by Anne Bishop
The baron’s head snapped up, his eyes full of shock…and a kernel of anger.
“You decided to attack the Baron of Willowsbrook on your own instead of waiting for the rest of the army. You sent your heir to lead the men who died without considering all the enemies that might be waiting for you there. You ignored the dangers in order to indulge in some childish rivalry with the other barons. You wanted to be the first to encounter the enemy, to defeat the enemy, to be praised for your courage, to be envied for your vigor. Because of your willfulness, you sent those men to their deaths. And you killed your heir.”
The baron wept silently, his kernel of anger crushed under the weight of persuasion.
Watching him, Adolfo felt nothing but contempt. “And because of your recklessness,” he continued, “they’re aware of the army now.” The storm raging outside was confirmation of that. “We no longer have the advantage of swiftness or surprise. Men will die, fighting for ground we should have conquered with ease. Because of you.”
“I’m sorry,” the baron whispered. “I—”
Adolfo turned and walked out the terrace door, walked into the storm. Fury grew inside him, and his desire to punish was more excessive than prudent.
It wasn’t just that men were going to die. Wolfram men were going to die. The army led by the Arktos barons was expendable. So was the army led by the Sylvalan barons from the east and south. Distractions to split the enemy’s strength. A bonus if either army actually made it around the north or south ends of the Mother’s Hills and threatened the midlands. But this army came from Wolfram, came from his people. There would be losses. He knew that. Now there would be more. They knew he was coming, knew his army was aimed at Willowsbrook and the hills beyond Willowsbrook.
He didn’t know how Liam had managed to persuade the Fae to join the fight, and he didn’t like the fact that those creatures were suddenly paying attention to the human world. Bad enough that Ubel had encountered them the first time he’d gone to Breton, but if they were actually joining forces with the Sylvalan barons who dared to defy him…
He shuddered. There had been no mention of a black-haired woman riding a dark horse. There had been no sign of her around Willowsbrook. With so much death in one place, someone would have seen the Gatherer if she had returned to this part of Sylvalan.
Perhaps he should change the place of attack anyway. Swing around the county Baron Liam ruled and strike somewhere a little farther north or south. It would force the human enemy to march fast to meet him before he reached the Mother’s Hills and began cleansing them of the foul magic that lived there. If the Fae had some alliance with Liam, they would lose interest if Willowsbrook wasn’t threatened.
He could turn the army away from Willowsbrook…but the Sylvalan barons would see it as fear. They would think he was afraid of whatever unnatural allies that young bastard Liam was gathering, would gain strength and courage from misinterpreting his decision, and would pursue him more relentlessly because of it.
Soaked to the skin, Adolfo closed his eyes and lifted his face to the storm. The rain stung his skin, reeked of magic.
Magic.
He smiled.
He wouldn’t need to find an Old Place. The bitches were providing him with pools and pockets of magic he could drain for his own use, twist to his own will. He would still need a witch to create his finest gift, but he could use these pockets of magic to create the smaller gifts.
So he wouldn’t turn away. He would drive his army to Willowsbrook, would fight against the elements that had become the enemy’s weapon. He would capture a witch, soften her enough to remove any threat to himself or his men—and he would give Baron Liam and his allies a gift from out of a nightmare.
Chapter 35
waxing moon
Filled with fierce triumph, Ubel gripped the railing and watched the Wolfram warships gain on the enemy. That witch-loving bastard was heading for the big island, probably hoping he could circle it and find a place to hide. There was no place to hide. There would never be a place to hide from an Inquisitor’s righteous judgment. He had the bastard now. He had him.
Turning his head, he shouted at his ship’s captain, “We’re in range of that last ship. Signal the other Wolfram captains. Put fire down on those witch-lovers!”
The ship’s captain shouted orders. Sailors scrambled to obey as the first mate changed course to give them the best shot and the flagman waved the signal flags to alert the other warships. The guard captain shouted orders, too, and guards scrambled along the deck to prepare the catapult while others carried up one of the boxes of round clay pots that contained shards of metal floating in liquid fire.
