Firestone Key Read online

  Dredging up the courage to commit to her overriding logic, Elaine marched out, striding towards the moat. It was only then that she noticed that she had emerged at a different area of the castle. Peering right and left, all she could see was towering wall in both directions. Attempting to figure out where the drawbridge might be, she headed even closer to the moat, trying to get a better view.

  Teetering on the edge of the moat, she still couldn’t decide whether to go right or left. She was peering up at the battlements, straining to spot a sentry, when the most beautiful bird trill entered her ear. A small bird flew in a full circle around her head and settled on her left shoulder.

  Even in the limited hue of moonlight, she could appreciate the shimmering of layered feathers. Elaine had never had much interest in birdwatching and, therefore, had no idea as to the type of bird it was, other than that it could sing gloriously and had a curiously human expression to its pale eyes. The bird trilled and hopped onto the fingers of her left hand. She raised it to her eyeline, silhouetting her new friend against the pupil of an enormous, slit, reptilian eye.

  Terror froze her directly to the spot while her gaze refocussed, taking in the monstrous head of Baal. The remainder of his bulk was still lounging in the moat, out of view. As his blunt snout turned towards her, she got a clear view of jagged teeth, as sharp as a row of swords, from which hung strips of clothing, bone and rotting flesh.

  There was a horrible sucking sound as the eyelid blinked, enabling the monster to focus directly on the shaking morsel that was Elaine. Up he rose, emerging from the moat. Mesmerised, Elaine leaned further and further backwards, following his rising height, until she toppled, the bird still clinging to her finger. The beast’s roar shook the ground on which she lay and a torrent of fire spewed forth from his nostrils, spraying over her face. The bird wisely took off, as did Elaine. She scrambled to her feet and fled for her life, smoke billowing around her.

  Baal sucked in breath with a shuddering wheeze and let loose more flame with his outbreath. The flames lapped at Elaine’s heels, catching the hem of her coat alight. Shedding the blazing leather, she veered and stumbled towards the safety of the forest. In the thick smoke and her blind rush, Elaine didn’t see Baal settle back into the moat. (He had a bit of a stomach upset from lunch; armour never agreed with him.) Those eyes were the last thing to disappear.

  Elaine thundered into the forest, thrusting branches left and right, with no idea where she was fleeing in the darkness. Inevitably, she ran into a heavy branch that laid her out flat, finally forcing her to stop and listen. Rubbing her bruised head, she realised that there was no sound of pursuit. The bird fluttered into view, landed on the offending branch and let forth a jolly trill. Elaine wiped her bone dry eyes and smiled.

  * * *

  Harlin was miserable. Granted he had been miserable for the last decade, but today was turning out particularly badly. The cold, the damp and his incessant limping were magnifying the constant pain that torture had gifted him. He was concerned for the safety of Myrrdinus and Gwyneth – which was almost understandable – but his heart rate rose when he thought of Elaine – whom he hardly knew and didn’t even like. Worst of all, he had been following the backside of an aromatic black dog for hours.

  Drevel, nose glued to the mud, sniffed, halted, pointed one way, then the other and grumbled. Harlin instinctively understood.

  “They not be together. Pilt. Fearly of that. Where Myrrdinus?”

  Drevel’s nose pointed to the right.

  “Gwyneth with him, no doubt. Elaine?”

  Drevel pointed in the opposite direction.

  “Aye, would be,” sighed Harlin. “Well, have choice. Myrrdinus and Gwyneth taking care each other. I say, go after Elaine. She lone.”

  Drevel softly yapped his agreement.

  “Rightly then.”

  Harlin limped to the left.

  For a moment, Drevel whimpered, staring off in the direction of Myrrdinus and Gwyneth, but he sadly followed after Harlin, leaving the couple to their fate.

  * * *

  Myrrdinus and Gwyneth spiralled around the temple’s stone staircase. Reaching the top, they arrived at the one solitary door. They listened, but no footsteps or voices could be heard coming from within. Grasping the ornate door knob, Myrrdinus slowly turned the iron serpent and pushed the door open an inch, peeping through the tiny gap. Seeing only moonlight and a chair, he crept into the room, Gwyneth on his tail.

