Chapter 9 Under the Maddening Moon #3
With a ragged gasp, Celise peered out from behind the statue. She watched two shadowy shapes emerge at the side of the garden. It looked like one fellow was carrying a heavy burlap bag. But the bag had developed a hole, through which a mysterious length of metal had fallen onto the ground.
As she watched, the luckless thief stooped down to pick up the dropped object, only to have a second length of metal slip out of his sack.
Clang! Clankity-clank!
The second rod skidded across the flagstone courtyard. It bounced and clanked across the slick stones until it came to rest at the foot of the Star statue, not five feet from Celise’s hiding spot. She cursed silently in her head. What were the odds?
“Leave it, Corwin!” another man snapped from the shadows. “We’re almost to the curtain wall. Hurry! Before someone comes.”
“Just a minute now, Farvi,” the first fellow grumbled. “No one’s seen us yet. These things are worth a fortune. Here, see? I got it . . . .”
As the first man, Corwin, stooped to pick up the metal rod, he kicked it again, and it clattered into the garden bed to land on Celise’s bare foot.
She yelped.
“Who’s there?” Corwin snapped.
“Oi, it’s a girl!” Farvi snarled.
A sharp snapping sound—then a burst of golden light.
Farvi struck a match and held the flame high.
Celise stared at the two men, who gazed back at her with equal shock.
Farvi was tall, and Corwin was short. They wore identical suits of brown livery and flat caps pulled low over their faces.
At first she thought they were employed by a noble house, but she didn’t see any badges or sigils on their uniforms belonging to a highborn family.
They weren’t servants, despite how they appeared at a glance.
One had a gruesome scar down his cheek. The other had a gaunt, sunken face. Both looked like they had lived a hard life under the sun.
Celise stooped down and picked up the rod at her feet. In an instant, she knew what it was.
A ghost sword.
“You’re . . . you’re thieves!” she exclaimed.
“Aye, that’s right, little mouse,” Farvi growled. “Thieves. And you’re holding one of our trophies.”
Celise glanced down at the ghost sword in her hands. Then back to the brigands. Then to the iron archway that marked the exit to the Zodiac Gardens. It was shining under the moonlight perhaps thirty paces to her left. She could make it.
“Sorry,” she muttered uselessly. Then she took off at a full sprint.
The two men shouted behind her. Corwin lunged after her, but Farvi grabbed his friend by the shoulder.
“Stop, you dullspark! Let her go. We’re almost to the wall and then to freedom. Don’t forget our merry band is waiting in the woods.”
“They can wait a bit longer!”
“Why risk it? We’ve come this far. Let’s make ourselves scarce before she alerts the guards.”
“Rot and ruin!” Corwin cursed.
The two thieves bolted into the darkness.
Celise didn’t stop running. She sprinted through the garden’s archway and continued down the flagstone path to Gravenmere Castle.
She passed through the midnight courtyard where she had drunk cold tea with Katrina and Ambrosia that afternoon.
Her hands clutched the metal rod. Burning with determination, she thought of the Blackwood trophy room on the second floor of the castle’s north wing.
Should she take the rod back to the treasury?
Would that be suspicious? She had already been called a spy by Lord Elias .
. . what if she was accused of being a thief as well?
Celise paused to catch her breath and regain her bearings.
She could see the spires of Gravenmere Castle in the near distance.
Not far now. And she didn’t think she was being pursued by the thieves.
The cowards had fled to the curtain wall, probably looking for an unmanned gate into the wilderness that surrounded the estate.
She inspected the metal rod in her hands. She studied the blue and gold checkered design. It looked familiar. She thought she recognized it from the Blackwood treasury. A priceless heirloom with a legacy far more important than her own.
Now what?
If she had an ounce of proper sense, she would abandon the ghost blade, run back to the Moongazer Tower, climb back up the trellis, and return to her bedroom.
There, she would banish all thoughts of fate and destiny.
She would dutifully wrap her hair under a nightcap, slide under her cotton sheets, and dream of all the ways she might mend bridges with her horrid stepmother.
But . . . wasn’t it such a strange coincidence to find herself in the Zodiac Gardens at the same time as the thieves?
She thought of Valestra’s devious wand. The goddess seemed to have a sense of humor.
She knew what Mordwen would say. There is no such thing as coincidence. Everything is connected by Her will.
Celise took a deep breath. Alright. Perhaps the ghost sword was a sign. Then what should she do?
What would a courageous person do?
She didn’t have an immediate answer.
I should return the ghost sword to the castle, she decided at last. She would accept the consequences, come what may. She would at least report what she had seen to someone in authority.
Not the Mad Dog himself, of course, but . . . someone.
A patrol must be present somewhere on Gravenmere grounds. The thieves seemed to think so. Perhaps she would find more soldiers at the front gates of the castle?
With a firm nod to herself, Celise continued down the flagstone path at a less frantic pace.
She held the ghost sword in one hand, gripping the enameled rod by its bell-shaped hilt.
She felt safer holding the weapon, even though it was far too long for her, and she couldn’t make it work without mana.
She resisted the urge to swish it around like a swashbuckling pirate.
