve-foot door bound with iron and marked with a sigil of a spiny serpent on a blue field. Placing her hand upon the seal, Lady Nico spoke a word of command and turned the heavy, vaultlike handle. As the door opened, a strong animal smell permeated the air. Nox whined and fidgeted impatiently in Max’s arms. He set her down on the stone floor where she proceeded to nose at the doorway, her quills bristling.
As Max walked through the door, he understood Nox’s caution. The space they entered was an enormous cave where stalactites protruded from a ceiling some hundred feet above them. While lanterns were burning along a long wooden platform, clusters of luminescent fungi on the walls provided most of the ambient light, which revealed several large tunnels branching off the cavern. A screech echoed around them. Along the cavern’s ceiling, Max saw a pair of dark wings twitch and unfold, as though their owner was stretching.
The wyvern was one of several that were hanging upside down among the stalactites. The drawings Max had seen in Rowan’s compendiums often depicted wyverns as two-legged dragons, but these creatures resembled sleek bats far more than scaly reptiles. Upon the platform were several vyes wearing thick leather gloves and aprons. One blew several notes on a reedy whistle. Instantly, one of the wyverns dropped from the ceiling and plunged in a controlled, swooping glide to land on the platform and snatch a proffered sheep leg in its jaws.
Aside from its wings, the wyvern did not really resemble a dragon or a bat. Its dark gray coat was as smooth as a Weimaraner’s and the head bore an unmistakable canine aspect despite its curving black beak. Its slit yellow eyes were far smaller than Max might have expected, but its large, hyena-like ears suggested that hearing was its primary sense in these dark, almost nocturnal environs. While its wingspan must have been thirty feet, the wyvern’s body was no larger than that of a powerful horse that walked upright on two taloned feet and possessed a long, whiplike tail. The creature looked like it was born to fly, and fly very swiftly. A long leather saddle was attached to its back via a system of straps. From the number of stirrups, it appeared the creature could carry three riders.
“Max and Scathach will ride with me,” said Lady Nico. “Sarah and Lucia can go with Eloise.”
“I can take them,” offered Connor.
Lady Nico raised an eyebrow. “You’re still learning. Eloise is the better rider. You can go with Xerxes.”
“I’m driving,” insisted the vye, one of Lady Nico’s guards.
“But I’m a baron!” Connor exclaimed.
Xerxes gave a gruff laugh. “In Enlyll you’re a baron. Down here you’re just a pup. A pup that needs to slow down on the turns if he wants to keep his royal head.”
Connor scoffed. “I’m great at turns,” he insisted, hurrying over to another wyvern as a handler called it down from the ceiling. The two jostled over who would claim the front seat and control the reins that connected to the creature’s bridle. The vye triumphed and Connor was forced to climb, grumbling, into the seat behind him.
“Be sure to hold on tight,” chided the vye, wrapping the reins about his fist while a handler lengthened the stirrups. Lucia snickered as a handler helped her and Kettlemouth up into the saddle of Eloise’s mount.
Meanwhile, Scathach was already up on a wyvern’s back. She settled into the saddle behind Lady Nico, who was showing her how to hook her boots properly into the stirrups. Draping Nox over one shoulder, Max climbed up behind Scathach and slid into the final spot. Although the wyvern leaned forward to keep the saddle relatively level, it was nevertheless awkward sitting astride it. The creature’s inclination was to walk upright and occasionally its instincts would override training and the wyvern would begin to rise to a standing position. From what Max could tell, experienced riders took this in stride. Newcomers held on for dear life.
The lymrill was no longer sniffing the wyvern with curiosity but now examined the saddle’s rigging as though she intended to make modifications. Max snatched her away from a strap she had begun to gnaw and propped her between his legs as though they were going to ride tandem down a slide. As a handler adjusted his stirrups, Max leaned forward to grip a pair of worn metal handles that protruded from the cantle of Scathach’s seat.
“I hold on to these?” he asked the handler, trying to mask any trepidation.
“That’s right,” said the vye. “Grip with your knees and lean into the turns. You can fasten the lymrill in with that belt.”
Spying the strap in question, Max pulled it across Nox’s tummy and fastened its clip to a bolted ring. “Should I use my heels at all?”
“Not unless you want her to sting you,” replied the vye, gesturing back at the wyvern’s tail, which was curling up behind them like a scorpion’s. At its tip was a glistening black spike the size of a walrus tusk.
