Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
THE IRON GATE
Be wary the moss,
Be wary the fence.
Be wary the gate and the mist, dark and dense.
It’ll stop all your tears.
It’ll steal all your years.
Be wary the gate and the mist, dark and dense.
I t took only a moment to realize something was wrong. The tumult was too loud, the sound of their horses too many. Had I not known they were coming, I might have mistaken their clamor for thunder.
I peered through the mist and watched two carriages round the corner, their lanterns casting ghostlike shadows across the road. The flames blended with another light, a deep mossy green, its source somewhere within the first carriage. A light only I could see.
The Iron Gate.
But before I could point it out to Ravyn, the clamor heightened, four more lights coming into view, only these lights were no flicker of flame, nor were they bright like the Iron Gate. They were dark, so deep I felt as if I were falling into them.
Four Black Horses, their riders atop warhorses that flanked the carriage. Four Black Horses and one brilliant red beacon.
A Scythe Card. Hauth Rowan.
I tugged Ravyn’s sleeve, the Nightmare crawling behind my eyes. “The Prince is there, with a Black Horse and a Scythe. You didn’t say anything about fighting Destriers!”
Ravyn’s jaw muscles flexed. From the size of his eyes—the stillness of his shoulders—I could tell he was as surprised as I was. A moment later he reached into his pocket and tapped his Nightmare Card three times, communicating silently with the others. His brows drew firmly together.
The horses on the road whickered, their ears perked.
Ravyn turned to me. “Do you see the Iron Gate?”
I blinked at him, my mouth agape. “You’re not still thinking of attacking?”
Ravyn’s gaze darted between me and the road. “We need that Card.”
“But the Destriers—”
Ravyn’s voice was steady. But when he looked at me, I saw a wildness in his eyes I had not seen before.
“We’ll handle the Destriers,” he said. “If we rush Hauth, he won’t have enough focus to wield the Scythe.
The quicker we retrieve the Iron Gate, the quicker we will be free of danger. Do you still wish to help us, Elspeth?”
The Nightmare said nothing. Still, I felt the weight of him as he sat, crouched, waiting.
I took a deep breath, my lungs tight. “The Iron Gate is in the first carriage.”
Beyond, the riders grew louder, closer. Even through the mist, I could see the dust of their fervor, their horses slick with sweat. Crows stirred in their wake and took to the sky, cawing their distress as the horsemen thundered on.
Ravyn reached into his pocket once more, retrieving the Mirror Card. “Sure you won’t use this?”
I shook my head vehemently.
“Suit yourself.” He tapped it three times, disappearing. “You and I will go last,” said the air where he previously stood. “Lead me to the Iron Gate. Once we’re close, run back here and hide in the mist. Understand?”
I didn’t have time to answer. Without warning, several goose-fletched arrows tethered with rope shot across the road, blocking the path a mere pace ahead of the carriages.
Jespyr and Elm’s Black Horses shone dark and menacing in the distance as they and the Ivys continued to shoot arrows, obstructing the road—forcing the carriages and Destriers to come to a screeching halt.
The horses brayed. One reared, throwing its rider, who plummeted to the ground. I could not see Ravyn, but I felt him next to me. A moment later he grabbed my hand and we ran full speed through the trees toward the fray.
My breath came in hurried, desperate gasps. All I could see was the road ahead—just beyond the tree line—and the men scattered there, the green light centered within their midst.
“Take up arms!” one of the Destriers shouted.
“We’re under attack!” another cried.
But they’d no time to regroup—the highwaymen had come.
The sharp ring of steel on steel rattled me, the clash of swords loud in my ears. Ravyn pulled me forward onto the road, his grip on my hand never wavering. Ahead of us, men spilled out of the carriages and Destriers fell from their horses in a flurry, weapons drawn.
I saw Elm up the road. A moment later the Ivys joined the fray, met by Hauth and two other men. They clashed together—might against might—swords and fists wielded with bone-breaking strength. But Ravyn pulled me deeper into the struggle, and I quickly lost sight of them.
The green light from the Iron Gate was no longer in the first carriage.
It had moved on to the road, hovering in Wayland Pine’s cloak.
The light spun about, Wayland bobbing through the tumult, stationing himself between Destriers and another man-at-arms. “It’s in Pine’s cloak!
” I called in Ravyn’s direction. “Right side.”
Ravyn squeezed my hand, yanking me down as arrows pierced the air. “Go,” he said, my hand suddenly cold as he released it. “Go now!”
I did not wait to be told a third time.
