Forest Kingdom Trilogy 3 - Down Among the Dead Men

now,” said the Dancer. “It won’t rise again in our lifetime.”
    “We can’t be sure of that,” said Flint.
    “No,” said Constance oddly. “We can’t.”
    MacNeil looked quickly at the witch. She was staring out into the clearing, her eyes dark and hooded.
    “What is it?” said MacNeil quietly. “Do you See something?”
    “I’m not sure,” said Constance. “It’s the fort….”
    “What about it?”
    “There were giants in the earth in those days,” she whispered, and then shuddered suddenly, looked away, and pulled her cloak about her. “I don’t like this place. It’s got a bad feel to it.”
    MacNeil frowned. “Do you See … anything specific?”
    “No. My Sight is clouded here. But I’ve dreamed about this fort for the last three nights, terrible dreams, and now that I’m here … The clearing is cold, Duncan. Cold as a tomb. And the fort is dark. It feels … old, very old.”
    MacNeil shook his head slowly. “I think you’re letting your feelings interfere with your magic, Constance. There’s nothing old about this fort. It was only built four or five years ago. Before that, there was nothing here.”
    “Something was here,” said Constance. “And it’s been here for a very long time… .”
    Her voice trailed away. Flint and the Dancer looked at each other but said nothing. They didn’t have to. MacNeil knew what they were thinking. If Salamander had said such things, they would have taken it seriously. She’d had the Sight, and if she said a place was dangerous, it was. No argument. But this new witch … as yet her magic hadn’t been tested under pressure, and until it had, no one was going to take her warnings seriously. Constance looked at MacNeil for his reaction, and he was careful to keep his voice calm and even.
    “We’re not going to learn anything about the fort just sitting here looking at it. The sooner we get in there and check the place out, the sooner we’ll know where we’ll be spending the night.”
    He urged his horse forward into the clearing. Flint and the Dancer followed him, and Constance brought up the rear. Her mouth was grim and set, and her eyes were very cold.
    MacNeil tensed automatically as he left the cover of the trees for the open clearing. So far there’d been nothing to suggest there was an enemy presence anywhere nearby, but after so long in the Forest he felt naked and vulnerable in the wide-open space. The clearing had to be a good half-mile wide, shaped into a perfect circle by ax and saw. MacNeil peered unobtrusively about him, but there was no sign of anything moving in the surrounding trees. He frowned slightly as he suddenly realized just how quiet the clearing was. There were no birdsongs, no buzzing insects, nothing. Now that he thought about it, the Forest had been unusually quiet all day. No birds flew in the summer sky, and no game moved among the trees. Maybe the approaching storm had driven them all to cover… . The party’s hoofbeats sounded loud and carrying in the quiet, and MacNeil felt a growing conviction that he and his team were being watched.
    They drew steadily nearer the fort. Its high stone walls were a pale yellow in color, the pure white of the local stone already discolored by wind and rain and sun. The embrasures were empty, the battlements were deserted, and the great double doors were firmly closed. It was like looking at a fort under siege. MacNeil looked closely at the grassy floor of the clearing. There were no tracks to show that anyone else had crossed the clearing recently. MacNeil scowled unhappily. Maybe none of the messengers had actually got this far. This part of the Forest was notorious for its footpads and liers-in-wait.
    The guards did their best to keep the roads open, but once off the beaten trail, a lone traveler took his life in his hands. Thieves and cutthroats and outlaws of all kinds had made the Forest wilds their own in the chaos following the Demon War. The most notorious gangs, like those led by Jimmy Squarefoot and Hob in Chains, had since been ruthlessly hunted down and hanged, but their successors were still active in the more remote parts of the Forest. Not that the Forest attracted only evil men; there were also those like Tom o’ the Heath, who watched over lost travelers on the moors, and Scarecrow Jack, self-styled protector of the trees, a wild spirit of the greenwood who sometimes aided those in need with bounty he stole from the rich and prosperous who