“No heels,” Max confirmed. He glanced over at Sarah, who was grinning broadly in the seat behind Lucia. She looked like she was ready to claim her own wyvern and soar off into a tunnel.
“Get comfortable,” said Lady Nico, twisting in the saddle to look back at them. “It will be a long ride through the tunnels until we reach our destination.”
“Where are we going?” asked Max. Evidently they would be staying underground. He wondered if they would be going to one of the secret schools that the Elder vyes were rumored to have. David had referred to one in his letters—a place called Arcanum—but urged Max and Scathach not to let the Elder vyes know Rowan had heard of it unless an agreement was reached.
Lady Nico gave a cryptic smile. “East.”
Shaking the reins, Lady Nico barked a stern command to the wyvern, which wheeled about and sprinted down the platform, keeping very low and flat. Nox jostled and mewled with every step until the wyvern suddenly spread its wings and soared like a fighter jet leaving an aircraft carrier’s deck. They were suddenly skimming thirty feet off the cavern floor when the wyvern banked and accelerated into the nearest tunnel.
The wyvern’s speed was astonishing. Max could not even guess how fast they were going. The tunnel was a luminescent blur as they zoomed over colonies of fungi that resembled vast, neon archipelagos passing swiftly in their wake. Max hunched forward, staying low and keeping Nox warm as they crouched beneath the screaming currents of moist, rushing air. Occasionally, he’d turn back to see the other wyverns racing after them, drafting in each other’s slipstream.
They stopped only once and it was an experience Max would not soon forget. From up ahead, the call of a horn could be heard above the rushing wind. It was soon followed by a series of bright flashes of light.
“Hold on!” cried Lady Nico. With a powerful flap of its wings, the wyvern veered upward and made for a large alcove that had been carved into the tunnel’s roof at an angle to form a slanting observation deck. With a screech, the beast landed and turned around so that it could peer down at the tunnel below them. Seconds later, the other wyverns soared onto the ledge and turned about in similar fashion. Sarah was panting happily. Lucia’s hair looked as though she’d spent the afternoon in a wind tunnel. Eloise hopped off their wyvern to tighten their stirrups.
“Why did we stop?” asked Scathach.
With a grimace, Lady Nico shook out a cramp in her hand. “A digger’s coming,” she said. “The big ones can fill up an entire tunnel, so we have to get out of the way.”
Now that air wasn’t whipping past Max’s ears, he could hear the rumbling. The earth itself was shaking and several pebbles dislodged from the rock above to bounce down and off the ledge on which they were perched. Clutching Nox tightly, he stood in the stirrups to peer down, over the wyvern’s folded wing. Far below, he saw the tunnel floor, its surface speckled with tiny glowing fungi.
The view disappeared as something filled the opening beneath them. At first, Max thought it was a rockslide, for there were chunks of stone and quartz embedded in what appeared to be a slow but smoothly flowing river of ochre debris. But as it flowed past, he perceived a hint of ringed sections and even mottled scars on what was clearly a living organism.
“Is that a worm?” he shouted, hoping to be heard over the now deafening rumble. Lady Nico nodded and indicated she would answer momentarily.
Max stared down, transfixed by the creature’s gargantuan size. The tunnel was nearly twenty-five yards in diameter and this creature filled it to the brim. As it continued sliding past, he tried to hazard a guess at its length. Four hundred feet? Five hundred? A blue whale would look like a minnow next to such a monster.
At last the body began to taper and Max could see sections of the tunnel floor, now coated in a glistening layer of translucent slime. In the worm’s wake came six Elder vyes mounted on mules and carrying flares, lanterns, and horns. The fact that they appeared so tiny only underscored just how gigantic the worm was. As the vyes rode past the ledge, one glanced up and gave a casual wave before sounding his horn.
“All’s clear,” said Lady Nico. “We shouldn’t have to stop again.”
“What kind of creature was that?” breathed Scathach.
“An Ymirian worm,” answered Lady Nico. “That was a big one. They were discovered in Himalayan valleys ages ago. We’ve been using them for six hundred years. The adults can bore a mile through solid rock in a week and their secretions sustain the fungi. Very useful creatures.”
“How do you control anything that big?” wondered Max.
“They’re really quite docile,” replied Lady Nico. “Our people guide them using special tuning forks. While they’re practically blind, they’re very sensitive to vibrations. They can cause unintentional damage, of course, but they rarely grow violent. How are you bearing up with the flight? It can take some getting used to.”
