“Thought I saw something.”
Finn visibly tensed and scanned the surrounding area. “Where?”
“There,” Noah pointed to an area between two dark and imposing peaks. Like two giant sentinels, they stood a hundred or so yards apart. “Probably nothing. A bird, or a trick of the light.”
Backing up, Taran studied the area high above them for several minutes as a slow smile curved his lips. “I ken we may have found our destination, lads.”
Noah squinted, looking closer, slowly picking out the stone structure; ancient, weathered, and imposing, from the cold unwelcoming mountainside it seemed carved from.
“’Tis an imposing fortress,” Taran muttered. “A place meant tae keep things out. Or mayhap, something or someone, in.”
After a tedious search, they discovered a narrow path woven around boulders and outcroppings that led up the mountainside. Noah and Finn followed Taran’s lead, their boots crunching over loose stone. As far as Noah could see, no guards stood watch. No movement flickered from window or battlement.
Not even after their steep climb when they finally reached two massive steel and iron doors.
“By the Saints,” Finn declared. “Look at that. It’s taken me seven years to collect a mere portion of the materials in those doors alone. There’s either magic or mischief afoot here.”
They waited, sensing eyes upon them but seeing or hearing nothing.
“This won’t do,” Noah grumbled. “We’ll not wait here like beggars while Emily fights for her life.”
Stepping forward, he studied the intricate door latch, but to no avail. It appeared to require a release from the inside.
Succumbing to his impatience, he pounded against the metal, surprised when the sound reverberated like a war drum.
“If anyone resides within, they surely heard that,” Finn commented, resting both hands on the hilts of his weapons. “You may have just drawn the lot of them down on us.”
Another long silence stretched out before them when finally, a weighty creak signaled the opening of the doors. Noah saw Taran shift, stopping just short of drawing his blade.
A tall, well-armed and heavily bearded man stood in the threshold. Cloaked in black leather with several lethal-looking blades hanging from his belt, his gaze swept over them with studied disdain.
With a warning glance at Noah, Taran stepped forward, purposely shifting his hands away from his weapons. “We come peacefully tae seek an audience wi’ The Keeper.”
“For what purpose?” the guard demanded, his eyes taking in every detail of their clothing and weapons. “Assuming such a person exists.”
“Passage through a portal,” Noah stated abruptly, earning a distinct scowl from both Taran and Finn. Instantly, he regretted his lack of discretion, but Emily may not have time for lengthy diplomacy. Still, he regretted acting so brashly if it meant being denied seeing The Keeper.
The guard exhaled, slow and measured. “You’ve come to the wrong place.”
Noah’s hands curled into fists. The man was wasting precious time. Playing a game. Blast the bloody diplomacy! “A child is dying!”
Though his eyes were clearly calculating, the guard tilted his head slightly, his expression neither cruel nor kind. “And?”
Noah’s blood boiled. He took a step forward, unable to temper his anger. “A portal to another time is our only chance to save her life, and we understand The Keeper has the knowledge to lead us to one.”
The guard’s lips twitched, almost amused. “Does he?”
From Taran’s grunt of disgust, Noah could tell his patience had also worn thin.
“We know the truth,” Taran stated. “We know he controls the portals.”
The guard blinked slowly, his eyes reflecting his amusement.
“You are mistaken.” The man’s low voice was measured, reminding Noah of the calm, quiet warning that sometimes came before disaster struck. “He controls nothing.”
“Then why does no one return after seeking him out?” Taran challenged.
The guard met his gaze, unapologetic. “Perhaps they were not meant to.”
