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The stony shale slid under Tom’s feet, and he cursed as he climbed upwards. In some places, he even needed to bend double against the steepness of the path. He was grumpily aware of Brenna ahead of him, stepping lightly and effortlessly.
“Brenna, why aren’t you flying?” he called.
She paused and looked back at him. “I can’t.”
He stopped in surprise, catching his breath and stretching out his aching back. “Why not?”
“Something’s stopping me.”
“Like what?”
“The magic Finnlugh mentioned. It’s making the air feel syrupy, so I can’t fly.”
“It feels fine to me,” Tom replied, puzzled.
Brenna had changed over the last few days. She had become wary and guarded, and her normal buoyancy had vanished. She called back over her shoulder, “Trust me, it’s not.”
Tom gazed out over the forest. He’d passed clefts and hollows, and forced his way through thick vegetation. They were far above the canopy now and Aeriken stretched to the horizon. His muscles burned with the effort, and he was sweaty and tired. The rest of the party toiled above him, all out of view. He sighed as Brenna disappeared too, then with a great effort he pushed on, muttering to himself about stupid quests.
A scream interrupted his thoughts and he looked up, pushing his hair out of his eyes. Was that Beansprout? The scream was followed by other shouts and yells. Damn! He ran, cursing his aching muscles. Rounding a corner, he stumbled into Brenna and the others.
Tom found himself on the edge of a wide cleft reaching deep into the cliff face. At its furthest corner were enormous gates hanging open, but the entrance was dark. The Aerie was beyond them, carved out of the rock. The cleft was filled with dead birds—hundreds of them. Their bodies lay thick upon the ground, bloodied, and their feathers torn. The smell of decay was strong, and Tom’s stomach turned.
But that wasn’t what had caused the shouts and screams. Spread on the cliffs above them, shackled to the rock, were scores more birds, and other creatures—some half-human, half-bird, their huge wings spread behind them. They were all dead. Many had rotted, leaving only skeletons to bleach in the sun.
Tears poured down Brenna’s face, and the rest of them stood silently in shock.
“Who could have done this?” Arthur asked.
Nobody answered him.
Arthur pulled Excalibur from its scabbard. “Allow me.” He pushed ahead and the rest of them followed, peering nervously upwards.
Their footsteps echoed on the rock, and shale slipped and slithered down with a threatening hiss. Woodsmoke halted briefly, his bow angled steeply upwards as he surveyed the escarpment. Apart from wind-ruffled feathers, nothing moved. He lowered his bow and walked on.
Beyond the shattered gates of the palace was a broad hall, illuminated by beams of light slanting in from the high roof—if it could be called a roof. Most of the walls were solid rock pitted with openings, out of which scrubby bushes and trees grew haphazardly, but closer to the top the walls became a latticework of rock, open to the wind and sky. Bridges of stone arched above them, weaving backwards and forwards, higher and higher, like the spokes of a wheel. It was eerily silent.
“It’s like an aviary,” the Prince murmured.
“Well, we are birds. What did you expect?” Brenna answered abruptly. Her tears had dried and she looked pale and angry.
Woodsmoke looked at Brenna, worry in his eyes. “Where is everyone? Surely they’re not all dead.”
“Hiding, I hope.” Her voice trembled, and it was with a visible effort that she straightened her shoulders, taking deep breaths to steady herself.
Arthur scanned around. “Where to now?”
“I have no idea. I thought I’d see signs of my brother, but...” Finnlugh trailed off.
“We should go to the throne room,” Brenna said. “That’s where the Queen’s power is concentrated. If he’s anywhere, he’ll be there.”
Finnlugh asked, “Will she be there, too?”
Brenna shook her head. “I doubt it, or we’d have seen her by now. Or rather, she’d have seen us.”
“Unless she’s biding her time,” Arthur said ominously.
An eerie cry punctuated the air and arrows winged through the air, catching them all by surprise. Some of Prince Finnlugh’s guards were hit and fell awkwardly to the ground, instantly dead.
Brenna shouted, “This way!” and ran, zigzagging towards a room on the far side.
They raced after her. Woodsmoke and a few other guards fired arrows back at their attackers as they ran. A body almost fell on Tom, and he stumbled as he avoided it. Next to him, Beansprout sprinted, her hair streaming behind her. The guards who had already reached the doorway, fired arrows back into the hall.
Tom threw himself through the arch as Finnlugh shouted, “Keep behind me!”
The Prince muttered something unintelligible and thrust out his hand. A ball of white light flew into the hall and a boom echoed off the walls, hurting their ears. Several wood sprites thudded to the floor, clearly dead, their limbs splayed awkwardly.
“My brother is here!” Finnlugh declared with a wolfish grin. “Good. Lead on, Madame!”
Brenna pointed upwards. “The throne room is up there, right at the top.”
“Up there?” Tom repeated, feeling his legs protesting already.
