“Come back to me tomorrow night,” he said finally. “I will give you my answer then.”
Chapter Fifteen
Mac shot to his feet, and his chair flew back and tipped over, landing on the wood floor with a loud crash. “You are certain. Absolutely certain. You saw it with your own eyes?”
The wolf put a paw forward, silver-furred head rising to look him in the eye. “I did. We followed Marian when she left at sunset and as you suspected, she went right to Robin Hood. She met him in the forest and then he took her to a hill where there were two men waiting.”
“What other men? Who were they? What were they?” Mac planted his hands on the table, staring down at his precious map, his hands trembling with the rush of adrenaline burning through his veins. He was so close he could taste it. “Where were they?”
Claws clicked against the wooden floorboards as the wolf trotted to the table. It rose on hind legs, its body large enough that it could easily arch its neck over the table to look at the map. One paw groped forward and pressed against the map over the relief of a hill in what was nearly the very heart of the forest that formed the western border of the county. “There.”
Mac stared at the dots that marked confirmed Robin Hood sightings. There were scarcely any pins near the area the wolf had indicated. Either he had not managed to locate those who had encountered the fey in that area, or Robin Hood had the woman somewhere he did not usually haunt. But why would he do that?
“You’re certain there were two men with him? And they remained there even after Marian’s arrival?”
The wolf fell back onto all fours and sat, curling its bushy tail around its paws. “Yes.”
A romantic tryst would not require the presence of others. Unless…
A smattering of images skittered over his brain, twisted images of the erotic hedonism some breeds of fey were known for. He shook his head sharply to dislodge the filth from his mind. Robin Hood had never shown any inclination toward that flavor of sin. There was no reason to poison his mind with such thoughts until there was evidence to force the matter. The buzzing in his ears grew louder, drowning his thoughts. He palmed the iron medallion around his neck, smothering it as though he could somehow quiet that infernal hum.
“Are you all right?”
The wolf’s voice was wary more than concerned. Mac ignored the question and jabbed a finger at the beast. “What were these other men? If they were indeed men?”
The wolf snorted. “We didn’t get close enough to tell. It would have been too dangerous, we would have been spotted, scented maybe.”
“So you have no useful information on them, on their nature or their relationship to the fey?” He closed his free hand into a fist, skin itching to feel the constraints of his forged claws. What good was it to have spies if the information they gathered was so incomplete as to be nearly useless? The buzzing in his ears grew louder still.
Silver ears flattened against the wolf’s head and its black lips curled up, flashing glistening white fangs. “We gathered what information we could under the constraints you gave us. Avoid detection—that was your primary concern for us.” It shook its head, the thick fur of its scruff standing out, making it look bigger.
The movement drew Mac’s eyes to the wolf’s neck. He went still as he noticed the fur stood up with no impediment, nothing there to hold it down. “Where is the iron I tied around your neck?”
The wolf froze, its snarl momentarily forgotten. “I removed it before the reconnaissance.”
Anger whispered through Mac’s mind like a hot wind. “You left yourself vulnerable to the fey. After I expressly commanded you to wear that for protection.”
“The fey would have sensed the presence of the iron far before he detected us by sight or scent.” The wolf’s voice remained confident, contradicting the way it lowered its body to the ground in supplication. “We had no reason to fear his glamour if he didn’t know we were there.” The beast hesitated, eyeing Mac before adding slowly, “And you know what iron does to us.”
“Nothing,” Mac snapped. “It does nothing to us because we are not fey.”
“We are not completely human either.” The wolf shuffled back an inch, but its eyes remained on Mac’s face. “Iron is…a distraction.”
“Only to those too weak-minded to keep their thoughts in order.”
The heat building in his head grew worse, melting his thoughts faster than he could form them. With every word that escaped his tongue, his temper grew a little hotter, a little sharper. And the damned buzzing…
“There is one thing. When they ran after Marian, we saw that one of the two men Robin Hood brought with him was shadow-hopping.”
Mac narrowed his eyes and planted his palms on the table as he leaned forward. He took a deep breath, holding the air in his lungs for several heartbeats, willing himself to concentrate. His fingers itched to remove the iron from around his neck, but he would be damned before he did so in front of the wolf. “Shadow-hopping?”
“That’s the only way I can think to describe it. He would jump into a shadow as if he were swimming in a lake, then he would spring up out of another shadow farther on.”
The wolf bowed its head, one of its legs rising to scratch behind its ear. Its eyes closed and Mac took advantage of the distraction, quickly slipping the iron from around his neck and placing it on the table. He covered it with his hand, careful not to touch it with his skin. His heart pounded as he composed himself, cool relief trickling over him, chasing back the heat of his temper and the wretched buzzing.
Unhindered by the iron, his thoughts moved more quickly and with greater clarity. Information spun through his mind like thread through a loom, a design slowly emerging. “A spriggan. I wonder—” He stopped, the rest of what the wolf had said finally registering. “Wait. Did you say they ran after Marian?”
The wolf ceased its scratching and tilted its head. “Yes.”
