Chapter 36
‘Ican’t believe you talked me into this.’ Calla stumbled on a rock and swore loudly.
‘Quiet,’ Lamorna whispered sharply. ‘And thank you. Thank you both.’ She glanced at Elaine over her shoulder.
The blind woman still unnerved Lamorna but she would never admit to it.
Elaine walked with the confidence of someone who could see, even in the dark.
She glided over the rocky ground without hesitation.
They’d been following Mordred and Alden for what felt like hours.
She was out of breath, struggling to keep up with them.
They moved fast, barely making a sound. The moon was nothing but a slither of light, and Lamorna had stubbed her toe more times than she liked to think about. She’d have bruises tomorrow.
She didn’t trust Medb one bit and wasn’t sure why Mordred was so eager to go trekking into the hills behind Dinas Emrys in the middle of the night.
The Fey Highlands, he’d said the place was called.
Lamorna had no idea how far away it was from the castle.
The ground was rocky and uneven, and soon it began to slope upwards.
Mountains came into sight, large and imposing against the barrenness of the land around them, like they’d shot from the earth in a shower of rocky chaos.
Lamorna could make out the jagged peaks, broken teeth in a dark-mouthed sky pricked with the occasional star.
Ever since Ordes had brought Marsh’s head back to them in a box, Mordred had been agitated.
Lamorna hadn’t reminded him that it had been a silly decision to send Marsh after Ordes in the first place.
Now, Mordred’s agitation had grown into desperation.
She could see it in his face when he slept.
She could see it in the line of his body, the tension that lived there.
She’d tried to talk to him about it, but he’d brushed her concerns aside, telling her he was fine, everything was fine.
She wished she knew what Ordes had said to him.
At least that nasty pirate was dead. Someone had gotten that right.
Nothing was going to plan though. Marsh had failed, and the dragon wanted nothing to do with Mordred still.
Mark was being troublesome, his Witchfinders waltzing around the castle like they owned it.
That morning Lamorna had heard him arguing with Mordred over what they should do next.
Mark believed the One God would show them the way.
Lamorna had strode into the hall in time to watch the shock slip over his face as Mordred gleefully told him the truth about his God.
It had made her happy to see Mark open his mouth and have nothing come out.
Mordred needed better allies. She knew that but wasn’t sure the Fey Highlands was where he would find them.
Lamorna stumbled in fright as something howled in the darkness, and Calla moaned that this was a bad idea.
‘You can go back, but I’m not,’ Lamorna told her with more courage than she felt.
Calla sighed but did not turn back. Elaine had not spoken a word since they left the castle, but now her lips curled in the moonlight.
‘What?’ Lamorna demanded in a whisper.
‘He knows we’re following,’ she said simply. ‘He’s known it since we left. He’s the leader of the Inborn, Lamorna. Did you expect anything less?’
‘Was,’ Lamorna snapped. Fear flared inside her.
Beyond the Fey Highlands was Cruithea. For a wild moment, Lamorna thought Mordred would keep going and return home.
She quickened her pace, not realising that Mordred and Alden had stopped until it was nearly too late.
She smothered her gasp and dropped down behind the closest pile of boulders.
‘Lamorna,’ Mordred said. ‘I know you’re there.’
She stood, rubbing her dust-smeared palms on her skirt. ‘Oh.’
A torch flared to life, so bright and obvious in the darkness.
Lamorna swallowed, throat tight. ‘Are you going to send us back?’
Mordred glanced at the three women, his expression caught between exasperation and amusement. ‘I should, but I did promise that I would share every step of this journey with you. I’ve been a bit lacking in that recently, haven’t I?’
Lamorna made herself not look at Alden. She nodded, just once.
‘You may all stay, but keep up.’ Mordred held out his hand for Lamorna, and she hurried to his side and took it, sighing in relief at the touch of his skin on hers. ‘There are dangerous things out here.’
Elaine scoffed. ‘There is nothing in these mountains I have not encountered before,’ she said tersely. ‘But I am going to bet you don’t know what you are truly walking into, Mordred.’
‘Then advise me, Elaine. Isn’t that what you’re here to do?’
‘Pretty words, pretty lies, one who sees without her eyes.’
Lamorna jolted as a familiar eldritch voice echoed around them. The air shimmered and Medb materialised, her black gown trailing in the dust, her face as pale as the moon. The faery’s eyes burnt like black coals in the darkness. ‘Trust her not, Ereshki’s slave. Mind her mistress and what she gave.’
