"What is this?" Dirkk asked. From the dark corners around them, Regan heard rumbling growls from many throats.
She dropped to her knees beside her son and Maggie. Closing her eyes, she sought the Power but, as before at Castle Crag, it was blocked from her. She opened her eyes and stared into the dark corners. Silver slit eyes stared back at her.
"Some more new pets. I call them fenris-ena," Dirkk said.
She recognized the words as Celtic and played for time as she willed her heart to stop its erratic pounding. "What do the words mean?"
"Wolves of fire." He snapped his fingers. Nails clicked on stone and a musky scent filled her nose. Three huge wolf shapes came to stand beside Dirkk, their silver fur ghostly pale in the dim light. She heard Daniel gasp and press close against her. The hackles on Maggie's back rose and she growled deep in her chest. One of the fenris-ena thrust its head toward the basset hound and snapped his jaws.
"No," Daniel screamed, pulling Maggie against his chest.
Regan stepped in front of both her son and Maggie. "You touch either of them, and I swear by the Goddess I'll kill you or die trying."
Dirkk snapped his fingers again and the three wolf-beasts slunk back into the black corners. "I live to please you, my queen."
Regan heard a rage-filled hiss. She stepped away from Daniel and Maggie and spun as a form charged by her. The sound of ripping cloth filled her ears and the top of her forearm stung. Regan glanced down at the sleeve of her gown. It looked as if it had been shredded with five sharp blades. Blood welled from narrow scratches. A shadow moved and she stiffened.
"Enough," Dirkk said. "Go to your cage."
Regan heard the hiss again.
"You challenge me?" Dirkk snapped, but she saw his face grow pale. He lowered his hand and touched something hidden beneath his cloak. "I said go."
The shadow moved toward a door. Beneath a hovering mage-globe it turned and glared back, and Regan knew what had become of the missing fairies.
"What the hell? You've been busy, haven't you?"
"Etain'daman, fairie demons." Dirkk laughed. "Regan, I smell your fear, but still you stare at me with challenge in your eyes. Oh, what a queen you will make."
"What you smell and see is hate, nothing more." She glanced around. "Where's your little flunky Thomas?"
"Thomas is dead."
"That's the first good news I've heard." She reached and grasped her son's hand. "A little dark in here, isn't it?"
Dirkk waved his hand and mage globes lit around them. Regan's gaze moved across the silvery, tapestry-draped walls, and then downward to the myriad of rugs on the floor. "Nice place. It's still a comedown from Castle Crag."
Dirkk's lips thinned and a wash of red flowed from beneath the mask. Regan's knees shook, but she went on with her flippant manner. She couldn't let him see the fear icing her stomach. "I hope my rooms are as nice."
"The boy's room is fine. You will be with me," Dirkk ground out between clenched teeth.
"I see."
"You," Dirkk pointed at Daniel, "Go to your room." He snapped his fingers and the three fenris-ena leapt forward. Dirkk pointed at two of them. "They will keep you company."
Regan felt Daniel quiver and press himself closer against her. "I'd like Maggie to stay with my son."
"If it pleases you, my queen."
Regan stroked Maggie's head. "You go with Daniel, Mags." The basset hound whined and quivered beneath her hand. "I'll be fine. You take care of Daniel."
"Enough," Dirkk snapped. "Go, the both of you, before I change my mind." The fenris-ena's growls rumbled from their throats as they advanced toward Daniel. Maggie bristled and took a step forward.
"No," Regan cried.
"They will not hurt him, or the dog, as long as both do as I command."
She knelt before her son. "Go with them, Baby. Everything will be all right."
With a pale face, Daniel nodded. "Here, Maggie."
The basset hound went to him and nudged her head beneath his hand. The fenris-ena flanked them as her son and Maggie walked toward the back of the cave. Regan watched until she could see them no more, then turned and glared at Dirkk. "If anything happens..."
"They will be fine." He motioned toward her. "Come to me."
Regan stiffened. "What?"
"I wish for you to come to me."
"Why?" she asked.
Dirkk laughed. "Don't you trust me, Regan?"
