Chapter 33

 

“Devil’s blood!” Sir Walter took the final step down into Drago’s lair and pushed open the door. “Devil’s blood!” he cursed again, his gaze scanning the dark chamber as the door slammed behind him, the echo ringing hollow and empty.

A dark mist appeared behind the warlock’s cauldron, twisting and spinning faster and faster ere taking form and shape. Drago suddenly appeared, a scowl on his face. “What has you in such a pother, Sir Walter? One of the maids reject your advance again?”

Sir Walter fisted his hands. “Nay. Far worse. I signed it.” He still could not believe his own words. The bats hanging above swayed, and his head grew light. Stumbling toward a chair, he sank into it and rubbed his eyes. Maybe ’twas just a dream, one of his many recent nightmares.

Uttering a sigh of annoyance, Drago poured something into the cauldron. “You signed what?”

“I don’t know,” Sir Walter mumbled, staring at the dirt-encrusted floor. “Mayhap I didn’t.”

“Then why do you disturb me?!”

The cauldron hissed and the stench of bile and feces bit Sir Walter’s nose. The warlock’s white robe fluttered into his vision. Shooting to his feet, he backed away, staggering and trying to catch his balance. How did the man always approach without a sound?

“I signed something. Something important. They are here.”

Drago’s face twisted. “Do you think I do not know that? I have felt them since they arrived.”

“Then why do you not stop them?”

“I was attempting to do so when you interrupted me, you lizard-brained whoreson! Now, what did you sign?”

“I don’t know. Lady Grecia haunts me.”

“’Tis not her, you fool. She is with our enemy.” Flipping his robes behind him, Drago returned to his cauldron.

“They tricked me.” Sir Walter wrung his hands. “They—”

“Silence!” Drago’s command could wake the dead. In truth, it seemed to do just that as a row of bats took flight up the open tower.

The warlock tapped his chin, bouncing his long white beard. “Ah. I know just the thing.” Spinning around, he plucked what appeared to be a dead fish off a shelf, along with a dusty book. The fish he tossed into the bubbling cauldron, the book he opened.

Sir Walter sank to the floor, blinking to clear his eyes…and his thoughts.

The warlock flipped through pages, halting on one that made him grin, ere he began spewing a string of Latin Sir Walter could make no sense of.

Then slamming the book shut, he waved a hand over the cauldron, around and around and around, churning the liquid into a cyclone. Finally, that liquid rose, forming a dark funnel that sped up into the tower above.

Drago laughed, a maniacal laugh that pricked the hairs on Sir Walter’s arms. “They don’t stand a chance.”

♥♥♥

Alexia could hardly believe she’d finally gotten Sir Walter to sign his confession! After months of feeding him the poisoned elixir, months of haunting him, she’d come to believe his stubbornness would win out. But God had come through. Yet again. When would she ever have the faith to believe for the impossible?

With the document stuffed safely in her surcote, she led the way back through the tunnels, a very pleased Ronar, Damien, and Seraphina following behind her. With this paper, sealed with Sir Walter’s stolen signet ring, the king would have no choice but to send court magistrates to investigate the situation at Luxley. Mayhap ’twould not get the charges against Alexia and her friends lifted right away, but ’twas the first step.

She couldn’t help but smile as she ducked and squeezed through a particularly narrow section, the cold stone jabbing her arms.

Rumbling sounded. Nay, ’twas more like thunder, distant and hollow. The tunnel walls trembled. Alexia halted and held up the torch. An odd gust of wind blasted over them, flickering the flame and showering her with the smell of mold and earth. And something else. Water.

Ronar squeezed beside her. “Tush, what is it now?”

The thundering increased. As did the shaking. Dust and pebbles rained down upon them.

“Earthquake?” Damien said from behind them.

“Nay,” Seraphina added, her voice filled with terror. “’Tis something evil. Hurry!”

Grabbing the torch from Alexia, Ronar nudged her behind him and hastened forward as fast as the tunnel and the shaking would allow. Alexia bounced against the stone walls like a loose apple in a hobbling cart. The roaring grew louder, the shaking increased. They struggled onward, angling down toward the storage room beneath the castle where another tunnel would lead them outside Luxley’s gates.

Seraphina screamed.

Alexia turned.

A wall of water rushed for them.

No time to react.

It struck them with the force of a battering ram.

Alexia slammed against the tunnel wall. Hard. Water filled her nose and mouth and gushed past her ears. Seraphina—or was it Damien—crashed into her, while she smacked into Ronar. Together, they all shot through the tunnel, carried by the mad torrent. Arms and legs flailing, she managed to clutch Ronar’s robe, a bastion of hope in the midst of a nightmarish flood. Her lungs ached for air, but she dared not gasp, lest water pour into them.

