Page 77 of The Howling
“You said that last time,” I grumble as we toil up the hill.
“There,” Lilburn says as we crest it.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it isn’t the slab side of a black cliff, rising hundreds of feet in the air out of the surrounding grassland like a yawning maw.
“That’s it?”
“The Vindolanda fortress.” Lilburn nods.
“It’s not a fortress, it’s a cliff.”
“What we seek is inside,” she says.
I stare at the seemingly impenetrable wall of rock.
“There is absolutely no way we’re getting in there,” I grumble.
Lilburn continues to look towards the cliff before opening her mouth. The noise which comes out is something I hope to never hear again. When she finally stops and I uncover my ears, a small opening appears at the base of the cliff.
And out march the huge stone knights.
“Lilburn,” I gasp. “What have you done?”
“You wanted a way in. This is a way in.”
“I had hoped to be more subtle about it.”
“Why, when you’re handing yourself over to Lord Soulis?” she says, and disappears.
I release a stream of swear words at her nothingness.
“And don’t forget the plan.” Her voice comes out of the air, hollow and far away.
“Thanks, I don’t think.” I watch as the stone knights get closer and closer until I have to crane my neck to look up at them.
“You will come with us.” One of the grey, hairy, wizened creatures pops out from behind the front knight.
“Sure.” I stride past him and towards the cliff face.
There is a lot of clattering. My handing myself over has caused more concern than if I’d resisted. Priceless!
With the knights at my back, I enter a dark cavern filled with burning torches on the walls, and as the door cranks closed, the fun I originally felt drains a little.
“Take me to Lord Soulis,” I demand, attempting to inject some more confidence into the plan. “Tell him the mate of King Reavely is here.”
The entire place is crawling with the grey creatures, enough to make my skin crawl. One of them beckons to me, and even though all my instincts say to stay away, I force my legs to move as he leads me through a dark passage, up a set of rough hewn steps, and out into a large gallery, this one lit by huge hanging candle chandeliers, the yellowing wax stalactites which hang from them indicating decades or even centuries of use.
The walls are still roughly cut, but the floor is polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the myriad of candlelight back up into the high vaults above.
As is usual with the Faerie, the room, vast though it is, has the vague smell of old socks. Kaitlyn once told me it was something to do with their magic, but I prefer to believe it’s because they are foul creatures who stink of old socks.
At the far end, a Faerie male stands next to an ornate gold table with a marble top. There’s a fireplace in which is burning a magical fire, the flames leaping blue and green. He doesn’t look up as I throw my shoulders back, and with a confidence I do not feel inside, I make my way to him.
“The human female you wanted, Lord Soulis,” the grey creature announces as we get closer, simpering as it does.
Lord Soulis, dressed in the usual long robes of the Faerie—his are cream with gold—has long white hair flowing down his back, and his large, translucent wings are on show.
Unusually, rather than the single appendages, rather like a dragon fly, he has four, two upper and two smaller lower ones.
