by Anne Bishop
Breanna felt Falco's hand come down on her shoulder, but she didn't think it was meant as comfort to her as much as for the support he needed at that moment.
"What does that have to do with the storm?" he asked in a strained voice.
Gwenn kept looking at him, and there was something close to pity in her eyes. "I think someone was foolish enough to provoke Selena into striking back—and the storm was her answer."
Chapter 12
waxing moon
Adolfo stared out the window, watching the storm continue east into Wolfram. Not much of a storm now—and still too much. Far too much.
He shuddered.
"Master?"
Adolfo turned away from the window. Ubel had been reporting on the number and position of the men marching toward the western border under the family crests of Wolfram's barons, the fleet of warships standing ready in the harbor, the messages sent by the Arktos barons to confirm their readiness to wage righteous war against the Sylvalan barons who couldn't see with a clear eye what honorable, decent men needed to do to cleanse their land.
He'd heard nothing from the moment he'd opened the window to let some rain-cleaned air into the stuffy room. One of the things that had helped him become the Master Inquisitor, the Witch's Hammer, was his ability to scent magic. It was how he detected witches—the real witches—and it was how he recognized men who had the Inquisitor's Gift. He trained those men, honing them into weapons. The ignorant might call the Inquisitor's Gift a kind of magic, but he wouldn't permit such blasphemy to be spoken out loud. He didn't like his Inquisitors wondering about magic, except as a thing to be destroyed.
"Master?"
"The rain stinks of magic," Adolfo said heavily, half turning to watch the raindrops roll down the outside of the window. "Do you know what this rain will do, Ubel?"
"I—I'm not sure, Master Adolfo."
Ubel wasn't sure of much lately. His fault? Perhaps he should have been gentler when his Assistant Inquisitor had returned from the west, even though he had failed to destroy Baron Padrick's family and had lost the other five Inquisitors who had gone with him. Yes, perhaps Ubel had heard too much of the reprimand in his voice.
"What does rain do, Ubel?" Adolfo asked gently.
Ubel watched him warily for a moment, then licked his dry lips. "It falls from the sky to the ground."
Adolfo nodded encouragingly. "And then?" He sighed before Ubel could answer, not out of impatience but out of the dread that had begun filling him as soon as he realized what this storm could do. "It soaks into the ground, Ubel. It soaks deep into the soil, into the fields and forests. It fills the brooks and streams and rivers."
"Yes, Master. I suppose it does."
"This storm . . . this rain stinks of magic."
Adolfo waited patiently, watching as understanding paled Ubel's fair skin and filled the blue eyes with horror.
"Yes," Adolfo said heavily.
"But— But the magic in Wolfram's Old Places is dead. We destroyed it when we destroyed the witches."
He shook his head. "As long as there is any left, magic never fully dies. You can bleed it out of a place so that the place feels dead, but it's like creatures that bury themselves deep in the mud when a brook dries up. You think they're gone, destroyed. Then the rain comes and renews the brook—and they come back with it to live and breed again."
"No," Ubel whispered.
"Yes. A puddle of magic, hidden so deep even the Small Folk can't feel it. . . This rain will feed it. . . and it will rise again. A small piece of woods will suddenly have enough magic for the Small Folk to live in it. And once they return and take root, no man will be able to set foot there and hope to come out again. This rain will make a few women forget their proper place in the world, and they will remember things they hadn't known they'd forgotten . . . and men will no longer rule the land. How can men rule when a female can flood the fields, or hold back the rain so that crops wither and die, or command the land itself to remain barren? How can a man's toil fight against that?"
"Then we have to stay here and fight," Ubel said. "We have to stay and protect our own country."
"How do we protect it from rain, Ubel? How do we protect Wolfram when every storm that crosses the Una River from Sylvalan is filthy with magic?"
"We have to do something," Ubel insisted.
"We will. And we are." Adolfo walked over to the table and looked at the papers filled with Ubel's neat handwriting, scattered over a map of Sylvalan. "The only way to keep Wolfram clean is to wade through the muck of Sylvalan until it, too, is clean."
