the soft cloth in his shaking hands. “Druid priests knew of magic that we are only beginning to understand. Such blundering is inexcusable of me.”
A remorseful Leland was near intolerable. “You are looking now,” Archer said brusquely.
Leland nodded, and resumed studying the note. “It shall take some time. A few days to consult some old texts.”
“Understood. Just find what you can. Will it work…?”
Helplessness brought a rage upon Archer. To find Miri slaughtered… Archer would rather be dead himself.
Leland’s eyes bore into him but Archer refused to turn around. “I am not afraid to die,” he said, staring at the red coals in the grate.
“Then why—”
“Haven’t I ended my life long ago? When I knew myself cursed?” He turned. Leland had put down the notes. His long hands lay limp in his lap, bone white against the peacock-blue silk.
“The ironic thing is, I rather like life,” Archer said. “As odd as mine is. Losing my soul is another issue entirely. I should not like it…” His voice trailed off, awkward in the heavy silence.
“Certainly not,” Leland agreed softly. He sighed and moved to his bookshelf, and after a bit of searching, he pulled down a large tome covered in thick, embossed leather. “I shall start now. I never sleep these days, anyway. A good riddle will be a boon.” His worn slippers shuffled over the oriental carpet. “Have another drink. Or shall I set you up with a room?”
Archer shook his head slowly. It felt heavy as a ballast stone. “I am going to retrieve that sword.” He pointed to Daoud’s letter for emphasis. “Now.”
The book in Leland’s hand closed with a decisive thump. “If you think you are going to leave me behind, think again.”
Archer’s lips twitched “Can you keep up?” he countered softly.
“Such effrontery,” Leland answered with a snort of irritation.
Archer reached for his damp clothes. “Then we had better get moving.”
They rode horses. And despite Leland’s protestations, Archer worried over him. His frail frame wobbled a bit as they cantered up a small incline. The man held on. The storm had ended and the fog returned, icy and thick. Darkness was nearly complete, and they might have gotten thoroughly lost were it not for Archer’s extraordinary vision. He led the way to the outskirts of town and those desolate caves that had seen the origin of his destruction.
His breath came out as white mist, eaten up by the muddy dark. Silently, they wove through a copse of trees and came to a stop by a growth of thickets.
“Looks abandoned,” Leland said from behind him.
“It was meant to.” Archer leapt from his horse and pushed away the thick overgrowth. Heavy timbers barred the entrance. They lifted easily in his hands and landed in a muffled crash in the undergrowth behind him. Yes, abandoned. Thank God for small mercies.
He heard Leland dismount as he worked on clearing the entrance. He remembered it well, knocking the boulders down over it and pushing the great tree trunks in front of them. Barring this place from any further mischief.
His blood pumped. The iron door came into sight. He glanced back at Leland and then gave the heavy door a shove with his shoulder. It gave with a great groan and a small puff of red iron dust. One more shove and the door teetered back and then landed with an earthshaking thud upon the soft ground.
“Torch.” He held his hand out waiting for Leland to light it and hand it over. Thick cobwebs and swirling dust motes colored the mouth of the cave gray. He brushed a clump of cobwebs aside and then went forward, stepping back in time.
No torches burned now in the narrow passage, yet in his mind’s eye he saw them, lining the walls, leading the way. The irritating scent of patchouli hanging in the air, and the chants of men echoing somewhere deep beyond. At the time, it had given him a morbid thrill. He’d gone willingly. Afraid of nothing, and everything. A grim smile touched his lips. That, at least, had not changed. The memory faded, and he faced the dark, moldering passage once more.
Leland stumbled behind him, and Archer held out a steadying hand.
“You remember the way?” Archer asked. He did not want to turn round and find his friend lost.
“How could I not?” came the dry reply.
“Good. Let’s get on with it.”
They moved slowly, Archer brushing aside cobwebs or kicking errant debris out of the way. The path twisted hard right, and Archer felt his