“What do you mean they ran after her? Why? All of them ran? Was she afraid? Laughing? Was—” He raised a hand, cutting himself off mid-sentence. He took a deep breath, gathering his wits, struggling to find calm amidst this sea of new information. “All right, tell me everything. Start from the beginning and give me as much detail as you can.”
“There’s not much detail to give, we were too far away,” the wolf repeated, speaking slowly as if Mac were stupid. “Would you have preferred we loped right up to them and gave ourselves away? Perhaps perform an impromptu interro—”
“Tell me—” Mac’s fist trembled and he had to remind himself to breathe as he fought off the urge to throttle the insolent wolf. “Tell me what you saw and provide what limited details you can.”
The wolf sniffed its indignance, but scooted back a few cautious inches. “They met in the woods, just Robin Hood and Marian at first. Nothing much happened there, they talked a bit—I didn’t hear any words—and then he took her to the hill. There were two men waiting there—as I said. One of them was large, very bulky, with a thick beard. The other was thin and built not-quite-right. The one you called a spriggan, the one that was shadow-hopping.”
It paused as if to see if Mac was paying attention. He gritted his teeth and waved a hand impatiently for it to continue. The wolf scratched at its ear again, then went on.
“Then Robin Hood picked up a barrel and shook it. When he did, a little person fell onto the ground. A drunk—I could smell the alcohol fumes on him even from my hiding place and it got stronger every time he shouted.”
“Shouted?”
“Yes. He seemed very irate to be there, not at all willing. Robin Hood was talking and he gestured at the little drunk a few times. Then Marian started shouting at him. I couldn’t make out all the words, but I think she called him a child. Then he said something to her, sort of angry, but not shouting like she was. That’s when she up and took off into the woods.”
“Marian was yelling at the drunk?”
“No. Robin Hood.”
Mac rubbed a hand over his chin, scr
atching at the five o’ clock shadow as he turned this new information over in his mind. “She was upset with Robin Hood.”
“Seemed so. And she’s not human, that I can promise you. No human ever had eyes like that.” The wolf shuddered, its paw dropping to the floor, itch forgotten. “I only caught a glimpse of them, but they’ll haunt my nightmares, I know. Blood red and glowing like a jack o’ lantern.”
“Marian…is not human?” Mac groped behind him for his chair, frowning when his questing hand found nothing but air. He looked behind him and saw the chair a ways away, lying on its back. “What happened after she ran?”
“They went after her, all three of them as if they were trying to stop her. The shadow-hopper got in front of her and she bloodied his face somehow. Then they herded her back toward the hill and the two men fell back and let Robin take the lead. He did something, cut himself, I think, then started running away from her. She chased him and just when I was sure she was about to tear his throat out, he turned the tables on her.”
Mac picked up the chair and carried it back to the table. His mind hoarded each new piece of information, each new piece of the puzzle revealing details of a picture much larger than he’d expected. “Did he hurt her?”
“I don’t think so. They talked for a bit—odd sight, that, what with him sitting on top of her. Then they went on a walk in the woods, talking some more. Then he escorted her home. I stayed with her while Sienna tried to follow Robin Hood. She lost him, came back to Marian’s, and she’s still waiting there.”
“Marian is at home now then?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.” He abandoned the chair to walk the length of the room, the energy weaving through his muscles defying the idea of sitting down. The steady thud of his boots on the planks as he paced provided a calming rhythm to his whirling mind, a contrast to the near-violent intensity with which the information fought to be heard, understood. Marian was not human. Marian was a cohort of Robin Hood’s—a member of his cursed band. But what was the drunken creature? Why bring Marian to see it? And why was she so displeased by it? Had it been an introduction? An offering? He paused, stared at the wolf without seeing it. “She is the key.”
“Key?”
“Yes.” He strode to the table and spread his hands over the map still pinned there. A plan slowly started to come together. “Marian is one of them now. No other person or creature has ever been recruited into that fey’s little band of miscreants after receiving his ‘charity’ before. There must be a reason he wants her.” He put a finger on the map where Robin had taken Marian. “Whether it’s romance he’s after or something else, the fact remains that Marian is the link between that thief and my iron claws.”
He flexed his fingers, already feeling the straps of his clawed glove, imagining the damage they would leave in their wake as he finally struck out at the miserable fey that had escaped him for far too long. “It’s only a matter of time before she walks away from her human life entirely. We must act before that happens. We can follow her to Robin Hood.”
“And then what? You want to confront him out in the woods, out where he is strongest? And now he’ll have more help?”
“And so will we.” He snatched up a clean sheet of parchment and plucked the quill from its inkwell. “I believe we’ve just thought of a way for all those fey who received illegal funds, as well as those who were robbed of their illegal funds, to repay their debt to society. They will help us catch Robin Hood.”
He started sketching out the names of the creatures he had control over, those who feared him, those he could force to do his bidding in this situation. Then he paused, quill halting on the parchment mid-line. But he couldn’t call them just yet. Not when he didn’t know what Marian was. If she proved to be too powerful, too frightening to those he called for help… To be caught unprepared would be to waste this precious opportunity. And he couldn’t afford that.
