Shadow Queen - By Deborah Kalin Page 0,67

softly, without preamble. ‘You need to come with me.’

‘What has happened?’ I asked, grim possibilities racing through my mind. Riot inside the walls, or the glimmer of Ilthean campfires signalling the army’s arrival?

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, but didn’t elaborate.

I hesitated, and he frowned and added, ‘There isn’t much time, Tilde.’

‘Much time for what?’ I demanded.

Instead of answering, Sepp pushed past me and opened the entrance to the thralls’ runs.

I paused on the threshold of the lamplit corridor, uneasy at the lack of guards. I did not believe the guards’ absence to be coincidence, but it was difficult to credit that Sepp could have arranged it. Gerlach’s strange behaviour flashed to mind, but I dismissed the idea. Sepp’s distrust ran too deep; he would not work with Dieter, or any of his men.

‘Sepp, what’s going on?’

He turned to look at me. ‘Do you trust me?’

‘That’s not fair –’

‘Do you?’ he demanded.

‘Yes, but I need to know –’

‘You need to come with me,’ he said again, turning away. ‘I’m not talking to you anywhere those guards of his can overhear us.’

With a sigh I followed, and the stone door snicked shut behind us. His urgent stride gave us no time to speak as he led me towards the lower courtyard. As we stepped into the brisk night air, Sepp’s pace quickened even further and I had to trot to keep up. The hurry put a sting of fear back into my veins. What was so urgent?

‘Sepp, what –?’

‘Not yet,’ he said, his eyes scanning the shadows.

I fell back, increasingly nervous of the familiar contours. The corner of the kitchen bore ominous new outlines that could have been peering heads. Was it the wind, rustling across the gravel of the garden, or the tread of unfriendly feet? The pitch blackness beneath the Pigs Gate set my heart to quailing. Only Sepp’s unhesitating step prodded me through into the thick scent of mulch and fresh manure. The pigs yoinked and grunted and came trotting to the side of their pens.

Though mud slicked up and around our feet, Sepp’s stride didn’t slacken in the least before he ducked into the musky darkness of the stables up ahead, the gloom swallowing him in moments. I hurried in after him. The air that washed over me carried spores, I was sure of it: fungal fur would be taking root in my lungs with every breath.

Shapes resolved out of the dim interior, slat-fenced stalls and the bulk of tack hooked to the walls. This section of the stable housed only the horses, for the ceiling was too low to admit an upper level. The hayloft, and the loft where the stable thralls slept, lay in the other direction, hidden by the darkness. Ahead of me, Sepp stood near the final stall – near what appeared to be the mouth of a tunnel.

Sweat slicked my palms as I stopped.

‘You need to hurry, Matilde,’ Sepp said.

Rustlings from the stall near him spoke of another presence, one of the horses disturbed by the unusual visit. Squaring my shoulders, I stepped forward.

‘Watch your step,’ Sepp added, but it was too late. My foot sank into a warm pile of horse manure. Ignoring the wet warmth seeping through my thin shoes, I joined him near the furthermost stall. Taking in the sacks gathered in a heap in front of the stall, a nameless dread chilled my spine.

Roshi stepped out of the gloom of the stall dressed for practicality in boots, goat-leather pants and tunic, her hair gathered back into a braid at her nape. She carried a leather hackamore in one hand, a coil of rope in the other.

‘It’s time to go, Matilde,’ she said.

‘What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere,’ I said, panicked.

‘Yes you are, and you’re leaving now,’ said Roshi. ‘We have provisions enough to last us a fortnight if we’re thrifty. This tunnel will bring us out closer to the walls than I’d like, but if we keep our heads low, we’ve a solid enough chance of escaping notice.’

‘In case you’ve forgotten, there’s an army out there, marching towards us and in all likelihood intent on destroying my land and beheading my husband. I won’t let it happen!’ I said, hot tears springing to my eyes. My voice had risen, sending abrupt echoes through the quiet stable, startling the sleeping horses. Quietly but firmly, I finished, ‘I’ve lost one family already. I’ll not walk away from another.’

‘We need to hurry,’ Sepp said to Roshi, who nodded, turning to