by Lexi Ander
Men and women converged upon Ewen. Roi caught sight of Donn and Arailt, as well as other familiar faces. Watching Ewen in his element was both breathtaking and slightly intimidating. Ewen listened and asked questions with a quick surety Roi had rarely witnessed in a leader. When he dismounted, a stable boy was there afore Ewen dropped the reins and strode to the doorway of the towerhouse, utterly surrounded afore he disappeared inside, barking orders that had men jumping to obey.
Behind Roi, Brigid sighed deeply, and he agreed, unsure what he thought of being so utterly forgotten. He lifted her down afore dismounting himself. The same stable boy who had taken Ewen’s horse claimed the reins to Roi’s fiery wyrm— steed. Without a word, Brigid slid her hand into his, Roi suspected for comfort.
“What do we do now, m’lady?”
A harried woman appeared at the towerhouse doors, her gaze searching the bailey until her gaze alighted upon Brigid and Roi. Mayhap they were not forgotten. As she crossed the yard, the woman’s countenance hardened at Roi’s scarred and tattooed visage. He attempted to release Brigid’s hand but she only held onto him harder. When the women noticed how Brigid stayed at his side, her lips pressed together in a disapproving line.
Afore he gathered his thoughts, Roi blurted, “Please be not terse with Brigid. She has had a hard few days. She has nary left my side since we ran from the brigands. I be sure she be happy to be home, simply tired.”
The woman’s features softened somewhat. “It be a hard few days for all. I be called Freya. Brigid’s mother were my sister’s adopted daughter. If ye but come with me, we shall fetch ye a bit of repast. Afterwards, Brigid can rest for a bit.”
Roi nodded and gave Freya his best smile. “Roi mhic Alric at yer service. Please lead the way.”
Freya took one last glance at Brigid, as if she wanted to snatch Brigid up in a tight embrace, afore her countenance cleared. Roi and Brigid followed Freya’s brisk steps into the towerhouse. Within the double doors a manservant collected their cloaks, then they continued to follow Freya through another set of doors that led to a great hall.
To the right, three massive hearths dominated the wall. A dark doorway gave a glimpse of a spiral staircase. In the centre of the floor was a trench, a foot lower than the main floor for a large spit. Situated upon either side of the spit, at a respectable distance, were two rows of wooden tables with bench seats.
At the far end of the room was a raised dais with a long table and several oversized box chairs. From what Roi learned in the King of the Isles’ court, that was the table for the head of the keep, his family, and those he favoured. A single door was almost hidden in the far corner behind the dais.
Freya led them to a space at a table and quickly returned with hot flat bread and a tray of cold meats and cheese. Brigid leaned into Roi whilst they fell upon the food like ravenous beasts. None seemed to pay Roi any mind. The food enlivened Brigid, and she began to speak of her home, pointing out servants and explaining the layout of the house. The door behind the dais led to Ewen’s private dining area, and yet beyond that lay his bedchamber. A solar could be found just up the stairs, the rest of the bedchambers upon the top floor.
Roi searched for Ewen but saw naught of him. Quite a crowd had congregated about Ewen when they had arrived, so Roi assumed the news of the brigands and sorcerers was more dire than Ewen had hoped and that Ewen had adjourned to a private chamber to discuss it with his men.
Once Freya led Brigid up the stairs to rest, Roi sat at the table watching the activity in the hall, feeling very much like a fish out of water. Now that he paid better attention, he noticed the speculative, sidelong glances. There were auras aplenty to see, but nothing to help him decipher the atmosphere or receptiveness of Ewen’s kin. Should he take Ewen’s men’s first meeting with him at the shieling as the opinion of all his people? Roi knew not.
Something in the air had an almost foul stench to it, a hint of rot that made no sense. Ewen had said his kin’s sense of smell was very keen. Would they not remove something so unsavoury forthwith? That the air was tainted with it and none of the wyrbears reacted—did they not scent it at all?
As unobtrusively as he could, Roi searched but found no rotted food stores. What he did find was a symbol marked upon the side of a hearth. The scent was stronger there, and mixed with a dying magick. Whatever spell used the symbol to anchor it was several days old and almost utterly dissipated. Was this the spell that had befuddled all the wyrbears? Roi stared long at the marking so he could recall it later if needs be.
