“Free will is the law of Maern,” said Barenus, who leaned casually against the mantelpiece. “You’d never have gotten Freil’s message in Tarth unless you were already hunting for a way out.”
“The Old One is not straightforward,” Eaglin added, “and you of all men should know that, Lorth. The Faerins were in those woods with you in mind. Being a Web does not exempt you from heartbreak or death, and it didn’t guarantee Freil’s safety. I didn’t mention Ivy because I believed she could take care of herself.” He leaned back in his chair and gazed up like a crag. “When I came to you, I’d just received a message from Faerin command that they were holding Freil at Icaros’s house. I didn’t have time to speculate about how he got there or whether or not you were capable of getting him out on your own. As it is, even with magic, you barely did. How did he get hurt?”
Lorth rubbed his three-day-old beard. “You didn’t tell me the house was formless. They had it surrounded and I couldn’t get him out of there. I had to speak the second word. You told me it would allow me to control him—but you didn’t say it would allow anyone to.”
“I told you to get him in your sight before opening the portal. If you had, that wouldn’t have happened.”
Confidence escapes notice. If Lorth hadn’t made a mistake in the Faerin Net, he might have gotten in close enough to get Freil’s attention. He cast a glance at Morfaen, who stood watching with the patience of an executioner. “Faerins didn’t camp three hundred men at Icaros’s house just to catch me,” Lorth told him. “They’ve been there for a while”—he shot a look at Eaglin—“and they removed your spell.”
The Raven blinked. “What?”
“Setriana couldn’t have done that!” Barenus said.
“Well somebody did,” Lorth returned. “What I saw was nothing less than a base camp. Far enough out to stay hidden, but close enough to flank us on the east. They drove the Maelgwn to shut down the Roar Pass so you wouldn’t be able to get in and see what they’re doing. They just took Freil out there to distract you.”
From the end of the table, Eamon rasped, “That’s what you’re calling what they did to Ivy? A distraction?”
“It’s exactly that,” Lorth said. “Let me guess. You found her body in an obvious place, where you couldn’t miss her.”
Eamon rose slowly from his seat, his cheeks coloring.
Regin laid his big hand calmly on the table and turned to him. “Since when did you forget how war is done? Sit the fuck down.”
Lorth said, “It wouldn’t be beyond the Faerins to send a force up here because you lied to them about my being alive. I’m not even surprised they grabbed Freil to make a trade. But this is more than that. They are trying to tip our hand somehow, using information they learned from Setriana”—he threw a glance at Barenus—“who is working for Forloc.”
Barenus leaned on the mantel and gazed into the flames. “Tarth has no motive for war with Ostarin.”
Lorth drained the second cup of mison Cael had left for him. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and said, with a laugh, “This, said by a Keeper pinned beneath the Wizard’s Code. Do you think Tarthians care about that? They paid me in mother-raping royal coin to live out their fears for them. If they had the powers of the Eye, they would rip Anglorea from the earth and drown it in the Reson Fen. They have no codes. If not for Setriana, the Faerins wouldn’t be here.”
Barenus looked up slowly, and stepped towards him. “If not for your arrogant disregard for protocol, she wouldn’t have done it.”
“You’re still blaming this scrap wolf for the invasion of Os?” Cael said, his voice rough with emotion.
“For all that,” Barenus continued, “had you not left this palace with no word to anyone—just as you left Tarth—both Freil and Ivy would be fine.”
No chance to fear. From the hollows of his gut, Lorth called up a cat-claw of a word and threw a solid punch at the Raptor’s jaw that put him on the floor in a blue-cloaked heap. Morfaen spoke his name; Regin and Cael rose from their seats. “Since when did a Tarthian give a rat’s cock for protocol?” Lorth said. “They just used me to cover their asses and you let them do it for want of a woman’s—”
“Enough!” Morfaen said. Regin half-heartedly took Lorth’s arm, and then released him.
Barenus rolled over and rose in one fluid motion, then drew his blade.
“Sheath it!” Morfaen said.
The Raptor ignored him. He approached Lorth and put the tip at his throat. “I swear on this blade Setriana did not kill Icaros, if that’s what this is about.”
