Witch: The Moondark Saga, Books 7-9 (The Moondark Saga Boxed Sets Book 3)

by Don McQuinn

  “It was harder for Sylah.”

  “How could it have been?” Jaleeta looked up into Sylah’s distant reserve. “It must have been unbearable.”

  Thoughtfully, Sylah said, “What makes trial memorable isn’t survival, it’s the use we make of it. Fire and hammer alone can’t make good steel. The mind of the smith determines. Women, especially, must make better steel of ourselves, always. Or be slag.”

  Neela said, “You always speak for my heart. My sister. Thank you.”

  Bernhardt grinned. “I know a place where you’d have fit in so well. But thanks from me, too.”

  Jaleeta continued to watch Sylah, whose expression and focus on the younger woman never changed. Jaleeta finally looked away. To Emso, she said, “Let’s get away from here.”

  Neela took her arm. Emso led the way. Bernhardt and Sylah brought up the rear. In response to a mime from Bernhardt that suggested strangling Jaleeta, Sylah frowned stern disapproval before snorting a most un-Churchlike giggle through her nose.

  As soon as Bernhardt was gone, Neela went to her quarters to attend to her household and her son. Sylah, restless, elected to wander idly in the castle. She ended up in the great hall, where Emso was scheduled to conduct government business. She held to the darkest corner, telling herself it was merely a precaution to avoid the appearance of spying.

  She watched Jaleeta as an owl watches a mouse.

  Gallingly, there was nothing to see. Proper as possible, Jaleeta remained distant, watching Emso with a cloying adoration that made Sylah’s palms itch. When the petitioners were disposed of, Emso came out from behind the bar between dais and crowd to sit on the edge of one of the massive firepits. Jaleeta joined him, close, but still infuriatingly proper. When they were interrupted, Jaleeta made a pretty departure, all half bows, smiles, and simpers.

  Sylah fumed.

  Emso left shortly afterward. Sylah saw him to the official business room, with its huge table and fireplace. Past the guard, he sat at the table, lost in thought. Sylah relented. He looked so very alone, so achingly out of place. She wished there were some way to comfort him. By then, it was time to return to the abbey.

  At his table, Emso brooded. The plain fact was, he didn’t completely trust Wal’s boats or the fishermen of Ondrat and Mull to detect sharkers. There was too much water out there. Nothing forced a boat to stick to a trail, or look for a ford. Fishermen in particular were more likely to run and hide than sound an alarm. Emso unconsciously wrinkled his nose. It wasn’t natural to take to the water. It wasn’t natural to trust those who did.

  After the midday meal, he rode to Ondrat’s castle. If anything, it was more disheartening than before. With the onset of winter, the midden heap moved closer to the walls. Leprous with patches of snow, it was presently inundated by squalling, scavenging bird life. Like angry puffs of dust, they rose and swirled when pigs assertively rooted for dainties. From a distance, several dispirited cows watched the proceedings. Scraggly wisps of hay littered the snow in front of them. Hipbones rose from their hindquarters as clearly defined as castle turrets, sign of their sparse rations. One mooed plaintively at Emso. He looked away, rode through the unguarded gate.

  Ondrat was at table when Emso was ushered in. The Baron appeared to be barricaded behind a huge ham, bowls of vegetables, a massive tureen of steaming soup. He was alone. Rising, with one last draft from a tankard, he came around the table to greet his guest with great gusto. When he got to “brother warrior,” Emso decided he’d heard enough.

  “I need something from you,” he said, interrupting. “A small force, no more than thirty men. They’ll take orders directly from me. Hard duty, but extra coin for all, more for those who excel.”

  Tugging at his ear, cocking his head, Ondrat was very reluctant. “Any other time, I’d hand over twice that many, and pay them myself. Serving you would guarantee I’d get back the best trained men in Ola. The Territories, I mean. Or is this work so dangerous they won’t be coming back?”

  “Perfectly safe. No danger at all. What do you mean ‘any other time’?”

  “Life is hard here. Some of my people are literally starving. They eat bark, grass, leather. All my troops are foraging. All not requisitioned for duty as Wolves, that is.”

  “I want men. A safety precaution. Gan’s gone on a patrol. He took some of the castle guard. We’re not shouting it in the streets, you understand? I want to reinforce the men I have left. I want them from you, because you’re a man I can trust. The less known about any of this, the better.”