  Inside, they found what must have been the spell room, filled with hundreds of musty books, manuscripts and potions. Some sort of thick, syrupy goo dripped off the edge of the central wooden desk, but it wasn’t the source of the nauseating smell that permeated the room. That was emanating from an array of wooden cages, containing practically every type of small animal, except snake.

  “Mam not here,” Gwyneth mumbled, her head drooping.

  “Then she be in castle,” Myrrdinus told her. “Ye going home now.”

  Gwyneth flung her arms around Myrrdinus so forcefully that he almost stumbled into a cage. “Ye not able kill Harpy. Her magik be too strongly,” she pleaded. “Please. Not losing ye too.”

  “Rightly. Get off,” whispered Myrrdinus, prising her off him.

  “Be looking for Firestone or Key of Old,” Gwyneth ventured. Not that she expected to find either. The Queen, no doubt, kept the source of her power somewhere safe and well guarded.

  Myrrdinus took one brief look at the mountain of manuscripts and scanned the first parchment he came across. It contained a series of incantations, written in indecipherable sentences of multi-syllabic words; at least, it was indecipherable for him. Gwyneth saw the befuddled expression cross his features; the one that always appeared when he was confronted with a body of words.

  “Search drawers,” she ordered, pushing him away from the manuscripts with an air of superiority. “Leave reading to me.”

  As soon as her back was turned, Myrrdinus made a face. His performance was greeted with snickering. Myrrdinus spun round to see a multitude of eyes glistening in the moonlight; all the animals were awake. Assuming that they might be transformed humans, he put a finger to his lips to indicate silence. All the animals nodded obediently.

  Oblivious to the mime taking place behind her, Gwyneth rifled through reams of paper, searching for any mention of the Firestone or its Key, but all she achieved was frustration and disgust. These spells utilised animal sacrifice and sported oily stains of goodness knows what. Gwyneth offered up a silent prayer.

  Please, not let my Mam die this way.

  An intermittent tapping began behind her, which was an annoyance, but not loud enough to be heard from outside. “Ssshhh,” she flung at her companion, without bothering to look at him.

  Myrrdinus was opening and closing drawers, trying not to creak, clatter or jangle. Although the priests, as far as he knew, lived behind the altar room, he had no way of knowing how long it would be before someone might need to consult a book or document. Just getting inside the temple, undetected, was a miracle in itself. Harpy was usually surrounded by soldiers on the rare occasion that she ventured out of seclusion. The fact that she had been present when her soldiers raided the village was a strong indication of how much she wanted to capture Elaine.

  The annoying tapping grew louder and more distinguishable. Thump, clang! Thump, clang!

  “Hush.” delivered Gwyneth in her best theatrical whisper.

  “Not me,” was Myrrdinus’s testy reply. “Nor them.”

  Gwyneth stared at the array of mute animals. They were all shaking furry heads and pointing paws and hooves at a cloth covered box, lurking in the darkest corner of the room. With a magician’s flourish, Myrrdinus swept the filthy piece of material away to reveal another wooden cage.

  Unlike the others, this cage imprisoned only one occupant: a rather slimy and disgruntled frog, currently squinting against the sudden re-appearance of moonlight. Peering closely, Myrrdinus noticed that it seemed to have extremely long eyel
ashes, for a frog.

  “Who be ye?” he asked in a patronising tone.

  The frog’s face seemed to crumple in on itself, producing an expression that clearly read, ‘How am I supposed to tell you, idiot?’

  Gwyneth snorted in amusement.

  “Pilt!” Myrrdinus exclaimed, rather rudely. “Stay there, then.”

  At that, the frog leapt up and down in a state of apoplexy, knocking its head against the cage’s metal lock. Thump, clang!

  “Be calmly,” offered Gwyneth, trying to placate the amphibian. “We letting ye out. Myrrdinus, find key for cage.”

  “Why me?” was his petulant response. “Ye search through yunky drawers.”

  “Hush and do what I say,” Gwyneth ordered, reminding Myrrdinus of her mother.

  He went in search of a key to the lock, throwing out the odd grumble from under tons of paper, whilst she addressed the frog.

  “Be ye man?” Gwyneth asked the frog. “Jumping once for aye, twoce for no.”

  Frog jumped twice.

  “So, be woman. How longly ye been here?”

