“Hurrah for you.”
Alisher drew himself up to an even greater height. “We have need of your gift. You can offer it to us freely, or we can take it from you. Our sessions so far should remind you of that.”
“If you’re so confident you can take it from me, then why am I still here?” Sean rested the back of his head against the cold wall.
The druid clenched his fists. “We’ll see how quick your tongue runs after today. Guards!”
They yanked Sean to his feet and pushed him after Alisher as he left the dungeons. Sean had learned not to fight, but the memories of the repeated trips down the same white stone corridor locked his muscles in fear. The guards’ grip tightened around his arms and forced him onward. The beat of distant waves against rock hammered rhythmically through the narrow slits of windows interspersed along the walls. Dread mounted as they passed the blue and gold tapestry depicting a naval battle from long ago. Not much further.
Alisher pushed open a door and the guards dragged Sean to a circular stone room, devoid of windows.
Torches hanging in brackets cast small flickering circles of light on the floor. The soldiers shoved Sean into the chair in the center of the chamber, and strapped down his arms and legs. His throat tightened, and he forced a breath. Ilan, give me strength.
More green robed figures entered the room and took up places against the wall. As always, Alisher came forward with the choice.
“Share your visions with us, Seer.” Alisher tucked his hands into his sleeves. “Tell us how they come and no harm will befall you.”
“You’ve no good use for the visions I see,” Sean replied. “And I’ve already told you, they come at the discretion of Ilan, the true god.”
Alisher flinched away at the sound of the name. He signaled his followers to begin.
“We call upon the great god Deronis, lord of darkness. Hear our prayer, shield your worthy followers from the dark.”
Alisher spread his hands wide, inviting, welcoming an unseen evil to slither its way into the windowless chamber.
A shudder ripped through Sean as it entered the room—the dark force that the druids controlled. The others chanted and swung burners of sickly sweet incense as if they couldn’t detect the shadow consuming the air around them. All except Alisher. He leered triumphantly at Sean and pointed.
Heat stung his eyes and nose, and ringing filled his ears. Pain lanced through his head as if someone drove a knife between his eyes. The sensation of claws swept across his skin, and he shuddered. The whispers started, conjuring fears and horrors as the unseen entity burrowed inside to reach for his very soul, trying to reach the part of him connected to the other world.
Sean clenched shut his eyes and prayed for strength. If the darkness won, he would be but a tool for the druids and their demon to twist the future for their own purpose.
The room spun. A vision washed over him with the same force as the waves pounding on the shoreline on the other side of the stone walls.
~
Mist coiled around him, pulsing as if anxious, soothing the aches in his battered body. He drew a shuddering breath. The mist parted and he Saw.
Lines of marching soldiers.
Charging horses.
Writhing masses of men fighting one another on a blood-stained field.
Tattered banners flapping weakly in the breeze. An albatross on a green field flew by the clans’ banners. The king’s sign. But there was no king anymore.
A lonely rider on a mountain path, scars etched into his face.
Booming surf crashing against the white-stone castle that faded to red as if covered in blood.
A figure of shadows looming over Alisher, darkness spewing from its mouth. Sean turned away as the shadows tried to reach for him. The mist rushed forward, dispelling the darkness before the vision ended.
~
Sean awoke with a bitter taste in his mouth. He hunched in the chair against his bonds. More noxious puffs of incense released into the room with each light rattle of chains from the burners.
He raised his head to find Alisher hovering above him like a shadow.
But the vision hadn’t been for the druid.
Sean narrowed his gaze at the figure who loomed in the darkness behind the druid, Lord Adam Barkley. He’d been present for nearly every session. He always watched the dark proceedings with sharp eyes. Waiting for something.
Maybe for this.
Sean thrilled at the tiny brush of hope in the corner of his heart. The vision had revealed a glimpse of something he’d longed to see for years, but what brought him hope would bring despair to the men who held him captive.
“What did you see?” Alisher demanded, leaning close.
Sean turned to Adam instead. “A warning for you, my lord.” He spoke around a thick tongue. “War lurks on the horizon.”
Adam smiled. “War, yes. Will I be victorious?”
“I see men and horses, spears and swords. I see death coming to this castle.”
“Yes, but will I win?” Lord Adam pressed closer toward him.
Now Sean smiled. “Only if you can escape what is coming. The past rides closer every day.”
“What does that mean?” Adam demanded.
Sean looked away. He had delivered the message in the vision, and he would say no more. But his silence would exact a cost. It always did with the druids.
“Answer him!” Alisher shouted.
Sean writhed against his bonds as the sensation of a thousand burning needles pierced his spine. It faded after agonizing moments.
“What else did you see?” Alisher asked and the pain began again, this time in a different nerve center in his shoulder.
Sean screamed until Alisher released him. He strained to draw air into his lungs as Alisher leaned close.
“You saw something else.” Alisher’s voice invaded his senses like a fog creeping over the mountainside. “What did you see?”
Sean spat blood at the druid’s feet. “Your days here are numbered. Your god will demand a reckoning of you.”
Alisher snarled and clenched his hand. Agony consumed Sean until the darkness swallowed up his conscious mind.