Ubel turned back to watch the fleeing ships. The Wolfram captains knew what to do and needed no further orders from him.
The guard captain shouted the order. Ubel watched the round clay pot sail over the water and hit the side of the closest enemy ship, setting the wood on fire. The metal shards flew from the pot, ripping into the flesh of people on deck.
Another pot was prepared and fired. It hit the sails and was cradled in the cloth for a moment before it fell to the deck, spraying its liquid fire and metal shards.
As the other warships engaged their catapults and shot clay pots toward the other ships, Ubel heard the screams of the burned and wounded aboard the now-floundering ships. He bared his teeth in a vicious smile.
Try to run, you bastards. You won’t escape me. What fire doesn’t cleanse from the world, the sea will.
Jenny stepped out of the cottage and saw men running toward the stone stairs that led down to the harbor. Saw Murtagh striding toward her, his face grim and determined. She ran to meet him.
“What’s happening?” she asked, chilled by the comforting hand he laid on her arm.
“We’ve sighted some ships heading for the island,” Murtagh replied.
For a moment, her heart leaped into her throat, making it impossible to breathe. “Mihail?”
“Can’t tell yet. But they’re being pursued by warships. Since sea thieves know better than to come into these waters, I suspect it’s Black Coats in pursuit. One of those ships running ahead of them could be your brother’s.” Murtagh squeezed her arm lightly. “Not to worry, sweet Jenny. My selkies are getting our own ships ready to sail to meet them, and the coastal barons whose land touches the bay all have ships out to keep watch. We’ll get the people on those ships to safe harbor.”
Turning away, he hurried after his men.
Jenny took one step to follow, then spun and ran for the cliffs. She would be in the way down at the harbor, but she would be able to see the ships from the cliffs. Even from a distance, she would be able to identify Sweet Selkie.
She ran until the village was almost out of sight, then stopped, reluctant to go too much farther. From her vantage point, she saw the Fae ships leaving the harbor, heading for the neck of water between the coast and a spur of the island. That spur kept her from seeing the ships running toward the island. So she waited, her hands clenched, her heart pounding. Waited for that first sighting of a sail. When she was younger, how often she’d waited on the home docks in the same way, watching the Una River until she saw the sails and knew her father or brothers were coming home. Now the only brother left to wait for was Mihail.
Birds screamed. Looking up from the sea, she noticed the flocks of gulls circling and swirling. Sea hawks flew above them, around them. Were they really birds or were there Fae among them, guiding the birds that answered to their particular gifts?
She saw the sails now—and her blood turned to ice.
A handful of ships. Sweet Selkie ran ahead of the smaller ships, but the warships had closed the distance. As she watched, flames appeared on one side of the smallest ship. Moments later, fire bloomed on the deck, spreading to the mast and sails.
The sails of the warship closest to Sweet Selkie burst into flames. Yes! Someone on that ship had the gift of fire and was fighting back.
Fighting back.
&
nbsp; Jenny stared at the warships. “No,” she whispered. “No. You accuse us of being evil and take our land. You take away our way of life, and then you take our lives.” Her voice rose as she watched the burning ship flounder and roll. “You’ve taken our homes, our families, everything we held dear. Now take our grief, take our rage, take our pain.”
She drew on the branch of water, filled herself with the power. Then, charging that power with all the feelings raging in her heart, she gave it to the sea.
The sea went insane.
One moment, Ubel was watching the burning ship roll to its death and the people on board leap into the sea in an effort to escape. One moment, the guards not manning the catapult were shooting the gulls that flew around the ship, Fae spies for the witches. One moment, the enemy was almost in his grasp.
And the next moment, the sea went insane. Walls of dark water rose out of nowhere, curled into foaming white fists, and smashed down on his warships. Waves rose as high as cliffs, with a ship teetering on the crest before it rolled and smashed to the base of the wave, only to have the wave arch and dive back into the sea, taking the ship with it.