  Frog jumped whilst Gwyneth counted. One, two, three…

  “Ye been here ten year?”

  Frog tried one last, tired leap.

  “Finded it,” announced Myrrdinus, to Frog’s relief.

  Myrrdinus re-appeared from under the parchments holding a rusty bunch of keys and proceeded to try each disintegrating key in the cage’s lock. During this long, excruciating ordeal, the eyes of Gwyneth and Frog kept creeping back to the door. When her nerves could stand no more, Gwyneth began jiggling on the spot, transferring her ample weight from one foot to the other whilst the floorboards creaked beneath her.

  “Stop that!” Myrrdinus snapped. Her curious form of torture had shredded his nerves.

  Finally, he was down to the very last key. Man, woman and frog held their breath as he inserted it into the lock and turned. Crunch. The lock would not open. Reaching the end of his limited patience, Myrrdinus drew his sword and resorted to splintering the cage. The grateful frog hopped free of the wreckage and straight onto his shoulder, delivering a plaintive croak into his left ear.

  Gwyneth withdrew her fingernails from her scalp. “That…” she growled, resisting the urge to slap him, “…not cleverly.”

  Myrrdinus looked from her to the shattered wood and back again. “Maybes we going. Dawn coming.”

  Without further discussion, they proceeded to climb over the rubble on their way to the door. The sight of a frog going by, perched happily on a man’s shoulder, had the expected effect on all the other caged animals; they started pleading to be let out. The resulting animal cacophony threatened to raise the dead, let alone Harpy. Myrrdinus drew himself up to his full height and ordered, “Hush!”

  The racket ceased for three whole seconds and then started up again, even louder.

  “Let them out,” Gwyneth pleaded, yanking on his arm.

  As his shoulder dipped, Frog pedalled madly, but failed to avoid ski-jumping off the length of his arm. Myrrdinus caught her in mid-air and slapped her firmly onto Gwyneth’s head. He was raising his sword to splinter another cage, when Gwyneth, having removed a frog’s leg from her eye, noticed something helpful.

  “Erm, Myrrdinus…”

  “Working.”

  “Myrrdinus…”

  “Shut up, just for once!”

  “Myrrdinus!” Gwyneth repeated, more forcefully.

  “What?!”

  “Key be on top.”

  Myrrdinus glanced at the top of the cage. Sure enough, there was a key, resting comfortably. He lowered his sword, avoiding looking at Gwyneth; he knew what expression her face would be wearing.

  * * *

  As if to gladden her heart and let her know that she was not alone in the rising dawn, the bird had hopped back onto Elaine’s hand and wrapped his tiny claws around her finger. She was gently stroking iridescent feathers when a single rustle of undergrowth was all that heralded the flying arrival of a set of teeth, almost removing Elaine’s finger and shaving a flurry of feathers from the squawking bird’s posterior.

  Uttering a shriek of surprise, Elaine swiftly withdrew her exposed digit and whirled around to confront the attacker, only to find that it was Drevel, teeth bared, quivering with homicidal rage. She was backing away in fear when she realised that the dog’s eyes were not following her, but were fixed on the wildly flapping bird.

  Jumping and snapping at frantic intervals, Drevel was unable to catch his prey before it flew off, emitting a high-pitched squawk of triumph as it winged its way towards the castle.

  “Drevel?” was all Elaine had a chance to say before another voice cut her off.

  “Out me way!” Harlin ordered, shoving her to one side and aiming an arrow at the retreating feathered target.

  “No!” Elaine exclaimed, yanking on his arm as he fired. The arrow, accordingly, went wide. The bird squawked a rude retort, increased its flapping tempo and made every effort to fly out of range.

  “Pilt!” shouted Harlin.

  “Why are you trying to kill my bird?” Elaine demanded, being confused and rather shocked by his behaviour.

  “Be soldier,” Harlin responded, in a tone that suggested she was an idiot.

  “It’s a bird,” said Elaine, in a tone that suggested he was insane.

  “Not believe anything we say, or what ye seen?” an incredulous Harlin asked. “That bird now telling Harpy ye here.”

  Elaine turned back to the castle, in time to witness the bird rotating sideways and flying through a slit window in the wall.

  “Going,” Harlin shouted. “Now!”