When Roi wiped the faint symbol away, the white powder that made up the marking left his skin crawling and feeling oily. He combed the great hall again, knowing better now what to search for, and discovered four more signs. He set each one to his mind afore scuffing out all trace, carefully removing any remaining power.
The symbols appeared to have been renewed more than once, which meant the practitioner had been in Ewen’s keep, probably as a guest, upon more than one occasion. Ewen or someone in his employ knew the sorcerer. With how Ewen spoke of sorcerers, there seemed to be no love lost betwixt them and Ewen’s kin. So why would Ewen and his people suffer one in their company, in the privacy of Ewen’s own home?
Unless…
Roi recalled Ewen’s question about amulets cloaking a person’s nature from those who could detect them. Did Ewen suspect someone of doing this? Who? When? The castle had been attacked after, or possibly during, their return to the cottage.
He stepped out of the hall into the bailey. To his surprise the gloaming approached, the day already coming to a close. Roi had not sighted Ewen since they had arrived. Pushing his disappointment aside, he scented the air for magick or a lingering foul scent.
After discovering and destroying five more obscured symbols, Roi leaned wearily for a time against the wall nigh to the stable doors afore he borrowed some soap and a bucket from the stable boy. Drawing water from the trough, Roi washed his hands of the residue left by the markings, scrubbing extra hard, unable to easily remove the feel of the dark magick from his skin. Touching the symbols would not taint him, but Roi was sensitive enough to feel the spell master’s intent. He had met only two people in his life who felt that malevolent. Remembering them chilled Roi to the bone. That such a person had been in Ewen’s home, possibly supped at his table and touched the children, caused Roi’s skin to crawl.
He needed to speak to Ewen, not that Roi knew where to find him or whether he would be welcome. What would cause Ewen to forget about him this long?
“It be unseemly for a grown man to sulk.” A rude snort punctuated the statement. Roi startled at the appearance of an old crone lugging a bucket. He rushed over to relieve her of her burden. “Simpering about like one of those spoilt damsels that adorn King Malcom’s castle halls. Conniving, every single one of them, searching for a good match afore they become agèd. Twits, the lot.”
“I be no damsel,” Roi replied with a bit of ire as he defended himself to the stranger.
The crone stared at him so long he felt the need to move, shift his feet. Why did she seem familiar?
Was she Ewen’s direct kin? But did he not say the eldest amongst them was Freya?
“Then why you be out here sitting upon your laurels, pining over a man who be overwhelmed with his homecoming? Do ye question his affection?”
“Nay!” How did this woman come by such intimate information?
“Then put your head straight. He needs your counsel, which he shan’t have, boy, if you dawdle out here wondering where you belong. Snap to it! You know a darkness lurks in the mountains, you cannot deny you have felt it since you crossed the peaks. Do you believe it shall be content to stay hidden? Nay, it has a purpose. You and Ewen need be ready when the vileness flows down the mountainside.”
“How did ye—”
“Pah! This place stinks of a lurker, and you need be upon your guard, seer, not out here in the open where someone could do you harm with none the wiser until it be too late. Tim
e be running out, son of Ebba. Now get to it!”
The crone made a shooing motion and Roi obeyed without hesitation, his mind clearing only when he reached the double doors to the towerhouse. He glanced back. She was gone. Again, he pondered. If Freya was the eldest of the wyrbears, then who was the crone who smelled like a spring breeze after rainfall?
Roi felt it then, magick tainted and foul, faltering upon the air. It would not find the symbols to anchor the spell this night, not if Roi had found every spell mark. The magick swelled then snapped free of the conjurer, unable to take root. In no time the wind carried the instrument of ill intent away. Whoever set the markings would know their work had been destroyed. They would be forced to investigate. Mayhap, even, a trap could be set if they knew for whom to watch.
Returning to the great hall where many had congregated for the evening repast, Roi grabbed a pewter platter and piled it high with food for Ewen and himself. He was unsure if Ewen had eaten, though Roi suspected not.