Ubel clung to the rail with all his strength, listening to his men screaming as the box of clay pots broke and liquid fire spilled out over the deck and the men trying to cling to anything they could hold onto. They screamed as the fire washed over them. They screamed as they were pitched into the merciless sea.
The sky suddenly turned dark. Looking up, Ubel realized his ship was caught in a tunnel made by two waves coming together at the crests.
Then the tunnel collapsed, and there was nothing but the sea. Nothing at all.
“Jenny! Jenny! Mother’s mercy, what have you done?”
Rough hands gripped her arms and spun her away from the sea. She stared into Murtagh’s face, seeing fury and fear—seeing him, but feeling only the sea.
“Jenny! Ground the power now! Ground it, Jenny!”
She bared her teeth. “They kill us and kill us and kill us. But they will kill no more of us. No more!”
He was breathing deeply, roughly, as if he struggled to complete a ferocious task. “That’s right,” he said, his voice straining for calm. “They’ll kill no more.”
His eyes were dark and intense as he stared into hers. His voice smoothed out, a balm to raw emotions.
“You defended your people, and you defended them well. Now help me, Jenny. Help me get them to safe harbor. My ships can’t reach them until you calm the sea. Help me, Jenny. Help me get your brother to safe harbor.”
“Safe harbor,” she whispered, unable to look away from his eyes.
“Yes. Safe harbor. Calm your heart, Jenny. Calm the sea.”
Safe harbor. Help the selkies get Mihail and the others to safe harbor.
She closed her eyes, but Murtagh’s voice still washed over her. She breathed in the power she’d given to the sea, and breathed it out again, flowing on the path of that soothing voice. Calm the heart. Calm the sea.
“That’s good, Jenny. That’s good.”
She opened her eyes. She saw relief in his eyes now—and still a hint of fear behind it. When she tried to turn to look at the sea, Murtagh shifted to place himself on the seaward side of the cliff. With his arm firmly around her shoulders, he led her back toward the village.
“We’ll go down to the harbor and welcome your brother,” Murtagh said. “When he sees you, he’ll know he’s among friends.”
Mihail. Yes. When he saw her waiting for him, he would know he’d reached safe harbor.
It didn’t occur to her until much later that Murtagh had deliberately kept her from seeing what her fury and the sea had done.
Ubel clung to the broken mast, surrounded by debris that had once been a Wolfram warship. Surrounded by bodies. There were a few other men clinging to anything that would float, but not many.
A pained, garbled sound came from the guard captain, who was also clinging to the mast with his good arm. Ubel kept his face averted. The captain had been splashed in the face with liquid fire. The area around his right eye had been spared, but that normal eye, dulled with shock and exhaustion, made the rest of the ruined face look more obscene.
He didn’t know how long he’d been in the water when he saw the line of ships slowly sailing through the debris, looking for survivors. He didn’t know how long he watched them before he noticed all the seals swimming ahead of the ships, before he heard their odd barks that guided the ships’ crews toward the living.
He waited. When a sleek brown head rose from the water and the creature stared at him, he shuddered. Not seals. Not here. Selkies. An animal body with a man’s brain.
Seconds passed, stretched, turned into agonizing years before the selkie made that odd barking sound. Then it sank beneath the water.
Finally a ship approached. Beyond throwing out two loops of canvas attached to ropes, the crew offered no help. Since the ship continued moving past him, his choices were to abandon the mast and swim as best as he could to reach the canvas loop or to remain in the sea until his strength gave out.
He splashed and floundered, came close to sinking when his foot almost tangled in one of the lines from the sails, but he managed to reach the canvas loop and slip his arms through it. They pulled him toward the ship, used the rope to steady him as he climbed the rope netting attached to the side of the ship. He glanced back once. There was no one clinging to the mast now, and the other canvas loop being hauled up was empty.
He barely had time to collapse on the deck when he was lifted to his feet and dragged to the stern. In the bow, people were wrapped in blankets. Some were sipping from mugs. Others were having wounds tended. He caught no more than a glimpse of them before he was shoved to his knees, and his hands were tightly bound to the stern railing. The first mate was there, but not his ship’s captain. A few guards, a few sailors. Almost all of them were wounded in one way or another.
