Page 39 of Enthralled

I draw a short breath and, gritting my teeth, push the door open. A single moonfire lantern illuminates the shadowed space. A lantern which hangs around the neck of a burly troll guard. “Dig!” I cry.

He’s crouched against the wall beside the fireplace, his head tilted to one side, his eyes glassy. His left arm is mangled, his stone hide cruelly carved into and covered in streaks of blood.

I fly across the room to his side, kneel, touching his broad face and calling his name over and over again. “Dig! Dig, it’s me. I’m here. I came back. Dig, can you hear me?”

Lir crouches beside him and inspects his arm. “It’s not good, Mistress,” she says, her voice thick with grief. Then she takes Dig’s face between her hands, turns him toward her, and barks in troldish.

“Aw,Mar!”he growls, and I jump out of my skin at the sound of his voice. He tries to shrug her off. “Gurat, Mar, gurat!”But Lir won’t be put off. She presses him, jostling his big solid body until he answers her in a series of short, grunting words.

Lir’s teeth flash in the moonfire. “How could you be so foolish?”

“What? What happened?” I demand.

“He tried to lead Boney Long Fingers away from Umog Hith, the pretty priestess he was paired with on the rescue mission.” Lir curses harshly in troldish. “I should have known better than to let him go with her. She’s quite turned his head, and now he’s gone and beenguthastupid!”

I look at Dig again. It’s not the time, I know, but I can’t help the dart of pain which stabs my heart. My little boy is already old enough to have developed a soft spot for a pretty priestess. I’ve missed so much. Far too much!

I turn my attention to his wounds. Boney Long Fingers dug deep. Biting my lip, I reach for my pen and book.

“What are you doing, Mistress?” Lir demands.

“A wound like this won’t heal without spellwork,” I answer, opening the book to the first blank page. “I don’t know if I have the skill to perform such a spell, but if I don’t . . .”

Though Lir looks tense and uncertain, she says only, “Do it.”

I touch the tip of the fountain pen to the page and start to press. But before I can form a single word, something stirsin the atmosphere. My body recognizes it before my brain has caught up. My blood turns to shooting ice, and my limbs become numb blocks of dread. I lift my eyes from the page, looking around the room. The shadows are alive, writhing. The Nightmare Realm. It’s here. Something is coming, passing right through the protectivegubdagogs.

There’s no time to try to heal Dig. We’ve got to get out of here. Now.

“Can you lift him?” I ask, looking up at Lir, my pen still poised over the page.

Lir blinks, surprised. Then she glances around the room, suddenly aware of the encroaching nightmare as well. Sucking in a sharp breath, she nods and gets her hands under Dig’s massive arms. Her strength is truly tremendous despite her delicate proportions, and she lifts him to his feet. Dig, not fully unconscious, staggers, sags. Lir pulls his arm over her shoulder and looks to me. “Lead the way.”

I nod. I don’t know how much time we have, how close the Noswraith is. But it’s coming; of that I’m certain. And it’s a big one. I step to the door of the chamber, peer up and down the hall. All is dark, but with that strange darkness of the Nightmare Realm which allows one to seejustenough. No sign of the wraith yet. I beckon, and Lir hauls Dig to the doorway.

Suddenly thegubdagogsat the end of the hall begin to sway and writhe, and the Noswraiths inside start shrieking. A lance of pure ice bolts through my heart.

Then a voice appears in my head. No, notavoice—manyvoices.

Worthless . . .

Useless . . .

Pathetic . . .

“Run!” I choke and grab Lir’s arm, trying to spin her around. “Take Dig and go!”

“No, Mistress,” Lir protests. “I won’t leave you.”

But Lir is not prepared to face this foe, not with hergubdagogs, no matter how well woven. I look up into her face, holding her eyes fast. “I’ll cover your retreat. Please, Lir, trust me. Trust me and . . . and save our boy.”

Lir’s eyes meet mine, studying me, reading me. In that moment I think she understands— there was more to my story than a mere broken gate. There was a choice: a bad choice, an evil choice. One I can never unmake. She sees my guilt, my shame, written across every line of my face.

Then, very softly, she says, “I’ll save him, Clara. I promise.”

To my utmost relief, she turns and retreats up the hall, opposite the way we entered. Dig manages to lift his heavy head, to look back at me. His eyes catch mine briefly, and I think there’s recognition there. He opens his mouth as though to speak, but Lir carries him around a corner, out of sight. I can only pray to all the gods that Lir will get them both out safely, that whatever protection is left in hergubdagognecklace will be enough.

I turn to face the coming nightmare. My pen is poised, the nib pressed against the page. I take a breath. Then, not waiting for the wraith to show himself, I begin to write. Scribbling out words as fast as they will come, a furious scrawl. As I write, the shadows pull back, revealing that which they have hidden.

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