  Ondrat’s voice dropped almost to a whisper. “I’ll find a way to get the men. My people will go without, if need be. Gan Moondark is our hope for the future.”

  On the way out the gate, Emso congratulated himself. Negotiation wasn’t as difficult as Gan made it look. He smiled to himself; apparently, being a leader involved a little flair for acting. You made the easy things look hard, and the hard ones look easy. Poor Ondrat. He’d never know he could have suggested twenty-five men, or even twenty, and made his opponent happy.

  The same cow bawled at Emso again. It was lying down now, and the effort seemed to tire it completely. It shivered, as if dislodging imaginary flies, and rolled onto its side. Stark ribs heaved. It shocked Emso to realize the beast was literally dying before his eyes.

  There was nothing he could do. He forced his gaze straight ahead, rode on. Three ravens launched themselves from a branch directly ahead of Emso. They drifted past on their way to the cow, so close he could see the grained bare skin of their legs, hear the oddly clattering pass of chill wind through feathers. Jet-eyed, avid, they ignored him utterly on their way to vigil.

  Chapter 8

  Jaleeta watched the Chosens run toward her, and dredged up a friendly smile. Then, putting on a glum look, she pointed at the Violet Abbey. The children understood immediately. A game ensued. One made a sad face like hers, pretended to open a book. Another rubbed her stomach and smacked her lips, miming Jaleeta’s usual gift of a sweet.

  Jaleeta turned away, continued her walk. The children couldn’t know the significance of her hidden, dismal expression.

  Gan’s departure was only a short while past, and already Emso’s behavior was erratic. Even the arrival of Baron Ondrat’s men to reinforce the castle garrison failed to help.

  Outwardly, nothing was wrong. Yet Emso grew morose. Tirades directed at guards were fiercer than ever. The new Ondrat men took it particularly badly, their undisciplined sullenness so pronounced the other Wolves avoided them as much as possible, kept one eye on them at all times.

  Neela was sure she understood. She counseled Jaleeta. “Emso’s a lonely man. You can make him smile. Try to help him.”

  Jaleeta stopped in her walk to avoid a small detail of Wolves, marching across her path. Eyes properly averted, she still managed to keep them in sight. The straight, young bodies and their pounding cadence reminded her of Nalatan. She smiled, remembering how she’d planned to survive musty old Emso’s fumbling by imagining Nalatan in his place.

  Somehow, that duplicity got twisted inside her head. At first, she meant only to think of Nalatan while enduring Emso. Soon, however, she was imagining Nalatan wanting her and being denied. That idea grew darker; she saw Nalatan denied all pleasure. Pain was substituted. For every good thing that happened to Jaleeta, Nalatan suffered the more. Eventually, Nalatan’s pain was paramount. It became her delight. Thrilling.

  She didn’t want that in her mind. She couldn’t rid herself of it.

  The troops moved on. Jaleeta resumed her progress.

  If Emso was normal, none of those disturbing visions would have ever happened. There was no manhood in him, after all. When they were together at night he was terrified of being discovered, closing doors, drawing shutters, snuffing candles. During daylight he sought obscure corners, croaking about “propriety.”

  For the first secret meeting, Jaleeta went charged to do her sexual best. She was rejected with whiffling fluff about marriage, children, and the
embracing sanctity of Church. By the time she conceded defeat, she was twitching like an alder leaf and possessed of a raging headache. Worse, he withdrew farther every day. When he wasn’t inspecting the guards, he was either looking out to sea for Skan or to the south for Gan’s return. He hardly slept.

  Arriving at the Violet Abbey, Jaleeta asked for the Abbess, and was ushered in as if expected. The older woman signaled the attending Priestess to bring Jaleeta tea, then motioned for Jaleeta to sit with her in front of the fire. Jaleeta pulled up a rocking chair like the Abbess’. Its ornately carved headboard illustrated a robed Priestess blessing lambs. The Abbess’ own chair had arms and headboard carved to indicate sprays of the abbey’s namesake flowers. The blossoms were inset chips of amethyst luminous in the soft firelight.

  “What is it this time, child? It can’t be Nalatan.” The Abbess chuckled. “It really was clever to spread that rumor of his lechery among the True Church believers. Many distrust him completely now, and Tate’s lost respect, as well. Is the rumor true?”

