Claudio dropped his gaze.
Encouraged by Father Michael’s words, Eira pressed on: “If what our prisoner says is true, we might be able to hunt his master. If we can defeat him, it may mean we’ve cut off the path by which these monsters enter our world. Now we only hold these wicked creatures at bay; if we were to banish them forever, we would be honored above all others.”
Barrow was shaking his head. “I don’t believe it. Your hopes are understandable, Eira, but this man is raving mad. He’s infatuated by his own power and making up stories to sustain his delusions.”
“Have you another explanation for the six striga that served him?” Eira snapped.
“Eira’s right, Barrow,” Alistair said. “We were caught unawares. No sorcerer we’ve tracked has ever had more than one beast under his command.”
Sorcha put her hand on Barrow’s arm. “Even a madman sometimes speaks the truth.”
Eira smiled, about to continue, when Thomas broke in. “Even if he is revealing truth to us, how does it change our standing with the abbot?”
Ewan nodded. “The abbot is our primary concern. Once we’ve determined how best to proceed, we can investigate the matter of this prisoner. We can keep him in the stockade as long as we need.”
“We need more time to question him,” Fionn added.
“That may be the wisest course at this time,” Father Michael said. “I can pursue channels within the Church. Abbot Crichton has made enemies, and perhaps we can find a sympathetic ear among his superiors.”
“Forgive my disagreement, Father,” Eira said, feeling the tone of the room shifting away from her interests. “But even if such a friend in the Church hierarchy exists, the abbot need only begin a whispered campaign to spread lies about our order and we’ll find ourselves subject to investigation. Too many fear heresy; we can’t risk that. What I’m proposing would allow us to bypass all the corrupt channels of politics.”
“How, Eira?” Cian asked. “Why will seeking out this supposed master help us in this matter?”
“Don’t you see?” Eira struggled with her frustration. “If we find this master, we’ll have the answers we’ve always sought. Our prisoner claims he serves a creature that opens the door to the other side. If we gain such secrets, how can the abbot oppose us? How could anyone oppose us? To manipulate our work would be to circumvent the very purpose of Conatus!”
Thomas, Conatus’s quartermaster, blew out a weary sigh. “Dear Eira, what you’re suggesting is a terrible gamble. You would make our work known to the public, which would invite chaos. The abbot already threatens to undermine our purpose. I find it highly unlikely that any new wisdom or secrets we might find would change the disposition of such a man.”
“But—” Eira cast a pleading glance at Cian.
Cian spread helpless hands on the table. “I fear Thomas is right. The abbot has shown himself to be single-minded in all things.”
“There’s another concern as well.” Lukasz rose, folding his arms across his chest. “If indeed this creature the prisoner calls his master exists, we know nothing of its capabilities.”
“Go on.” Claudio regarded the commander with interest.
Lukasz began to pace as he spoke. “The man we captured claims the striga weren’t under his command but his master’s. If that’s true, who is to say that this being can’t summon any number of monsters to his aid?”
Eira’s hands balled into fists. She wanted to object, but she couldn’t deny the soundness of Lukasz’s words.
“What if this prisoner is here only to bait us?” he continued. “He offered no resistance to his capture. He sits in his cell without complaint.”
“You think he means to lead us into a trap?” Barrow asked.
“I don’t know,” Lukasz said. “I’m only pointing out what’s possible.”
Eira bowed her head. Hadn’t she suspected the same thing?
She looked up in surprise when Alistair said, “But we could at least send a scouting party. It would behoove us to seek out evidence of this creature, would it not?”
“Yes,” Eira said a little too quickly, gaining a sharp look from her sister.
Eira returned the look steadily. “The Guard should send a party to hunt for the sorcerer’s master.”
“The Guard is riding to Dorusduain.” Lukasz offered her a quizzical glance. “You’d have us split our force. We don’t know what we’re riding into.”
“Forgo the mission to Dorusduain,” Eira told him. “Our prisoner claims that the village is gone because of his master’s power.”