Lord, help!

Was this how she would die? Drowned like a rat in her own castle?

She launched through the air, and her bottom hit hard stone. Seraphina fell on top of her. Grabbing her friend, Alexia moved out of the way of the cascade pouring from the tunnel into the tiny storeroom. Damien landed beside them. Ronar was already on his feet. He sloshed through the water toward the iron chest, behind which hid the tunnel that led outside.

Alexia stood and helped Seraphina up, but the water was already at their knees.

After a quick glance at them to ensure they were all right, Damien went to help Ronar.

But the water had already covered the chest. Both knights yanked with all their might. It wouldn’t budge.

“Search for anything we can use to pry it!” Alexia shouted, nodding at a trembling Seraphina beside her. “’Twill be all right. You’ll see.”

The maid smiled but Alexia could see in her eyes, she didn’t believe her.

They waded through the rising water, searching for anything—a shovel, pickaxe—anything they could use. But there were only crates, barrels, and now-saturated sacks.

The water was at Alexia’s waist now, cold, swirling water that sent a chill through her. And still it poured out of the tunnel entrance as if it hailed from a bottomless sea. Huge slabs of stone made up the tiny storeroom—floor, walls, and ceiling. Alas, even should there be a leak, a small opening somewhere, it wouldn’t drain the water quick enough to save them all from drowning.

Terror choked her.

“What are we to do?” Seraphina yelled.

Alexia joined Ronar and Damien at the only door to the chamber. The knights yanked and pulled on the latch, but it wouldn’t budge. The three of them kicked at it with all their might, but their efforts were futile beneath the water.

Ronar shook his head and took to feeling along the stone walls for any loose stones, any crack they could use to create an opening. Not that it would do them any good, for there was naught but dirt beyond the wall. Indeed, they were below ground, about to be buried in a tomb of water.

That water was at her chest now. A rat floated by, along with several apples, which must have loosened from a crate.

This can’t be happening. How is this happening? Alexia closed her eyes and shoved past her fear and shock, seeking the peace within…seeking the Spirit.

“We are all going to drown!” Damien shouted, then growled into what was left of the air above him.

“This cannot be!” Alexia shouted over the thunderous rush. “This is not real. We must pray! Come!” She searched for Seraphina’s hand beneath the water and gripped it as Ronar found hers. Damien, fear and anger marring his expression, stood at a distance for several seconds that seemed like forever ere he finally joined them.

No time for a long prayer. Alexia lifted her face to heaven. “Mighty Father, in the name of your Son Jesus, I command this water to dry up at once!”

Nothing happened. Instead, the water tickled her neck as it rose higher. “Peace, be still!” Alexia shouted. Moments passed. Was it her or did the roar of the water lessen? She opened her eyes and glanced toward the tunnel. The cascade became a surge, the surge became a flow, and the flow became a trickle.

The water around them began to recede.

Ronar started to laugh, small at first, but then it transformed into a hearty chuckle. Reaching behind her neck, he brought her head close and kissed her cheek.

She smiled. “You make a rather handsome, wet priest, Sir Knight.”

“And you a lovely mermaid.”

“Both of you are cream-faced loons,” Damien groaned. “We nearly drowned, and you act as though we are at court.”

Breathing hard, Seraphina eased beside the big knight. “We are saved, Sir Damien. Put by your ill humor.”

“God has saved us once again!” Ronar shouted.

“Praise His holy name!” Alexia added. Only then did she remember the document in her surcote.

The now-saturated document.

♥♥♥

“Nay!” Jarin darted for Cristiana as she approached the two ravenous wolves. Foolish woman! Sword drawn and ready to fight to his death for this lady, he was nearly upon them—when the two beasts sprang, fangs sharp and ready to clamp onto her flesh.

Thebe screamed.

Jarin thrust his blade at one of the wolves, but it struck air, and he toppled forward.

Nay, not air. A mist. Black and undulating, it spun faster and faster, consuming the wolves and Cristiana in a dark cloud.

Blinking to clear his vision, Jarin knew not what to do. Should he plunge his sword into it? What if he struck Cristiana?

Growls emanated from the murky cyclone, along with the eerie caw of ravens.

“Cristiana!” he shouted, staring at it as it whirled and lifted from the ground. Higher and higher it went, growing in both darkness and intensity, before it completely disappeared.

Cristiana and the wolves were nowhere in sight.