  Jaleeta opened her mouth. An imperious hand stopped her. “Say nothing. You’d lie, and I’m too weary for useless disagreements.”

  Petulant, Jaleeta said, “I brought news. I come for advice.”

  “Of course, my dear.” The Abbess sipped in silence as Jaleeta took her cup from the returned Priestess. When they were alone again, the Abbess turned away to put her cup on a small polished brass table. “I’m glad you came. I think it’s time we were completely honest with each other, don’t you? No, you don’t. Let me help you decide.” She edged her chair closer to Jaleeta, intense.

  Jaleeta took advantage of the older woman’s movement to interject, “I’ve been honest. I’ve worked for Church.”

  “We all lie. We have no time for it now, however. Too many things are happening too fast. If we’re to achieve our ambitions, we must work together.”

  “I have no ambitions.”

  Calmly, the Abbess raised an admonishing, waggling finger. When she jabbed with it, the movement was so quick there was no chance for Jaleeta to comprehend the action, much less avoid it. The pain that exploded in Jaleeta’s head was such a surprise that it overwhelmed the injury for a brief instant. Then her right eye was a live, searing coal. She curled in a tight ball, clutching herself. Over the sound of her own astonished hurt, she heard the Abbess’ dispassionate voice. “Time is short. I can tolerate no evasions, no deviations. I shall be the Harvester. You will help me. In exchange, we shall arrange for you to enjoy the power and influence you so lust after. Do we at last understand each other, child? Are we sharing now?”

  Jaleeta mumbled an affirmative, broken by a sob.

  “Do sit up straight,” the Abbess said. “We can’t talk with you hunched over that way. And stop crying. You’ll look a fright when you leave, and everyone will know we’ve had unpleasantness. We’re not going to have more, though, are we? Such a bright girl. That’s one of the many things I like about you. Now, can we rely on Emso for anything?”

  Jaleeta gritted her teeth. Facing the Abbess, she refused to wipe tears or hold a hand to the stinging eye. When she tried to open it, however, it was too much. She said, “Why ask me? You seem to know everything already.”

  “You’re resentful. Try to overcome it. There are worse things than a touchy eye. Is Emso capable of commanding the garrison? Does he act like a man considering betrayal?”

  “Emso cares only for Gan Moondark. Never think otherwise.”

  “Thank you. And the witch, Leclerc? He can be used?”

  This was the most dangerous ground. Emso was a tool. Leclerc was magic. Whatever happened, he must belong to Jaleeta. Yet this deceitful old woman saw lies as easily as other people saw sun or moon. Jaleeta was suddenly afraid. Afraid enough to want to please. “He can be used. The apostate Priestess, Kate Bernhardt, loves him. I think he loves her, but he wants me. We must not lose him.”

  “We won’t. We must step very surely, however. No one dares harm me. One mistake, however, and they’ll have you. Let these men learn of the games you’ve played with them, and they’ll put you in a stable, just like another horse. We don’t want to think about that, do we? Are we sharing now?”

  “Yes. We’re sharing. Everything.”

  “I’m so pleased.” The Abbess rose awkwardly, favoring joints too long immobile. Jaleeta stood, as well. The audience was over. The Abbess leaned on her shoulder on the way to the door. Before Jaleeta could open it, the Abbess added, “I’ve always been the only one you could depend on. You should have seen that Gan despises me, but he honors my life protection. Church is woman, and woman’s only salvation is submission. We accomplish only through cunning and deviousness. Confrontation is the tactic of the overlord; deflection is ours. Men believe steel commands. We know that guile bends all metals, and beauty is the greatest guile of all. Learn about Emso, Leclerc, about anyone you think may help us. Inform me.”

  “What if the Skan come while Emso’s like this? I must not be taken by them. Don’t think they’ll spare you. Sosolassa cares nothing for Church.”

  “Never mention false gods on holy ground. And don’t fear them. I’ll hide you from your vengeful Skan. So long as you’re true to me.”

  Jaleeta eased out from under the hand on her shoulder, pushed open the door. This wicked, cheating Abbess had tricked her, somehow gained an upper hand. Jaleeta was driven to salvage some sign of respect from her. In the hallway she spoke over her shoulder. “Are we sharing?”

