The Seventh Daughter (5 page)

“Would you dance for us?” he asked, his voice as cold as ice under a waning moon. “Would you show us some pretty steps, my lady?”

The woman turned slowly in the air and, with a shock of horror, Tania realized who she was. It was the beautiful and gentle Lady Gaidheal.

The lady's face was ashen and drawn with despair, her eyes lifeless as she hung there at the Sorcerer King's will. The faces of many of the Gray Knights were turning toward the dais, their eyes burning with sinister joy.

“Mayhap wings will aid you with your dance,” the Sorcerer King said. He made a curling gesture with his left hand. Lady Gaidheal screamed in pain, her back arching, her limbs flailing. Tania could hardly bear to watch as something dark red and sharp-edged
came bursting from the woman's back, stabbing out like spindly fingers of bone, webbed with veined leather the color of dried blood.

They were wings: hideous, dark red bat wings, torn out of her body in some monstrous parody of the iridescent gossamer wings that grew from the shoulders of Faerie children.

The lady writhed in agony for a few moments as the horrible wings expanded and flapped, then she fell heavily to the floor with a single stifled groan. There was a howl of dark joy from the Gray Knights. The red wings shrouded the unmoving form. Blood spread slowly over the floorboards.

“She likes not her wings,” the Sorcerer King said impassively. “This is poor sport indeed. If the birds cannot fly, then we shall build pretty cages for them and they will sing their hearts out for us.”

He stood up, the cloak spreading open to reveal dully gleaming crimson mail. It was only now that Tania realized how very tall he was, far taller than any of the other knights. He stepped to the edge of the dais and opened his arms. He began to chant words in a language that fell like splinters of ice into Tania's ears. She shivered, feeling a strange stirring in the air.

Flecks of darkness floated from the corners of the hall, coming together and spinning slowly in a heavy column of dancing black light. Tania heard a sound that was like claws scraping at the inside of her skull. She brought her rat paws to her ears, trying to block out the noise. A disturbing new smell filled her
head—dangerous and sharp and as toxic as poison. As she watched the jerking dance of the black light began to change, to shift into patterns like a dark grid work that was forming from the shivering air. A kind of moan came from the watching knights, a low guttural sound of pleasure and approval.

The black lines wove together and became firmer and harder until Tania realized that she was staring up at a large iron cage that hung unsupported in the air. Blue-gray threads spun upward from the cage, forming a linked metal chain that wound over the roof beams. The Sorcerer King lowered his arms. The cage dropped slightly, the chains rattling and vibrating as they took the weight.

A howl of appreciation came from the throats of the Gray Knights—some clashed sword hilts on the tables and stamped their feet, others pounded the tables with their fists until the platters and cups jumped while the baying of the Morrigan hounds added to the cacophony.

“It's metal.” Tania gasped, staring at the cage. “How did he do that?”

“Only
he
has the power to draw Isenmort from the Mortal World and bend it to his will,” Eden said, and her voice was shaking. “What devilry does he intend?”

“Fetch the pretty birds!” the Sorcerer King called. “I would hear their sweet music.”

A small group of Gray Knights left the Hall. The others began to shout and chant, their fists beating rhythmically on the tables.

They did not have to wait long for their entertainment. A group of Faerie folk were herded in through the door. Tania could see the pain and despair etched in their faces. More knights rose from the tables and the Faeries were hurled bodily into the cage. As the Isenmort burned them their screams rose above the raucous laughter of the knights.

“Oh! Horrible! Horrible!” Eden whispered, turning away. But Tania forced herself to watch; hard as it was for her not to cover her eyes, someone had to bear witness to this cruelty.

After all the prisoners had been crammed into the cage, the iron door swung closed with a brutal clang. The Sorcerer King raised an arm and the cage went winding into the air on its long chains. The agonized cries of the trapped Faeries filled Tania's head. Adults tried to lift their children, to protect them from the burn of the Isenmort bars, but it was impossible for them to stay upright as the cage swayed. Numb with horror, Tania recognized the oarsman who had rowed her and Zara to the Royal Galleon on the night of the Traveler's Moon festival. She saw a gardener she had spoken with once, a woman who had been attending red flowers while white butterflies danced around her head.

