MIRA STUMBLED, NEARLY pitching forward into a mat of briar rose. A strong hand, clammy and cold, fastened around her neck and hauled her back.
“Careful, girl,” the Nightgenga leered at her. Its breath smelled putrid, like sweet, rotting meat. “Those thorns go deep.”
Mira twisted, attempting to free herself from that fish-like grip. Yet the Nightgenga held on for a heartbeat longer, shaking her before the iron band of its grip on the back of her neck released. A shudder rippled through her body.
If you’re going kill us, just get it over with.
But it appeared their captors had other plans.
To Mira’s surprise, the shadow creatures had merely herded them out of the clearing and onto the forest path.
Only one of group had resisted. A soldier, the oldest of the five that followed the captain, lost his nerve and attempted to slash his way out of the mist with his sword. He’d gotten three feet, snarling curses as he went, when a wave of Dusk Imps brought him down. The other captives had looked on in mute horror as the creatures clambered up his tall, broad bulk, teeth flashing and claws slashing. The soldier had fallen, his screams quickly turning to wails. Mira had never heard a man make such a sound.
She’d looked away after that, wishing she could block out the wet sounds of their feasting. Next to her, Ninia had heaved up the contents of her stomach on the damp ground, her small body quivering. Asher had merely looked sickened, his face gaunt and pale in the silvery light the Hiriel emitted. The other soldiers, even their captain, had gone still as they watched the violent death and the silent warning it held. After that they all gave up their weapons without a struggle and went meekly where the shadow creatures bid.
Mira continued walking, although she tried to pay more attention to where she was putting her feet this time. Exhaustion weighed her down; she felt as if they’d been traveling for most of the night. They’d left the forest path a way back and now trudged south through densely packed trees and undergrowth.
“Dawn’s approaching,” Asher whispered from beside her. “They won’t be able to remain out here after the sun rises.”
“Silence.” The Nightgenga who had yanked Mira up by the neck, belted Asher around the back of the head. The enchanter lurched forward from the blow. “No talking.”
Asher straightened up and cast a dark look over his shoulder at where the creature loped at his heels. In response, it grinned—a ghoulish expression on a flat, featureless face—daring him to speak once more. The enchanter wisely held his tongue. He glanced right at Mira once more, and their gazes fused. She understood his warning. Their destination—wherever these creatures were taking them—must be close by.
Mira shifted her attention to Ninia. The girl walked a few yards ahead, leading the way behind where Dusk Imps cleared a path through the undergrowth, whipping the clumps of bramble, black thorn, briar rose and ferns aside with their meat-hook claws. The men of Anthor brought up the rear of the group, surrounded by the Hiriel who trailed their milky cloaks behind them.
They walked on, and Mira was aware of the sky above beginning to lighten, bleeding from the east. And then the press of trees and vegetation around her drew back, and they stepped beyond the line of trees.
A great dark fortress rose before them.
Mira’s step faltered, and like her companions, she halted. She heard gasps behind her as the men of Anthor stepped out of the forest and into another world.
Although she knew The Swallow Keep well, Mira hadn’t seen any of the royal fortresses in the other kingdoms. She had heard the Royal Palace of Rithmar was a white and glittering citadel, whereas Anthor’s palace in Mirrar Rock was made of obsidian. She had heard that Farras had a palace made entirely of mud and sandstone.
But she couldn’t imagine any of them resembled this keep.
Great twin horns of dark stone thrust out of the forest floor, forming an arch above an iron gate. Studded with spikes, the gate was enormous. It appeared at least thirty-foot high, and framed by a row of stone columns either side the thickness of giant oaks. There were no windows, just slabs of dull stone and sheets of black iron. It didn’t resemble a fortress as much as a king’s safe box—or a giant tomb.
Mira glanced around her, at where shadow creatures loped, crawled, or glided past her toward the gate. Her stomach clenched. Of course this place didn’t look like the buildings she was used to—her kind didn’t live here.
