Chapter 14
Sonya came awake with a start, her body shivering in the cold, predawn hours. She had slept far longer than she had intended.
She wrapped her arms about herself and drew her leg up close to her body. Her hands hurt, they were so cold, and she couldn’t feel her nose. Her lips were chapped from the chilling, bitter wind.
Her lips split open when she tried to bite into a piece of cold meat. Sonya hissed in a breath and cupped her hand around her lips. The water in her animal skin was so cold the top layer had begun to ice. It was time to get moving before she froze to death.
Sonya gathered her things and slipped the strap of the satchel over her head and across her body. She then stood and glanced around the boulder.
Nothing moved on the landscape. It was as if the world had stopped. There were no animals, no people, no wyrran.
“It’s now or never,” she whispered to herself, pushing aside the twinge of self-doubt that threatened to take root.
She took a deep, fortifying breath and moved around the boulders which had protected her. Sonya paused, waiting for wyrran to surround her.
When nothing happened, she proceeded toward the hidden door, picking her way around the rocks and trying not to slip on the ice and snow.
The doorway she had spotted wasn’t at the top of the mountain, but it was still quite a climb. She no longer felt pain in her injured hand, but she knew if she looked, the wound would be open and bleeding.
Both her hands were. Every time she reached a rock and used it to help herself up the mountain it would cut into her hands. Sonya didn’t want to think about what condition her hands were in. At least not now.
Her first priority was reaching the door and getting inside the mountain. Once there, she would worry about her hands. And her lack of magic.
Sonya was just strides away from the door when she saw the blood. Most of it was old and black, but there were newer drops, thick and crimson.
Her heart lurched at the thought that it was Broc’s blood. In order to heal Broc of the drough blood, she would need another Warrior’s blood. As far as Sonya knew, the only thing that could reverse what the drough blood did to a Warrior was another Warrior’s blood.
Sonya squared her shoulders and kept moving. When she reached the doorway, she pressed herself against the rock face of the mountain and waited until she caught her breath.
The view from where she stood was breathtaking. All around her were the magnificent mountains of the highlands. The sun was cresting over the horizon, its rays meeting first one peak, then another, and another.
The sight calmed Sonya. The light chased away the darkness, chased away the shadows and bathed everything in its golden radiance.
She knew in that instant she would get into the mountain. She would find Broc. And she would free him. Everything would be set to rights.
Sonya turned toward the door and tried to find a handle to open it. Her hands moved over the rock, searching for anything that could be used. But there was nothing.
She clawed at it, breaking fingernails so far down to the quick that she began to bleed. Tears gathered in her eyes, making her vision swim. It wasn’t supposed to be this difficult. She had found the door. She should be able to find a way inside.
Sonya slapped her hands on the stone, her soul beaten down. To have come so far and failed. She laid her cheek against the rock and closed her eyes as she thought of Broc. Of his beautifully dark, sultry eyes. Of his wings. Of the indigo color of his god.
There was a whooshing sound, and the door creaked as it began to open. Sonya jumped out of the way and unsheathed the dagger. She stood in shock when she found a wyrran standing before her.
Before it could let out a shriek and alert others, she plunged the dagger into its chest. She then jerked the blade out and took a swing at its neck.
She had seen all the Warriors take wyrran heads, so she hadn’t thought it would be too difficult. Her blade hit bone, and she realized too late she didn’t have enough strength to behead the creature.
The wyrran crumpled to the ground, taking Sonya with it when she wouldn’t release the hilt of her weapon. She scrambled to her feet and tried to remove the blade, but it wouldn’t budge.
She didn’t want to leave the dagger. It had been a gift from Broc, but no matter how much she tried to free the blade, it didn’t move. She dragged the wee beast out of sight and hurried into the mountain before the door closed.
Sonya entered a short entry way and halted, her heart pounding hard and slow. Evil, menacing and ominous, enveloped her. She pushed it aside and refused to listen to the niggling uncertainty that played in her head.
As soon as she penetrated the mountain a shiver of dread and foreboding raced down her spine. Every instinct demanded she turn and run as far and as fast as she could.
Somehow, Sonya held her ground. The evil was so thick, so prevalent, she found it difficult to breathe.
“You cannot do it,” a voice whispered in her mind. “You have no magic. Nothing. How can you save Broc?”
Sonya swallowed past the lump in her throat and squared her shoulders.
“It would take someone with magic in order to save Broc. Deirdre won’t even look twice at you now that you aren’t a Druid.”
“Enough,” Sonya whispered.
She closed her eyes and thought of the trees and how it felt to have them bend toward her and brush against her with their limbs. She thought of their whispers that would soothe her, comfort her.
And somehow, it blocked her mind from the incessant voice until it was no more.
Sonya opened her eyes. It was time to find Broc. She prayed she didn’t run into any more wyrran, especially without her dagger.
It was much darker in the mountain than she had expected. The light from outside pierced the doorway, but it didn’t go farther.
Sonya flattened herself against the stone wall and leaned to the side. She looked down to the left to see that the corridor that ran in front of her ended.
With a slow release of breath, Sonya peered around the corner of the entryway and into the hallway extending as far as she could see. Torches were mounted on the walls spaced evenly apart, but they still cast deep shadows around them.
