Page 18 of The Edge of Darkness

And yet, a chill washed over me with her words.

As Remic pulled me away, the echoes of the prisoner’s cackle reached down the hall after us.

“Rise on the hill! Rise on the hill!” she repeated in a demented song.

“She’s lost her mind down here,” Maeson murmured.

I knew that much.

Still, I couldn’t shake free from her words.

The pain in my head persisted, and the prisoner’s words lingered alongside it.

Another will rise. Terrible as the darkest storm.

Remic’s steps quickened as he scanned each cell we passed. Some were empty, while others contained broken, battered beings hunched in corners or sprawled out amidst their own filth without a care left in the world.

The tunnel curved, and I felt a sudden pull on my senses.

Panic. Not my own, but Niall’s.

The scent of mud and the coppery tang of blood stung my nose.

“Do you smell that?” I whispered.

“If you mean the stench, yes,” Maeson muttered. “There’s no telling how long these prisoners have been down here.”

“No, it’s not that. I think I’m smelling something Niall is experiencing. We’re close now, I can feel it.”

My heart rose to my throat.

The dirt . . . the blood . . . What if he’s being buried alive?

“We have to hurry,” I urged. If Niall was undergoing something as terrible as what it felt like in my mind, time was of the essence.

The next turn had us climbing a set of stairs to another level of the catacombs.

As we launched into a quicker pace, I pointed to the left. “There. That way,” I said, following my intuition.

“Isn’t it a bit strange that we haven’t encountered a single guard?” Maeson murmured.

Remic nodded. “Not uncommon for catacombs, but for prisoner cells, yes.”

Perhaps the prisoners we’d passed were too far gone to be overseen by guards any longer. None of them seemed like they had any life left in them, except for the old crone, but even her body had looked like it would betray her at any moment, despite her enthusiasm.

The next intersection was brighter than the others, and as we peered around the corner, I could see a well-kept hallway with solid iron doors lining each side. Orbs floated back and forth along the corridor as if on patrol.

The thrumming in my chest suddenly stirred back to life, but it was dampened, muted.

“He’s here,” I whispered.

But where? Which door is he behind?

Remic pointed to the door closest to us. “Someone’s behind this door here. And that one.” He motioned to the fourth door on the same side, before cocking his head in the direction of the others. “Seventh door down on the left . . . and . . . last door on the right.”

“If I can get close enough to each one, I’ll know,” I said. “I can feel the bond now, but it’s faint.” I hoped that was only because of the magic that separated us.

“It’s the wards,” Maeson confirmed my thought. “They’re very powerful; I can feel them. No one gets in these doors without permission, and no one gets out.”