Muse (Tales of Silver Downs Book 1) (25 page)

"There doesn't seem to be anything in the riddle that tells us what to do," I said. "If this is another test, there will be rules. We just don't know what."

"Can't follow rules we don't know."
 

"No," I said curtly, although I tried to temper my tone. "All we can do is choose one door to open and trust it will be the right one."

"How?"

We stared at the doors and at each other, neither wanting to make a choice that might send us into an even worse situation.

Bramble, meanwhile, was busy. I had paid scant attention but now I noticed that she was sniffing each door again and again. She finally stopped, nose pressed to the base of the middle door.

"Bramble's chosen," Owain said. He adjusted his grip on Rhiwallon. Her head lolled backwards, her eyes still blank.

I didn't want to admit the truth only because I was disappointed that
I
hadn't recognised Bramble first. The fact that Owain saw through her disguise before me didn't make it any less true. It simply made it harder to accept.

"Bramble's choice," I agreed.

Bramble looked up at me and I saw, for the first time, the hurt in her eyes. I had let her down over and over. My recognition now did little to alleviate the pain I had caused but I hoped it might show I was finally willing to believe.

"Are you sure?" I asked her.

With her eyes locked on mine, Bramble nodded and I could no longer even pretend to deny the truth. Whatever Bramble might be, she understood my words.

"All right, then," I said.

I set my hand against the door. Its wood was smooth beneath my palm. I held my breath and pushed.
 

The door swung open without the slightest sound or hesitation.

Blinding light burned my eyes.
 

Behind me, Owain muttered a curse.
 

Squinting as my eyes adjusted, I gasped, for now I knew what manner of beast we had heard. Many a tale spoke of such places but I never dreamed I would see one with my own eyes.

Here, by my foot, a golden bracelet studded with crimson gems.

There, a cunningly-carved chest overflowed with jewels the size of my fist: blood-red, sea green, the clear blue of a midsummer sky, and wine-dark purple.
 

A silver sword, so finely-wrought it could not have been made by human hands.
 

A gold helmet, splendid enough for a king to wear into battle.
 

Everywhere I looked, priceless treasures were scattered across the floor and piled into mounds.

As always in this strange underground place, there was no obvious source of light. It seemed the air itself shone white, illuminating the vast treasure stores and reflecting off them.

But where was the owner of these treasures?

"Don't like this," Owain muttered.
 

I was instantly thankful he was not the type likely to become overwhelmed with greed.
 

"The dragon won't be far away," I said. "We need to get out of here before it returns."
 

Rhiwallon stirred and moaned. Owain cleared some space, moving rare treasures out of the way with his foot, and gently set her down. Bramble leaned in, sniffing Rhiwallon's face. Rhiwallon lay still and quiet for a few moments. Then her eyes seemed to focus. She looked up at each of us in turn.

"Wh-" Her voice was hoarse and she stopped to lick her lips. "What happened?"

"You're safe now," Owain said, his voice gentle.

"There was a…" Rhiwallon's voice was stronger, although still halting. "An enormous…"
 

"We came to get you," Owain said. "It's dead."

"Are you sure?" Her face was a curious mixture of trust and disbelief.

"Dead," Owain confirmed.

"It won't come after you again," I said, feeling rather redundant.

"There was a… a
thing
standing over me when I woke up." Rhiwallon's voice was a little stronger now. "And then there were hands. They touched me, picked me up, so many hands. Then I was in a cave and it was tying me up. I thought it wanted-" She clutched both hands to her stomach and shuddered. "I thought it was going to kill me."

I wondered what she had been going to say before she stopped herself.

Owain raised a hand, as if touch her, but hesitated. His hand fell. "It's all over," he said.

Beside me, Bramble whined softly, and almost without thinking, I rested my hand against her back. Exactly what manner of creature she was didn't seem all that important right now. What mattered was that we were all alive, and together. But that might not last if we didn't get out of here soon.