“How could you keep this from us?” Sorcha asked, drawing a sharp breath.
“I’m telling you now,” Eira said. “What truth lies in this claim, I know not. But the wild man says he was the source of the message about Dorusduain.”
“That’s impossible.” Lukasz scowled. “We captured the sorcerer in the Black Forest. The messenger who brought news of Dorusduain said he was stopped by a stranger on the road from Cluanie.”
“I can’t explain it.” Eira straightened, refusing to give ground. “But how would he know of the message?”
Thomas scratched his beard. “Perhaps a coven of warlocks has risen. Our prisoner could be in league with others.”
“Then we must force our prisoner to reveal the identities of his brothers,” Sorcha said. “And we will hunt them down.”
Barrow nodded. “If they’ve been working together, it could explain the large group of striga. They’d have more power in greater numbers.”
Eira kept quiet. Though she couldn’t pin down why, she knew the sorcerer wasn’t part of a coven. The impossibility of his claims, his very madness, made her believe him incapable of the plot Sorcha was suggesting.
“And if it isn’t a coven?” Cian asked. “Summoning striga is one thing—but what of Dorusduain? Have we encountered any warlock or sorcerer capable of emptying a village with no trace of bloodshed? If this creature the sorcerer calls master is real, what will that mean for us?”
“I fear it would mean war,” Lukasz said quietly. “And a type of war the world has never seen.”
Thomas was watching the commander. “I think you’re right, Lukasz. Even if not a war, any unnatural skirmishes of a greater scale than those we are accustomed to, any larger number of these creatures, could draw attention to Conatus in a dangerous way. If their territories go up in smoke or are suddenly overrun by demons, we’ll be answering to the armies of kings as well as our usual foes.”
“Which would be just as bad as what Abbot Crichton threatens.” Cian nodded.
Sorcha gritted her teeth. “Such a course could be our own undoing.”
“I disagree.” Eira spoke, suddenly desperate to regain control of this discussion. “If we’re going to seek out this ‘master,’ we should not delay.”
“You seem to feel strongly about this issue.” Thomas turned to her. “Why?”
“Because Eira is always for war,” Fionn grumbled.
“It’s the perfect time.” Eira ignored Fionn, answering Thomas. “Now that France is giving aid to the Welsh rebellion, the English are too distracted to pay us mind. And the French are too worried about England to notice what we’re doing.”
Kael thumbed the edge of his dagger. “If the English and French can’t sort themselves out, this war will go on for a hundred years.”
Barrow laughed roughly, nodding. “Indeed it will.”
“What about the Scots?” Claudio asked. “Considering the location of this keep, it’s them we’d best keep an eye on.”
“They’re mired in the succession, plotting ways to kill all the heirs apparent,” Ewan said, earning a cold laugh from Fionn.
“And the Church is focused on the schism,” Eira said. “As long as we keep Abbot Crichton happy with his payment for now, we won’t have trouble with the Church. He’s playing the same game we are, trying to stay out of the mess made by Rome and Avignon. And he’s using the distraction of their squabble to increase h
is own fortunes. The more land and influence he claims, the more sway he’ll have over whoever claims the papacy. The abbot is now the only one watching us. We have time to work with, but who knows how long that will last.”
Cian folded her hands, resting them on the table. “I don’t trust the soundness of this strategy, sister.”
Eira’s face went blank. “How so?”
“The prisoner is clearly unstable,” Cian said. “We have no way of knowing if he speaks anything other than madness. Why waste our energies?”
“Then what harm could come from investigating his claims?” Eira smiled. “That’s all I ask.”
“Any time we send the Guard into the field there is a risk,” Ewan said. “I’m not certain that this search for a source of the darkness we fight is wise. Particularly with the abbot looking over our shoulder. At any moment he could cry heresy and all our lives would be forfeit.”
“But it is the only chance we have to find the source—the greatest mystery of all,” Eira argued. “Why wouldn’t we take it?”