She gave it a few swipes. It was surprisingly heavy.
Celise found a bronze sign pointing to Gravenmere Castle and followed it. The twin moons lit her path. She kept an eye out for any soldiers, but the grounds were silent. It was almost eerie, seeing the sprawling lawns empty and abandoned like a graveyard.
Finally, the winding path led Celise to the front of the castle.
As she emerged from around a screen of manicured hedges, she noted the curved trajectory of the front drive and a row of white marble fountains.
It looked familiar. Her eyes skated over to the castle’s front steps.
She recalled the pair of grand double doors, where her stepmother and half-sisters had arrived that morning at the estate.
With a sigh of relief, Celise went up to the giant doors and tried to pull one open. Locked.
Well, it was past midnight. Did she really expect a butler to answer the door?
With a grunt of frustration, Celise leaned against one of the heavy wood panels, trying to think of what to do. She recalled seeing a guardhouse near the front gates of the castle, but that was a long walk down the winding front drive and an even longer trek back.
She squinted, but she didn’t see any telltale lights down at the end of the winding drive. The guardhouse might be empty.
Now what?
She sighed. She was really making a mess of things. This whole “changing her fate” business seemed like a mistake. She had only meant to find her birthflower in the Zodiac Gardens under a clear sky full of stars. What was she supposed to do about a stolen ghost sword?
Suddenly, Celise heard the familiar clop of hooves on cobblestone.
She looked up. A black horse of gigantic proportions was trotting down the castle’s front drive at a fast clip.
On the horse’s back, a man dressed in a dark military jacket and a forage cap sat high in the saddle.
The moonlight glinted off a silver star pinned to the front of his cap, just above the short brim.
Celise didn’t know what the star meant, but it looked official.
He looked like he was patrolling the grounds on horseback.
Finally, a guard!
“Excuse me!” Celise called. She darted out into the driveway, waving her free hand back and forth. “Excuse me! I need help!”
The man pressed his horse. With a snort, the beast charged toward her, but Celise didn’t flinch.
She wasn’t afraid of large horses—Dhastel draft horses were almost twenty hands high.
This horse was no more than seventeen hands.
Still, its powerful gait drew her eye. As the stallion came to a fuming stop nearby, she peered up at it.
A Dhastel Hellion, she realized.
The Hellion’s coat shimmered like polished obsidian, with light dun markings on his flanks, and his eyes burned with a wild, untamed fire.
The breed was immediately obvious to her trained eye, even under the moonlight.
Its thick neck and barrel chest resembled a draft horse, yet it was sleeker and less daunting in size than the horses used for pulling wagons and ploughs.
It was larger and bulkier than an average quarter horse, more heavyset than a standardbred, and most definitely not a pony.
Dhastel Hellions were specially bred for the Daemonguard. It seemed a bit overkill for an average soldier, but if he was employed by the Blackwoods, perhaps it was a show of their military strength.
“What’s the problem?” the rider demanded in a harsh voice. “Are you injured?”
“No,” Celise stuttered. “I . . . well . . . .”
“Speak so I can hear you. Raise your chin and look me in the eye."
His voice rang with authority. With a bit of courage, she raised the shined rod in her hand.
“I saw two men fleeing through the gardens. They stole this from the Blackwood treasury. It’s a ghost sword.”
“Where did you see them?”
“That way. They were headed toward the wall.” She pointed.
The man’s eyes followed her pointing hand. Then he reached down. “Give me the blade.”
“Alright,” she mumbled, then handed the man the shined weapon.
The man’s gloved hand gripped the pommel of the weapon.
The rod made a soft whispering sound as he swung it in a half-circle, as though flicking water from its tip.
With a crackle of power, purple light ignited down the length of the rod.
The purple, misty light broadened into the shape of a saber, flaring out toward the end and curving into a trailing point.
The beam of light was steady. It didn’t fade but emitted from the rod like an unwavering, physical force.
Celise stared at the ghost sword in wonder.
The blade’s purple light illuminated the driveway, dancing off the cobblestones. It flashed in the man’s eyes as they gazed at each other.
She had never seen anything like it.
“Stand back!” he shouted, then nudged his horse. Celise stumbled back as the giant Hellion leapt into a gallop, charging down the garden path back the way she had come.
Celise gazed after the horse in wonder, admiring its powerful gait and the sleek way its muscles rippled under its black coat as it charged across the grounds.
Then a thought flashed through Celise’s mind.
“Wait!” she called after the soldier, already knowing it was too late. “The thieves are meeting another group outside the castle. They mentioned a band of others . . . !”
The soldier didn’t hear her.
Celise hesitated, unsure of what to do. Then, possessed by some strange force, she found her legs propelling her forward.
She launched into a sprint after the horse.
She knew she couldn’t overtake the steed on foot, but she had to warn the soldier of the threat somehow.
How could she not give chase? Her arms pumped at her sides. Her breath heaved in her lungs.
I have to tell him . . . I have to warn him . . . she thought. Have I lost my mind? Then, with gritted teeth, I will do what a courageous person would do.
I will change my fate.