A WEARINESS GRIPPED GEORGE, but once again he could not settle. He closed his eyes and tried, but sleep would not come. In the end, he just lay there, staring up at the countless stars. Watching them slowly fade away as a new dawn crept over the horizon.
Time after time the vision of Meriol being torn apart by the Daemon creature played out in his head.
Was it a portent of things to come?
Did this despicable creature really have Meriol?
The Daemon told him the way only to save her was to help it.
What exactly did it mean by that?
He shivered and gathered his cloak tighter around himself.
Was the Daemon, even now, watching them from somewhere close.
Beside him, Stryker stirred and sat up. A splashing from the lake had drawn his attention. George stood and stretched, working the kinks from his muscles.
Tayn stood by the water's edge watching the wolves eat and drink. Earlier he and Cadoc had stalked and killed some deer-like animals. They were not large but would sate the wolves hunger for a while.
'Come, drink some tea,' Malin called from beside the dying embers of the fire. 'We must be on our way soon.'
George took the cup of steaming liquid he was offered and sipped at it.
'Do you think she is still alive?' he asked.
'It is possible,' the Elven Captain replied. 'But who knows what level the Daemon will sink to. It will seek out your weaknesses and use them against you.'
'It wanted my help,' George said gravely. 'In return, we get the Princess back unharmed.'
Valen Altard looked at him sympathetically. 'And do you believe it, George? This bloodthirsty horror can twist your thoughts; make you accept what it shows you is the truth. We have no proof that it has the Princess. And even if it does, it will kill her and all of us when it gets the artifacts.'
George nodded slowly.
He accepted some of what they were saying. But even so, the nagging possibility that the Daemon had shown him the truth still persisted. If so he would do everything he could to save Meriol and stop the creature from returning its race to the surface world.
'The Key Stones... can you sense their presence?' Malin was asking.
The Spellcaster shook his head.
'I am sorry, nothing... but we know it to be hidden somewhere within the Towers of Mais Anar.' He pointed off to where the tall spires reached into a dark forbidding sky. 'We need to get closer; I can then cast a seeking spell to point us in the right direction.'
'Come then let us depart,' Malin insisted.
Ominous murky clouds started to gather above them and it started to rain. A sudden heavy shower that blew across the surface of the lake. The party quickly collected their possessions and rode into the forest once more.
Except for the pit-a-pat of raindrops high above it was still and silent beneath the tree canopy. The forest seemed to be holding its breath; as if to see how their quest was going to play out. For once there was nothing to hinder them and the wolves were able to make good progress. Before long they found themselves on the edge of a small clearing near the foot of one of the towers.
Malin jumped down from Raze's back and studied the surroundings.
He glanced up at Altard. 'Anything...?'
The Spellcaster pondered for a moment and shook his head.
'George! Do you feel anything?' Captain Thrax queried.
'Sorry, nothing,' he answered.
Which was not exactly true. There was an almost constant buzzing in his head. But he was unsure if it was left over from the Daemons' intrusion, tiredness or something else. Whatever the cause he decided to remain quiet about it until he was sure.
'I will conjure a seeking orb, see if we can track these hidden objects,' Altard said.
The Spellcaster dismounted and walked out into the middle of the rain-soaked clearing. He and raised his arms and called out the words of magic. The air above him began to coalesce and spin, particles of golden matter formed within its centre. Valen gathered them, moulding them into a small orb that glittered and sparked within his palms. He held it close, whispering to it then released it into the air.
The sphere hovered for a moment pulsing gently in the early morning light. Then it spun away and disappeared among the trees.
'Quickly now! We must follow,' Altard shouted.
Spurring the wolves into a gentle loping run, they found keeping up with the glowing orb was no problem. It flitted back and forth staying just ahead of them. If for any reason it did stray too far ahead, it waited, hanging in the air until they caught up. Then it was off again, zigging and zagging between the giant trees. Eventually, it came to a halt at the base of another spire. It hung there spinning slowly until they arrived.
Valen Altard stretched up in his saddle and extended a hand towards the orb. It floated above his palm, pulsating wildly.
George watched as the Spellcaster nodded as if in answer to some unspoken information.
Altard's lips moving in silent incantation and the orb shot away. It rose high up the cliffside until they could just make it out through the driving rain and the tangle of dripping foliage. The glistening sphere hovered beside what appeared to be like a dark opening in the rock face. Suddenly it exploded in a scattering of golden dust—that quickly dispersed in the downpour—and it was gone.
'Its job is done,' Altard said quickly. 'What we seek is hidden up there.'
Malin looked up, scanning the towering mist-shrouded spire for the safest way to reach the place that the orb had indicated.