“There are steps cut into the rock on either side of the bridges,” explained Brenna, “and rooms leading back into the hillside. But we have to cross the bridges to make our way up.”
“And you can be sure there will be more sprites up there, too,” Finnlugh added.
Tripping on each other’s heels, they followed Brenna up the stone staircase until they reached the first bridge. Finnlugh’s guards made their way quickly across first, and the rest jogged after them, weapons drawn. Thankfully the path was clear, and they were able to keep moving upwards.
Tom took deep breaths and tried not look down as he ran across the bridges, which were far too high and narrow for his liking. As they reached the end of each one, they paused to search for signs of life on the bridges above them and in the rooms on each level.
They halted their advance about a third of the way up to drink water and catch their breath, and Beansprout asked Brenna, “Did you live here?”
She nodded. “Yes, we all did from time to time. Although, most of the rooms are for those who serve the Royal Household. Like many shifters, we tend to live in human form more than our animal form, but it varies.”
“So you served the household, too?” Arthur asked, puzzled. It was a good question. Brenna didn’t have the demeanour of a household servant.
She was evasive. “I stayed here sometimes, but ultimately decided to leave, becoming an outcast, and I wasn’t the only one. The Queen could be very demanding. And I had other things to fear, too.” She changed the subject, gesturing around her. “The rooms are dirty, but there are no more bodies. It’s as if they fled suddenly, and were caught outside.”
She fell silent again, and Arthur and Finnlugh exchanged a long look full of speculation before Arthur turned and led the way. They were halfway across the next bridge when another volley of arrows and spears rained down from above. The group retreated quickly—all except for Arthur and Tom, who were too far ahead.
An arrow sailed past Tom’s ear as they raced to the other side, skidding into the opening unscathed. Tom drew his sword and heard footsteps thundering down the stairs towards them. While Arthur leapt into action, Tom could barely think how to swing his sword and he stabbed wildly, feeling his sword sink into flesh and bone. A sprite swung at his head and, as Tom ducked, the sprite fell dead at his feet. Arthur stood behind him, having barely broken a sweat.
“Are you all right, Tom?”
“I’ll let you know later.”
Arthur and Tom ran to the top of the stairs and saw several more sprites halfway across the bridge, unaware that they were being watched as they fired on the bridge below. Tom had forgotten how big they were. Their bodies were solid muscle, their flesh a dull greenish-brown, and their faces sharp and angular. Some had horns spiralling out of their skulls, around which their matted hair was wrapped.
Arthur didn’t hesitate, and ran silently towards them, his sword held before him. Tom followed hesitantly, his sword also drawn. If he was honest, he didn’t feel that he was needed in the battle. Arthur fought with an effortless grace and strength, and his sword looked as if it was an extension of him. He was surefooted and well balanced, and Tom realised clearly, as he hadn’t done before, that he was watching Arthur, King of the Britons. He felt a jolt, a sense of unreality that was stronger than anything he’d felt before on this strange journey. The feeling thrust him into the present. He suddenly saw everything with an icy clarity: the vast spanning bridges, the high-walled palace of pitted rock, and the clash of steel.
Tom ran to Arthur’s side and helped distract the sprites, attacking one from behind so that he lost his balance and fell from the bridge. Tom’s heart was pumping, but he didn’t have time to feel afraid. Arthur did all the hard work, and if anything, Tom hoped he wasn’t an encumbrance. He jabbed, stabbed, rolled, and ducked repeatedly. When Arthur killed the last sprite, they rolled the bodies off the bridge.
Arthur looked at him, fire in his eyes. “Are you still in one piece?”
Tom was breathless, and adrenalin had him shaking, but he nodded. “I think so. Are you?”
He grinned. “Of course. Never been better.” He yelled over the side, “All clear!”
Within seconds the others joined them and they scanned the upper levels again, but the bridges once more appeared empty, the dark entrances in the rock devoid of life, the spindly trees motionless. After hushed reassurances they pressed on, higher and higher.
There were now only eight of them: Arthur, Brenna, Woodsmoke, Finnlugh, Beansprout, and two of the Royal Guard—not many at all, considering what they might encounter at the top, particularly considering Tom and Beansprout had next to no fighting skills. Tom held the sword he had been given, thinking how awkward it felt. He gripped it tighter, wishing his hands didn’t feel so sweaty.
When the group reached the final bridge, they stopped to assess their position and share some food to keep them going. Arthur had assumed charge of the small brigade, and no one thought to question his natural command, not even Finnlugh.
They were dizzyingly high. It was freezing, night was falling, and above them was only open sky. The solid walls had gone, and perches lined the latticed walls. The wind moaned, carrying the smell of ice and snow, and patches of drifting mist eddied ceaselessly. Faint stars began to spark and a full moon edged above the forest canopy, lighting the bridge ahead like a ghost road. They could see several armed wood sprites on the other side, their dark silhouettes misshapen and deformed.
“They’re guarding the throne room,” Brenna informed them.