From what she remembered hearing from the MacLeods and others who had been imprisoned in Cairn Toul, Deirdre’s chambers were at the top. The many levels of dungeons filled the lower half of the mountain and extended far beneath the earth.
Sonya didn’t know how long she would be able to search before getting caught, and she would never know, either, if she didn’t start moving.
Feeling began to return to her hands as she warmed, causing them to feel as if needles were pricking her skin. The attack on the wyrran and her attempt to find the handle to the door had ripped the skin from her palms.
The pain, however, was small compared to whatever Broc was enduring. Sonya forgot about her injured hands and stepped into the corridor.
She saw more blood on the stones at her feet. The drops turning into small puddles. Whoever it was had lost a tremendous amount of blood and was in need of healing.
Sonya didn’t tarry over the blood. She knew Deirdre’s chambers were near the door, and she needed to get past Deirdre in order to have a chance at finding Broc.
The mountain was eerily silent. The other Warriors had talked about hearing the wails of the tortured and the cries of the dying.
There was nothing now.
During the rescue of Quinn, the prisoners had been released and most of Deirdre’s Warriors had been killed. Unfortunately, when the MacLeods had searched, they had found no Druids alive.
1 hurt Sonya’s heart to think of all her kin—the Druids—dying at Deirdre’s hands or while trying to find their way off the mountain.
Sonya expected to hear the cries of the Druids who had run from MacLeod Castle. The group from Loch Awe had been small, but they were Druids. Yet, their fear of the Warriors and Deirdre’s infiltration into an elder’s mind had sent all but a few of the group running away.
And into the wyrran's hands.
Those Druids had to be somewhere in the mountain. Sonya would have to search for them as well. After she found Broc.
Sonya moved as quickly and as quietly through the corridor as she could. There were several chambers where she would pause and glance inside. Once she knew no one saw her, and she saw no sign of Broc, she moved on.
The hallway stretched into eternity, curving as well as sloping downward. Sonya heard the unmistakable sounds of wyrran coming toward her. She ducked inside the first chamber she came to and held her breath until the wyrran had passed.
“Who are you?” came a broken male voice from across the chamber.
Sonya’s heart missed a beat as she turned her head and found herself staring at Dunmore. She had seen him attack with the MacClures at MacLeod Castle, had seen him throw the drough blood on Broc.
But he had never seen her. He was mortal, so he had no idea if she was a Druid or not.
“You doona belong here,” he said and grimaced as he clutched his stomach.
Sonya saw the blood oozing between his fingers. The drops of blood from the doorway led to him. So, the blood she had seen outside the mountain and in the hallway had been Dunmore’s and not Broc’s. That alone caused a wealth of relief.
“Nay, I don’t belong here, and I won’t be staying long.”
He smiled coldly. “You came for Broc.”
Sonya raised her chin, proud of herself for getting as far as she had. Without magic. “I did.”
“You’ll never find him, and even if you do…,” he paused to cough, “you willna be able to get near him.”
“Where is Deirdre keeping him?”
Dunmore's beady eyes narrowed. “Why should I tell you?”
“Because I can heal you,” Sonya lied.
That gave him pause. “Do it.”
“Not until I get Broc free.”
“You’re going to need me. Heal me now, or I call for the wyrran and Deirdre.”
Sonya knew by the stubborn way Dunmore looked at her he wouldn’t tell her anything until he was healed. But if she healed him, he would most likely hand her over to Deirdre.
Then there was the fact she had lied. She had no magic to heal him. When she wasn’t able to mend him, he would then call for Deirdre.
Sonya pushed from the wall and closed the door to the chamber. Once it was bolted, she turned to face Dunmore. “I know who you are. I know what you’ve done. I should let you bleed to death. You are very near it now.”
“I can help you.” The earnestness in his voice didn’t soften her heart. He was a cold-blooded killer who had aligned himself with evil.
Unfortunately, she did need him.
Sonya knelt before him and pulled his hand away to see the wound. There were five deep gashes across his stomach. The cuts were long and spaced widely apart. Warrior’s claws.
“Broc did this, didn’t he?” Sonya asked with a satisfied grin.
Dunmore nodded his head as he coughed again.
Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “He’s a fighter, that one. Even with the poison in him, he fights.”
“If I heal you, I want your word you will not tell Deirdre about me. That you will help me and Broc escape.”
“Aye. If you heal me, I’ll do as you ask.”
“Does your word mean anything?”
“I suppose, Druid, that you II find out.”
Sonya stared at him for several moments. “Pray, Dunmore, that you don’t deceive me, because if you do, you will regret it.”
“Nothing you can do to me will be worse than what Deirdre has threatened. Now, get on with it. Unless you want Broc’s torture to continue.”
Sonya hated Dunmore. She would rather see him die, but the simple fact was he knew the mountain, and he most likely knew where Broc was being held.
She closed her eyes and thought of her magic. If Broc was right and there was still some inside her, she would find it. For him she would do the impossible.
Deeper and deeper Sonya went inside herself. She searched for the warmth of her magic, sought the glow of calmness which always filled her.
Sonya didn’t rush it. She knew if there was any magic left inside her, she would have to look deeper than ever before. But the more she looked, the more she feared it was well and truly gone.
Then, just as she was about to give up, she caught a spark.