Kiranrao chuckled and then laughed long and hard. “The most amazing part is that you actually believe it! Really? I am astounded.” His voice fell serious. “Tyrus serves no man but himself. He used my services to steal that dagger from the Arch-Rike. He knew that I would want it, so he hid it in these forsaken mountains. Your coming to Havenrook was a personal insult to me delivered by yourselves. Instead of seeking my aid, he sent you to a brain-fevered Preachán. This is my lair. This is my country. You are intruders here. The dagger is already mine. You found it, fair enough, but I claim it as my own and challenge you for the right to it. Who will defend your claim on it? Hmmm? Who will bid for you, girl, when I state my intent? I own the dagger. I own you. The only piece of information I am interested in purchasing right now is Tyrus’s whereabouts. I’ll gladly spare your lives, save one. You can argue amongst yourselves as to which one of you must die. I don’t care.”
Paedrin’s mouth went dry. His mind went through a flurry of thoughts. How many were up there with Kiranrao? A dozen? More? His staff was shattered on the floor. His arm was broken and useless. The other two could summon fire, so that would be of help, though the thought of killing them all was distasteful.
“You are bluffing,” Paedrin said. “You are probably up there all alone.”
Kiranrao sighed. “Now you have really insulted me. I think it is you who must die, Bhikhu. The girl is interesting. The Druidecht is bothersome, but at least he is respectfully silent. Erasmus, do you really want to die down in that Cruithnean stink hole? Girl, come closer. I will drop a rope down for you.”
Paedrin scowled and took a step closer.
“No,” Hettie said.
Paedrin stared at her in surprise.
“I was freeborn. I would rather die down here in the dark than be called Romani again. I belong to no man,” she spat.
Kiranrao sighed deeply. “It will be dark soon. You will be hungry. And you will change your mind. I will not tolerate disobedience. You belong to me, girl. I claim you.”
Paedrin saw her fingers begin to glow blue. “No,” he warned.
Some dirt and pebbles tumbled over the edge as another man approached Kiranrao. Furtive whispers came from above.
“What do you mean?” Kiranrao snapped. “He hasn’t returned from fetching water? Why should that…”
There was a roar.
It wasn’t the roar of a bear or the snort of a wolf. It was a sound that penetrated to the deepest part of Paedrin’s heart, a place where shadows bred monsters in the dark. It robbed reason. It stole confidence. Paedrin stood there, knees trembling, and wondered what could make such a sound as that.
Annon had given it a name. The Fear Liath.
The roar was followed by several moments of silence. But the silence was abruptly disturbed as trees and branches gave way to something enormous and strong. There was another roar, this one closer, more terrible. Cries of confusion came from above. There were the sounds of weapons being drawn. Bowstrings twanged. Then a grunt and the gasp of a man smashing into stones before collapsing. Screams followed, shrill and full of dread.
Annon stepped forward into the ring of light. “Alloren morir,” he said softly in the Vaettir tongue. The stone hovering over the gaping hole slammed shut, sealing them inside the darkness, blocking out the screams from above.
In the darkness, there was no time. There were faint breaths, ragged breathing. The orbs of light had winked out after the blade had been retrieved and sheathed. Even the creature that had attacked them, the Goule, was motionless. Whatever power that had charmed it was gone. The feeling of fear was ever present.
Annon knew he could summon light by his fingers, but he could not sustain it all night. “Are you all there?” he asked softly.
He heard all of their voices murmur in response.
“Paedrin, you are hurt the most. How is your shoulder?”
“If you want, I could twist your arm, and you would know the feeling. Broken, I think. I need to bind it so that it doesn’t move.” His voice grunted as he sat down. “But without any light, it will be difficult.”
“I can help bind it,” Hettie said.
“How is your head, sister?”
“Bleeding still. Nothing is broken, though. It is so dark. I dread this place.”
Annon also sat down, tucking the sheathed blade in his belt. He dared not release it again. Even with it in the sheath, he was starting to hear it again. “We will do our best, even in the dark. There are no spirits here I can summon to help. The only spirit here is in this blade. It is a dark creation. What I do not understand is why Tyrus sent us to find it. Surely it is worth a treasure to Kiranrao, or he would not have hunted us. But a man like him with this. It would make him do awful things.”
Erasmus’s sigh echoed. “All is not as it seems, which is usually the case. If that boulder will not move again until dawn, we will be here for a while still. Better here than up there with that creature.”
“I am not so certain we are better off,” Annon whispered, again feeling the subtle urge to draw the dagger and kill them all in the darkness. He knew he would not sleep that night, knowing the others might be drawn to the weapon to try and take it from him. He doubted any of them would sleep.
The feeling in the chamber changed. Something had happened above. Was it dawn? Had the Fear Liath returned to the waterfall? Annon was bone weary and weak from the strain against his mind. As if awoken from a dream, he spoke the words again and the giant rock floated upward again, exposing the silvery-blue light of dawn.