Page 83 of The Cornish Princess
“Because she was wearing my torc.”
He lifted a brow. “Indeed, but what I want to know is why they were seeking you.”
“Why do you believe?”
“I hesitate to say.”
“Why?”
“Because the answer is one you’ll not wish to hear.”
Curious, Gwendolyn persisted. “Do you believe they discovered my mission to speak with Ia?”
“Perhaps.” He stood now and drew Gwendolyn up. “Can you walk?” he asked, and Gwendolyn nodded, letting him help her to her feet. “Stay close,” he said, moving ahead, and Gwendolyn followed, wondering how she could do anything but. There was nowhere else to go, and even if death itself lay ahead, she’d never turn back.
ChapterThirty-Two
Through the faintest crack in the ceiling, it was possible to spy a brightening sky—another trapdoor that might have gone unnoticed save for thefaeriefire.
The second orb followed it up, leaving the tunnel below flirting with darkness. It stopped just over Málik’s head as a thin, feathery breeze blew at the orb from above, scattering tendrils of white and blue light. “Ladder,” he said, and even as he reached for it, Gwendolyn felt the kiss of a cool breeze. The rope was tucked to one side, hanging on a wooden dowel that was half gnawed—rats, perhaps—and Gwendolyn feared for a moment that the rope itself would be compromised. She held her breath as he released it, but one firm tug revealed it was secure and ready to climb.
This time, Málik ascended first, if only to be certain no one was waiting above, and Gwendolyn watched him with halted breath, praying that none of those raiders knew about her uncle’sfogousand where they led—but they mustn’t, because if they’d known, they would have already found themselves beset upon in these tunnels, rather than waiting for them to emerge.
They must have believed that shaft only a cellar and fully destroyed. And yet, only now, after wandering those tunnels, did Gwendolyn realize they’d encountered no ingots nor ore. The main cavern beneath her uncle’s bower had been empty, despite that no shipments had been made to Trevena in so long.
Were his wheals so depleted that he’d had nothing to send? Or was her uncle secretly trading with someone else? More questions for which Gwendolyn hadn’t any answers.
Once again, as Málik climbed, dirt rained down over the pate of her head, and her heart hammered savagely, anticipating another collapse. But the shaft remained sturdy, and Málik made quick work of the ascension. Reaching the top, he bumped his fist, and popped opened the trapdoor to find the night clear, and stars twinkling above. Only to be certain, he withdrew the sword from his scabbard and leapt from the shaft more nimbly than Gwendolyn could have managed. By now, every muscle in her body was sore—if not from battle exertion, then from crawling and stooping through furlongs and furlongs of dark, twisting tunnels.
The wound on her leg ached—not so much for the cut, but for the bruised flesh beneath. Her bottom hurt as well, completely overshadowing the tiny bruise she’d previously had on her knee.
Following its maker, thefaeriefire—both orbs—vanished once they emerged into the night, dissipating like a puff of vapor, and Gwendolyn didn’t linger. The tunnel behind her fell into darkness as she reached for the ladder, body aching and muscles burning, as she followed the silvery moonlight to freedom.
To her surprise, she emerged into a quoit that reminded her of the Giant’s House near Fowey. Yet, unlike that quoit, this one appeared to be more of a tomb.
The sky was brightening, but the capstone above kept the moon’s full light from the trapdoor, so that, even by day, it must be difficult to spy from below.
As children, she and Bryn used to run about that Giant’s House, wielding wooden swords and taking turns at defending it. Demelza used to say they were built by a tribe of giants who’d hurled these stones together in a game of Quoits. This one sat in the middle of nowhere, with no sign of anyone having used the premises for any reason at all, not for years.
In fact, the stones were all covered with undisturbed lichen, which led Gwendolyn to believe no one had been here since the tunnel’s creation.
So then, were thosefogousmeant to store her uncle’s yields or were they only a means for escape? In the end, he’d sent Gwendolyn into the tunnels with Málik, only to die with his family in defense of her. Sorrow tugged at her heart and she fought back another painful sting of tears as she inhaled deeply of the fresh night air.
After so long crawling through damp dirt, she had grit between her teeth and her nostrils were encrusted with tears and filth. Much to her dismay, the quoit lay nestled in a small fen, along a ravine, and they had to wade through more wet muck and climb a steep hill to see anything beyond the reeds. Again, Málik led the way, sword in hand, until he reached the summit, and then he re-sheathed his sword and waited for Gwendolyn to join him.
Before them, the land lay cloaked beneath a mantle ofkoboldblue. The sea was only a shimmer in the distance, and the moon but a thin, mocking smirk in the sky.
“Where did yourfaeriefire go?” she wondered aloud.
“Gone,” he said, placing his arms akimbo. “It served its purpose.”
“Really?” said Gwendolyn, tugging at an eyelash to remove a bit of dirt. Every part of her ached, but it was only now that she really dared to notice. “I always heard they were more apt to lead men astray?” Indeed, thepiskielights were well known for leading men so far into the woods that they never again found the light of day. It was a wisp with a will of its own, and they were no doubt responsible for leading men to their deaths in the woods surrounding Porth Pool.
With every fiber of her being, she resisted the urge to sit now, knowing that if she did, she might never again rise.
Málik winked at her. “I suppose it depends on who it means to lead.”
“Ah,” said Gwendolyn, dumbly. Her brain hurt as well, as it tried in vain to make sense of everything that had transpired—not merely the attack on her uncle’s village, but Málik’s disclosures as well—the truth of who he was…
