Gaelyph flung himself into the cleft. Sword darting and slashing, he cut down a bogill before the creature could raise an arm to shield itself. The thurs roared. Tusks the size of iron spikes hung from their upper jaws.
Freiherr Jörg’s blunderbuss thundered. Smoke blasted into the cleft. One of the thurs howled. Sergeant McGrady took aim on the creature. The thur jerked as the rifle hammered. Its white fur streaked with blood, but still it lumbered forth.
As the warden readied himself, Effie heard the crunch of leather on stone above her position. Red cloth flashed. But it wasn’t that of the queen’s soldiers.
“Gaelyph! Redcap!” She shouted the warning as a tumble of stone rained down.
“Ack!” Freiherr Jörg cried out as a stone whacked into him. He skidded down the slope, groping for purchase with his hands. His boot caught Effie across the jaw. Her teeth rattled. Her vision blurred.
Sliding to rest a few feet down the slope, she blinked and worked her jaw. Gaelyph had flung himself toward the redcap, but a pair of thurs stalked the warden. Lieutenant Walford’s men let loose volley after volley from their position on the far side of the cleft. A few bogills tried to reach them but were repelled by the onslaught.
She had no weapon, no means to aid her friends save Fey Craft. She eyed Freiherr Jörg. The gnome sprawled next to her. Blood and a wicked gash marred his brow. He held a hand to it, in a daze, but made no move to rise.
Her eyes narrowed, fixing on a pouch at his belt. She had Fey Craft, but a different plan formed in her thoughts. It was one she hoped the Barrow Witch could not counter, one that would take the creature by surprise.
“No!” Sergeant McGrady screamed. Effie’s gaze didn’t budge. She could feel the banshee’s touch crawl through the cleft. She knew it sought the lieutenant’s men.
They had run out of time.
Her hands lurched. Snatching Freiherr Jörg’s pouch, she ripped it free and tucked it into her belt. His blunderbuss lay near his feet, but the thing was too heavy for her to wield. She stooped and yanked out its slow match, hoping the gnome wouldn’t have dire need of it.
“Effie,” he whispered. His gaze trained to her.
“Tell Rose,” she said. She didn’t wait for a response.
Clambering over the ridge, she dropped into the cleft. A thur roared at her. She ignored it. Her feet churned as fast as she could lift her heavy boots. Shadows passed overhead. A sudden heat billowed against her, roasting her flesh. Wood and ash rained down from the sky. One of the airships had broken apart, but she knew not which.
She had eyes only for the cave’s entrance.
33
A thur stomped after Effie. Smoldering ash fell into her hair. Her breath came in panting huffs. Shouts echoed around her as rifles cracked and bullets whizzed.
She took no note of the warnings. She hoped that only the single thur had spotted her. She hoped Gaelyph could stand against the rest of the Unseily, or at least have sense enough to fall back. But she hoped most of all that Caledon’s strength would hold out for a little while longer.
The cave entrance opened before her. She could see now it was not natural. It had been dug out with tools. Scrape marks scored the stone. A thick timber formed the entrance’s lintel. The passageway leading beyond was regular and uniform.
A blast of cold air enveloped her as she passed into the Barrow Witch’s warren. The ash and snow stopped abruptly. The crunch of ice beneath her boots turned into the clop of slippery muck.
She had no need to stoop. She cursed the luck and tried to gauge whether the thur pursuing her would even need to slow.
Something tickled in her senses from a few spans away. A familiarity she hadn’t expected popped into her awareness. It had been there since she reached the cleft, she realized. She had only been distracted. Skidding in the muck, she grabbed for the cave’s earthen wall and smacked into it.
The click and boom of a blunderbuss rattled through the cave. Wood creaked and splintered. A crash of rock and dirt followed. Effie ducked and raised an arm to shield herself. By the time the cloud of dust settled, the cave had plunged into near darkness.
Only a single torch flared. It illuminated the form of Conall Murray. He held the light in one hand, a blunderbuss in the other. Her eyes squinted to make him out. He didn’t grin, but his expression held a mix of wonder and smugness.
Smugness! She fought the urge to clout him up the back of the head, even as a flood of relief overcame her. He was safe. She had not lost him.
Glancing sheepishly away, he turned his attention upward. “I saw a trap rigged over the entrance.” He shrugged. “It seemed as good a way to stop the thur as any.”
Effie felt her eyebrow rise. But she could not deny the results. A furred paw large enough to span a swaddling cloth protruded from the pile of collapsed rock. It wriggled in spasms.
When she didn’t respond, Conall stepped closer. “We saw the cave and fought our way toward it. I thought you would… I knew the danger…” He shrugged again and stared into her eyes. “It seemed the place you would be.”
She tried to feign irritation at the jest, but a stronger desire to feel his touch won out. Grabbing his coat with both hands, she tugged him down until her lips found his. She didn’t fully understand the impulse, but nor did she care. She wouldn’t question it. It was a day for foolish actions. Heat rose from her toes to the tips of her ears.
Conall let out a yelp of surprise. But he softened and fell deeper into the embrace. Wrapping the arm with the blunderbuss around the small of her back, he pulled their bodies together. The hand with the torch he held aloft and at arm’s length.
Effie remembered Freiherr Jörg’s slow match and started. She had it clutched against Conall’s chest along with the lapel of his coat. The tip dangled perilously close to the pouch she’d stuffed into her belt. Pulling back, she gave him a final peck.
“The redcaps must’ve set the trap,” she said, finding her voice. “There may be more of them.” She glanced down the passageway. The torchlight made the earthen walls glow an amber hue.
“Redcaps?” asked Conall. As he spoke, an explosion from outside echoed through the tumbled rocks blocking the cave’s entrance. A few stones trickled down the pile.
She shook her head. “There’s no time.”
“She’s here, isn’t she? The Barrow Witch?” He peered into the darkness before studying her. “You mean to confront her alone?”
A smile broke her lips. “No, not alone. Not anymore.”
He grinned. His posture relaxed. “Never again.”
Effie felt the weight of his declaration wash over her. The truth of the statement had sunk home on the riverbank near Roxburgh Castle, but it seemed now as if the final blinders she’d worn since a child had fallen away.
She had known friendship. She had known family. She had even known notoriety. But never had she experienced the certainty of living not as an outsider, but as part of the heart of a community, a people. Her chest pulled tight, and she marched down the passageway, lest she be overwhelmed. Her legs had turned to lead from the climb up the embankments. Her shoulder burned from the rake of the wulver. She had no need to add to her encumbrances.
Conall’s mirth waned as she led them down the passageway. It sloped from the cave’s entrance. In the steeper places, she heard the snowmelt trickling. The sound made her wonder how many entrances the warren might have, and by the same measure, how many escapes.