"Trust? Are you crazy?" she said, then swayed as a wave of dizziness swamped her.
"Then, this one time only, I will come to you." He walked to her and reached to touch her arm.
Regan stumbled back from him.
"The claws of the etain'daman leave poison behind. I only seek to remove it from you. Or do you wish to die? I can purge the poison, but you must ask me to do so." He waited in silence for her answer.
Hatred surged inside of her, but she couldn't leave Daniel and Maggie in this madman's hands. "Please," she said.
"Please what?"
"Remove the poison," she snapped.
He laughed softly. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
She clamped her lips against a torrent of rage that threatened to choke her.
Dirkk traced the raw claw marks with the fingertips of his right hand; with his left he again clutched something through his cloak. She felt her arm grow warm, then a tingle raced down into her hand and her mind cleared.
He stepped back and looked into her face.
If he's waiting for a thank you, he'll rot first, she thought.
When she did not speak, he slowly circled her. "There is something different about you." Dirkk reached out and brushed her cheek.
Regan flinched, but forced herself not to step back. "I'm older and I've had a child."
"You fear me?" Dirkk said.
"No," she said, but heard the quiver in her voice.
He smiled. "You should. I hold your son's life and yours in my hands." He cupped her chin and forced her eyes to look into his. "You will do as I say." He held up a warning hand and stopped her flood of denials before they could be spoken. "Oh yes, you will. If not for your sake, then for your son's sake and that of the misshapen, dwarfish dog."
Regan pressed her lips tightly together.
"I like not what you wear. I want you in something red and silk," he murmured.
"I thought you preferred your slaves naked?"
Dirkk laughed again. "Ah, you are thinking of Caitlan. I did so miss her when she was stolen from me. She and my son."
"Patrick is not your son."
Dirkk's fingers tightened around her chin. "The boy is my son. Rourk just doesn't know it." He released her face and stepped back.
She rubbed her chin. What did he mean? His son? She felt her stomach do a summersault. Was Rourk's son a spy? Did he hate his father so much?
"What is this?" Dirkk demanded.
Regan glanced down. A large wet stain spread across her tunic.
"You've another child?" Dirkk demanded. "Why have you kept this from me?
"I—"
His mouth thinned into a white-etched line. "The child has the mark of the Flame. It is why you've kept it from me."
"No, I—"
He grabbed Regan by her shoulders and shook her. "Tell me."
"There is no child," she cried. "The baby came too soon." Regan forced a sob into her voice.
"Do not lie to me," he said.
Regan dropped to her knees and buried her head in her hands. "It was my fault. They told me not to go meet Kelsey, but I wouldn't listen." She made wild sobbing sounds into her hands. "If I'd been at the castle they could have saved her, but I wasn't. I was alone..." She let her words trail off.
"And what of the child?"
"I wrapped her in my tunic. DaKar found me." She heard Dirkk's quick intake of breath at the mention of the hated unicorn. "He led Kelsey and Angus to me." Regan wailed louder. "If they'd only arrived a few minutes earlier, my daughter would still be alive."
&n
bsp; There was silence in the cave and she risked a quick glance up.
Dirkk stared over her head.
Believe me. You've got to believe me.
"Peter will not speak to me. He's moved from our bed. He says it's because of my tender condition. But I know better."
She glanced up as she said, "my tender condition."
Dirkk stared hard at her, doubt clear on his face. "We shall see. You may share your son's room ... for now."
Regan fought to keep relief from showing on her face. She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve.
Dirkk grimaced. "I will show you to the room, and find you something to wear."
He turned and, still playing the heartbroken wife and mother, Regan meekly followed.
*****
Peter's eyes flew open and he struggled to a sitting position. "Regan. Daniel," he cried hoarsely.
Helena sprang from a chair and rushed to him. She placed her hands on his shoulders and pressed him back down on the bed. "Still. You must remain still."
Peter tried to rise again. His eyes stared into hers, but Helena knew he wasn't seeing her, but some horror beyond.
"Trouble. ... They need me..."