“I want my own wyvern,” declared Scathach.
Lady Nico laughed and urged their mount forward. “Make a good impression and you may get your wish.”
The wyvern gave a cry as it leaped off the ledge and changed direction with a swift’s acrobatic grace. The other wyverns followed suit and the group sped on.
For the next two hours, Max tried to ignore his cramping hands and legs and focus on the meetings ahead. Already it was evident that these Elder vyes were a far more established and capable group than he had assumed they would be. Nix and Valya had been wonderful, but they were just a kindly couple living in the country. Lady Nico and her followers seemed like an entirely different people, organized, capable, perhaps even ruthless. This network of tunnels was a marvel, much less the fact that he’d just seen them assassinate a powerful rakshasa before dispatching an imposter to take his place. Thus far, the Elder vyes had exceeded his expectations. Max hoped he could exceed theirs.
He was shaken out of his thoughts by a glimmering ahead of them. The tunnel was coming to an end and a far brighter light was shining from beyond its aperture. Max had to shield his dark-adjusted eyes as the wyvern raced toward it.
Through the opening they shot, swift as an arrow, to soar over an astonishing spectacle. The domed cavern was miles across and lit by bright clusters of fungi along its roof. Max was almost certain Old College would fit within it. From its walls, a dozen waterfalls gushed in misting cascades to feed several lakes and a broad river that wound across the entire cavern. Bridges spanned its narrowest points, elegant structures of pale stone that connected two halves of a sprawling city.
This has to be Arcanum, thought Max. According to David, Arcanum was the Elder vyes’ largest city and greatest school of magic. No one from Rowan—or even Solas—had ever set foot within it.
Gazing down, Max saw that the city’s buildings were constructed of the same local stone, a pale granite or marble that gleamed by the light of blue witch-fire lamps. Structures reminiscent of Roman temples radiated out along curving avenues from a cluster of larger towers and buildings at the cavern’s center. Max noticed few straight lines among the architecture, but rather curves, bends, and spirals.
He dearly wished David could see what he was seeing. There was nothing in his letters to suggest anything of this scale or sophistication. As they descended, he clutched Nox close and leaned over to watch a group of rangy vyes herding a flock of small piebald sheep toward a hill crowned with flowering trees. How did trees live down here? He suspected it had something to do with the strange luminescent mushrooms nearby. Max desperately wanted to go down and explore.
But exploration would have to wait, for the wyvern was flying toward the city’s center. Banking around the largest tower, it screeched and soared up to a large, buttressed observation deck that extended from the tower’s face. Vyes were waiting there: rangy handlers wearing leather aprons and gloves and an entourage of very tall, very thin vyes wearing crimson robes. The robed vyes waited by an arched portico while the handlers saw to the wyverns and helped the inexperienced passengers down.
Setting Nox on flagstones, Max walked in a circle, getting his legs under him after such a journey. His legs were painfully stiff, his hands half clenched into claws from clutching the handles. Smoothing his coat, he plucked several quills from the fabric. With an eager mewl, the lymrill trotted toward a trough filled with mutton that the handlers were rolling out to the wyverns. Max had no idea if wyverns were territorial about their food, but he had no wish to find out. Hurrying after Nox, he scooped her back into his arms.
“Don’t worry, my beauty,” said Lady Nico, scratching Nox’s chin as the others dismounted and began rubbing sore muscles. “We’ll see that you’re fed once your humans have been properly introduced.”
She led the group toward the tower where the tall, robed vyes were waiting. Max could tell his friends were nervous, and indeed so was he. Interacting with so many vyes in their natural form would take some getting used to.
Fortunately, the vyes assembled before them were not particularly fearsome-looking. Instead, they were an older, scholarly-looking set with mottled fur and several hints of cataracts among the dark, intelligent eyes. The central figure was seated in a chair fitted with poles so that it could be carried. His great head was bowed with age and frailty. A female vye, younger than the others and wearing robes of gold rather than crimson leaned close to the seated vye’s ear and spoke in a language unfamiliar to Max. The old vye nodded, gripped the armrests of his chair, and forced his trembling body up.
Nine feet tall he stood, but Max imagined he must have been ten feet or more in his prime. The vye’s fur was a mottled gray, tipped with silver. Glassy orange eyes peered out from the vye’s deep sockets, surveying each visitor before settling on Max. The vye’s hoarse voice came in slow exhalations as he spoke in the same unfamiliar language Max had heard earlier. Bowing low, Lady Nico translated.