When Sean woke, he lay on the cot in his cell. A deep, hollow ache throbbed throughout his body, but the druids had left no physical wounds to treat. They never did. But wounds to the soul cut deeper and lasted far longer than any mark on the skin.
The cell door clanged open, and a guard approached. With the creak of leather armor and the clump of boots against stone, the guard knelt and extended a beaker of water.
“Here.” The guard pressed the beaker to Sean’s mouth and tilted it so that the crisp, cool liquid inside slid down his throat, chasing away the lingering fog in his mind.
“Thank you,” Sean said. Gerard was one of the few in the lord’s household that could be counted on to show a bit of kindness. “You probably shouldn’t be doing this.”
Gerard shrugged. “They want you kept alive, don’t they? Though it might help if they stopped torturing you.”
Sean managed a wan smile. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be out of here before you know it.”
“Did you foresee that?” Gerard asked with a wry chuckle as he left the cell and locked it again.
Sean flashed a weary half-smile at the guard’s back. The Sight wasn’t something to share with just anyone, though this time he might make an exception.
As the painful throbbing in his body faded slowly, Sean shut his eyes and allowed the faint smile to stretch across his face.
Lord Adam should beware. Alisher and his druids too. The past was coming with a face that promised vengeance.
Chapter 4
How long do you think this’ll take?”
Alan broke the silence they’d ridden in for most of the day in a calm, conversational tone. “My wife is expecting any day now and I’d like to get back as soon as I can. She only consented to my coming because she loves stories of dashing heroes and daring escapes.”
&
nbsp; Rhys ignored most of his comment—reminders of more he had missed over the years. “It’ll take almost a week to get to Adam’s castle, and then the journey back. Going to the Talam’s house took me at least two days out of my way.”
“Coming here was an inconvenience for you?” Alan raised an eyebrow in mock offense.
“So was getting saddled with an extra person.”
“That hurts,” Alan said cheerfully. “I’d like to think myself a bit more useful than an extra piece of baggage.”
Seven years ago there was no one Rhys would have rather had by his side than Alan. Now it almost felt like an insult to bring him along.
Alan lapsed back to silence for some time, long enough for Rhys to grow used to the sound of birds and the rustling of tree branches.
“What’s life like in the mountains?”
“Why would you care?” Rhys snapped.
“I’m wondering if everyone there is as grim as you. Two weeks is a long time. Are you ever going to smile?”
“Are you going to keep asking stupid questions?”
“On a regular basis.”
Rhys muttered a quiet oath. Alan was making it difficult to keep the past behind him. He didn’t want to be reminded of the laughter and friendship they’d shared in a life he could no longer have.
“I know you probably won’t get much thanks for doing this,” Alan continued after a brief pause. “But I wanted to say thank you because I like to remember we were friends once.”
Rhys stared at the ruts carved into the dirt road. Friends. They’d been brothers in all but name. “We can’t be friends now.”
“Oh, don’t worry; I’ve been assured that I won’t contract some infection of the mythical blood of the clans by sharing the road with you.” A hint of bitterness stained Alan’s voice.
“And who told you that?”
“Well, that’s my version. My uncle made it sound a bit more grand so he could get someone to go. I didn’t think you’d be contagious, so I offered.”
Rhys cast a quick glance at Alan and saw his hesitation mirrored in the slight tilt of Alan’s head and the way he tapped his thumb and index together in a continuous beat. They’d been forced their separate ways seven years ago, and Rhys didn’t really know where that left them. He’d never blamed Alan for anything that had happened, but the caution in Alan’s eyes showed that he didn’t know that.
Rhys decided to acknowledge the tentative hand of peace being extended to him.
“Maybe he thought you were still as reckless as you were when we were younger.”
Alan’s laugh carried a bit of relief. “That would be no great stretch of the imagination.”
Rhys flicked another glance at his companion. Alan’s wavy dark hair fell to teasing blue eyes, deep set in his face. One hand guided his horse with simple twitches of the reins while the other rested easily on the hilt of the longsword buckled around his waist.
Maybe he’d finally run out of things to say. Several more miles passed and Rhys broached a subject.
“What can you tell me about Sean?”
“He speaks!” Alan feigned surprise.
Rhys frowned and turned away.
Alan chuckled. “Sean is still as caring as ever. He knew the gift was something special and he uses it to help as many people as he can. The elders say he might be the strongest Seer in the past hundred years.”
“Would he use it to help Adam?”
“Doubt it. Not after the lord’s men hauled him off in front of his family and struck Sarah down. Besides, what would Adam want from his gift? Nothing good, and we all know it.”
Rhys nodded.
Alan schooled his expression into something grim as he spoke again. “You know I can foresee the future a bit myself.”
“Can you foresee yourself shutting up for more than five minutes at a time?” Rhys said.
“Not at all. I foresee this being an incredibly boring trip based on the stimulating one-sentence conversations we’ve had so far.”
“You were right earlier.” Rhys spurred his horse up to a trot. “This is going to be a long trip.”