"Regan is fine. She's with your daughter."
Peter did not hear her. He thrashed his head from side to side. "Wolves. Dirkk......"
"Help me," Helena called, and Ben and Margeaux ran into the room. "Hold his head," she said and, when Ben did so, she forced Peter's lips apart and poured a draught between them. Peter coughed and spit, but in moments was again deep asleep.
"Should I get Regan," Margeaux asked.
"No, she is with Catherine. Let her rest." Helena pulled a bandage from Peter's side and looked beneath it. "Good. He did not open the stitches."
She touched his forehead. "No sign of fever. I think he is going to be fine." Helena stood and pressed the small of her back. "Rest is what we all need." She turned toward the door. "Peter will sleep for the remainder of the day. I suggest you both do the same."
Chapter Eleven
The midday sun blasted. From the shade of a time-worn oak, Angus looked down upon Lord Hafgan's keep. Cinnard, it was called, meaning "high hill" in the old tongue. The dwarf snorted. High Hill? There was nothing to be found beyond its curtain wall but a couple of mounds, and all of them so low the tops of the pennants, snapping in the stiffening breeze, were just visible above the graying, pock-marked stone of the wall.
To the east, dark clouds scudded toward him. He turned his face into the wind. The smell of rain was in the air, a threat seconded by the throb in his left thigh. If he was to ride out a storm, he would much rather be snug in his rooms at Raya. He hesitated. If he rode hard he could be back at the castle before the first stars appeared.
Angus smiled wryly. Such wants would get him nowhere. He had chosen his path and, by the devil god's horns, this time he would know the reason for the gut-gnawing feeling of danger he felt while he remained within the walls of the keep below.
With a rumbling sigh, he urged Jax forward. He only hoped the room, always so grudgingly afforded him by Hafgan, did not leak. But he doubted it would be so.
Jax's hooves thumped hollowly on the planks of the drawbridge. From his high perch on the gelding's back, Angus could see easily into the moat. Brown water flowed around thick, black-slimed weeds. As he watched, bubbles broke the surface. What manner of beasts dwelled there? He shuddered. Blessed Earth Mother, guard my soul.
Entering the shadow of the wall, he felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle, and reached over his shoulder to touch the battle axe riding there.
Above the wind, the sound of snickering came to him. At the portcullis, he waited. He'd be worm fodder before he'd ask admittance. The silence stretched, then from the tower a soldier leaned out. "Who goes there?"
"Angus Bladeheart."
"State your business," the soldier demanded.
"I seek a meeting with Lord Hafgan."
"Does our lord expect you?"
He heard a chuckle and looked up. A head quickly withdrew into the shadowed window, but not before Angus recognized the face of Patrick Bannion. He'd planned to ride with Patrick, engage him in conversation, and perhaps learn more of Hafgan's people but, after the incident with his father, the boy had fled Raya.
"I have dire news affecting all of Daradawn. Do you wish me to shout it into the wind?" Angus reached back again to run his fingers along the blade of Xuya. "I am sure your lord would approve."
The soldier's head withdrew. Heated words came on the wind. He could not make them out, but it was clear an argument brewed between the Bannion brat and the guard.
Is it just malice, or does Rourk's young whelp truly strive to keep me from entering?
With a rusty screech, the portcullis inched upward. Angus whispered words to Jax, urging him on, but the gelding did not move. His black-tipped ears pricked forward and a shudder traveled the horse's frame.
"Old friend, no doubt you are smarter than I. But I must go within. Am I to walk and leave you behind?"
Shaking his mane, the gelding sidled forward. With a resounding clank, the gate slammed down behind them. For good or worse, they were inside.
A dust devil's erratic dance sent a slant-ribbed cat scurrying from the thin shadows of a sway-backed outbuilding.
The bailey was silent and empty. He wondered where everyone was. It was past the midday meal hour and too early for retiring. With only memory as a guide, he turned Jax toward the stable.
Outside the stable's weathered double doors he waited, but no groom or even stable lad appeared. With a frown, he slid from Jax's back. The right stable door had pulled from the hinges and its bottom edge looked riveted into the cracked ground beneath it. Angus placed his back against it and pushed, but it was like attempting to move a mountainside.