  The Abbess’ jaw tightened. Muscles twitched. She nodded pleasantly, however. “Indeed we are. Be sure of it.” She pulled the door closed. A flask of irritation marred her features. She was contained quickly, relaxed. Making her way to a window, she assured herself that Jaleeta was returning to the castle. That done, she rang a delicate silver bell. She told her attendant Priestess, “Have my horse saddled and brought around. I need a little exercise. And solitude. No outriders.”

  A short while later, Ondrat hovered around his guest, helping her off with her rich, black cloak and its green-and-violet trim. She took possession of one of the two massive chairs in front of the huge fireplace, holding her hands out to the flames. “This weather.” She sighed, let the sound express her feelings.

  “At least the snows have stopped. And soon it will be spring.”

  The Abbess looked up sharply at Ondrat’s pleased tone. He went on, smug. “We’ll be rid of Gan and Sylah.”

  She looked away to hide irritation. First Jaleeta with her self-importance, and now Ondrat, reeking superiority. If he weren’t such a frightful fool, he’d be comical, she told herself, then straightened abruptly. Ondrat was a murderous fool. One mustn’t forget that. “As the One in All wills.”

  “I think we can be a bit surer than that.”

  She made her smile flattering. “You’ve done something clever and you’re keeping it a secret, aren’t you?” She poked a playful, accusing finger. The gesture reminded her of Jaleeta. For one sweet instant, she savored the image of Ondrat spinning in a crazed, blind circle.

  Ondrat said, “We’re in a position to welcome Moonpriest as an equal, not someone begging help. Our future has been handed to us.

  “Really? By whom? More importantly, why?” The Abbess saw concern twitch Ondrat’s features, and wished she’d spoken with less asperity.

  Recovering, Ondrat was severe. “I have questions for you, first. What evidence do we have that this Moonpriest means to allow Church primacy in Ola? Does alliance mean equals, or subordinate and superior? Gan Moondark isn’t Church’s only enemy; has Moonpriest ever struck at any others?”

  Surprised, the Abbess look to the fire, gave herself a moment to think. Those questions had already troubled her; she never expected to hear them from Ondrat. She said, “The alliance was approved by Sister Mother. Questioning it would be a sin. As for Moonpriest’s honor or his intentions, no one can know.”

  “One can be suspicious. And prudent. It’s in my mind—and our power—to control Ola before W
indband moves. You can present the witch Sylah and the apostate Gan Moondark to Sister Mother as gifts of celebration.”

  Without her training, the Abbess would have known only the bland tempting voice. Shame subtly disfigured Ondrat while he mouthed the words. She knew he planned murder. She loathed his lie even as she reveled in its advantage. Sylah’s execution by someone other than Church meant Sister Mother’s hands would be spared that blood. Still, she must discover his plan, “You have suborned the Wolves?”

  “Of course not. But we’re in position to strike at the heart of the Wolves, when the time comes.”

  “The troops you sent Emso? The other guards watch them as if they were the enemy.”

  “Woman, don’t presume. I’m aware of the disrespect shown my gallant men. If you want to know more, don’t interrupt.”

  “My enthusiasm overrode my manners, Baron. Please forgive me.”

  Ondrat continued. “I can bring our northern allies, the Skan, to Ola. I can be in the castle, in command, when Moonpriest arrives.”

  Stunned past comment, the Abbess goggled. Ondrat grinned and paced across the fireplace, basking in that light as broadly as in self-approval.

  The Abbess’ mind flew from consideration to consequence while she steadfastly maintained her look of awe. She phrased her question to draw him. “You said you would be King of Ola. What of Harbundai?”

  “Given to the Skan. Those northern scum have lorded it over us since Gan and his witch friends overthrew Altanar. They chose the anti-Church; let them suffer for their blasphemy.”

  A well-phrased reply, the Abbess thought, and determined to remember it. “You trust the Skan? Why would they leave you anything to rule over?”

  “To keep Windband in its place. They fear Moonpriest’s ambitions for Moondance.” He stopped and whirled, thrusting his face in the Abbess’ so unexpectedly that she sank back in her chair. “And the best part is this: I know what that crippled devil Lorso really has in mind. He doesn’t want to put his warriors ashore here to fight us and Windband. He wants to raid, the way he and his back-stabbing savages always do. He thought he was so clever, sniffing around about the castle’s defenses. He plans to sneak inside, that’s what. He’s not even thinking about occupying Ola. He just wants to deny it to Moonpriest.”