The Realms Thereunder

4

Alex inspected the wound at his side. It wasn’t much. It didn’t look as if he would need stitches. He went towards the dead dragon and started to work his sword out of it. “That was a good upwards swing,” he complimented Maccanish. “And well placed.”

“Thank you. I’m a keen golfer. What do we do with the body?”

“Whatever you like. Although it’s not going to be around for long. The natural chemicals it makes in order to spit fire are highly corrosive. It’ll be a pile of sludge by nightfall unless you know the proper way of removing them. Look, see-the head is already decaying.” Alex finally managed to pull his blade free. He inspected it. Apart from being covered in acidic dragon’s blood, it seemed none the worse for wear. It needed a good cleaning. Luckily, he had an alkali solution wash in his Land Rover.

“Remarkable. What about the trolls?”

“Again, whatever you please. Leave them here or call the Royal Society of Anthropology. That’d give them a fright. I always wondered what would happen if someone did that. In any case, my work here is finished. You had bigger problems than I thought if you had a dragon move in here.”

“So what does that mean?” Maccanish asked. They stepped outside and stood in the cave’s mouth. “What does that mean for the valley? For our troubles?”

“Well, you’ll be back to being able to sleep, for a start. People will be less inclined to evil deeds and the feeling of dread and oppression will be lifted. But people will still be hurt, and they’ll still be frightened, as they won’t understand, or allow themselves to understand, what has happened. It’ll be your job to help them through that. You need to keep an eye out, though. If the people hereabouts slide back into despair, these things and more could come back. Keep an eye out. And I’ll give you a number where I can be contacted. But you can give thanks now that you have been delivered from evil.” Alex stuck out his hand. “And I can give thanks that you’ve kept such an excellent golfing form.”

Maccanish smiled and shook Daniel’s hand.

“What are you going to do now?” Maccanish asked.

“There’s one more thing that I need to check on. You go on back. Thanks again for your help.”

“Thank you.”

Rector John Maccanish started off, back down Morven. As

Alex watched him go, he heard the man begin to sing a hymn as the clouds finally opened and released a gentle rain upon the mountain and its plain.

Alex went back into the cave. He broke another glow stick and clipped it next to the other, which was dimming. He hung his sword by its hilt onto a carabiner on his belt; it bumped comfortingly against him as he walked. There would be no more danger here-he was no longer on alert.

Instead, he tried to get himself in the right frame of mind- doing the mental exercises his father taught him-and walked farther into the tunnel. He stepped cautiously over the body of the dragon and then those of the trolls. He turned the corner and passed the dragon’s pile of shiny loot-its bedding. Then he came to a chiseled stone wall made of square one-foot-by-one-foot blocks, and about as high and wide as a standard doorway.

Alex put his hands up against it and cleared his mind, thinking only of being between. He had no intents or aims in life; he was open to all options. He was standing at the crossing of all paths.

He visualized this last thought as standing in a country road with signs pointing in all directions.

It took a few moments before he felt his hands sinking into the stone. It was harder now that he was older and had a purpose in life, but his heart and soul were still open to new callings. Once his arms were through the stone, it was easy. He visualized himself being between the stones now. He stepped forward and, with a sensation like moving through water, he was through and into the hidden chamber of Morven.

It was much like the others he had been in. A simple octagonal room with a ceiling, perhaps lower than others. Silver lamps lined the walls, throwing their ancient light on the stone plinths and the eight sleepers that lay on them.

Except that these warriors were no longer sleeping-they were dead. They had been dressed in full plaids and sporrans and had been armed with two-handed claymore swords and sgian dubhs, but now their corpses were mangled, eviscerated, picked-over. Flesh had been torn from bone, joints separated, and the pieces scattered.

It had been a one-sided slaughter. Looking at the centre of the chamber, he saw the fragments of the stone-coloured oblong egg that the dragon had hatched from. It had been easy to see what had happened as the infant dragon hatched and fed first on one body and then the next, probably over the course of a couple weeks, maybe more. The trolls, attracted to the area by its atmosphere of evil, had set up in the cave and it had killed them too. As lucky as he was to escape with his life, it was a marvelous stroke of fortune-for him and the entire country-that Alex had come across the dragon now while it was still an infant and not a fully grown adult.

But who placed the egg here? Across the chamber, the wall, which was supposed to be enchanted like the one he had passed through, had been torn down-or rather, knocked through. Its stones lay strewn across the floor.

A hand clamped around Alex’s foot and he started. He swallowed and looked down in horror-one of the dead bodies’ arms was gripping his boot. It was connected to a shoulder, a torso, a head, and nothing else. The mangled face of the highlander moved and Alex heard the words, in Gaelic, “Fuasgail sinne.” Release us.

The spirits of the dead men were still in their bodies-they had not been released from their contract of immortality yet. They had lain here all this time, waiting for the battle, and for them the fight had never come, only a painful, prolonged death. With a lump in his throat, Alex pulled his foot gently out of the knight’s hold and strode to the wall where the horn was hanging. He blew a strong note on it, and the air seemed to grow warmer; a wind moved through the tunnel with a sound like a sigh of relief.

For a moment there appeared before Alex’s eyes the silvery outline of a man in old highland gear with a gleaming sword in his hand.

“Buidheachas,” the figure said, looking Alex in the eye.

“Slainte agad-sa,” Alex replied. “Slan leat.”

The apparition smiled and then faded. The lamplight returned to its full brightness, and the chamber was still.

Alex set about rearranging the bodies on the stone slabs as best he could-there would be no more honourable burial place than this cavern, where the lights would burn for all time. It was gruesome work, but after a while he managed to place the bodies and weapons in respectful order.

He stood for a time looking at the torn-down wall and wondered who had made it and where they had come from. The largest part of him wanted to follow it and track down whoever had done this, but he knew that wasn’t the prudent thing to do. Instead, he left back through the wall he had entered by, went through the cave, and stepped into the open, still-drizzling air.

As he walked down the mount and back to his Rover, he pulled his phone from his pocket and rang his associate.

After relaying what had occurred, omitting no detail, his associate said, “The bleed has started-but it is hard to tell the extent, even yet. We must go to Ni?ergeard-that is where we will find answers.”