Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(46)
The twins disdained the tall fences Angoulême’s followers used to surround their camps, preferring to use a series of what could only be described as triplines. They used so little magic that they were virtually undetectable, but would instantly warn either of them if they were triggered. Fortunately, I knew where they were and how to get by them. The first set were about knee height, and I set a branch across two rocks so that my horse would step over it. The second would cut across my waist, and it took me several minutes to build a jump in front of it. Mounting my horse, I walked back until I was almost at the first tripline, then dug in my heels and cantered toward the jump, praying the wind would drown out the sound of hoof beats.
I leaned forward as the horse leapt, my gut clenching as I heard his hoof clip one of the branches. Don’t fall, don’t fall, I prayed, pulling the animal up on the far side and listening for alarm in the camp.
Nothing. I’d made it out, but I only had a few hours until my absence was noted. I needed to put them to good use.
* * *
The wind howled, and I scanned the blackness of the forest, praying I wouldn’t run afoul of a mountain cat or pack of wolves. I’d brought a bow and handful of arrows, but they were unlikely to do me much good. I watched my horse’s ears, trusting the animal’s instincts to warn me if danger lurked in the darkness.
The river flowed in near silence, the winter so cold that even the roughest rapids now rushed beneath a frozen surface. I guided my horse down the trail flanking the fall, watching for the pond that marked the entrance to the labyrinth.
I almost missed it.
The pond was frozen over and then blanketed with snow, the marks that Angoulême’s party had made when they ventured out long since buried. If not for the rough paddock the traders had built, I would have bypassed it entirely. Slipping off my horse, I led him through the gate before removing the saddle and bridle and turning him loose. The fence was enough to keep him here for a time, but should something happen to me, he’d have no trouble breaking free if he put his mind to it.
Shouldering my satchel, I held up the lantern and stepped onto the ice, the light trembling as I ascertained whether the way was passable or if the cavern was frozen over for the winter.
It was open. But barely.
The ice groaned as I crept toward the rocks, the sound so loud that I was sure anyone within miles would hear it. Reaching the overhang, I dropped to my knees and set the lantern aside so I could shovel snow out of the way.
It would be tight.
Even with the snow cleared down to the ice, there was less than a foot between pond and rock. Easing the lantern under the ledge, I shoved my bag after it, then lay on my back, tipping my head to the side so I could pull myself through. The ice bit and scraped at my cheek, and the rock caught at the front of my cloak, making me glad I wasn’t busty. My breath was deafeningly loud, pulse racing as I considered how exposed I was: head and shoulders in one world and feet thrashing for traction in another. I kept waiting for someone or something to grab me from either end, the cruel press of teeth or the bite of steel, and I wriggled harder.
Then I was through.
The ice creaked as I rose to my hands and knees, the sound echoing through the small cavern. With the lantern flame as high as it would go, I scanned the darkness to ensure nothing was lying in wait before crawling deeper inside.
Though I’d been in this place only twice and never lingered, it was deeply familiar to me, the jagged rocks of the ceiling and sharp embankment leading down to the pond featured often in my dreams. It was the beginning and end of my time in Trollus – the pathway to a world I’d never imagined, a life I’d never dreamed possible.
And it was a pathway that had seen a great deal of traffic in recent days.
Muddy footprints marred the surface of the ice, and there were signs that several trolls had tarried here for some time: remnants of meals, a discarded wineskin, and the less than pleasant smell of urine. Angoulême and his followers had come this way; had others as well? How many had snuck out of Trollus before the King had locked the city down, and where had they gone? Were they inflicting their own form of destruction on the Isle or were they only trying to flee the war between three powers?
But such thoughts were only procrastination on my part. Right up until this moment, I’d felt confident that I could brave the labyrinth once again, yet looking into that yawning black tunnel, I was tempted to slide under the rocky overhang and scuttle back to camp. And maybe that was the right thing to do.
I stood frozen in place, second-guessing my decision, which, frankly, had the potential to be the latest in a series of less than wonderful choices. Except, try as I might, I couldn’t think of another way to find the answers we needed. So I started forward.
It seemed impossible for the labyrinth to become any more treacherous, but it had. The dank wet of spring and summer had made the rocks slippery enough; now there were patches of ice hidden in the shadows to contend with, and my numb fingers were reluctant allies in my attempts to keep my balance.
The only aspect that was no longer a challenge was finding the correct path. Where the traders’ markings had once been were now arrows slapped onto the stone in red paint, and even without them, there were obvious signs of traffic. Boot prints and discarded bits of food. Smells that were a different sort of rank than what the sluag left behind. It added another level of fear, because while before the labyrinth had been empty with the exception of sluag and the occasional trader, now I was at risk of coming across a troll at every turn. So I kept my lantern turned as low as I dared and stopped often to listen.