Page 71 of Reap & Sow

Something scurried up her back. “Get back in the hood,” she hissed at the black mouse perched upon her shoulder. He blinked at her, ears twitching, before doing as he was told.

The plans had revealed that the very ground Fell Keep was built upon warned off demons. The stone was blessed, from the foundations to the bailey walls. Kit would not activate the warning fires…so long as he didn’t touch anything.

Eda swiftly made her way toward the portcullis, careful to get in no one’s way. She was a shadow, a passing brush of wind. The mantle would work so long as she didn’t draw undue attention to herself.

She was nearly there when a low, grating sound reverberated through the stone. The portcullis—shit!

It was coming down.

Eda sped up. No, no, no. It wasn’t supposed to close this early, not until sundown.

She nearly broke into a run. A brawny man in an oilskin apron walked across her path; she skittered sideways to avoid him.

He did a double take. “Wha—hey!”

Eda ducked beneath the portcullis. She rounded the corner and pressed herself against the wall, chest heaving. The gate slid into place with a great thunk behind her. The man did not call out again, but it wouldn’t do to linger.

For a moment Eda dared not move, afraid of drawing unwanted eyes. Kit shuffled around in her hood, then up her shoulder and beneath her hair.

They were in a wide, imposing hallway. Tapestries and suits of armor from battles past lined the walls, disappearing around a corner at each end. There were no windows. Heavy cast-iron braziers had already been lit. The stone was cold against her back, spanning upward into a high eaved ceiling. Opposite the main entrance, a set of aging double doors were thrown open; inside lay a hall with long tables and a mighty hearth. A small cluster of Blades sat eating and laughing.

She knew the layout of Fell Keep by memory alone thanks to hours spent poring over the plans. This corridor made a square border around the central hall. Other rooms could be found on the first and second floors via winding turret staircases at each corner—but Eda didn’t want those. They needed to go down.

She found mettle enough to inch along the wall, slipping around mounted pikes and shields. Distant voices echoed off the stone. The keep whispered everywhere with the low hum of life, but it was hollow; so many Blades were stationed at the Great Templehouse today.

Kit’s warm little body pressed against her neck, and she was thankful, for she felt less alone.

They passed few people: Two Blades in rapt discussion as they walked, unarmed. A priest of the Faith thumbing through a book. Cautious optimism took root and bloomed within her. No one stopped her. No one so much as looked her way. Ben, Lawrie, I’m coming.

Around the second corner, Eda stopped dead. A wide alcove off the center of the corridor was hewn into the stone, surrounding an opening in the floor—a descending staircase. It was guarded by two Blades.

Dungeons. The papers hadn’t lied about this, at least. She had expected two guards, and two was precisely what they needed. Eda clenched her fists. Kit’s whiskers twitched against her pulse. No doubt he could hear how it raced.

She whispered, “Be quick. We won’t have much time.”

Eda held out her hand. Kit scurried along her arm. With bated breath, she set him down.

The bowl-like braziers at each end of the hallway flickered orange to blue. By the time the first guard noticed the icy glow bouncing against the stonework, Kit was skittering unseen through his legs.

“Saints,” he hissed, turning to his partner, “is that right?”

Black smoke rose up behind them.

“N-no. Not here. There can’t be an actual—”

“Demon,” Kit said, almost apologetically, and rammed their heads together. One guard slumped to the ground. The other stumbled but remained conscious enough to grab at his sword; Kit threw him against the wall, leaving a bloody mark where skull met stone. The guard’s eyes rolled. He dropped atop his friend in a boneless heap.

“Are they dead?” Eda hurried toward them.

“Not yet.” Kit reached down as though to finish the job.

She grabbed his wrist. “Don’t.”

All Eda could think of was Ben. In another life, if he’d gotten his way, he could have been a Blade. It might have been Ben standing here, simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Kit scowled and snapped his fingers. “Tripp.”

The imp materialized at once. “Sire.”