Aislin of Arianrhod (Land of Alainnshire) (28 page)

Chapter Thirty Two

“I
T’S RIGHT THERE—THE DARK SPOT in the middle of the field,” Aislin whispered to Tristan.

She couldn’t believe her eyes—they were right on the border of Arianrhod. She could see the entrance to the storm drain through the field and up the slope about three miles away. Beyond the storm drain and up another steep hill, the towers of the manor house peeked over the stone wall. She was home!

“I see it. It doesn’t look very big,” Tristan whispered back. “I hope I can fit. Maybe you didn’t notice, but I’m rather tall.”

Aislin suppressed a giggle. “Fionn was tall, and he made it through. It only looks small because we’re so far away.”

Trying not to fidget, she looked over the landscape ahead of them. Some of Jariath’s men were patrolling the field around the storm drain. The gossamer needed to do its job, or this was going to end badly.

“For some reason, Jariath has pulled his men off the borders and drawn them back up to the village. I wonder if he got word Wyndham’s army was on its way,” Tristan said.

“I don’t know, but that would be
wonderful
if it were true!” Aislin said.

Tristan strapped his bow and a quiver of arrows across his back. “Put your gossamer on and follow me. The grass is tall and we’re going to have to be very careful they don’t notice it moving as we walk. Arrows can find their way through gossamer, so stay down as much as you can. Stay with me.”

Aislin strapped her pike across her back and dropped the gossamer over her. Tristan did the same and disappeared right in front of her.

“I can’t see you! I don’t like this!” she whispered urgently.

“Watch the ground. I’ll try to let you know where I am, but you’ll have to follow my tracks through the grass.”

Aislin watched as his unseen hands pushed aside the branches and undergrowth, and then the grass out in the open field began to move. Crouching down as much as she could, she followed the movement in the grass.

The wind was blowing briskly, making the grass sway back and forth, so it was easy to move quickly at first. As they drew nearer to the soldiers stationed near the manor house, they slowed down a bit, moving with the grass as it swayed in the wind. Aislin’s heart was pounding as they walked up to and through the line of armed men standing guard.

She tensed and eyed the soldiers nervously. This was too easy. Surely one of them was going to reach out and grab her arm, shouting exultantly that he’d caught the princess in her own backyard.

No one even looked in their direction. Aislin allowed herself to breathe.

She continued to watch Tristan’s footsteps in the grass, walking a bit behind him and to the right so there wasn’t so much grass moving at one time. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they were standing in front of the storm drain.

“I thought you said it was locked,” Tristan whispered. The end of the storm drain was wide open.

“On the inside, where it comes up from the floor,” Aislin whispered back. “I hope you can get it open.”

“Not a problem. Keep the gossamer on until we know what we’re going into.”

“It’s dark in there. How will we find them? We won’t be able to see them in the cell.”

“I don’t know about you, but I can see in the dark,” Tristan said. “Humans really need to finish evolving.”

She swung an open hand in the direction of his voice, and was gratified to hear him whisper a sharp “
Ouch
!”

They crouched and entered the drain. It wasn’t too far from the entrance into the lower dungeon, but it was slow going because of their size. Aislin hadn’t been in the drain for many years, and it was much smaller than she remembered.

Every so often Aislin heard a soft bump, followed by whispered profanity. “I’m sorry,” she called softly to Tristan, trying not to laugh.

Finally, they reached the square culvert in the floor of the dungeon and stood up. Aislin looked up through the grate into a solid wall of inky blackness. There was no way to know if someone was patrolling the prison above them.

“Shhhhh. Listen.” Tristan whispered. They heard nothing but water dripping somewhere off in the distance. There were no voices, no footsteps, nothing but silence.

After awhile, Tristan pulled off the gossamer, and Aislin did the same. “Keep your gossamer handy, and don’t lose it. You’ll need it later,” he told her.

Tristan reached up over his head and put his hands on the grate in the floor, whispering in the Sylvan tongue. His hands and the air around them started to glow with an eerie orange light. He kept whispering, and the glow got brighter, until Aislin heard a sharp
pop
. Tristan slowly moved the grate and laid it gently to the side.

He hopped up out of the hole, and reached down for Aislin, pulling her up to stand beside him.

“It still smells the same,” said Aislin, wrinkling her nose. It smelled damp and stale, of ancient moss and things rotting in the corners.

It took a few minutes for their eyes to adjust to the gloom of the prison, but after awhile they could dimly see the objects around them. The lower level dungeon of the manor house had two long hallways of cells, joined together by a shorter hallway where they had come up through the floor. At the end of the short hallway were steps that led up to another level of prison cells. If Jariath didn’t have the women locked up down here, they would have to make their way up the stairs to search. Aislin knew this lower level was the worst of the worst, but she hoped they would be here. It would be much easier to get them out if they didn’t have to go any further than this.

“I’ll go this way,” Aislin whispered, pulling the pike from the sheath across her back. She turned to go, but Tristan grabbed her arm.

“
Be careful
,” he said. “If you find them, come and get me so I can purge the lock. If I find them, I’ll let them out, and then we’ll come for you.”

“Good luck!” She turned and was gone.

She walked slowly down the hallway, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom. She tried to peer into each cell, but she couldn’t see a thing. Finding them in the darkness was not going to be easy.