  Harlin and Drevel dived back into the forest. A few moments later, they returned. Elaine was still standing where they left her.

  “Ye want to die?” Harlin asked, exasperated.

  “What about Melith?” Elaine demanded. “This Harpy of yours won’t let her go unless I give myself up. It’s the right thing to do.”

  “Asher telled ye...,” Harlin began.

  His words ceased with the telltale creak and grind of the castle portcullis. Man, woman and dog turned in the direction of the sound, to be greeted by the sight of the mounted Sworder, thundering in the general direction of the forest. The bird flew out of the castle and soared above the treetops, circling directly above them, guiding Sworder to their position.

  “Finded us,” Harlin stated. Unable to out run the horse, Harlin prepared to face his mounted adversary, bow outstretched. He shouted to Drevel, “Get her away! I be holding him off.”

  Drevel dragged at Elaine’s clothing, but she ripped clear, hollering, “I’m not leaving you, idiot!”

  “Ye desperate get me killed?” he asked, his voice rising an octave.

  “Hey, at least you’re out of your cave, Twassock.”

  Driven by fear and anger, adrenaline pumped through Harlin’s body at an incredible rate. This woman was nothing but trouble. But, damned if he didn’t like her and he hadn’t liked anyone in years. Besides, it was too late to argue with her, Sworder was on them.

  Harlin raised the bow, straining to prevent his damaged hand from shaking in the grip. He loosed the arrow, but Sworder swerved at the last second, leaving the arrow head to slice a track along his ear.

  “Not much of a shot,” Elaine remarked.

  Harlin held out the bow. “Ye try.”

  The enraged Sworder was on them, sword swinging. Drevel thundered into the back of Elaine’s knees, knocking her to the ground, just as the blade passed over her dropping head. Rolling away from the stallion’s floundering hooves, Elaine looked back and saw Harlin receive a glancing blow which knocked the bow from his hand. In the distance, the sound of horses hooves could be heard pounding across the drawbridge. Their time was running out.

  Harlin scrambled for the fallen bow, only to find that it had snapped in half. He pulled out his sword, but strained to wield its weight in his brutalised right hand.

  Returning for a second pass, Sworder swu
ng his sword at Harlin. A leaping Drevel plunged his teeth into the exposed wrist and heaved with all his strength, toppling Sworder from his horse. The unseated soldier scrambled to his feet, pulled a blade from his belt and thrust at the vulnerable dog.

  “Drevel!” screamed Elaine. “Knife!”

  Drevel dropped Sworder’s wrist to avoid being skewered, whilst Elaine hurtled into the soldier, knocking him off balance. Harlin grabbed at Elaine, yanking her clear of the flailing blade in Sworder’s free hand. More concerned with the plight of Drevel than her own safety, Elaine cried out his name whilst struggling against Harlin’s grip.

  “Be trying to defend ye, woman,” Harlin shouted, shaking her.

  “You can’t defend yourself,” Elaine retorted, “and don’t call me woman.”

  Whilst a leaping and snapping Drevel kept Sworder busy, Harlin grasped the horse’s reins and managed to lever himself into the saddle. The effort cost him dearly; agonising pain shot through his damaged limbs.

  “Get on!” he yelled down to Elaine.

  “What about Drevel?” Elaine shouted back.

  With a troop of mounted soldiers bearing down on their position, Harlin had run out of time and patience; he grabbed Elaine by the hair.

  “Alright, I’m coming,” she hollered, punching his arm. Elaine hooked her toes into a stirrup, straight on top of Harlin’s deformed foot. As she grunted with the effort of mounting behind him, Harlin forced the cry of agony back down his throat by sheer force of will.

  “Drevel! Yah!” bellowed Harlin.

  The stallion bolted, his two passengers clinging on for dear life. Drevel took one last snap at his blade wielding adversary before pounding after them. An exhausted Sworder ceased swinging, his clothes ripped to shreds from dog teeth. The troop of riders stormed past in hot pursuit of the fugitives, knocking him flat. He lay where he had fallen, contemplating the misery of his existence.

  Although Drevel was capable of great speed, even he had trouble keeping up with the frantic horse. With Harlin using all his riding skill to dodge branch and thistle, Elaine clung to his neck as would a drowning man to a lifebelt.