Forest Kingdom Trilogy 3 - Down Among the Dead Men

sword with which to defend herself. Not that she was scared of him, of course. If he was stupid enough to try anything with her, he’d soon discover she had more than enough magic left to take care of the likes of him. And yet there was something about Wilde that both attracted and repelled her, as though she could see the tragedy of what he’d been as well as the brute he’d become.
    The witch shook her head uncertainly, and turned her attention to the closed trapdoor in the middle of the floor. She wished she could have gone with Duncan, but she’d known she had to be sensible. She was vulnerable to the Beast and it knew that, even in its sleep. Her presence would only have endangered Duncan, and he was in enough danger down there as it was. At least partly from himself. Duncan never bent with the wind, never allowed himself to be weak, but even the strongest steel will break if it can’t bend a little under pressure.
    Duncan, watch your back. And come back safely
.
    Flint and the Dancer sat side by side, waiting patiently for the call to action, as they had so many times before. Flint polished her sword blade with a piece of rag. It didn’t need polishing, but the simple repetitive action soothed and calmed her. The Dancer just sat where he was, relaxed and ready, his sword resting casually across his thighs. He showed no sign of nerves or excitement, but then he never did. His eyes were faraway, and Flint wondered what he was thinking about. They’d been partners and lovers for almost eight years now, but she still had only the vaguest notions of what went on in his mind when he removed himself from the world like that.
    The Dancer wasn’t like other people. Half the time he was off in a world of his own. Flint never doubted that he loved her, but he wasn’t an easy man to get to know. He didn’t say much, and for a long time now had been content to let Flint do the talking for both of them. He wasn’t slow-witted, or even shy; he just didn’t have much to say. If he wanted to make a point, he usually made it with his sword.
    “Dancer …”
    “Yes?”
    “Do you really think they’re going to be able to kill the Beast?”
    The Dancer shrugged. “Maybe. Hammer’s got the Infernal Device. Those swords are pretty damned powerful.”
    “But … if it isn’t powerful enough, what are our chances of killing the Beast?”
    “Pretty bad, I should think. But we have to try. A lot of people are depending on us.”
    “They usually are. But this time we could very easily get killed.”
    “Comes with the job.”
    “Are you afraid, Giles?”
    “No. Fear just gets in the way. Are you worried?”
    “Yes.”
    “Don’t be. I’m here with you. I won’t let anything happen to you, Jessica.”
    She held his hand tightly. They looked at each other for a long moment, and then a shrill neighing scream forced its way past the closed trapdoor and filled the cellar. The ice on the floor and walls cracked and shattered, and icicles fell from the ceiling. Flint and the Dancer leapt to their feet, swords at the ready. Constance and Wilde looked quickly about them, searching for a foe they could face. The scream went on and on, deafeningly loud and piercing, and then cut off suddenly.
    “They’ve found the Beast,” said Wilde.
    “Or it’s found them,” said Constance. She raised her head sharply and listened, sensing something moving not far away. “Listen, can you hear anything?”
    They all stood very still, straining their ears against the silence. From far off in the distance, somewhere above the cellar, there came a series of faint, uneven sounds. Flint and the Dancer exchanged a glance and hefted their swords. Wilde got to his feet and nocked an arrow to his bow. Flint looked at him and shook her head.
    “No, Edmond. You and the witch stay here and guard the trapdoor, while Giles and I take a look at what’s happening upstairs.”
    For a moment she thought Wilde might argue, but the moment passed, and he just shrugged and sat down again. Flint hesitated, wanting to explain that it wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, but in the end she said nothing. He wouldn’t have believed her anyway. She strode over to the cellar door and swung it open. The sounds seemed to have stopped for the moment. The Dancer came up behind her and offered her one of the torches from the wall brackets. She took it and started up the steps that led back to the ground floor. The Dancer stayed close behind her, sword at the