Lorth lifted his chin. “I returned from Tarth for love of Ostarin. Now my homeland is falling to Faerin because Setriana let them in—using the Old One.”
With a high wizard’s insistence, Eaglin said, “Barenus, sheath your blade.”
The Raptor stepped back and did so, but the sword didn’t leave his eyes.
“Lorth,” Eaglin said tiredly. “Roarin was outside the Eye’s jurisdiction by sheltering Os. We are forbidden to use our powers that way, and this would’ve happened eventually. For whatever reason, Setriana’s was simply the hand of balance.”
Lorth turned to him. “And what are you calling war with Faerin and the violation of our women and children?”
Eaglin started to speak, but Eamon interrupted him. “I call that a coward hunter with no loyalty to anything but himself!”
“For the sake of Maern,” Lars said tiredly. “Leave it, ay? We loved her too.”
She was my friend, Lorth added to himself, closing his eyes briefly.
Barenus hissed a laugh, bringing Lorth’s attention to him. “You’d do well to pay attention, Hunter. Your actions don’t bear your claims of love for home—or women.”
“Barenus...” Regin warned.
“My woman isn’t a murderer or a traitor to her country,” Lorth shot back.
Eamon said, “Aye, but you are!” He got up and stomped around the table. Lars and Sigmund moved in his direction.
From the corner of his eye, Lorth saw Eaglin, slouching in his chair with his forehead resting on his fingers. With his other hand, he stroked Mira. Morfaen wore an expression of ready interest, as if to let this unfold and see what came of it.
Barenus continued, “You aren’t worth one of the Mistress’s hairpins, you cad. It was easy enough for you to leave this place without a care, once you’d finished with her!”
“That’s a lie,” Cael cut in.
Lorth turned as Eamon shook off the two captains and approached with the bearing of a charging boar. He smelled strongly of whisky. Lorth stepped back as the big warrior tried to shove him. “You left my woman to the wolves!” he roared.
Lorth ducked the first punch, but couldn’t get out of the way before Eamon tackled him to the floor. Morfaen shouted a command—to no effect—as the room erupted into a brawl. Mira’s wild barking threaded through the sounds of shouts, clanging blades, fists and cracking chairs. Unable to breathe beneath the clutches of the drunken warrior’s hands around his neck, Lorth slammed the butt of his palm into Eamon’s face, breaking his nose. As Eamon hesitated, Lorth flung off his arms, rolled out from beneath him and jumped up, gasping for air. With his next good breath, he drew up a nasty command in the wizards’ tongue—
It stuck in his throat as the door to the room flew open and slammed with a hollow boom against the wall. A force flooded in as a rough, cavernous voice rose up and cried something in the Dark Tongue. Icy energy cloaked the room as the Mistress of Eusiron came in. The men dropped their blades and lowered themselves to the floor as if they had all been doused by a bucket of water.
Eaglin rose from his seat with an about-time expression.
Lorth raised his head and gazed through the tangles of his hair, his heart pounding. Leda stood like the Destroyer herself, beautiful, terrible and angry enough to send them all to Void with a wave of her hand. Her black gaze swept over them like a bear paw. “What are you fools about?” she said, stalking back and forth before them.
Lorth caught the scent of lilac. No one stirred; they just knelt there, breathing heavily, gathering their wits. “War is upon us, our people depend on you to defend their lives and their honor and I find you in here brawling”—she kicked the hilt of a sword—“like a bunch of sailors in a tavern! Get up, the lot of you.”
They rose stiffly in a rustle of cloaks, leather and sheathing blades. Morfaen stepped forward and calmly said, “Forgive us, Mistress. Our hearts are at war.”
She looked through him and set her gaze on Lorth. “You,” she said in a voice like a chasm. “I should’ve known you’d be in this.”
“True to form,” Eaglin said dryly. To Lorth he said, “To answer your earlier question, we are the hand of balance, now.”
“Some comfort, that!” his mother said.