"Within the next phase of the moon, we'll have most of our—"
"We can't wait." Adolfo took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Don't remind him of his failures. He needs to believe nothing can stand against him. Afterward. . . Afterward I will have to consider carefully whether or not Ubel has been too mired in Sylvalan's filth to be trusted. "We must strike now. We must strike fiercely . . . and without mercy. Any Sylvalan baron who does not support us in our fight against the Evil One and its servants must be destroyed. We must bring the battle into Sylvalan before those creatures, those witches, can do more harm to Wolfram."
"What do you want me to do, Master Adolfo?"
Ubel still looked pale, but there was a fire in his eyes now. He wouldn't run away from the fight this time, not when his homeland was at risk of being contaminated by the magic spawned by their enemies.
Adolfo pushed the papers aside until he uncovered the western part of the map of Sylvalan. "You will take our ten largest warships and fill them with Wolfram warriors. Those ships and men are yours to command. Check the ports at Seahaven and Wellingsford as you head west. There may be witches and their kin trying to find transport to the witch-loving barons further up the coast. But do not linger. We must not give them time to gather an army against us." He pointed to a spot on the western coast. "That looks like a small harbor, opposite those islands. From there, it doesn't look to be more than a day's march to Breton— two at the most."
"There is a harbor town south of Breton," Ubel said.
"But you would have to march inland and then north to reach Breton. That gives the western barons more warning and more time to gather men to stand against you."
"I was told there wasn't a harbor town near Breton."
Disliking the shakiness he heard in Ubel's voice, Adolfo continued softly but firmly. "You don't need a harbor town. A small fishing village will suffice. Anywhere you can bring the ships in close enough to land your men will suffice. The more swiftly you move, the less resistance they can bring against you. After thinking about your report on the barons' council, it is now clear to me that Padrick, the Baron of Breton, controls the other western barons. Therefore, it is no longer enough to punish him for helping Liam after that whelp spoke out against us in the barons' council. Padrick must be destroyed. Completely. His home, his family, his fields, his livestock. You must leave nothing but corpses and ashes, Ubel. Without him to lead, the western barons will need time to regain their balance, and while the west is in turmoil, the Arktos barons will lead their men to the northern part of Sylvalan, along with the northeastern barons who already support our cause. Our Sylvalan barons in the southern part of the land will march to here." Adolfo pointed to another spot on the map. "They'll come up to the southern end of the Mother's Hills, blocking the midland barons if they attempt to enter the fight."
"What about the Fae?" Ubel asked in a strained voice.
What about the Gatherer? is what he's really asking. Adolfo suppressed a shudder. He would never forget that black-haired woman riding her dark horse. He would never forget that she'd killed his Inquisitors. And he would never forget what she did to him. His left arm dead, just from touching her. And the dreams lately . . . No. No one could know about the dreams.
"You must strike swiftly," Adolfo said again, "before a warning can be sounded. Swiftly, Ubel. And then you must leave just as swiftly. I do not want to lose my finest Inquisi
tor. When Padrick is dead, bring the ships and men back to Wellingsford. From there you can keep any ships from sailing out of the west— and destroy any ships trying to sail to the west."
"Yes, Master." Ubel hesitated. "And what will Wolfram's army be doing?"
You mean, what will I be doing? Perhaps it was an attempt at arrogance, but Adolfo thought the question sounded more like a young boy's plea for reassurance.
"I will lead the Wolfram army, and the rest of the Sylvalan barons who are decent men, as straight as an arrow to Willowsbrook. And after we crush the bastard Liam. . ." He turned to look at the sun coming out, shining through the last wisps of the storm. "After we crush Liam, the three prongs of our great army will march into the Mother's Hills and destroy everything that lives there."
"Will the magic die completely then?" Ubel asked.