~
Rhys kept a hand on the hilt of his broadsword as the miles crept by. Four days of travel had brought them out of the clans’ lands. Trees and hedges lined the wide road they travelled, farmland on the other side of the spreading branches. The smell of fresh tilled earth mingled with the scents of the flowers and herbs growing on the wayside. A squirrel chattered a warning at a magpie that came too close to its nest.
Alan whistled carelessly behind him, the sound blending with the resonating birdsong. Rhys hadn’t decided yet if Alan was trying to annoy him into talking again. Despite the tentative peace between them, they’d spent most of the past few days in silence, which was fine by Rhys.
Alan maintained a nonchalant attitude, but he remained alert, confident in his saddle, hands never too far away from his sword, eyes constantly sweeping the road for danger. The man may have been an unwelcome addition to his mission, but if someone had to accompany him, Rhys was grateful Alan had been chosen. He might be the only one in the seven clans I don’t hate.
They made camp for the night well away from the road. Alan snared a rabbit, and Rhys seasoned and cooked it over the fire. The juices served to soften the waybread they ate with it. Alan sat back and bit into an apple as Rhys re-stitched part of his girth that had come loose over the course of the day.
“So, do you actually have a plan for when we get to Lord Adam’s castle?” Alan crunched on his apple with casual interest.
Even if you’re supposed to be in charge of this mission? But Alan had always been more content to follow his lead.
“The polite thing to do would be to request an audience, inform him of the situation, and see how he reacts,” Rhys said.
“And the alternative to that?”
“I shove my sword through that treacherous snake, take Sean, and we leave.”
Alan tossed the apple core away and wiped his hands. “I assume we’ll be trying the first way instead of going directly for war?”
“We’ll try it once.” Rhys tied off the stiff thread and put the girth away. He took up his sword and whetstone.
“Where’d you get that?” Alan appraised the two-handed blade in his hands.
Rhys tensed. He’d had to find a new sword after his clan-made blade had been tossed aside. “It was given to me by a man who thought I could put it to good use. His son had no need of it.”
“What did you do with your old one?” Alan’s voice rose barely above a whisper.
“You can’t do much with a broken blade, can you?” Rhys sneered. It wasn’t really an answer, but Alan didn’t press.
“Tell me about Lord Adam.” Rhys abruptly changed the subject. He hadn’t been out of the mountains in two years. The world had probably changed since the last time a new recruit brought news a few months ago.
“Adam came into power shortly after the war. He’s been slowly adding the other lords under his banner. He controls nearly half of Alsaya. Lord Sarksten controls the other half.” Alan tossed another piece of wood onto the fire, sending sparks snapping into the air. “The Highlanders and Clans keep their own corners of the kingdom.”
Lord Sarksten. That was a name Rhys hadn’t heard in a while. Rhys had met the nobleman during the Sea Wars. The gruff old man had been chief among the king’s advisors, which was likely why everyone listened when he urged them to let Rhys live instead of executing him for the prince’s murder.
Some felt Rhys owed Sarksten his life. Rhys felt otherwise.
Sarksten controlled the eastern half of Alsaya closest to the Cardic Mountains but had seemed content to allow Rhys to rule the region without interference.
“Brogan spoke of forming alliances,” Rhys said.
“He and Chieftain MacTavish have been in council these past weeks,” Alan said. “They’ve brought the Highlanders to our side. MacTavish sent riders out to Lord Sarksten as well. The last messenger
reported that a pact between Sarksten and the Clans looked favorable.” He paused. “I’m also to see where a certain Mountain Baron’s decision might fall should a war start.”
Rhys shook his head. “Brogan thinks I’d ride to his aid? After he stood there and did nothing for me? After he cast me out?” His voice cut like a whip. “Even if that were not the case, half my men are outlaws in every county between the mountains and the Doorn Strait. Give me one good reason why the dispossessed like me should come fight for those who exiled them.”
“You might not know it, but Brogan did everything in his power to help you,” Alan said.
“He stood by and watched, Alan.”
“It was too late by then.”
“And after? He made sure the Clans distanced themselves from me. MacDuffys look after their own, right?” Rhys chewed on the old family motto. “It didn’t quite seem that way.”
“I don’t know, Rhys,” Alan sighed. “He was chieftain at the time. Maybe he had a reason. He never told us.”
“I’m sure he didn’t,” Rhys snapped.
“Rhys—”
“You shouldn’t say that name,” Rhys cut him off.
“I don’t—”
“I don’t want to hear that name, Alan.” Rhys clenched his hands around the hilt. “Rhys MacDuffy died on that beach, and it was Brogan that killed him. The Clans have forgotten him, and so should you.”
Alan stared at him in silence as Rhys burnished the blade and slid it home into its sheath.
“And you can tell Brogan that he can expect nothing from me. Our place is in the mountains, not in his wars.”
They said no more that night.
~
By noon of the next day they reined in at a bridge with broad planks wide enough for two men to ride abreast across the rushing torrent.
“The Bear River,” Alan spoke. “Across it lie Adam’s lands.”
“You’d think there’d be a guard.” Rhys contemplated the bridge before them. Everything seemed peaceful enough.
“I suppose there’s only one way to find out.” Alan dismounted.
Oath of the Outcast Page 3
