They struck out for the cliffs. Abigail snatched breaths when she could—the sea was relentless, constantly forcing them under.
“Where is the entrance?” Hugo shouted, turning every which way in the water. They were close to the cliffs. Jagged rocks protruded into the sea. A large wave would smash them up against them, even with the help of the mermaids.
“I think I see it. This way.” Robert ducked under the surface, and they followed, kicking hard as the current swept them close to the cliffs. A black hole appeared in the cliff face. It was nestled behind an outcrop of rock and impossible to see unless you were right up on it.
Amarina released her, and Abigail was swept forward into the channel. She pushed off against the side and drifted. Once she felt rocks under her feet, she stumbled forward, coughing out seawater. Rego pulled her up onto a rock.
They were in a low cave. A rusty iron ring set in the wall was the only indication anyone had been there before. Everyone put on their boots and began climbing over the rocks to a sandy trail. They followed it upward until they reached a heavy steel door.
Robert pushed on it, but the door was locked from the other side. “Now what?”
“Now I get us out of here.” Hugo took out his medallion and recited a spell. A small opening appeared, and he snicked his hand through, sliding back the bolt before the opening sealed up.
The door opened on rusty hinges. A set of steps hewn out of solid rock led upward. Robert raced up them two at a time and threw open the door at the top, tumbling into a room.
A group of men and women in official robes were assembled around a large table. They turned, shocked to see the bedraggled group.
“Father!”
Lord Barconian strode over and gripped Robert by the shoulders. “Robert, are you okay? Where have you been?” He pulled the boy into a tight hug and looked over his shoulder at Rego. “Took you long enough to find him.”
“You’re welcome.” Rego bowed slightly. “The boy is more trouble than you know.”
Robert pulled free. “I have terrible news, Father. I went after Thor’s hammer, only I failed. And now Vertulious has it.”
The room filled with gasps. A slender man in shimmering green robes strode over. “What did you say?” He was young, no more than twenty, with oversized eyes that were a deep aquamarine. Most strikingly, his long hair was alabaster white.
An Eifalian, Abigail thought, one of the other races on Orkney.
“Gael, he is only a boy,” Lord Barconian cautioned.
“A boy who may have cost us the entire war,” the Eifalian snapped.
Another even stranger-looking man approached. This one had a hawklike beak for a nose and long black hair tied back in a braid. Feathers dangled from his earlobes. A Falcory. Abigail had read about them, of course, but never seen one in person.
“The hammer of Thor? Why would a god give his mighty Mjolnir to an evil creature like Vertulious?” the hawk-faced man asked, his eyes like flint.
“Actually, he gave it to me.” Abigail stepped forward. “I was hoping to use it to stop the war.”
Gael sniffed at her. “I smell magic on you. And you,” he said of Safina. “These are witchlings.” He glared at Robert. “You brought witches into our High Council?”
“They’re not like the other witches,” Robert said.
“Isn’t this the one who betrayed you that night?” Lord Barconian nodded at Abigail.
“Yes, but it wasn’t her fault,” Robert added quickly. “They would have kicked her out of her coven, and Hugo’s family would have been turned into the streets. They didn’t have a choice.”
“When choice mattered, look at who they chose,” his father reminded him. “We cannot allow them to be here.”
“We’re not leaving until we fix things,” Abigail said. “Vertulious will be here any minute, and he won’t stop until this city is in ruins.”
“Don’t you see, Father? You must evacuate the city,” Robert said. “We can’t beat him.”
“We can’t run from this,” his father said, the lines etched deep into his face. “We must face it and find a way to defeat him. Rego, take them to the catacombs with the other women and children. They’ll be safe enough there.”
“No! I want to help. I can fight.” Robert put a hand on his sword.
His father shook his head wearily. “You are not ready for this kind of battle. Go now and let us resume our planning.” He turned to the Eifalian. “Gael, are your archers in place?”
The council resumed their war planning as Rego shoved the children out of the room. Out in the hallway, their small group clustered into a knot.
“I’m not going to the catacombs,” Robert said to Rego, “so don’t think you can make me.”
“Or me,” Abigail said.
“Or me,” Hugo added.
“I’m with them,” Safina piped in.
Rego scratched at his whiskers. “I figure there’s not a chance of us winning today, unless one of you has a plan?”
“I can beat him,” Abigail said. “I’m the only one with magic strong enough to do it.”
“Abigail, he’ll destroy you,” Hugo said.
“No. Remember, I’ve seen the inside of his spellbook. It’s like seeing inside his head. I have to face him, and then I’ll find a way to beat him at his own game.”
The normally gruff Obie grunted. “You’re not like any witch I ever met.”
“When have you ever met a witch?” Mullet asked.
“Never. But she’s a good one, I can tell.”
A loud horn sounded from the sea.
“That’s a Balfin war horn,” Hugo said.
“Then Vertulious has arrived,” Abigail said calmly. “We should greet him properly.”
Rego led them out a side entrance. The cobblestoned streets were deserted. Row after row of Orkadian guards dressed in red uniforms filled the ramparts, waiting for the battle to begin. Several battalions stood in formation behind the large gates, ready to be sent out to fight. Maybe even to die, Abigail thought with a shudder.
Rego led them through the streets to a smaller less-used rear gate. The guard argued with Rego, but Robert ordered him to open it under his father’s orders. The reluctant guard cracked the gate open just enough to let them out, then slammed it shut behind them.
As if a gate would stop what was coming.
They followed a narrow trail down to the shore, arriving just as the shreek-Omera carrying Vertulious landed with a loud thump.
The odious he-witch sprang down and strode over to them. “Abigail, how delightful! You’ve decided to join me after all.”
Before Abigail could tell him what she thought, a group of witches led by Hestera approached. They were mostly older, members of the High Witch Council, and aligned with Hestera. The younger up-and-coming witches were more enthralled with the promises of power Vertulious made.
The old witch shook her cane at him. “Now, see here, Vertulious, the hammer of Thor is too much power for one witch. I demand you hand it over.”
“So you can use it against me the way you plotted?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I am still the leader of this coven.”
“Are you?” An enormous ball of witchfire appeared in Vertulious’s hand. The other witches drew back, leaving Hestera alone to face him. He rolled the witchfire over his palm. “You think yourself more powerful than I? You’re nothing but a dried-up hag whose powers have long faded. I should have rid this coven of you when I returned.”