“If it were that simple, it would indeed be a worthy mission,” Cian said. “But I can’t believe it’s that simple.”
“Cian speaks true,” Ewan said. “We need more time. The prisoner is ill and his testament unreliable.”
“Any delay is a mistake,” Eira whispered, trying to mask her anger. “A terrible mistake.”
Ewan shook his head. “Your petition remains under consideration, Eira. I only ask patience until we gain more wisdom on this matter.”
“The Guard will investigate Dorusduain as we’d planned,” Lukasz said. “After we’ve learned what happened to the village, we’ll be better able to plot our next move.”
Eira bowed her head. “As you wish.” But her heart had already chosen another path.
TWENTY-THREE
EIRA URGED HER MARE, Geal, into the thick mist high atop the hillside, searching for the cairn. She’d visited this place before. As an ancient grave marker, the pile of stones had attracted the attention of a warlock. They’d captured him but not before he’d slit the throat of the foolish girl he’d lured to the site. Though she’d viewed it as a tragedy at the time, today Eira counted the girl’s death as good fortune. A rightful end for an empty-headed ninny, so easily led to her doom.
A place where blood had been shed. That’s what the prisoner told her to seek if she wanted to find his master.
She’d visited the prisoner each day since the Circle had gathered. Making her trips to the stockade when her peers had already sought their beds, she’d taken care that her conversations with the wild man were witnessed by no one.
His words were always strange, sometimes frightening. But the more she spoke with him, the more convinced she became that investigating the truth of his claims herself was the only course of action possible. That conclusion had led her here, to a lonely hilltop where a wicked man had taken an innocent life in the hopes of coaxing an evil creature into his service. Such incidents were often those that incited the Guard’s trips into the field. More often than not, they arrived too late to prevent bloodshed, using the evidence of nefarious deeds to pursue the sorcerer who’d perpetrated such evils.
Conatus punished those who summoned darkness into the world, but they’d found no way to stem the flow of nightmarish beasts. That was why Eira made her way through the thick swirls of mist, seeking the lonely cairn.
Her mare, silver-white like the mist, snorted, pawing at the earth. Eira reined in Geal and dismounted. Animals always sensed the presence of evil, even the echoes of wicked deeds long past. The warlock had taken his victim’s life more than two months prior, but Eira’s steed still tossed her head and shied when Eira tried to lead her toward the pile of stones cloaked by the damp, gray air.
Geal suddenly reared, giving a piercing whinny of protest. Muttering a curse, Eira searched the hillside until she found the bone-white trunk of a dead pine on the ground a short distance from the cairn. She tied the horse to the dried wood and returned to the cairn on her own.
She gazed at the stones for several minutes. Her pulse was uncomfortable, drumming through her veins, reminding her that despite her decision to come here, she remained unsettled by the choice. What she had to do next didn’t ease her mind.
Gritting her teeth, Eira drew her dagger and laid it against her palm.
He is waiting. Your blood will call him forth.
She’d questioned the wild man incessantly on this point. How could her blood bring forth anything? From what Conatus had learned of dark magics, at the least she’d expected to sacrifice an animal and chant an invocation, but the prisoner had laughed at her doubts.
Your blood will call him.
Eira turned the edge of the blade on her skin. With a single, swift stroke she opened her flesh. Crimson liquid welled up, spilling over her hand. She watched her blood drip to the earth in front of the cairn, half wondering if some hideous creature would burst from the soil in the hopes of devouring her.
Nothing happened. Eira heard Geal stirring where she was tethered. The mist continued to swirl around her. Doubts built in her mind, eroding the confidence that had driven her here. Why had she listened to the words of a man so clearly mad? It was no wonder the others had rejected her pleas at the Circle’s meeting.
Eira pulled a length of clean linen from where she’d tied it on her belt. She was about to bind her sliced palm when a voice filtered through the mist.
“You won’t need to do that.”
