the monk’s steps faltered. “What is it?” Merlin asked his father.
“Someone’s been murdered,” Owain answered. “He’s covered in blood, and by the look on his face, he died painfully.”
Dybris let out a mournful wail and grabbed Merlin’s arm for support.
Natalenya tucked Ganieda’s knife into her belt and then tugged at the crennig door until it closed with a groan.
The black, lifeless shadows of night was gathering in the deepest parts of the woods surrounding the path. She set out, but a slight rustling from the bushes to her left brought her up short. A snake crossed right in front of her, its chisel-shaped head sliding before its slow, thick body. Natalenya froze, her stomach tightening in a knot. But it passed by without noticing her, and once it was gone she walked slowly, warily, fighting the urge to break into a sprint. She reached up and touched Merlin’s golden torc, which lay upon her neck, and found her courage once more.
Since Merlin and the others hadn’t come back, she reasoned, then Allun must have agreed to lend his mule. Although Plewin was stubborn, Merlin had assured her that he pulled anything, including wagons, with an untiring and sure-footed stride.
When she arrived at the mill, all was silent and the building appeared dead — its sad roof sagging, the high windows desolate and grim. Was this where all the villagers gathered to have their grain milled and share the latest gossip? Where had everyone gone? Where was Allun?
She scanned the field beyond the ghost-white stone wall, but the mule wasn’t there. Plewin must be inside the mill eating a trough full of grain, she mused. Merlin had said Allun fed her that way when he had extra.
Natalenya walked toward the mill, gravel crunching under her boots. Pausing at the door, she pressed her ear against the thick wood and listened, but she didn’t hear anything. Allun didn’t appear to be there. Too bad I didn’t borrow one of my family’s horses before father and mother left in the wagon, she mused. But there was nothing she could do about it now.
A cold gust of wind blew, and the door creaked on its hinges. It was open. Unlocked.
She pushed on the rough wood of the door, determined to get the mule. Merlin was counting on her. They needed the wagon to transport the Stone. To destroy it. Right.
Natalenya stepped into the mill, and the darkness swallowed her. She waited a moment to let her eyes adjust, and then, off to the right, she saw the silhouette of Plewin in her stall.
She took three steps forward but then froze in her tracks.
The door behind her closed.
Then she heard the bar fall into place.
An evil laugh echoed through the room.
CHAPTER 31
BELTAYNE
Uther slashed the knife down again and again, then threw the softened dirt out of the ever-widening hole. There in the tower, alone, he could hear his panting breaths echo off the walls.
There must be something here. The man in blue wouldn’t have disappeared below the earth at this spot if something hadn’t been buried here. Hopefully it wasn’t just the man’s bones.
Uther continued digging until, with a start, he felt a tap on his shoulder.
“My … king, your queen stands here, and your … children. I have brought them.”
Uther looked up for an instant, and a wave of dizziness distorted his sight. When had Colvarth and his family climbed through the door? He nodded to his wife and took a long sip of mead, some of it sloshing off his chin and into the damp hole.
“Something here.” He pointed. “A man went into the ground.”
“You saw someone go into your hole?” Igerna asked, glancing sideways at him.
Uther blinked. Even if she thought him crazy, he had seen the man. He chopped again with his knife. Once the ground was sufficiently loose, he dropped the blade and scooped the dirt onto the growing pile at his right.
In the hole, his fingertips scratched the surface of a large rock. Ah, that will be trouble. Taking his knife again, he attempted to jab the surrounding soil, which was much harder and drier than the soil above. He strained to pull the boulder out, but the monstrous thing wouldn’t budge.
He looked up and remembered the pickaxe he’d tied up as an anchor for the boat. If he fashioned a handle for it, he might be able to break or wedge the rock out.
Uther stood, and a swirl of darkness engulfed him. His knees felt weak, and he