“Water,” Ubel croaked. “We need water.”
The man with a face that wasn’t human just stared at him.
Curse these Fae, Ubel thought. “We need water. The wounded need tending.”
“When we reach the harbor, we’ll turn you over to the barons who rule that part of the coast. If they want to give you water and tend the wounded, that’s their choice.” The Fae Lord turned away.
“Have you no mercy?” Ubel cried.
The Fae turned back and smiled at him. “No more than you, Black Coat. If you want mercy, ask one of the Mother’s Daughters. They’re the ones who believe in doing no harm.”
Ask one of those evil bitches for mercy? Ubel shuddered. No. Never. He would conserve his strength, let these creatures bring him to the shore. Once he was dealing with the barons, his Inquisitor’s Gift of persuasion would convince them to give him food and water—and a horse. He would need only a few hours head start to stay far enough ahead of the enemy to reach the arm of the Inquisitors’ army that was crushing the southern end of the Mother’s Hills.
Jenny wept silently as she stood on the dock and watched the battered Sweet Selkie limp into the harbor. Murtagh had taken a ship and gone out to meet her brother, and it was Murtagh she saw standing in the bow. But there was no sign of Mihail.
She saw Fae piloting the ship to the dock instead of Mihail’s crew. She saw Fae securing the lines and lowering the gangplank.
Her heart broke. She wrapped her arms around herself. Had she done this?
Then she saw Murtagh motion her to come aboard. She ran up the gangplank and would have fallen when she reached the deck if he hadn’t reached out to steady her.
“He’s in the bow,” Murtagh said, guiding her. “He collapsed shortly after I got on board and convinced him we weren’t the enemy.”
“He’s wounded?” Jenny asked, feeling breathless.
“He’s been hurt, but it’s exhaustion and lack of food and water that finally pulled his feet out from under him. They ran out and couldn’t stop to take on supplies.”
When s
he saw Mihail, she rushed forward and sank to her knees. “Mihail. Mihail.” She brushed a shaking hand over his hair. He looked so pale, so worn. “Mihail.”
He opened his eyes and stared at her. Finally he said in a hoarse voice, “Jenny?”
She choked back a sob. “Yes, Mihail. It’s Jenny.”
“Safe harbor, Jenny?”
Tears spilled down her cheeks as she gently pressed her lips to his dry, cracked ones. “Yes, Mihail. Safe harbor.”
Mihail closed his eyes. His body relaxed.
Panicked, Jenny pressed a hand against his chest, trying to feel his heart.
Murtagh placed a hand just above Mihail’s nose. “It’s all right, Jenny. He needs to rest.”
Sobs ripped out of her. Tears of grief. Tears of joy.
“It will be all right, sweet Jenny,” Murtagh said, putting his arms around her to offer warmth and comfort. “It will be all right.”
Chapter 36
waxing moon
Ashk and Aiden slowly rode out of the trees, heading toward the manor house at the other end of the big sweep of lawn. Two of the midland barons rode behind them, having insisted on coming. The rest of her companions, her men, and the combined Fae and human army were waiting in the woods. She still wasn’t sure if it was because it was reasonable or because Aiden’s gift as the Bard had influenced her decision, but she couldn’t deny his genuine concern that Breanna’s hostility toward the Fae might cause her to shoot first and ask questions later, and it would be easier to persuade her to see them as allies if the Old Place wasn’t suddenly flooded with humans and Fae.
Of course, that was before they’d met up with several pairs of Fae from different Clans patrolling the woods, all of whom informed her quickly, and with wary relief, that men from their Clans had set up camps in meadows and pastures in the Old Place. They told her Varden, the Willowsbrook Clan’s Lord of the Woods, was working with Barons Liam and Donovan as well as Lord Falco and Lady Breanna on a way to meet the enemy while protecting the Old Place and the human village. And they told her, with a hint of fear in their eyes, that the Huntress rode among them.