“This is Archon, our leader. All Raszna recognize his authority. He is pleased to welcome the famous Hound of Rowan to Arcanum. He is surprised at your youth but confesses that everyone looks young these days.”
Max bowed at the waist, said that he was very pleased to meet Archon, and asked leave to introduce his companions. This he did, and in turn Archon introduced them to the other vyes, who were apparently professors of various disciplines at the school. The specialties were so different from those at Rowan: Geologia, Hydeshifting, Elixae, Masquing, Apocrypha … Max listened carefully, aware that Hazel Cooper would want to hear about every single one.
When introductions had been made, Archon asked to see Nox and Kettlemouth. Each suffered their introductions rather well. Nox even managed to flatten her quills into an agreeably smooth coat when the ancient vye reached out a trembling hand to stroke her. Archon turned to Connor last and spoke with measured gravity. Lady Nico translated.
“It has been a year since Archon saw Lord Lynch. Does he greet him as a brother or merely a friend?”
“A brother,” said Connor.
Archon glanced at Lady Nico, who nodded and spoke rapidly. Max distinctly heard the word Grael. The vye grunted and gazed at Connor with unmistakable respect. Beckoning Connor forward, Archon embraced him, touched his forehead to Connor’s, and muttered, “Ruva” before passing him along to his colleagues, who did the same. By the time they had finished, tears shone bright on Connor’s cheeks. Sitting back in his chair, Archon spoke again to the visitors while Lady Nico translated.
“Archon invites you to refresh yourselves and dine with his colleagues in Amber Hall. He asks for a private word with the Hound of Rowan. Is this acceptable?”
“It is not,” said Scathach. “We agreed to lay down our arms, but Max is not going anywhere alone.”
Lady Nico translated for Archon, whose response was curt.
“Committees solve nothing. One to one is best.”
“I don’t disagree,” said Scathach. “Give me my spear and several hostages and he can go with you.”
This seemed to amuse Archon, who gestured at his wizened colleagues to indicate she could have whomever among them she wished. Scathach shook her head.
“Lady Nico, Eloise, and the Lady Isu at your right.”
Archon frowned as though Scathach’s choice of hostages either surprised or displeased him. Indeed, Max wondered why she had chosen these particular hostages with such certainty. As disgruntled as Archon looked, Scathach did not appear to have any intention of changing her choice. Max knew she wasn’t wrong to be insistent. At such a meeting, it was important to establish rules and mutual safeguards.
As much as Rowan needed the Elder vyes, they could not gloss over past history. There was a reason the Raszna lived deep underground. Rowan’s predecessors had driven them there, and Max was not oblivious to the attention the Raszna paid to his and Scathach’s tattoos. For them, the Red Branch symbol undoubtedly held a terrifying significance: these are the enemy’s best killers.
And while Rowan’s motivations for the meeting were clear, the Raszna’s were less so. It was important to be cautious. If nothing else, the médim had shown that Elder vyes had their own agenda while Arcanum’s existence spoke to a people who were incredibly patient, disciplined, and capable. Max doubted the Raszna did anything hastily.
“Why these hostages?” asked Lady Nico, translating Archon’s gruff response.
“Because Lady Nico is your daughter, Eloise is your granddaughter, and Lady Isu is your favorite wife.”
Lady Nico’s prim smile vanished. She gestured to Archon before answering Scathach directly. “You have excellent intuition. May I ask how you knew?”
Scathach shrugged. “A parent’s love is easy to see. And, forgive me, but Lady Isu is too young to be your mother and she was not introduced as a scholar. Our host either has more than one wife and chose to bring her, or his previous wives are no more. In either case, Lady Isu is his favorite.”
Archon looked impatiently at Lady Nico. When she translated Scathach’s explanation, he gave a barking laugh and muttered something with an offhand air.
“You remind him of his first wife,” said Lady Nico.
“Is Scathach’s proposal agreeable to you?” said Max, addressing Archon. With a resigned nod, the vye gestured for a cane.
“It is not agreeable, but it is acceptable,” said Lady Nico.
One of the armored vyes that had traveled with them from Wyrmwood came forward with Scathach’s spear. She took it and bowed politely as Eloise, Lady Nico, Archon’s Lady Isu came to stand before her. Leaving Nox with Sarah, Max bid his friends farewell and followed Archon and one of the professors into the tower.