Forest Kingdom Trilogy 3 - Down Among the Dead Men

steps that led to the cellar.
    The door at the bottom of the steps was still closed. MacNeil looked at it carefully. It didn’t look any different from the last time he’d seen it, and yet something felt … wrong. He reached out with his free hand to touch the door, and then snatched his fingers away. The wood was freezing cold—cold enough to burn the skin from his fingertips if he’d left them there a moment longer. He pulled a length of rag from his pocket, wrapped it around his hand, and turned the door handle as quickly as he could. The door swung open a few inches as he pushed it with his boot, and then stuck fast. Flint moved in beside MacNeil as he put his piece of rag away, and then they both put their shoulders to the door. They got it halfway open before it stuck solid. The four Rangers filed into the cellar, and then stopped by the door and looked around them in silence.
    The floor and all four walls were thickly coated with ice, tinged pink by the bloodstains beneath, and long, jagged icicles hung down from the ceiling. The untidy heaps of junk that had been piled against the walls had disappeared under smooth coverings of frost, and the barrels weighing down the trapdoor had fused into a single huge mound of ice. The air was bitterly cold, searing the Rangers’ lungs and numbing their bare flesh.
    “Where’s the cold coming from?” said Flint quietly. “It’s still summer outside.”
    “It’s coming from below,” said Constance. “Something down in the tunnels doesn’t like the warmth of day.”
    MacNeil looked at her sharply. “You mean it’s woken up?”
    “I don’t think so. It’s just dreaming. Dreaming about how the world was when it last walked the earth.”
    MacNeil made his way carefully across to the iced-over barrels. The other Rangers spread out behind him, moving slowly and cautiously. The icy floor made for treacherous footing. MacNeil put down his lantern, drew his sword, reversed it, and struck down hard. The solid steel hilt chipped the ice, and fragments flew into the air, but there were still inches more between him and the barrels. MacNeil scowled and looked at the witch.
    “Use your magic, Constance. What’s under the trapdoor now?”
    The witch closed her eyes, and the Sight came strongly to her.
    The trapdoor was closed and bolted. The wood was oak from the Forest, newly fashioned when the fort was made. It still remembered leaf and sap and tree. The bolts were steel, cold iron, and closed to her mind. Beyond the trapdoor was darkness. It was very deep and very cold, and far below something stirred in its sleep. It dreamed constantly now, its power growing as it rose from the sleep of ages, and the dreams grew strong in the waking world. Even in its sleep the Beast knew that it was being watched, and Constance drew back as a single great eye slowly began to open. She shut down her Sight and opened her eyes, gasping for air. Her Sight had shown her some of the mind of the Beast and its intentions, and she knew beyond any shadow of doubt that to stare into its waking eye was death and worse than death.
    “Well?” said MacNeil. “What did you See?”
    Constance shook her head feebly. “The tunnels are empty. Whatever’s down there is much deeper in the earth.”
    “Any sign of the gold?”
    “None at all. But I think I know now what’s been happening here in the fort.” She had to stop and swallow hard. Her mouth was dry, and she felt sick. Even a fleeting contact with the Beast’s mind had left her feeling soiled and tainted. Flint and the Dancer looked at each other. MacNeil waited patiently. Constance took a deep breath and let it go slowly. It steadied her a little, and when she finally began to speak her voice was calm and even. Only her eyes still held some of the horror she felt at what she’d discovered.
    “I thought at first it was a demon, but it’s much older than that. It has slept here, deep in the earth, for centuries beyond count. Even the coming of the Darkwood did little more than disturb its dreams. But then men came and built a fort over it, and the clamor of their minds was too loud to be ignored. The creature stirred in its sleep, and its dreams went forth and found waking minds to feed on. The dreams drove everyone here out of their minds, and they killed each other in their madness. Their deaths fed the creature’s power, and it took their bodies down to itself. I don’t know why. Perhaps they’re food for when it wakes. Or