“Gwen...Mother... It’s Aislin,” she whispered. There was no reply. She continued down the row, calling quietly. She neared the end of the hall; the women were not on her side of the dungeon. Hopefully, Tristan was having better luck.

Disappointed, Aislin turned around to go back. A peripheral blur of motion to her left startled her, but before she could react, a large arm snaked around her and pinned her arms down at her side. Her head bounced hard off someone’s collarbone as she was pulled roughly back against a solid body. The pike clattered to the floor. She tried to shake herself loose, but whoever held her quickly forced a foul smelling rag over her face. There was soft laughter in her ear, betraying her captor as male. She was so stunned that she stopped struggling for a moment, her mind reeling.

I’ve heard that laugh before!

Twisting, fighting with renewed purpose, she tried to break his hold on her, but she could barely move. She knew whatever had been soaked onto the rag was meant to subdue her, and she would soon be at his mercy if she took a breath. She held it as long as she could, but he seemed to know what she was trying to do. Gripping her tighter around the waist, he forced the air from her lungs. She had no choice but to inhale. The gulp of air she took carried the pungent drug all the way down into her lungs, searing the inside of her throat. She felt her legs buckle under her, and then she was no more.

Tristan was most of the way down his side of the dungeon when he found the cell that held the two women. They were huddled together under a blanket, fast asleep. He crouched down, pulled the hood up over his head, and called Gwen’s name. She didn’t respond.

“Gwen! Gwen, wake up!” She stirred a little, and Tristan called a little louder. “Gwen, wake up!”

Gwen opened her eyes fully and stared out through the bars. Keeping her eyes focused in his direction, she shook Emara awake.

“Who is there?” Gwen whispered fearfully. “Who are you? I can’t see you very well.”

“I’m a friend of Aislin’s. We’ve come to get you out of here.”

“Aislin?” Emara asked, blinking as she came awake. “She’s here?”

“Yes, she’s here with me.”

“I told you she’d come!” Gwen whispered in excitement. Tristan smiled under the hood. “How are you going to get us out? Jariath has the key!”

Tristan put his hands on the lock and began to speak in ancient Sylvan. The orange glow surrounded his hands again, and soon the door to the cell swelled open.

“How did you do that?” Emara asked, eyes wide.

“Long story. Come quickly—we’ve got to find Aislin and get out of here.”

The two women got to their feet, and followed him out into the short hall. He had expected Aislin to be waiting for them, but there was no sign of her.

“Wait here,” Tristan instructed Gwen, and went quickly down the other hallway.

Tristan called to Aislin all the way. There was no response. He didn’t see her anywhere, and he could feel in his bones that something was wrong. The hair on his neck prickled as he reached the end of the row and found the rag on the floor.

Picking it up, he held it to his nose and immediately pulled it away. It was soaked with bortroot, a sleeping drug known only to the Sylvan.

Tristan stood helplessly holding the rag, his heart pounding, an anguished roar echoing in his head.

No. No. No! Not again!

Spinning on his heels, he ran back the length of the hall and skidded around the corner.

“I’ve got to get you out of here,” he gasped. “We don’t have any time to lose!”

“Where’s Aislin?” asked Emara. “You said she was here with you.”

“We have to go. We have to go
now
,” Tristan whispered urgently, crowding the women toward the culvert.

Without warning, colors and sounds filled his head, making it feel as though it were going to split open. He covered his ears with his hands and dropped to his knees.

What is this? Men on horses...thousands of them...banners...on the road...
And then he knew. This had nothing to do with Aislin, but it was a small miracle nonetheless.

Gwen bent over him. “Is something wrong?”

He struggled to his feet. “We must go quickly. Wyndham’s army approaches and we must get to them.” He shook his head to clear it, then draped them both with gossamer. “I don’t have time to explain, but this will make you invisible to the guards outside. However, you
must
stay silent. They will still be able to hear you if you talk.”

He helped them down into the culvert and climbed down behind them. Emara put up a bit of a fuss at crawling through the dirty storm drain, but Gwen reached out in the direction of Emara’s voice with both hands and pushed. The older woman fell forward onto her hands and knees.

“Just do it, Emara! Unless you’d rather stay here,” Gwen snapped.

With no further protest, Emara started to crawl. Gwen got into the pipe behind her, followed by Tristan.

He urged the women on quickly, impatiently, his mind filled with Aislin. She would want him to make sure her family was safe before he turned his attention to finding her, but his insides were roiling with fear. He searched his mind for another vision, some clue as to where she might be, but there was nothing but mocking silence.

Gwen emerged out of the end of the storm drain on her hands and knees, secured her feet under her, and stood...

...right up into the middle of a line of Jariath’s soldiers.

She went completely still. Barely breathing, she eyed the men. They were huge, ugly, dressed in black leather armor, carrying swords and axes of every size. Death radiated from them like heat. She clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming.

They didn’t seem to notice her standing there though, and she took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself. Hadn’t the hooded man said they would be invisible to the guards outside?

“Don’t be afraid. They can’t see you, but they
will
be able to hear you if you scream. You can’t see me or each other. I have a hold on both of you. Just trust me,” the hooded man whispered to her, as he slipped his hand in hers.

Trust you? We have no choice
, thought Gwen, as she gripped his hand right back.

She was utterly astonished as the man, his hand in hers, marched them unnoticed through the line of soldiers.

The man walked them rather briskly for about a mile before Gwen heard someone hit the ground. She knew immediately that Emara had fallen.