Turning back, Adolfo laid his right hand on Ubel's shoulder, and said softly, "I told you, Ubel. It never dies completely once it's taken root in a place. But if you destroy all the creatures who have the ability to reach it, then it's as good as dead."
Chapter 13
waxing moon
She was a child again. Seven years old, maybe eight. The village wasn't the one she'd grown up in, but she knew it was supposed to be home. Behind her, the Mother's Hills rose, looking comforting and close but still a day's journey away. In front of her, all around her. . .
The village burned. The fields burned. Animals screamed as they were slaughtered. Women screamed, in anger and in pain. Men roared, in fury and despair.
Confusion and slaughter all around her. She saw the black-coated men riding into the village. The warriors with them spread out as the people in the village rushed to meet the attack. Her father and two of his friends ran past her, armed with bows and knives. The two friends fell a moment later, pierced by enemy arrows. Her father ran on to where the black-coated enemies waited for him.
She heard a woman scream. "Mother?" She turned, frantically trying to see through the smoke.
Another field. But it wasn't crops the Black Coats were burning. Women and wood. The stench of burning flesh. The screams of agony.
One woman burst through the piled wood, fire eating her legs, turning them black as she tried to run.
"Mother!"
The woman looked at her, pointed to something behind her.
The Mother's Hills. She would be safe if she could reach the Mother's Hills.
A black-coated man swung something at the woman's head, turning her face into a red smear. Still she screamed in defiance until the fire devoured her.
"Mama! MAMA!"
She spun around as the other child cried out. Rhyann. So small, so young, and still so fierce. She had to save Rhyann.
She grabbed her sister's hand, pulling Rhyann with her. "We have to run. We have to reach the Mother's Hills."
"Mama! Papa!"
"Come on, Rhyann! Run!"
They ran and ran but couldn't get beyond the burning fields and the knots of men fighting, bleeding, dying.
When Rhyann stumbled, Selena picked her up, staggering under the weight as she kept walking forward, her eyes on the hills. She had to get Rhyann to a safe place. She had to.
Her legs burned from the effort of carrying her sister. Her arms ached. Her breath came in painful gasps. She heard a distant roll of thunder, but the sky was so smoke-darkened now she couldn't tell if a storm was coming.
She had to rest, had to find a safe place for them to hide for a little while.
Then she saw them, astride their beautiful, strong horses. The Fae.
"Help me!" she cried. "Please, help me. I have to take my sister someplace safe."
They stared at her out of cold, cold eyes. They smiled as a shadow fell over her.
A man stood in front of her, blocking the road to the Mother's Hills. A tall, large man with a lean face that was too deeply shadowed for her to see any details. Around him were dark, winged creatures with needle-sharp teeth.
"Leave her alone," she said, putting Rhyann down and pushing her sister behind her. "She's just a little girl. "
He smiled at her.
"Let her go. Take me instead."
"Oh, I will take you," he said gently. "But I will punish you for being what you are by making you watch your sister die. "
"No." She looked at the Fae. "Please, take her," she begged them. "Please."
They just watched her out of cold, cold eyes. Then they turned their horses and rode off into the woods, which were suddenly so close and yet so painfully out of reach.
Thunder rumbled again, closer now.
"Yes," the man said, "you will watch your sister die. My pets will tear her flesh and drink her blood."
"No!"
"And then they will devour her soul."
"NOOOOO!"
Someone pounded on the door.
"Huntress? Huntress!"
Shaking, gasping with the effort to breathe, Selena pushed herself halfway to a sitting position.
"What is it?" she said hoarsely.
The door opened and closed. Gwynith rushed to the bed. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"
"A dream," Selena muttered, kicking at the tangled covers to free her legs. "Just a dream."
As Gwynith helped her get free of the covers, Selena wondered if it really was "just a dream." There were Fae whose gift controlled sleep and dreams. Had one of them sent this nightmare to exhaust her, weaken her? Or had this dream come from the Sleep Sister herself as a warning? Right now, it didn't matter. Right now, she needed earth and air and water.