Mordred’s fingers tightened on Lamorna’s, making her wince. ‘What are you saying?’
‘What she sees is not what she shares,’ Medb whispered, her dark eyes pinned to Elaine’s face. The Red Sister lifted her chin in a challenge, but Medb said nothing more, turning to Mordred instead. She inclined her head.
‘The time for games is at an end, it’s time that we did not pretend.
You wish to rule in your cousin’s seat, and I have enemies I wish to beat,’ she sang.
The darkness behind her seemed to move. Lamorna held her breath, reaching for Calla’s hand as Medb stalked closer.
‘My horde are yours, yet they answer to me, an alliance here there needs to be. Try to claim them you must not, or your bones I’ll leave on this earth to rot. ’
‘Mordred,’ Elaine warned, but he shot her an icy glare.
‘What must I do?’ Mordred asked Medb eagerly.
‘You wait.’ A smile pulled at the corner of Medb’s mouth before she turned and slunk away into the darkness. Things Lamorna could not see rustled after her, creatures that the Faery Queen had offered to Mordred. Lamorna shivered and moved a little closer to him, and they set off again.
It was as dead and barren at the base of the Highlands as it was on Camlann Plain.
Lamorna did not understand how anyone could live out here and survive.
It was hard enough for them in the castle – food was still scarce, and with more people arriving, they had more mouths to feed than they could provide for.
Lamorna frowned. Another problem she would have to deal with.
Mordred seemed to either not care or not realise their problems.
She wasn’t sure what time it was, how far away the dawn was. A large shape loomed out of the darkness, and she realised they had reached the Highlands. Their tops were rounded, moonlight sliding down their craggy faces like spilt paint.
In the face of the mountain was an opening, a slit of foreboding darkness.
Lamorna eyed it warily. She did not want to go in there, but Mordred and Alden showed no signs of stopping.
She exchanged a nervous glance with Calla and followed Mordred into the darkness.
She could sense Medb lurking somewhere, but the faery had hidden herself.
They walked single file and in silence, walls of rock pressing in on them.
The further they went, Lamorna thought she could hear water and smell food.
The pass opened into a great cavern, a stream running through it, and Lamorna realised the glint of stars above had disappeared.
They were now inside the mountain itself.
What she had not expected to find there was people waiting for them. Groups of men and women clustered around small fires and the smell of food wafted through the cavern. In the muted firelight, Lamorna could not clearly make out their faces.
‘Who are they?’ she whispered, not expecting an answer.
‘Outcasts,’ Alden said. ‘They occasionally raid Cruithea’s borders, stealing our game. There has been the odd scuffle.’
‘Scuffle?’ Lamorna repeated. She glanced at Calla; her friend’s earlier fear had melted away, replaced with curiosity as she studied these strangers living in the heart of a mountain.
‘Mordred knows their leader. I told him not to come here, that it was a bad idea,’ Alden added, his face troubled.
‘Why?’ Lamorna asked.
‘Because the leader of this group is Mordred’s uncle.’
A tall man entered the cavern from another opening at the back. He walked with a limp, and as he came closer to the fire, Lamorna could see his body was misshapen and twisted at cruel angles. She watched him, stunned. She’d never seen someone who looked like him.
Alden bent his head close to hers. ‘That’s him. He was cast out of Cruithea by the High Priestess,’ he whispered.
‘What for?’
‘Wanting what was not his to have,’ was all Alden said. He straightened as this deformed man came closer to them, nodding to him in a way that let Lamorna know Alden had met Mordred’s uncle before. Mordred had not moved. His spine was stiff. Lamorna saw his shoulders rise as he took a deep breath.
‘Uncle,’ he said.
The man approached Mordred. Lamorna held her breath, fear trickling through her, but a smile broke across the man’s face and he embraced his nephew. It was a curt embrace, as if he wasn’t sure he should do it.
‘And here you are,’ he murmured. ‘I wondered how long it would take you.’
‘I’m not here to play games, Agravaine,’ Mordred said.
Agravaine laughed. ‘Of course you’re not. But you’re late, Mordred.’
Lamorna frowned as Agravaine waved a crooked arm at one of the groups of people in the cavern. Two men and a woman with tangled blonde hair sat there. A moment later, she noticed the men standing behind them, daggers drawn, and her frown deepened.