Morfaen gestured to Eamon, who stood there in a daze, the bridge of his nose swollen, purplish and bleeding. A tear streaked his face. “Go sleep it off.” The warrior started to speak, but Morfaen silenced him. “Now.” As Eamon lumbered towards the door, the commander motioned to Prederi to accompany him.
“The Keeper’s forces await us in Os,” Morfaen said. He looked at Barenus, who bore a heavy, coloring bruise on his jaw. “Barenus and I will ride south to deal with Asmat’s army. Sigmund, take your men east to join up with Ian; last report, a Faerin force is moving north through the woods. Lars, you take west of the Wolf.” He looked at Lorth. “What news of the Roar Pass?”
“Scattered with corpses. An army might pass, but not without heavy losses.” As he lowered his gaze, he caught Eaglin watching him.
“Did you go that way?” the wizard asked.
“There wasn’t time to navigate the woods.” In the tight silence that followed, he added, “The Maelgwn let me pass.”
“How did you manage that?” Morfaen said. “Maelgwn don’t negotiate. I sent Aran out there to try.” He shared a glance with the dark-haired guardsman. “They sent him home with his tail between his legs.”
“Well?” Leda said, raising her brow in question.
Lorth said, “They told me the ‘dark warrior’ surrounded me.” His cheeks warmed as everyone in the room turned and stared at him. “On my blade, that’s what happened.”
“Eusiron,” Sigmund muttered.
“Sneaky wolf!” Aran said.
Eaglin actually laughed. “For an utter pain in the ass, Lorth of Ostarin, you are well connected.” He looked at his mother.
“Then we’re not alone,” Morfaen said.
“We’re never alone,” Leda replied quietly, gazing at Lorth with the sunrise in her eyes.
Morfaen lifted his face with a brighter countenance and chanted:
“‘Neath the Dark Warrior’s sun
“And the stars of Laerstroc,
“‘Neath the Old One’s moon
“And the waters of home
“We ride to vengeance!”
The room shook as the men cried, “Vengeance!”
~ * ~
A day passed, bringing the icy breath of winter once more upon Ostarin.
Worn and filthy, Lorth climbed the last set of stairs to Leda’s living space. In the wee hours the night before, he had eaten only what he managed to gather from the warriors’ provisions in the refectory and then headed up to Freil’s room. Priestesses fled as he had entered and stretched himself on the bed alongside his friend, where he fell at once into a deep sleep, his dreams torn with moving images of strife, death and need. He dreamed of Freya, galloping in the freezing rain beneath the heavy boughs of a forested path, with a silvery light surrounding her. And he dreamed of Leda, entering the room and covering him with a blanket.
He moved through her private chambers until he reached a black door containing a carving of a tree with spiraling boughs and curling leaves. A strange force emanated from it, causing his forehead to tingle as he walked through.
He descended a short flight of steps and entered a candlelit room walled with tree roots, trunks, leaves and flowers interlaced with crystals and stones, sparkling in the light. In the center lay a round pool. High winds had blown the snow off one side of the windowed ceiling, revealing a thumbnail moon surrounded by bitter cold fog.
Leda had left a tray of food by the pool. Lorth walked to the edge, knelt and pulled his hand through the warm, fragrant water. He undressed and lowered himself in, releasing a ragged sigh as the water permeated his sore limbs. Then he found a stone seat and rested there, his head above the surface, his thoughts storming with images of the day.
Freya had returned with the dawn, frothing at the bit and half-wild. She let no one touch her until Lorth finally came to calm her down. He had brushed, watered and fed her with tender care as the river of war rushed through the stable corridors around him. Later, he had stood alone on the edge of the High Pass in a dark gray cloak with the hood drawn. The thunder of hoofbeats crunching through the ice echoed in the craggy drop on either side of the bridge as Eusiron’s army issued from the hall, row after row of grim-faced riders, armed and clad in the colors of winter skies. They emerged into the frozen landscape, their blood thick against the cold and their hearts beating with the hopeful, frightened faces of the crowds packed into the main hall to see them off. Feather-down clouds promised snow and a long night’s ride.
Lorth had thought to go with them. But Eaglin had hinted at another, darker task.
