“Did ye hear something?” echoed his brother from Mathison’s other side. A vibrant green that rivaled the freshness of holly in winter, Giddrie was a few minutes younger and somewhat smaller than Kannis, but he possessed all the ancient ferocity of dragonkind with his astounding control of magic. The best sorcerers in existence were no match for Giddrie’s skills with the energies—or so said his parents.
Mathison hoped it was true and not just a matter of parental pride. “Rest easy, lads. My mate called out to me. That is what I heard.”
“How do we mean to make the witches face us?” Kannis asked. “Ye know they both be cowards without a shred of honor.”
“And only yer mate and the wolfstone can strip Carman of her immortality, so we might end her,” Giddrie added. “So said she of the Divine Weavers, and Carman surely knows that as well.”
“I used the wolfstone to render her sons powerless and destroy them.” The only part Mathison regretted about that task was that it had ended the trio of evil demons much too quickly. He’d wanted to make them suffer.
“Ah, but it takes the inner strength and dauntless femininity of yer prophesied mate to vanquish Carman herself.” Giddrie tipped an apologetic nod, the rich amber of his large eyes shimmering like newly struck coins. “It is the way of the energies and cannot be challenged.”
“I’ll not have my mate anywhere near Carman. Bansys poisoned Calia so close to death, yer mother worried dragon tears would do little to heal her. Carman is much more powerful than Bansys ever hoped to be.” With his sword drawn and bathing the tunnel in its reddish light, Mathison lengthened his stride, knowing this set of passages to be free of Grandsire’s traps and snares. “I will vanquish Carman—one way or another.”
“She is immortal,” Giddrie repeated louder and more slowly as if speaking to a petulant child.
“We can weaken her,” Kannis said. “But we canna destroy her, not without the wolfstone and yer mate.”
Mathison came to a halt and glared at the pair of dragon brothers. “Then this effort is wasted. Carman is sure to be with Bansys.”
Giddrie lifted his snout higher and sniffed. “Carman is not here. No scent of her drifts down from the Great Hall. Only the stench of Bansys and the false heirs taints the air—along with a good-sized gathering of the clan.” He reached out, chipped a bit of rock off the tunnel with the tip of his claw, then turned his horned head and held it to his ear. “The stones say that Carman mourns the loss of her spawn. She has taken refuge in the Under, the darkest domain of evil.” He tossed the fragment of dark gray shale aside. “’Tis doubtful Bansys can follow her across those unholy borders. As a shifter, Bansys’s spirit animal, while probably as evil as she is, still possesses enough light for the Under to detect. She would be destroyed as soon as she set so much as a toe past the Under’s wards.”
“Then we will kill Bansys and pass judgment on the two raised to believe they had the right to rule the Ninth Realm.” Mathison forged onward, taking the path that veered to the left and rose at a sharper incline. “Come, my friends. It is time for our meeting in the Great Hall.” He was tempted to will his clothing and weapons into a nearby dimension and shift to his wolf form. There was no question that the clan would recognize Dubh because a larger or blacker wolf did not exist. In the past, the curse had locked him in his human form, that of the Wraith, whenever he’d dared visit Shadowmist Keep. But now, with the curse broken, he could do as he willed.
“No,” Dubh said. “Ye’ve earned the right to walk proudly into yer own hall in the form of a man. Yer clan will know ye and welcome ye—and any who don’t, will be dealt with. Legion has gone ahead to greet ye and render any aid we might need.”
“Calia wishes to lay them to rest and honor them as heroes, but I’m nay so sure they wish to rest.” Mathison paused at the juncture of three tunnels, eyeing each passage with interest. This was not right. Neither the scrolls from Grandsire’s cave nor his memory knew of such an interchange with three choices. Whenever potential routes or snares were offered, those offerings always came in pairs. “Kannis, Giddrie, what say ye? There should not be three, and this trap is not of my grandsire’s making.”
Giddrie grunted as he shoved around his older brother. “Mind yer girth, Kannis. Fewer fish from the loch might serve ye better, ye ken? One of these days, we’ll find ye wedged in one of these tunnels.”
“Shut it, Giddrie. Ye’re merely jealous of my magnificence.”
Mathison turned sideways to make more room for Giddrie, who wasn’t all that small himself. “Focus, lads.”
“Aye,” replied both brothers in unison. “Forgive us.”
Giddrie gave each of the three routes a slow up and down look, then stretched out his long neck and sniffed them as much as he dared. He nodded at the center one. “This one stinks of witch and death.” He turned to Mathison. “Shall I cleanse it?”
While Mathison wasn’t entirely sure about what the young dragon intended, he trusted him. “By all means.”
Giddrie looked back at his brother. “Shove up here and help, Kannis. Yer bluest flame always reaches much farther than mine. With both of us, there is no hope for this poorly contrived trap.”
As Kannis squeezed closer, he twitched his folded wing at Mathison. “Shield yer eyes, grand chieftain. We dinna wish to blind ye.”
Mathison turned toward the wall and bowed his head. “Proceed, my fiery warriors.”
“It may become a bit warm,” Giddrie warned, then a roaring blast shook the tunnel.
Covering his ears and squinting his eyes tighter shut, Mathison hugged closer to the wall, trying to soak in as much of its cool dampness as it was willing to spare. A bit warm, my feckin’ arse. He broke out in a heavy sweat and swore he smelled the acrid scent of his hair burning, but he refused to tell them to stop. The trap needed to be destroyed or cleansed, as Giddrie had put it. If the brothers’ inferno didn’t accomplish that goal, then nothing would.
When quiet and stillness reigned once more, he turned. The fake tunnel was completely gone. It was as though it had never existed. He recognized the way now. It wasn’t much farther to the Great Hall. “Well done, lads.”
The brothers stepped back and waited for him to take the lead.
The closer they drew to the arch at the end of the tunnel, the brighter and more vibrant his sword glowed. Its blade hummed with the ancient song of steel hungering for vengeance and blood. Mathison hungered for it as well. This moment was the culmination of over three centuries of exile and suffering, but that exile and suffering mattered little now. Now, he wanted vengeance for the pain Bansys had foisted upon Calia. He paused in front of the large oak door with its blackened reinforcements, bands of hammered iron, and massive bolts.
“We are with ye, mighty Shadowmist,” Kannis said.
“To the righting of the Ninth Realm and all the wrongs done to it and those within it because of greed,” Giddrie added.