"We need to move," I said. "The dragon will return sooner or later and I, for one, want to be gone before then."

Rhiwallon started to sit up and Owain quickly reached out to help her. She waved him away and unsteadily climbed to her feet. "I'm really not in the mood for a dragon right now."

"I'll protect you," Owain said.

She looked at him for a long moment. "We'll protect each other. I'd like my bow and arrows back."

He handed them to her without comment and she strapped the belt around her waist, fumbling a little with the buckle. Once the quiver hung the way she wanted it to, she slung the bow over her shoulder. "How do we get out of here?" she asked in a voice that sounded almost normal.

All three of them looked to me and I cringed. Why should it be me who led them? Surely any decision I made would only lead us astray. Look at where I had taken us so far.
 

And yet they waited.
 

"We still haven't found the key," I said. "Perhaps the next door we need will be locked. It would make sense for the locked door to be the one leading from a dragon's lair. Of all of the caverns, this might be the one we need to leave the fastest, so of course it will be locked."

"I can carry you, if you need," Owain said to Rhiwallon.

She glowered at him. "I can walk."

"Don't touch anything," I said, feeling somewhat left out. "The tales tell that he who steals from a dragon's lair will pay dearly, usually with his life. And keep together."

We set off in single file, me first, then Bramble, Rhiwallon, and Owain at the back, scouring the treasures for anything that might be the key from the riddle. Our progress was slow and I was ever conscious the dragon must soon return. Surely it had already scented us.

"This is impossible," Rhiwallon said. "How are we supposed to find one tiny key in all of this? It could be buried within any of these piles."

"It must be here somewhere." I tried to act like the leader they seemed to expect me to be. "The riddles of the fey are never impossible. They want us to give up, to fail, but they have to allow us an opportunity to succeed, however small. So the key is here and it's somewhere we can see it, just as the riddle says."

"What happens if we don't find it?" Owain asked.

We hadn't yet discussed the possibility of failure. In a tale, the hero eventually succeeds at his task. He might fail the first time and perhaps the second, and the odds against him might seem insurmountable, but he always won in the end. Except in my tales.

"I don't know," I said. "Perhaps we will have to stay here forever. We should have asked."
 

"Too late now," Owain said and I envied his simple practicality.

We continued on, traversing the dragon's lair step by step, passing countless mounds of treasures. Bracelets, rings and crowns. Shields, swords and a golden suit of armour. Box after box spilled with brightly-coloured jewels. The dragon who possessed these treasures must be ancient indeed.
 

Behind me, Owain called out. "Diarmuid, wait."

I turned around and discovered I was some distance ahead of the others. "What's wrong?"

"Bramble stopped. She won't move."

Bramble was crouched down low to the ground, tail tucked beneath her rump, her whole body shaking. Of course it would be Owain who noticed her distress. It was never me.

"Bramble?" I asked. "What is it, girl?"
 

She looked around the cavern, gaze darting from place to place. It was as if she searched for something she could smell but not see.
 

"It's the dragon, isn't it?" I asked. "It returns."

Bramble met my eyes and whimpered.
 

Rhiwallon sighed. "Really not in the mood."

"We should hurry," I said. "We can still find the key and get out of here."

Even as I spoke, a bellow rang through the air. The dragon had returned.

I am out of patience with the mortal man who has been my companion these last few days, although companion is hardly a suitable description. His overwhelming desire to please irritates me. He hovers by my side, waiting for the opportunity to do something, anything. At times, I tell him to go away and he does, but only briefly. Then he returns, eager as ever, apologising for whatever he believes made me send him away.
 

I can't help but compare him to Diarmuid. Diarmuid is tortured, with his dark thoughts and his twisted tales. But he is also aloof, reserved. He holds himself somewhat apart from others. He observes. He does not cling or fuss or smother.

I do not understand how mortals can commit themselves to another for a lifetime. True, their lives are fleeting but surely they grow tired of their mate, bored with endlessly repeating the same conversations, the same actions, day after day after day. Some choose to leave, to find themselves a new companion. But so many stay and spend the rest of their lives trying to convince themselves they are happy.
 