Tania turned to look at Rathina. The princess had lowered her head, averting her eyes from the horrors. But the Sorcerer King came to her throne in two long strides. He caught her chin in his hand, forcing her head up so that her dark eyes were fixed
on the swaying cage. There was no change of expression on Rathina's pale face as she was forced to look at the torture of her people. How could she bear to see such suffering? It was as if their agony meant nothing to her.

Finally, Tania had to look away, as a stony hatred for her sister hardened inside her. She was suddenly aware that the dog smell had become stronger. One of the Morrigan hounds was moving toward them, its great blunt snout to the floor as it snuffled its way across the wooden boards.

Eden had seen the creature, too. The two of them crawled back into deeper cover under the table. The hound was only a man's length away now. It lifted its head and sniffed, turning its muzzle from side to side as if trying to capture an elusive scent. Tania kept her eyes on the hound as it took a few ponderous steps closer to their hiding place, its huge paws pounding down in front of them like black pillars. Had Eden been mistaken about their scent being masked by the glamour?

Every nerve in Tania's body quivered. To fight was not an option: The hound could easily snap them both up with one bite of its massive jaws. But if they broke cover, did they have any hope of getting back to the hole in the wall before they were run down?

“Eden?” Tania whispered. “I'm sure it can smell us. What are we going to do?”

Eden's long head turned to her and the eyes stared bleakly, hollow with despair. “What do we do? We die,
Tania. That is all. We die.”

The dog was only a few steps away now, its gigantic head almost coming under the table. As its slavering jaws were lowered and its wide nostrils flared the stench of its breath nearly made Tania faint.

A harsh blare of trumpets rang through the Hall. The dog looked up, distracted by the noise. There was the sound of doors being thrown open. The dog trotted away, its tail wagging. The doors opened wide and a small group of figures strode into the Hall.

The Sorcerer King turned, opening his arms in welcome. “Gabriel Drake!” he called. “You are most welcome, honored servant. What news of your quest in the Mortal World? What news of the lost Queen and her errant daughters?”

Tania huddled against the wall, paralyzed with terror. The man she feared more than anyone else, the man to whom she had been betrothed for five hundred years and who had been freed from exile by the King of Lyonesse to pursue her into the Mortal World, had returned to Faerie.

Gabriel Drake strode up the long Hall with his Gray Knights at his back. Tania saw that the knights still wore dark jewels on bands at their foreheads—the black amber stones that had protected them in the Mortal World. Drake walked proudly with his head held up, but Tania noticed that his right arm was pinned against his body by a crude sling of gray material and that there was blood on his sleeve where Queen Titania had thrust a sword into his flesh.

The Sorcerer King watched him intently as he approached the dais. Drake knelt—a little stiffly—and bowed his head as he spoke. “My lord.”

“How fare our fortunes in the Mortal World, Drake of Weir?” asked the Sorcerer King. “Are our enemies dead as I instructed you?”

“No, my lord.” Drake's voice trembled as he spoke, and as he looked up at the towering figure of the Sorcerer King, Tania could see the fear in his eyes.

“Are they captured, then, good my Lord?” There
was an ominous edge to the King's voice now. “Have you brought them to us as helpless chattels to be the subject of our will and judgment?”

“I fear it is not so, my lord.”

“Then you have failed us!” The voice hissed like a snake. The King thrust out his arm and although Drake wasn't touched, he sprawled forward onto the floor as though a huge weight had come crashing onto his back. “Did we not tell you when we sent you hence into the Mortal World that you should not return until your duties to our sovereign person were fulfilled!” raged the King. “And yet you come crawling back to us with tidings of a task unfulfilled and a quarry not found? Damn you to a sleepless death!”

The Sorcerer King opened his hand and Tania saw a ball of blue flame spinning in his upturned palm. His face contorted with anger, he flung his arm down—but as he did so Rathina threw herself forward, snatching at the King's arm with both hands, pulling it to one side so that the hurled ball of fire missed Drake and burst like a thunderbolt on the boards beside him.

The King swung his arm back, striking Rathina a savage blow to the side of her face. She fell backward with a stifled cry. “Do not impose upon our favor,
Trechla
—traitor-woman,” thundered the Sorcerer King. “You live only by our will.”

But Rathina's actions had given Drake time to get to his knees. He glanced at the circle of fire that flickered on the burned boards, then turned to face
the King. “Kill me indeed, if it is your will,” he exclaimed. “But in your wisdom, allow me to speak first.” He got heavily to his feet, his good hand cradling his injured arm.