The first fat drops of rain pelted his head. Swearing beneath his breath, he jerked the other door open. Jax's sides grazed the door's jamb, but he was able to lead the gelding into the stable.
Inside the twilight dimness of the building, the ripe, sour smell of rotting hay and horse shit assaulted his nose. Jax butted Angus' arm with his head.
"Yes, I know. I will make it right for you." At his words he heard the scratching nails of scrambling feet as unseen denizens dashed for darker corners.
Thunder boomed overhead. The dwarf shrugged out of his tunic and draped it over a stall's door. Against a far wall he found a rust-pitted pitchfork. Selecting a stall was no problem; they were all empty.
Sweat rolled from his forehead and pockmarked his beard as he forked the last of the molding hay and dried dung over the side of the stall. Wiping his forehead with the back of his arm, he surveyed his work. Far from perfect, but it would have to do.
Rain now pelted the roof, filling the stable with a rumble like stampeding hooves. Rivulets found their way inside and formed muddy pools on the hay-covered floor.
He scratched the gelding between the ears. "We will not tarry long, I promise you."
Jax whinnied, skirted a spreading pool, and moved into the stall.
In a far corner of the stable, Angus discovered a mound of hay. He probed it with the pitchfork, sending its occupants fleeing with outraged squeaks. At its bottom he found a dry armful. He carried it to Jax and spread it in the manger.
Outside, a trough flanked the stable door. The streaming rain had flooded the scum from the trough's surface. He found a bucket and filled it to the rim.
He placed the bucket within Jax's stall, and then walked out into the rain once more. Black clouds blanketed the sky, bringing with them an early twilight. Tilting his head back, he let the deluge scour the sweat from his body.
A slurring voice called to him from the shadowy overhang of the stable. "Sir?"
A bowlegged man, with trousers askew and tunic donned inside out, waddled toward Angus. He ran his fingers through oily, tangled hair. "Forgive me. I am Harold, the head groom. I was just informed of your arrival." The words were bellig
erent. The man shuddered and glanced over the dwarf's head. "Tis not a fit time out for man or beast."
He walked through the open stable door, and Angus silently followed.
"I see your mount has been seen to." He looked around the dim area. "Jenkins. Jenkins. Now where has the addled-witted twit run off to?" Harold shrugged. "No matter, I will see he gets his just reward." The man held his hand out toward Angus.
Angus stared at the outstretched hand. "I saw to Jax myself."
"What? I will stripe the little bastard's back." The man cast a smirking glance at the dwarf. "I do not understand why you were brought here, rather than to the new stable closer to the manor house."
Goose bumps had formed on Angus' arms; now hot anger melted them. He whipped around and grabbed Xuya from where he'd leaned the axe against the stall's door.
The groom scrambled back as Angus faced him. "I will see your mount taken to the other stable at once," he stammered, his gaze never leaving the axe.
"I'll not take Jax out into the wet again." Angus rested the Xuya against his thighs as he reached for his tunic and donned it. Its damp, clinging wool did not improve his humor. "I trust there is still but one manor house?"
"Yes. I—"
"I will find it. Go back to your bottle and wench." He stared into the groom's wary eyes. "But know this. Jax had best be given the gentlest of care while I am here, or I will know the reason why. And my seeking of the answers will not be lightly undertaken."
"Yes, sir," the head groom stammered. "I will see to it myself."
With a grunt, Angus hoisted Xuya upon his shoulder and went once more out into the wetness of the day.
*****
Angus scowled as he held the candle aloft and looked upon the room provided him. In a corner hearth, pale yellow flames sought to get a handhold on damp wood. From within a dark shadow, he heard the drip, drip of water, hopefully into a bucket, but of even that he was not confident. The hallway wall behind him was midday-sunshine-bright with wrought-iron sconces holding burning tapers every few inches. The light made the room he stood in even grayer by comparison.
The Emerald Dagger (Daradawn Book 2) Page 13