'Tayn will remain here with the wolves,' he said eventually. He then pointed to a rocky tree-lined gulley that stretched partway up the cliffside. 'If we take that route, it will bring us within a short climb of where Lachlan Torqe supposedly hid the Key Stones.'
They started out almost immediately, climbing for most of the morning. Malin led the way followed by Altard, George, and Stryker—the dog too stubborn to remain behind with Tayn and the wolves—Cadoc brought up the rear. It was tough going, a mixture of rock slabs, large boulders, tangled trees and twisted roots made all the more difficult by the constant downpour. Water cascaded down the gully always threatening to knock them off their feet should they put a foot wrong.
Soon they were high above the tree line and looking back through the grey veil of scudding rainfall. They could only just make out the lake and further away, the bleak outline of the hills that marked their way out of the Wildlands.
Finally, they reached the top of the channel only to find their way blocked by steep, rain-soaked cliffs.
Malin studied the rocky face.
He turned to Valen Altard.
'I will climb up with Cadoc,' he said 'If it is safe then we will signal you to orb up with George.'
George stood with the Spellcaster and watched the two Elves begin their long climb. They carefully picked their way up the cliff face and appeared to be making good time.
As George stared after the climbing Elves, lack of sleep and the rigours of the climb began to tell on him. His eyelids began to droop and a feeling that the world was spinning away seized him.
Valen noted his weariness and bade him rest for a while; he would rouse him when the time came.
George found a sheltered spot beneath a slab of fallen rock and with his cloak pulled around him and Stryker curled at his feet he settled back.
He hoped they would soon find what they had come for and get out of here. Nothing good had come of this quest. They had lost much and gained little thus far, and time was quickly running out. No matter what the outcome he needed to be back home soon or he was going to face a lot of explaining.
Dark Child... Dark Child... whispered the voice. Have you decided on your course of action?
Not yet, he heard himself reply.
Red eyes flashed in the darkness.
There was a sigh of deep dissatisfaction. The time draws close for you to make your decision. Her fate lies in your hands.
Why should I believe you Daemon? How do I know you really have her?
You do not. The Daemon chuckled grimly. But are you willing to take that chance?
This...
An image flashed in his mind.
He was sat in the garden back at Ravengaard Manor. Meriol and his sisters were there with him, laughing and joking in the sunshine...
...or this...
...the picture faded and was replaced with another.
He was standing in a cavern staring down at a terrible sight. Even in the darkness, there was no mistaking the blood-drenched body of the Princess lying before him. To his horror, he saw other bodies scattered around the cave floor.
He looked closer.
One of them was his own.
...the choice is yours... the whisper came again.
What do you expect me to do? George heard himself ask.
He caught a fleeting movement in the corner of his eye and from close by came the sound of claws scraping on rock.
When the time comes, it hissed. I expect you to choose wisely. Your lives depend on it.
Valen was shaking him awake.
'Malin has reached his destination and signalled us to join him.'
George hauled himself from under the fallen slab. He shook his head trying to clear away the last vestiges of the nightmare that had haunted his sleep.
He looked around half almost expecting to see the Daemon watching him from the trees.
But he saw nothing.
Of course, that did not mean it was not there. He was sure now. The constant buzz that plagued him was the Daemon, somehow inside his mind. It was close, hiding, watching, waiting for the right moment to strike and obtain the artifact.
The mysterious Key Stones that had the power to free the daemons or lock them away once more.
But why all the subterfuge? Why did it need his help? Why did it not just take the Stones?
It suddenly hit him.
Because it can't.
Something was preventing the Daemon from taking the artifacts.
'Come, George,' Valen Altard was saying. 'We need to make haste.'
The Spellcaster ushered him away from the cliff face. The heavy rain of earlier had turned into a fine mizzle that obscured their view of nearly everything more than ten paces away.
George followed Altard's pointing finger. High above he could just make out the faint glow of a torch being waved.
'That is our destination,' the Spellcaster said, sounding a little worried.
He started to call out the spell that would activate the orb, then noticed Stryker standing with them.
'I am not sure...' he started to say.
As if in answer to what the Spellcaster was about to say, Stryker wagged his tail and gave them his best pleading look.
Valen Altard shook his head in acceptance and continued.
The air shimmered and a blue orb formed around them.
Almost instantaneously it popped, and George found himself teetering on the very edge of a small rocky shelf high on the side of the spire.
Cadoc moved swiftly and pulled him to safety.
George took a deep breath and thanked him.
'Sorry about that,' said Altard apologetically. 'I did not allow for the wind shear.'
George shot him a wry glance and thought better of answering.