The crone’s words perturbed him. It was as if she had picked out his every insecurity purely to trample upon them as if they meant nothing. And comparing Roi to a courtier! He was not such a useless person. She had a point, though. Everything about his life was different and new, and Roi was waiting for a place to fall into. Some had not the luxury to ponder where they fit, seemingly Roi was one of them. The foul dealings here needed Roi’s full attention or Ewen and his kin would fall into serious trouble. He could not afford to be distracted by his inner doubts. Mayhap it was time he forged his own future… whatever future fate would allow him to have, at least.
Taking the platter, he climbed the spiral staircase and began searching for Ewen. Study. Solar. Finally down a second flight of stairs to what he assumed was Ewen’s bedchamber, evidenced by Ewen’s satchel and clothing upon the bed. Verging on giving up the search and retreating to the hearths of the great hall, Roi noticed a cleverly hidden door.
When the mechanism snapped to, the door opened to reveal a small private hall, not that any noticed Roi’s arrival. The men sitting about the large, long table bellowed at each other, fully occupied by what they debated. Closing the panel behind him, Roi reminded himself to be sure to tell Brigid he had found the secret door.
Roi stood, a quiet shadow in the corner, as he awaited and listened.
~ : § : ~
“HOW DO YOU KNOW he be not one of the sorcerers who attacked the keep and arranged for Brigid to be nabbed?” Ewen did not mean to yell at his brother, but what Donn told him made no sense. If there were sorcerers hiding in the forests, would they not know? “To bring a stranger, an outlander into my home, to shield him from me as if I were a mindless beast that would fall upon him without thought?”
“Does my word hold no weight with ye? Does what Arailt and I witnessed be false because ye be not the one who beheld the bespelled trees? Ye have spent overmuch time in court and too little with yer kin. Ye act as they do, as if ye know better than I what I beheld with my own eyes.” Donn was affronted, his countenance one of pain.
“Nay! I speak not against you, brother. It be his word I doubt. To come amongst us and claim to be the fabled Avory, searching for his lost brother Fordel smacks of dishonesty. It be too unlikely to be true. Fable, lore, sitting at my table?”
“Ah, this be why the crone scolded me. Stop fighting so hard, Ewen. Listen with more than yer ears.”
Ewen turned his attention to the corner from whence Roi’s voice had come. Roi leaned casually against the wall, a platter of food in his hands. How long he had stood there, Ewen knew not.
Pushing off the wall, Roi crossed the room, holding Ewen’s gaze. The captain of the guard moved from Ewen’s right elbow to give his seat up to Roi, who placed the platter afore Ewen. He did not sit right away, but approached Donn and the stranger, Avory, staring hard, as if there was something he attempted to discern about them. Was this one of his seer gifts? Would Roi tell Ewen what he espied if there was a meaning to what he beheld? Ewen dared not inquire, for he had no wish to place Roi in a sore spot.
Roi bestowed upon Donn a wry grin. “Should I congratulate ye?”
What was Roi speaking of? Donn’s cheeks and neck turned a rosy hue. To Ewen’s surprise, Donn rose to his feet and drew the stranger forward. “Roi, afore ye I bring my marrae, Avory.”
Many about the table, including Ewen, gave a small noise of exclamation. Ewen pinched the bridge of his nose. He had insulted his brother’s marrae afore Donn could tell him the importance of the stranger. By presenting Avory to Ewen’s marrae, Donn was requesting Roi intervene into the argument upon their behalf, through a custom long unused.
Roi’s grin widened with joy. “Welcome, great Guardian, please forgive Ewen’s poor manners. He has been beset by worry with all that has occurred these last days. Neither has he partaken in a repast this day.”
The dark-haired man who towered over most of Ewen’s men stared down at Roi with curiosity. Ewen held his peace, disconcerted that Bear shared not his ire over the situation, or his worries. Indeed, Roi stood close enough to Avory that Ewen fought the need to move betwixt them.
Pushing back his chair, Ewen halted when Roi said, “I know ye. I espied ye the other night.” And then Roi’s smile widened.
“What do you mean, you know him? You said you knew no wyrbears.” Avory could change his skin, but Ewen knew he was no kin.
Roi ignored Ewen, as if he had not demanded an answer. “Did I hear Donn aright? Ye be called Avory?”