This mortal has been my companion for, what, three, four days? I grit my teeth every time he enters the room for I cannot bear to hear his whiny voice, full of flattery and hope. Today, I will tell him to leave, to go out to the woods and to remain there. And then I will be able to relax, to soften my tight muscles, to unclench my gritted teeth.
 

I shall choose another companion. There are plenty of fine men in this village. In fact, this morning I saw one who might be suitable. Lean and broad shouldered. Thick, red hair. Strong hands. He will be satisfactory. Pleasant to look at and not too annoying are my only criteria. There was a woman with him this morning, perhaps a little younger than he, small and dark-haired. She was clutching his hand and smiling up at him. A sister perhaps, or a wife. No matter. He will forget her quickly enough.
 

If only I could forget. But I know I will measure every companion against Diarmuid. If I could forget him, perhaps I could be happy. I need to find a companion who does not force me to remember what I no longer have.

A roar split the air and I froze, quivering, my belly pressed against the rocky floor. The dragon's scent overwhelmed me, a cross between some forest creature and a recently-extinguished fire. I felt it in my nose, tasted it on my tongue.
 

"Run," Owain called, grabbing Rhiwallon's hand and scooping me up as he passed.

Clutched to his chest, I could feel his heart pounding. If Owain was scared, I was even more afraid.

We fled, dodging around mounds of treasure, but surely running was pointless, for we had found neither the key nor the door to which it belonged. We needed time: time to search for the key, time to find the door, time to make sure we didn't break the riddle's rules. We could hardly do that while fleeing a dragon.

Another roar echoed and I clung to Owain, heedless of how my claws dug into his arm. We were out of time, doomed.
 

Diarmuid yelled and pointed. "There, the door."

And there it was: a small wooden door, large enough for Owain to squeeze though but not big enough to admit the dragon. If we could find the key quickly, we might yet escape.
 

Another roar, closer this time.
 

The scent grew stronger and I gagged as the dragon's odour reached my lungs. It was worse than the smell of the fiery pit beneath the bridge we had crossed. My heart was almost bursting out of my ribs.

A swift eddy of wind flowed over us and a presence passed above. Then the dragon landed its huge bulk between us and the door.

Its scales were bright golden like the sun and as it folded its wings, I glimpsed a ruby red sheen beneath them. Jagged teeth protruded from a long snout. Its eyes were startlingly human.
 

"Halt." The dragon's voice echoed around the chamber, repeating in a dizzying chorus.

We inched closer together and I was keenly aware that we had had nothing but one small dagger between us. Owain's arm tightened around me and he wrapped his other arm around Rhiwallon's shoulders. We stood together, he and I and Rhiwallon, with Diarmuid slightly apart from us. I pitied him for not having Owain's strong arm around him too.

"Where are you running to in such a hurry?" the dragon asked, inspecting us each in turn.

We looked to Diarmuid. He hesitated, but then cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders.

"I apologise for disturbing you," Diarmuid said, the wobble in his voice betraying his unease. "We wandered in here by mistake."

The dragon snorted and its eyes glinted with amusement.

"By mistake, eh." Its voice sounded like rocks smashing together. I wanted to bury my face into Owain's shirt and cover my ears with my paws. "Humans don't enter my home by mistake. They come to steal my treasure."

"We haven't taken anything," Diarmuid said. "We didn't even mean to come in here but we thought we were probably allowed to open only one door and this was the one we chose."

That was my fault. But the other doors smelled of danger and darkness. The door that led us here smelled of hope and the way home.
 

"Of course you chose that door," the dragon said. "You could smell my treasure. The scent of it leads people here, drives them half-mad with desire. They come in and paw through my treasure, pocketing what they will, and then they sneak out, thinking I haven't been watching them the whole time, thinking I haven't seen everything they did, noted every item they touched."