"I'm going riding," Selena said, surprised at how unsteady her legs felt as she got up and walked to the basin and pitcher of water. "I want to see a bit of Tir Aiainn before I leave."
"Leave?" Gwynith said, sounding alarmed. "Where are you going?"
Anywhere, as long as it wasn't Tir Alainn.
She poured water into the basin, then sent a glimmer of fire through her fingers as she put them in the cold water, which warmed quickly. After stripping off her nightgown, she pulled the basin that served as a catchall from the shelf beneath the wash table and stepped into it. It would take a real bath to completely clean the smell of sour sweat off her skin, but she didn't want to take the time for it. The sponge bath would have to do.
"Would you like company on your ride?" Gwynith asked hesitantly.
"Are you asking because you'd like to go riding or because you're afraid some of the Fae here might try to throw me into the mist at the edge of the world?" She'd meant it as a biting tease— until Gwynith's silence filled the room. The sponge dribbled water down her belly as she turned to face the other woman. "You think that's possible, don't you?"
Gwynith linked her fingers and twisted them. "Many of the Fae are upset that Dianna lost the challenge. Especially to someone who isn't pure Fae."
"Like Dianna," Selena said, knowing by the puzzled look in Gwynith's eyes that the woman didn't understand why that was so amusing. "I'd be pleased to have your company on the ride."
Gwynith hurried to the door and opened it just enough to stick her head out.
As Selena finished her quick wash, she heard a quiet rumble of a male voice responding to Gwynith's murmurs.
"They'll bring the horses," Gwynith said, closing the door. "What do you want to wear?"
"The white outfit," Selena replied as she dried herself. The Ladies of the Hearth had done a good job of cleaning the white trousers and overdress yesterday while she'd spent the day trying to get to know the other Ladies of the Moon as well as learn the ways of the Fae.
Cold, cold eyes.
Selena shivered.
Just a dream. She was no longer a child. Neither was Rhyann.
She had to get away from this Clan house. Had to meet the land. That was for herself. But she also wanted to understand why Tir Alainn felt so . . . strange.
By the time she had dressed and they reached one of the outer doors of the Clan house, Gwynith's four escorts were waiting with the hors
es. Of course. She should have realized the men would be coming, too.
As she approached Mistrunner, the stallion snorted to let her know he didn't approve of having his reins held by a strange man.
The escort, giving the horse a wary glance, touched two fingers to his temple in greeting, and said, "Blessings of the day to you, Lady."
Surprised by the greeting, Selena looked at the man more carefully. He seemed tense, uncertain. "Blessings of the day," she replied—and saw him visibly relax. "Did you check Mistrunner's tack?" She regretted asking. The tension in the man returned, and his mouth was a grim line.
"I did," he said.
Would you have checked it if it was Dianna going out for a ride? Selena wondered as she mounted Mistrunner. She didn't think he would have, not because Dianna would have been in no danger from other Fae but because he wouldn't have cared what happened to the former Lady of the Moon. Which made her wonder why these western Fae were so determined to look after her.
With effort, she pushed all thoughts aside and focused on the feel of Mistrunner beneath her—and the feel of the land as he lifted into his easy canter. As they left the Clan house behind, his little snorts, tail flicks, and head tosses told her plainly that he didn't like it here, didn't like the feel of this ground beneath his hooves, didn't like grass that looked healthy and green but wasn't good to eat.
Why was she so certain the grass wasn't good to eat? Was it because her own belly had still rumbled with hunger even after she'd eaten a large meal at the Clan house?
She reined in and dismounted, walked a few steps away from her companions, then crouched to put her hands on the ground. A few moments later, Gwynith crouched beside her.
"Lady Selena?" Gwynith said.
Mother's mercy. Were they all so blind that they couldn't see what was in front of them? "Is all of Tir Alainn like this?"
"Like this?" Gwynith looked around. "The Clan territories all look a little different, depending on what part of Sylvalan they're anchored to."
"How does this place look to you?" Selena asked impatiently.