The Sorcerer King glared down at him for a moment, and Tania saw the anger fade a little from his face. He stepped back and sat in Oberon's throne. “Speak, then, and mayhap save your life,” he said.

Drake stepped up to the dais. “Your enemies are powerful and cunning, my lord,” he said, and his voice was as smooth and even as velvet. “I did not engage them in full battle, for I wished for them to lead me to the Queen, so that all could be ensnared and slaughtered. My lord, you told me that the way between the worlds was shut, but they summoned some enchantment to their will. I know not what it was, save that it took the form of a black sword. The Seventh Daughter wielded the sword and cut a path into Faerie. They passed through and the way closed behind them. I tried to open the door again by my Mystic Arts, but it was in vain.”

He paused, licking his lips, and Tania knew he was watching for a reaction from the silent King. “I gathered the Knights and we rode swift as arrows through the Oriole Glass to bring you these tidings.” His head lifted a little and he looked clear-eyed into the Sorcerer King's face. Clearly he was encouraged by the silence with which his words were being received. “They entered Faerie in Bonwyn Tyr, my lord. They have been in your Realm for but a brief time. Send
out your Knights, and upon my word, the women will be dead within the hour. I wish only one favor: that you do not kill the traitor Edric Chanticleer, who came through with them.” His silver eyes glinted. “I would beg that pleasure for my own, and I promise much sport ere his soul be teased forth!” He spread his arms and bowed his head. “And now, my lord, kill me if that is your will.”

An expectant hush came over the Hall, pierced only by the groans of the Faerie captives. All eyes were on the King as he sat looking at Drake with his deep, hooded eyes. Tania saw fire flash under the dark brows. A cold, thin smile curled the King's lips.

“'Tis well,” he murmured. “The woman and her brats are within our reach at last.” He surged to his feet, his cloak billowing. He pointed to one of the Gray Knights. “Gristane, take three of your most trusted knights and go with all speed to the Royal Library. Mayhap the Queen will go there to retrieve the Soul Books of her family. Burn the library—wood, leather, and paper! If she comes, let her find only ruin!” His hand curled into a fist as he stared around the Hall. “Knights of Lyonesse, go now. Hunt down the Royal Family and put all to the sword. Our favors upon he who brings us the Queen's severed head!”

He lifted his arms and shouted words that Tania didn't understand—harsh words like axes ringing on stone. A black mist formed in front of him, swirling and condensing as the bars of the iron cage had done. Moments later, a half circle of gray swords hung in the
air around him, their blades shining dully in the blue torchlight. The King made a sweeping gesture with his arms and the swords glided through the air until they hovered above the Gray Knights that stood at Drake's back. The other knights shrank back—without the power of black amber to protect them, they were as vulnerable to Isenmort as the Faerie folk.

“Weapons of Isenmort we give to you!” howled the King. “Use them well to destroy our enemies. And know this: once the woman and her brats are dead, nothing shall stand between us and the mine of Tasha Dhul! And upon that day, all our knights shall bear black amber upon their brows, and nothing in Faerie nor in the Mortal World shall be able to stand before us!”

Pandemonium erupted in the Hall as the Gray Knights streamed out, the baying hounds running along with them like a black tide. Now that the King's attention was turned away from him, Tania noticed that Drake's expression changed, his face betraying the relief he must be feeling at having survived his master's anger. Shivering in fear, she turned her eyes away from him and looked to where Rathina had fallen from the Sorcerer King's blow. She had lifted herself on one elbow, her hungry eyes on Gabriel Drake.

But Drake seemed completely unaware of her as he bowed to the King and then turned and swept from the Hall. His knights followed close behind, each of them wielding a sword of darkly shining steel.

“We must go,” Eden hissed at Tania's side. “We must warn the others before this hell-spawn falls upon them.”

Tania looked up at the captives in the iron cage. “Can't we do anything to help them?”

“No, alas,” Eden said. “We can do nothing.”

Tania felt sick at heart that they had to leave those poor prisoners to their fate but she knew Eden was right: How could they possibly rescue them from the Sorcerer King? If they attempted it, they would be discovered and killed—and then what of Faerie? She turned away and, trying to block out the sounds of their cries and moans, she went scudding along the floor in her sister's wake.