Joelle suggested they use Dama’s tunnel as her resting place. Hyam nodded agreement, gripped the dog’s pelt, and began pulling. Shona helped with the others, her thoughts split precisely in two. On the one hand, she was thrilled to be alive. The chilling rain felt exquisite against her skin. How easily it could have been her that they pulled and shoved toward her last resting place. The cold breeze whispered to her that every breath was a gift to be savored.
And yet at some fiercely private level, Shona complained bitterly. Was this what her uncle the earl had sent her out here for, to struggle and twist and tug in the dark, hauling a dog into a mound of petrified roots? What would her parents say to this, except come home? And home was certainly where she wanted to be just now. Away from fell beasts whose howls turned her every breath into a keen of fear. Away from ghost warriors whose vaporous tendrils clutched at her like spiderwebs when she raced through them. Old men who spoke of clans dead for centuries, bad food, and stony earth for beds. And for what? So she could be spurned by a man she loved?
Dama’s fur had soaked up the water. Her pelt was so slick it was hard to find a decent handhold. As the tunnel narrowed, only two people at a time could handle the carcass. Shona and Meda and Joelle took turns up front, while Alembord and Hyam and the younger Caleb shoved from the other side.
When Dama became stuck in the narrow passage, Meda puffed, “Perhaps some other location might work better.”
The elder Caleb replied from just beyond the opening, “Though the valley has been empty of all save ghosts for a thousand years, the heart of Ellismere remains hallowed ground.” The old man pointed back to where the ghostly troops stood at attention, their ranks shimmering in the rain. “They seem well content with our actions.”
With the sweat streaming down her face and burning her eyes, Shona saw her mental tirade from a distance. She crouched in the cave-like dark while Meda took her turn, and realized the unspoken protests reflected a childhood that was no more. The road and the quest were working on her. The rather spoiled young woman who had argued with her mother over dresses and jewels and dances was gradually fading away. This was why she had come, Shona knew. Or rather, why the earl had wanted her to go. Not to see tragedy, though no doubt he knew she would experience her share of hardship. But rather to grow up.
When the tunnel opened, Joelle moved about setting mage-lights in place. They discovered a vast chamber framed by cathedral roots. Chests of gold and jewels littered the floor, while spears and shields decorated the wall. They gathered there, awed by the remnants of a once-proud warrior clan that breathed no more.
Together they lifted Dama and settled her into an alcove formed by the massive roots. Joelle spoke first, offering tribute to their fallen friend. Then Meda. Finally Hyam offered what few words he could manage.
It was then Shona noticed the ghostly general had joined them. “Hyam.”
When he lifted his tear-streaked face, Shona pointed to the translucent soldier. “We have company.”
The troop leader stood at the entry to another alcove. He waved a hand, beckoning Hyam forward. When Hyam stepped toward him, Joelle illuminated the recess with a mage-light, then gasped at what she had revealed.
Inside was a giant scroll. The spool rose twice the height of a man. Hyam reached out an unsteady hand, traced two fingers over the centuries of dust, and revealed the sparkling gold beneath.
Together they maneuvered the scroll back into the main chamber. With the others’ help, they unfurled the golden sheet enough to know it contained the same jagged writing as Hyam’s miniature scrolls. Only here there was something more, for between each line of jagged furrows lay a script Shona had never seen before. “What is this writing?”
Hyam’s voice carried both raw grief and awe. “Elven.”
Joelle now stood beside Shona. “So this is . . .”
“A teaching scroll.” Hyam turned to Caleb and asked, “May we take this?”
The elder stroked his long beard before replying thoughtfully, “A dragon that has never existed leads you here in a dream. We are greeted by spectral warriors who have guarded an empty vale for a thousand years. You defeat a beast that heralded our first war with the crimson riders. You lay your friend to rest at the clan’s heart. A ghostly general points you to this hidden treasure.” He glanced at the translucent leader as though seeking approval. “I would say the fief that once stood here would be proud to call you clansman. In that case, the scroll is yours by right.”