Fury of the Seventh Son (Book 13) by Joseph Delaney

a narrow road, just as badly rutted as the main one that had led westward. Once again, I walked on the grass to the side. The land was beginning to rise; I could see wooded hills ahead and high mountains behind, with snow atop the highest, even though it was still autumn.
    After a while I found myself in a dense wood where most of the trees had already shed their leaves. I was wary of another ambush and moved some distance away from the road. It was just a precaution—I was confident that my new ability would provide me with an early warning of any threat. It was as if, like a witch, I could long-sniff future danger.
    Then the trees gradually changed, until I was tramping through a forest of tall conifers. I reached the summit of a hill and saw that the land fell away before rising again.
    It was then that I glimpsed something in the distance. It stood on the summit of the next hill, rising high above the trees at the end of the muddy road.
    It was a dark tower, and the sight of it filled me with unease.

CHAPTER XI
    T HE D ARK T OWER

    M Y enemies had already disappeared inside, and now the Fiend’s head was in there too.
    I studied the tower. Built from big blocks of gray stone, it was an impressive structure, perhaps twice the height and at least three times the girth of Malkin Tower, square, with a flat top but no battlements. Strangely, high up on the side of the tower there was a wide balcony and a tall, pointed door.
    The tower had no moat, but any attacking force had only one point of access: a narrow flight of stone steps, two hundred of them or more, that led up a steep incline to a heavy metal door. There were arrow slits as well as windows in the high walls, and climbing those steps would be suicidal.
    Hidden by the trees, I made a slow circuit of the building, keeping my distance, and was able to confirm that there was only that one door. Then, after setting some traps for rabbits, I made myself as comfortable as possible on the hilltop facing the steps, and watched and waited.
    Late in the afternoon the big door opened with a grinding sound that echoed across the hills, and a party of eight witches emerged and descended the steps. Something about their manner and clothes suggested that they weren’t from Pendle. Their skirts were short, hardly covering their knees, and their hair was pulled back from the forehead and braided into a single ponytail behind. They were probably from some unknown clan beyond the County.
    Behind them, the door closed, and I heard heavy bolts being slid back into place.
    For a while I was apprehensive. Had they somehow detected my presence? Were they coming for me?
    One thing I was immediately sure of—they were not in possession of the head. They passed within half a mile of where I was hiding and continued north. How many did that leave in the tower? I had a sense of a largish group, but exactly how many I couldn’t tell.
    I had set four traps, but to my disappointment, only one held a rabbit—and a small one at that. I was hungry, but it would have to do. After dark, I descended the northern slope of the hill so that I was out of sight of the tower. Here I lit a small fire and cooked the rabbit, listening to the dripping juice sizzling on the embers.
    It was delicious, and feeling better for having eaten, I climbed back up to my original position and kept watch. I intended to do so for just a couple of hours and then snatch some sleep.
    As I stared at the tower, I considered what to do after that. My priority was to stop the Fiend’s head from being reunited with his body. Now that it was in the tower and not on a ship, there was no immediate threat of that happening. But I needed to reclaim it and take it back to the relative safety of Chipenden—which was easier said than done.
    First, I was alone. And even if I could somehow climb the steps undetected and reach the metal door, it was locked and bolted. But this must be just a temporary refuge, I