I turned my heel and ran—ran with all my might. Dirt kicked up beneath my feet and I slipped, narrowly avoiding the wild slash of a Destrier’s blade.
Get up , the Nightmare snarled, so awake I could feel his claws in my head. Get up, Elspeth!
The Destrier turned, his sword engaged by Jon Thistle. I launched myself off the ground, the tree line and the mist a mere fifteen paces away. I ran, my eyes cast backward for a final glance at the glow of the Iron Gate…
And careened straight into my father.
He seemed taller, the blood-red spindle tree sewn into his sapphire cloak.
He held a dagger in one hand, and in the other, he brandished my grandfather’s sword with great strength, employed in a violent struggle with Elm.
To me, he offered little notice, repaying my bump with a sharp elbow to the cheek that sent me hurtling to the ground.
I tasted blood and blinked, my vision spinning. Only then did I notice the familiar shape engraved in the door of the second carriage.
A spindle tree.
You’ve bit your tongue, that’s all , the Nightmare called above the bedlam. Get up.
The clang of steel grew closer, as if on top of me. Keeping to my hands and knees, I crawled, dust clinging to the tears in my eyes. When I reached the edge of the road, I flung myself into a pile of foliage beneath a tall poplar tree.
Wiping the dirt from my eyes, I peered back at the mayhem—searching for my father.
He stood, still in combat with Elm. Only now, Elm’s sword had been knocked to the ground.
Dread crawled up my spine as I watched the Prince struggle, trapped between the carriage and my father’s looming blade.
Three strikes he dodged, every last bit of the Prince’s focus spent avoiding my father’s next blow.
He’s going to get hurt , I said, panic clutching my throat.
He’s not your bloody concern!
I was on the ground once more, scrounging for something—anything. My fingers closed around a dense, cold rock. When I stood, Elm was off his feet, knocked to the ground.
My father loomed above him, sword in hand, the clinching blow a breath away.
I stepped back onto the road and closed my eyes, turning to the blackness of my mind. When I spoke, the Nightmare’s voice melded with mine in loud, determined dissonance.
“Do. Not. Miss.”
The rock slammed into the back of my father’s head, knocking him off balance, denying his sword the kill. Elm, fast to his feet, tore from the fray, disappearing beneath the shadow of his Black Horse.
My father whirled on me, a violence in his eyes I had never seen before.
Now what? the Nightmare hissed.
I backed away, my limbs suddenly frozen. I pulled the knife from my belt and held it shakily between my father and me. Help me , I called to the Nightmare, my legs weak with panic.
My father scowled. He pivoted, shifting his dagger back behind him. “Fucking highwaymen,” he said, preparing to throw it. At me.
And I knew he would not miss. I’d come all this way, only to be killed by the man who, eleven years ago, had risked everything to keep me alive.
Help me help me help me HELP! I cried, shutting my eyes, the vicious sound of the singing blade buzzing through my body.
Salt filled my nose. I felt as if I’d fallen beneath a sheet of ice.
I gasped, desperate for air I could not taste.
Pain ripped up my arms—the dark magic of the infection and the Nightmare’s strength swimming through my veins.
When I opened my eyes, the world was bright and vivid behind the Nightmare’s gaze.
My father stood before me, fearsome, a small touch of surprise etched into his dark scowl…
… and his dagger tightly fisted in my hand.
The Nightmare was faster than he’d ever been. My eyes, my arms, my mind, danced with violent intent. In only a few swift steps, I closed the distance between myself and my father. Before he could level his sword, I slammed my foot into his diaphragm, knocking him off his feet.
He fell to the ground in a heap. I stood over him, a wicked smile twisting my lips as I balanced the tip of his dagger to his throat.
“Be wary the blue,” I said, my voice melding with the Nightmare’s oily tone.
“Be wary the stone. Be wary of shadows the water hath shown. Your enemies wait. The wolves stalk the gate. Be wary of shadows the water hath shown.”
Fear shattered my father’s austerity. He stared up at me, his blue eyes glassy and wide. When he saw my eyes above my mask, I knew he did not recognize me.
He’d never seen me with yellow eyes before.
But before my father could speak—his mouth agape and his face ghost white—a spooked horse rushed by, knocking me to the ground.
I dropped his dagger and my head struck stone, the world suddenly buckling, as if turned on its head.
Hands reached for me. I swiped at them but could not push them away. My vision dizzied, the heat in my veins so great it burned me.
A moment later I was wrenched off the ground and placed on my feet.