From the shelter of the doorway, Woodsmoke and the guards exchanged a volley of arrows with the attacking sprites. The sprites aim was good, but they were hampered by both darkness and Woodsmoke’s accuracy. If Arthur was master of the sword, Woodsmoke was master of the bow, and eventually the return fire stopped and Arthur led the way across the bridge.
The anteroom was austere and magnificent, its brooding granite walls as smooth as silk, and empty except for the sprites’ lifeless bodies.
“Useless brutes,” Finnlugh said, kicking one as he strode past.
Arthur paid them greater attention, checking to ensure they were all dead.
Beansprout gingerly stepped over them, grimacing. “It’s so eerie here.”
Woodsmoke nodded, looking around with interest. “I have heard much about this place, but still, this is not what I was expecting.”
“Are they all dead? The court, I mean.”
Brenna interrupted, her voice ragged. “I hope not.” She laid her hand on the huge double doors of burnished rock and wood that led to the throne room and closed her eyes briefly.
Now that they were finally here, Tom’s nerves returned and he asked, “What now?”
Finnlugh’s jaw tightened. “We find my brother and claim the Jewel that is rightfully mine.”
“Are you prepared for what we’ll find in there?” Arthur asked.
Finnlugh smiled like a shark. “Of course I am. Are you?”
“Always.” Arthur turned to Brenna. “Do you think the Queen is in there?”
“No. She would have made her presence felt,” she said grimly.
“Well then, Finnlugh, the show is yours. Just ensure you do not put anyone here in danger. Or you’ll answer to me.”
They stood listening at the door for a few more seconds, but it was deathly quiet, so Arthur turned the handle and pushed open the door.
The throne room was a large square wilderness of cold stone. It was surrounded on three sides by high rocks, and as elsewhere, it was open to the sky. The fourth side, directly opposite the doors, was edged with a low balustrade, beyond which the sky stretched pitilessly. The floor was of smooth stone, and tall, square pillars ran like sentries down either side, creating a ceremonial path to the throne at the far side of the room.
The throne was carved from black granite, and it seemed to suck what little light was left into itself. Crouched in the seat, looking small and insignificant, was the Duke of Craven.
He was focused entirely on a small, glowing object in his hands. It gave off a cold blue light, which flashed occasionally as he turned it. Before the others could even think, Finnlugh swept his hand upwards and pulled the Jewel towards him. It flew from the Duke’s grasp, but the Duke responded quickly, throwing his arm to the side. The Jewel, propelled by an unseen force, stopped heading towards Finnlugh and instead clattered against the wall, and then dropped to the floor.
“Tom, get the Jewel!” ordered Finnlugh.
Tom, shocked by the command, stumbled and then ran to the right to hug the wall, and started edging to the fallen gem. He was vaguely aware of the others fanning out around Finnlugh with their weapons drawn, and he kept an eye on the Duke.
Shocked at their entrance, the Duke jerked upright, fury etched across his face. He glanced at the Jewel and then back at Finnlugh, but before he could react, Finnlugh made a pulling gesture. There was an enormous crack, which echoed off the sheer walls, and the throne began to grate across the floor, the grinding of rock against rock sounding like a wounded animal.
In response, the Duke smirked, extending his own hands as he did so. The floor rocked, and Tom crashed to his knees, wincing in pain. Glancing behind him, he saw that only Finnlugh remained standing, and he shouted, “Get back!” to the others, keeping his gaze fixed intently on his brother.
The noise of the grating stone was almost unbearable. Tom pressed his hands to his ears, but unlike the others, who had regained their footing and were edging back to the entrance, Tom ran towards the Jewel, glowing faintly in the distance.
Prince Finnlugh and the Duke were locked together with fierce intensity. Shards of rock began to fly off the throne, shattering against the surrounding walls and cutting Tom’s skin like razors. The Duke was closer now, and he leapt from the throne and raced at Finnlugh with shocking speed. He crashed into his brother, and they both rolled across the ground, grappling and punching each other furiously.
Tom tried to protect his head and eyes from the whirling shards of stone and focused only on the Jewel. Just as he was getting close, the ground rocked again and for a moment he thought the floor was dissolving, until he realised that water from an ornamental pool had sloshed across the stone surface. He skidded through it, finally falling in front of the glowing Jewel. He grabbed it quickly before anything else could happen, and looked back towards the Prince.
The far side of the throne room was lost within an ever-expanding, whirling cloud of rocky flints, in the middle of which the fight continued. The moon was now overhead, its light casting monstrous shadows from the pillars, and the floor continued to shudder. Tom had pressed his back against the rock face, seeking shelter, but shale started to slip and slither down the walls, forming rivers of rock, and he realised he couldn’t wait any longer. Finnlugh needed the Starlight Jewel before Tom was buried alive.
But before he could move, he heard a screeching laugh overhead, a laugh that grated like fingernails down a blackboard, and he also heard the panic in Brenna’s voice as she cried out, “The Queen!”