He yawned, and then noticed the cake of soap on the other side of the rim, resting neatly on a thick towel. When he had finished washing, he moved with dripping hair to the tray and began to eat. He found dried fruit, cheese with an herbal, buttery flavor, walnuts and cold salted meat, and a cup of water that tasted faintly of chamomile.
He pushed the tray away, his belly content, and leaned back into the pool. He had begun to doze when Leda entered. “Here you are,” she said. Lorth couldn’t make out her expression in the shadows, though her eyes glittered in the flickering candlelight.
He hadn’t spoken to Leda since the council, and he didn’t know what to say to her now. Barenus’s scornful words raked over his mind. It was easy enough for you to leave this place without a care, once you’d finished with her!
But it wasn’t easy. She sat on the edge of the pool, folded her knees and rested her arms upon them. As their gazes touched, the Shade of Fate whispered, I owe nothing. But his heart felt something else.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She regarded him with the eldritch gaze of a cat. “Do you think I didn’t know you were about to fly?”
“You might have told me what a bad idea it was.”
“Would that have mattered? Everything around you wears the Old One’s cloak. I can’t see it, nor could I intervene if I did. If it were as easy as that, wizards and priests would rule the world; there would be no need for armies and no mystery from which to live our lives. We’d all wither under the heavy hand of certitude.”
Lorth moved his hand over the surface of the water without touching it. “It doesn’t make every decision the right one. The Rede no longer serves me as it once did. And yet, I would no more embrace the Eye than I would lock myself in a cage.” He looked up. “What shall I do, stay here and serve your every pleasure?”
She burst into laughter. “Certainly not. It’s precisely your wildness that fills my heart.” She leaned forward, letting her fingers touch the pool. “But without the Eye, you wouldn’t be what you are.”
“The Eye has threatened to hunt me if I use my instincts to do the same.”
The priestess unfolded her legs, stood up and unfastened her dress. It slid over her hips and kissed the floor in a silken rustle. With the grace of a fawn, she lowered herself into the pool. “The Eye doesn’t see all,” she said, moving towards him. “But Eaglin at least has come to appreciate the mystery of your presence in the world. You needn’t fear him.”
Lorth opened his arms and gathered her close. She sighed and moved against him, bringing his body alive. “What did you threaten him with?” he muttered into her hair.<
br />
“I told him if he wasn’t careful, he’d end up on Maern’s bad side with you holding the knife.”
Lorth took his turn to laugh. “Hunter has become hunted, the Eye exposes the weaknesses of my art and the ones I dare to love end up dead or wounded because of it. The Old One lurks behind my every move like a rastric spider in a shirtsleeve.”
She placed her finger over his lips. “Never underestimate the forces of transformation, my love. Inner conflict is not necessarily a bad thing.” She brushed her lips over his cheek. “Are you ready to hunt? We have a job for you.”
I need a killin’ done. He withdrew slightly and looked at her with his brow raised.
“For pay,” she added.
The hunter cleared his throat. “I have enough crocodiles, thank you.”
“What I offer is worth more to you than royal coin, I think.”
“Your forgiveness is all I want,” he said, meaning it. He moved his hand down the sinuous curve of her spine.
“You had that already.” Her mood turned dark and sublime, shadows of rain flowing inward. “We want Asmat. Take him, and I’ll give you Icaros’s house and the surrounding realm.”
He tangled his fingers in her hair, then caressed her lips with a kiss, his every sense alive and burning with her light. “I would do that for nothing.” Nothing but love, he realized then, love for Ivy, Freil, Ostarin and the woman in his arms.
For once, the Hunter’s Rede had nothing to say.
Chapter 16
Shade of Harrow: I am swift.
In the twilight of the second day since Lorth had accepted his assignment, he rode north to the Wolfjaw, a cleft about a mile from the palace. Heavily guarded, the Wolfjaw stood above the Northpass Bridge, offering a stout defense against invaders from the west. At Lorth’s side rode Eaglin, his expression characteristically inscrutable as his mind swept the dark forests on either side of the steep, winding road.
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