“The Dim Hold.” The Nightgenga was back, whispering in her ear, its rancid breath nearly overpowering. “You are the first mortals to ever see it.”
A low oath sounded next to Mira. She was aware then that the Captain of Anthor had stepped up and was now standing to her right. His dark gaze was riveted upon the fortress. “This place isn’t on any map,” he rasped. “How long has it been here?”
The Nightgenga smirked. “The Dim Hold has stood for nearly five hundred years. Valgarth himself ordered it built. That stone was mined in the Shadefells, the iron forged in Anthor. It isn’t on any map because this land doesn’t belong to men, but to us.”
Mira swallowed. “Why show it to us then?”
“Enough questions.” The Nightgenga placed a hand between her shoulder blades and shoved Mira forward. “Time to enter the darkness.”
Mira stepped forward, walking alongside Ninia. The girl wore a haunted expression. She glanced over at Mira, her gaze desperate. Like Mira, Ninia’s arms were still pinned to her sides by the strange mist that the Hiriel had bound them with. It prevented her and Asher from gathering the Light—not that there was much light about for them to wield.
The captives advanced on the gate. The Dim Hold dwarfed them. It was a vast structure that looked as if it had been forged by giants—each spike the size of a man’s arm. And as they drew nearer still, Mira heard the clunk of heavy locks releasing, before the creak and whine of metal straining followed.
The gate inched open.
Dawn was almost upon them now, a grey light that filtered through the trees. It caused the Dusk Imps to chatter nervously, and the Nightgengas to shield their eyes. It was time to get inside.
The gate had now drawn open a few yards, darkness yawning within. Mira walked toward it, her heart hammering so loudly she was sure her companions could all hear it. Behind her, she heard the rasp of a man’s breath as he fought panic, while beside her Ninia was gasping, as if she might bolt at any moment.
“Steady, Ninia,” Mira whispered to her. It was easier to focus on the girl, to think about anything save her own fear and that yawning maw of darkness that opened up before them.
A moment later it swallowed them, and they halted in total blackness as the gate clanged shut behind them. Mira drew in a deep breath and tried to quell the rising panic that clawed at her throat, threatening to choke her. She felt as if she’d just been buried alive. She inhaled cold, damp air tinged with an odd odor—that of hot iron. It was the same smell she and Ninia had encountered all those months ago, right before they had run from shadow creatures, only here it was stronger.
She breathed in once more, through her mouth this time in an attempt to block out that smell. As her eyes adjusted, she realized that they weren’t in total darkness. The Hiriel had followed them in here. Their glowing bodies illuminated the interior of the Dim Hold in a faint ghostly light.
Mira’s panic ebbed slightly. At least they weren’t blind in here. She glanced around and could make out the lines of a lofty entrance hall. Stone slabs lay beneath their feet, and a high vaulted ceiling rose above. Before them stretched a forest of thick rock pillars.
“Move,” the Nightgenga ordered.
The thud of their foot falls echoed through the stone hall as an escort of Dusk Imps, Hiriel, and Nightgengas herded them up its length. There was intense purpose in the way these creatures moved, in their insistence they keep moving, and Mira wondered once more at their destination, and why they were even still alive.
She looked over at where Asher walked beside her. He stared ahead, his profile bathed in hoary light. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t known about this place. The whole point of the Order of Light and Darkness was to keep watch over The Four Kingdoms of Serran and ensure the shadows never again held sway, that enchantment was never put to ill-use.
She wanted to be angry with him, to blame him for leading them into danger, but the words stuck in her throat. Raging against him was pointless. He’d done what he thought was best. He hadn’t known that the shadow creatures had taken refuge in this forest.
Their journey together was now coming to an end.
Grief twisted under Mira’s rib cage, catching her by surprise. Bitter disappointment followed. She’d wanted to lie with Asher, to give herself to him. He’d given her a chance to start again. Only now her one chance was slipping from her.
Soon it would cease to matter at all.