The man’s brows rose high, eyes becoming large. “How be it you know me?”
“Ye stepped from the yew at gloaming.”
“You beheld me?”
“I believed ye to be of Ewen’s kin, and had meant to tell Ewen of the incident, but the cleric came upon me directly thereafter. Ye changed in the open for all to see.”
“None see when I come or go unless I will it.”
Roi nodded, his gaze growing distant as if in deep thought. “Mayhap. I be a priest of Cerridwen, thus not much be hidden from my sight. Ye have come seeking Fordel?”
“Yea.” Avory seemed to answer automatically, staring at Roi in a peculiar manner.
Heaving a great sigh, Roi’s brow furrowed. “Ye be Donn’s marrae, too.” He plucked at something in the air betwixt them that Ewen could not see, mayhap none but Roi could behold it. Roi’s gaze moved to Donn. “I be overjoyed for the treasure ye have found, and I give ye my congratulations along with my best wishes.”
Neither man seemed to know what to say as Roi returned to the vacant chair next to Ewen and sat. “Quit causing Donn and Avory grief,” he admonished lightly. “Yer sorcerer be a person known to ye.”
Jarred by the sudden change in topic, Ewen swallowed a sip of mead as he righted his thoughts. “How do ye know? Avory arrived right after the sorcerers attacked.” Ewen had not meant his words to be the challenge they were.
Roi plucked a couple pieces of meat from the platter. “Not true. Yer sorcerer or sorcerers—”
“Nay, warloghes,” Avory interrupted.
Roi became ashen. “Be ye sure?”
“Aye. I killed four. Their magick smells and tastes foul, rife with decay. They do not work with the Earth but steal from her, tainting what once be pure with blood and bone.” Avory’s face was twisted with disgust and mayhap a little hate.
Roi sat back, the food in his hand forgotten. “How many?”
“More than there should be gathered in one place. Warloghes be outcast, singular because they cannot blend into a populace. They be inherently treacherous, and many times they be hunted and put down like wild dogs. More than one warloghe has stolen into a home, taking away the youngest, the purest of heart when gathering ingredients for their spells.”
Listening to Avory and Roi speak was like overhearing a conversation for which Ewen had no context, as if they spoke another language where he could barely grasp one word in three.
“What be this ‘warloghes’?” Ewen interrupted. “Why does it bother
you so?”
Roi turned his gaze upon Ewen, his countenance tinged with what Ewen thought was fright. “A person has been in yer home, placing ill-wishing symbols in nooks and crannies. If I be correct, then this has allowed a sorcerer to cast spells to affect the keep and everything within its walls.”
“Nay.” The word of denial was quick. Roi could not be aright.
Roi’s countenance was sympathetic but his voice held conviction. “The symbols have been renewed several times by someone who had access to the common areas.”
“None of my kin would do such and risk incurring my wrath,” Ewen said with conviction. Roi had to be wrong. He did not know Ewen’s kin and their aversion to sorcerers.
“They have, several times over, perhaps for decades. I would hazard to guess it be someone ye know and trust.”
Ewen glared at Roi, despair and rage warring for dominance within him. Even though he wished to clutch to his chest all the reasons Roi had to be wrong, Roi would not have said such if he were not certain. He was the outsider looking in, and as such his vision of the landscape was clear and unbiased. Such betrayal both crushed and enraged Ewen.
Roi glanced about the table as if assessing those assembled afore his gaze met Ewen’s again. “Ye spoke of amulets disguising the nature of a man. I found it curious that a sorcerer had walked amongst ye without drawing yer attention, and yet I could smell the taint of magick that led me to the symbols.”
Bear and Ewen growled, remembering Cináed and the stench of magick that clung to him when he last saw Cináed at Renfra Castle. In a clipped, guttural tone Ewen revealed his discovery of not only Cináed, but what he had noticed of the men who travelled with Cináed.
“Why would Cináed hide his sorcery? Does he suspect we could smell him out? Does he suspect what we be?” Arailt asked, his scowl ferocious.
“Avory believes those in the forest be warloghes,” Donn said, drawing Ewen’s attention to the dark, brooding man sitting at Donn’s side. “They mayn’t know of us, simply be hiding from others since they be outcast.”