She spun around, dagger held low. “Who’s there?”
A tall figure loomed, its features obscured by the mist. “I thought you were expecting me.”
Eira shuddered. Whatever she’d anticipated, it hadn’t been this. The voice that addressed her was rich and smooth and spoke with far too much confidence.
“May I approach?” The speaker sounded amused.
Taking a few steps back so she could use the cairn as a shield if needed, Eira called, “Show yourself.”
As if it had been commanded, the mist parted to reveal a tall man. He was dressed in simple but finely made garb: a heavy, dark cloak over a plain linen shirt and leather chausses. From what Eira could see, he bore no weapons.
He tilted his head, regarding Eira with a slight smile. His face wasn’t unpleasant, but Eira wouldn’t have called the man handsome. There was too much haughtiness carved into his aquiline features, and the turn of his lips hinted of disdain. His hair fell to his shoulders, sleek and darker than the richest earth.
“My lady.” He addressed her with the semblance of respect but in contrast to the groveling prisoner offered no bow or even the slightest inclination of his head. Eira had the sense that this man deferred to no other.
When she didn’t respond, his smile twisted. “Will you hide behind those stones all day?”
Eira grimaced. “You speak as if we’re not strangers. As if you weren’t summoned by blood.”
“Blood is natural as water,” the stranger said. “It’s simply more personal. How would I have known it was you waiting for me without such an intimate offering?”
“It was no offering.” Eira shuddered at the suggestion. “I’m only here to learn who or what you are.”
“Very well.” He shrugged. “But your hostility is unwarranted. Here—let me see to your hand.”
When he spoke, the cut in Eira’s palm throbbed. She glanced down only to see fresh blood welling from her sliced flesh.
“A gesture of goodwill,” he said softly. “Come to me.”
Her eyes ran up and down the stranger once more. She was still unable to see any weapons, nor did she sense imminent attack. Danger, yes. Danger hung in the air around her, thicker than the mist. And yet she moved slowly toward him, keeping her dagger ready.
If he attacks, she told herself, I’ll have no trouble slicing his throat. Closeness means equal risk for both of us.
When she was within striking distance, she paused.
“Your hand,” he said, offering
his own to her.
With her right hand gripping her dagger tight, Eira extended her left hand toward him. She fought the instinct to jerk back when he touched her, though his skin was warm and he handled her injured palm gently. For a moment he simply looked at the wound, watching as blood pooled in her cupped palm.
His sigh sounded regretful as he dipped his fingers into the blood, tracing the line of her sliced flesh. His touch caused her no pain, but heat spread through her hand, tingling up her arm and into her chest.
When he let go of her hand, Eira gasped. The blood was gone. As was the deep cut. No evidence of the injury remained, not even the hint of a scar.
“Who are you?” Eira breathed, gazing at her unmarked flesh.
“An ally,” he said quietly. “One who would aid you in your cause.”
She frowned, tearing her eyes from her palm to peer at his face. “Do you have a name?”
“In my own lands I go by a name that your tongue cannot utter,” he told her. “Here I am called Bosque Mar.”
“Lord Mar,” Eira said, betting the stranger’s air of self-importance would mean that addressing him with respect was likely to elicit the most information. “I am Eira. A servant of Conatus.”
As she expected, his eyes lighted at the form of address. “I know who you are, Eira. And I would hardly call you a servant. You are a warrior. A leader of men. Destined for greatness.”
Her skin prickled. “How do you know me?”
“I have many eyes in this world,” Bosque told her. “And I’ve learned much. All of which has led me to you.”
“Why?”
“I would prefer to show you,” he said. “Will you ride with me?”
Out of the mist another shape took form. A tall horse approached Bosque on silent hooves. Eira took a step back from the creature. To all outward appearances it looked like a stallion, but she knew it was no true horse. The beast’s sleek black coat was alive, moving as if born of shadow. Its eyes were black as coal, but within their depths burned a sickly green light.