The Spade stood before her, his stare intense. “Indeed. I have broken my vows by helping yeh. Surely yeh’ve assumed that there was something I left out of the story. One man remains, just one left, and my vengeance against him will be a prize above rubies. A young man, a young king, recently crowned by his father, who ordered the raid on my village, was present for the murder of my family before he was called back to Wonderland on royal business. This man I could not kill silently while creeping through the woods, for he was guarded night and day by fighters more skilled than I. To take his life is not enough. I must see him fall, to see everything that he loves stripped from him, which as far as I can see, is only power.”
Dinah stared at the Spade as fat drops of rain drenched them both. Lightning snaked across the gray sky. “Vengeance. This is why I help yeh, and this is why we hike endlessly through these mountains. So that someday we will both have justice for the loved ones taken from us.”
Dinah stared at the Spade, not sure what to say while her head reeled with potent thoughts and emotions. An empty hiss of air escaped her lips as she wiped a stray tear from her eye with the back of her hand, mingling with the rain that was now coming in sideways. Her pain was nothing compared to his loss, and yet she felt a sting of anger burning through her. His motivations had finally shown, and she was aware of just how close she was to a man who could have taken her life a dozen times before she woke.
Finally, she found the words she was looking for and began to speak. “Sir Gorrann, I am sorry for the loss of your family, but I have no intention of returning to Wonderland Palace. Not tomorrow, not ever. Now, if you will please tell me where you are leading me, I’m certain we can—”
“Be silent!” hissed the Spade, his head turning swiftly to the west. Morte’s ears perked up. There was only silence, and then the crunch of a leaf, the sound of a step on the trail below them. “Hurry!” he whispered. “Someone’s following us. We must pass over this summit, and quickly.”
Fear churned through Dinah as she gripped the leather reins, urging Morte as quickly as she dared up and over the rocky slope. Coming over the rocks, the pair ran into a sheer cliff face. An enormous slab of gray rock loomed before them, extending its jagged ends into the noon sun. Hundreds of boulders filled the small space, as if a giant had been playing with his toys and left them in a terrible pile.
“We’re trapped!” Dinah snapped. “Where did you lead us?”
Sir Gorrann was scanning the face of the wall, searching for something Dinah couldn’t see. There were several footsteps now, echoing off the ledges below, the sound of more than a dozen men inching ever closer. At first Dinah was confused as to why they had not been swarmed over already, but then she understood. Whoever tracked them wanted to push them over the cliff face. Sir Gorrann continued to search between boulders.
“What are you doing?” Dinah screamed. “We have to fight!” Finally, Sir Gorrann found what he was looking for. Two boulders, perfectly aligned, of equal shape and size. Upon first glance, there was nothing extraordinary about them, but on further inspection, their identical shape, marking, and color was unnerving. Dinah ran to Sir Gorrann, her sword drawn.
“Put that away,” he mumbled. “You could not fight what threatens to push us off this ledge.” As they crept around the boulders, the Spade took a surprising step between them. Dinah blinked several times before she was able to decipher the illusion. What she thought were two boulders was actually one carved to look like two separate shapes. Inside a narrow space between the two rounded forms hid a tall hole, almost impossible to spot unless you were standing at the perfect angle. Dinah knew she never would have been able to find it on her own.
“Through here!” shouted the Spade. Something churned in her stomach as she looked into the inky tunnel. It was a lurking, terrible feeling, a fear that distorted and confused. She recognized it immediately—this was how she felt when the root had twisted into her mouth. There was evil in that tunnel.
“No, I can’t go in there.”
Sir Gorrann grabbed her arm and practically dragged her inside. “We have no choice, Princess. Move!”
She opened her mouth to object, but there were no other options. Head bowed, she followed Sir Gorrann’s mare through the narrow opening. Morte gave a great huff and stomped the ground furiously, his hooves sending booming echoes through the quarry. The ground seemed to shudder. Finally, once Dinah took her hands off his reins, he ducked his head and entered the tunnel willingly. His flanks brushed against the wall. He was unfamiliar and uncomfortable in this rocky terrain. His ears were flattened against his head, and Dinah could see his muscles tensed and ready to run. She felt a sudden rush of panic.
Sir Gorrann, his mare, Dinah, and Morte were stacked end to end, moving as quickly as they dared. If Morte should panic and bolt, they would all be trampled under his crushing weight. Sir Gorrann glanced back at Morte, his face pale and drawn. He had obviously come to the same conclusion. They paused, their hearts humming loudly in their closely drawn quarters.
“This is a wicked place,” breathed Sir Gorrann. “Let’s hurry. Keep yer devil calm.” The tunnel was maybe a half mile long, and from the moment they entered, an all-encompassing darkness draped them like a heavy blanket. Overhead, Dinah could hear the slight slithering of roots, a whispered hiss, and the sound of a thousand tiny legs. A liquid dripped onto her cheek, warm and smelling of blood. Her hand brushed up against something wet and rubbery and she leaped toward the mare with a shriek. Morte was becoming more agitated, and Dinah forced herself to remain calm as a wet tendril caressed her cheek in the darkness. Something was crawling in her hair that made tiny clicking sounds with a sharp mouth. It scuttled across her forehead and leaped onto the wall. The walls around them were alive, raising their voices in a hissed chorus. Evil, evil, evil. Sir Gorrann pressed himself against the wall to let Cyndy pass, and Dinah felt his hand close around her wrist, grateful for the warmth of his calloused fingers. A creature wet and long encircled their wrists before slithering away into the tunnel.