A gust of wind howled around the spire and threatened to blow them off the narrow ledge. Cadoc quickly led them through a fissure in the rock and into the shelter of a small hidden chamber. It was warm inside, a fire blazed in its centre and torches—mounted on brackets—cast their flickering light around the walls.
Skeletal remains littered the floor, the bones brittle and dismembered by the passing of time. A large skull—probably a Troll of some sort—stared sightlessly at them from the far side, several paces from the rest of its body. Firelight glinted dully on rusted armour and weapons. Stryker sniffed and growled at the piles of shattered bones as if sensing evil among them.
George called him away and looked around the chamber, noting the crude wooden furniture and cooking utensils all layered with thick dust. It had been many years since anyone had made use of them.
George glanced at Cadoc a puzzled look on his face.
'Where did all this come from?'
'It was already here,' The dark-haired Elf said with a hint of sadness in his voice. 'This is almost certainly where Lachlan Torqe came to conceal the artifact and defend it for the rest of his days.'
'It is why he was never heard from again,' Valen Altard said leaning close and studying each body. 'Different races but none are Elf,' he remarked. 'It seems Lachlan so feared the Key falling into the wrong hands that he would not leave it unguarded. Instead, he decided to remain and protect it.'
He paused in his studies.
'Have you found any sign of his body?'
Cadoc shook his head. 'Malin is already exploring farther inside.'
He indicated a partly hidden opening at the back of the chamber.
Cadoc took a torch and led them down the cramped curving passageway. Eventually, it opened up onto the side of a large cavern. More skeletons—in various states of decay—were scattered about the shelf they found themselves standing on. Someone, probably Malin, had lit torches that cast an eerie glow on the cave walls. They fought against the darkness, hissing and spluttering against the constant drip of water from high above. By their light, George could just make out a series of crude steps carved into the cave wall.
'Malin is down there,' Cadoc said pointing into the dark well. Far below they could see a reddish glow pulsing faintly in the murky abyss.
Altard stepped forward. 'I will transport us; it will be quicker and easier than trying to climb down.'
The blue orb enclosed them, in an instant they found themselves standing at the bottom of the cavern.
Water fell all around. It ran off the walls and splashed across the surrounding rocks to collect in a large dark pool in the centre of the floor. In its mirrored surface the reflected torchlight from above gave the impression of endless depth.
Skirting around the edge of the pool they came to an opening that wound down beneath the cavern floor. It was from within that the strange pulsating glow emanated.
'Captain!' Cadoc called out, his voice echoing around the cave walls.
They listened carefully for a reply, but none came.
Stryker began to growl his ears laid flat, hackles raised.
'What is it boy?' George asked.
Reluctantly they started forward.
The Daemon A'treal sprang from the branch, his muscles corded and bunched propelling him across the gap between the tree and the cliff face.
His claws dug deep into the rock, seeking purchase.
He started to climb; his strength and agility made the task an easy one. The fine rain rippled over the surface of his armoured frame helping to camouflage him against the rock face.
Earlier he tracked the Elves and the man-child, watched them scale the towering pinnacle. He thought of killing the one they left behind to guard the large hairy beasts. But decided against it. The creatures looked powerful, and although he was in no doubt of his ability to slay them; he saw no reason to risk injury when he was so close to the prize.
A'treal shifted the makeshift harness. It was fashioned from woven vines and used to strap the body of the Elven girl to his back.
She was barely alive.
But that was all he needed.
She would play her part, and the boy would play his.
The Daemon had delved deep into the boy's mind, found his weakness. An affection for the Elf that could be used against him.
This feeling of affection was a strange concept to A'treal, one that had no place in the Daemon's society. It was just one of the many flaws that plagued both Man and the Faerie races. Flaws that would hasten the eventual downfall of both their worlds.
A'treal eased himself up onto the ledge and crouch there for a moment. Reaching out with his mind he explored the surrounding area for any traces of magic.
This was the place; he was sure of it.
Although he could not sense it, the Key Stone was close.
The Daemon picked up the stench of Elf and the faintest trace of the boy.
He followed, his body sliding through the fissure and into the cave beyond. Except for the scattered bones, it was empty. A'treal wasted no time and quickly discovered the hidden opening. He pushed inside, his body morphing to fit the confines of the passageway.
The end is close, he thought, gazing down into the depths. They were below seeking the artifacts. He had no doubt that soon they would have it in their possession.
The Elf strapped to his back, moaned in pain.
A'treal laughed, a deep booming sound that echoed around the cavern walls.
Fear not little Elf, your usefulness is about to come to an end, and with it, your misery.
With that, he scrabbled over the edge and began to slowly climb downwards.