Without a word, he dropped the quill, splattering droplets of ink over his list like the blood spatter of some foul monster. He turned on his heel and strode for the back door, the door that led behind his property, straight into the deep woods. The wolf scuffled on the floor behind him, claws clacking against the wood as it followed.
The hinges of the door creaked as he pushed against the heavy slab of wood. A cool breeze caressed his face in eerie welcome, ruffled his hair in greeting. He flowed into the darkness with confidence, the moonlight more than sufficient for him to locate the lantern he kept on a hook beside the door. It took him more than one try to light the lantern, the playful night wind testing his patience, threatening the flame as he tried to coax it to life. Finally the soft golden glow flared, held, and he quickly closed the small glass door, protecting it from the breeze.
The meager flame did its best to penetrate the darkness of the forest as Mac plunged into the woods. The trees were thick here, thin, reedy trunks mixing with broad oaks and blossoming willows. Broken limbs snagged at his clothes even though he kept to the path he’d worn through the foliage. Images pricked at his consciousness, nightmarish fantasies of creatures from the otherworld. One hand rose, feeling for the iron medallion and he cursed when he remembered he’d taken it off. Unease weighed on his stomach and he looked down at the wolf.
The silver beast prowled beside him, scanning the darkness for signs of a threat. Its nose bobbed up into the air now and again, scenting. Mac didn’t ask if there was danger nearby, didn’t want to give the wolf the satisfaction of asking for reassurance. If there was danger, it would let him know. There was no need to worry.
The relief that washed over him when he finally spotted his destination ahead did nothing for Mac’s mood. The fact that he’d been uneasy, even for a moment, in an area that was so familiar to him was unacceptable. Just another reason to hate the fey that poisoned every aspect of his life.
Even in the dim light, the ground in the small, natural clearing looked different from its surroundings. The uneven brush of the forest gave way to a smooth dark line—a wooden plank lying on the ground. Without being told, the wolf stopped at a tree ten feet back. Mac took a pouch from his belt and dipped his hand in to retrieve a handful of salt. He made a circle around the wolf, large enough to give it room to move. When he was finished, he took the dagger from its sheath at his side and pricked his finger. A tiny droplet of blood welled up and he pressed it to the salt.
The energy of the closed circle snapped to life, a faint tingle against his skin. He nodded and returned his attention to the plank of wood. There was no sound coming from beneath it, no sign of movement even though the occupant of the pit beneath it must be aware of his presence by now. He hung the lantern from a tree branch near the pit and then bent to grasp the plank.
Metal clinked as he raised the damp, semi-rotted wood, revealing the pit of shadows beneath. A pale, dirty face peered up at him, grey eyes squinting.
“You’ve come to kill me now then?” Casan demanded. His voice, though defiant, was weak, roughened from days without speaking.
Mac met the wizard’s eyes, held his stare. “I may be here to offer you freedom.”
“You are a lying human, as all humans are,” the wizard snarled. “You said you would release me before.”
“You are guilty of murder, wretch, not mere theft. You should consider yourself fortunate that I did not kill you outright for your crimes.”
The wizard lurched unsteadily to his feet, one gnarled hand thrust out to the earthen wall for support. “No trial for your fellow man?”
“Trials only for my fellow man,” Mac corrected him. “For the fey who give no trials to others, there will be no trials given. Only justice.”
“Pah! What you mete out is not justice. And I am not fey.”
“You are closer to them than you are to me, and by siding against your own people, you have made your choice. It is not the fey you rob, the fey you send to their death in the river. Humans are the only ones who coat your hands with their blood.” He stopped, for
ced back the temper that was threatening to overtake him. That temper seemed to grow stronger with every passing day, reminding him of the days immediately before and after his time in the wolf skin. It wouldn’t do to let that anger get the better of him, cloud his judgment. He needed to think clearly. Needed all his wits about him to defeat Robin Hood.
Reminding himself of his higher goals, he looked down at the wizard, calm once again. “I may be willing to offer you a pardon of sorts.”
“Tell me what you want, oh just one, and I will tell you if I will help you.”
“There is a woman. I know she is not human, but I do not know what she is. Could you identify her breed for me? Tell me what manner of fey she is?”
The wizard thought that over for a moment, combing his fingers through the tangled mess of his beard, the manacles that held him clinking with the movement. “With some of her blood, certainly. With a lock of her hair, maybe. Without either one, no.”
“Blood or hair…” Mac stared into the forest, letting his mind turn over the possibilities. To get her blood without alerting her to what he was up to would be nigh impossible. But if he could get access to her chambers, he might gather a sample of her hair without her knowledge. “And what would you need to analyze the specimen I bring to you?”
“I would need to be returned to my sacred space immediately, with full access to my staff, my—”
“Do not think to play me for a fool. You will not have your staff until I am satisfied. And until you have given your oath—on your own power—that you will not seek vengeance for your inconvenience.”
“Inconvenience.” The wizard snorted softly. “Very well. I will need a mortar and pestle, a fire source, water, a small cauldron, and vervain leaves.”
Mac nodded, once. “I will ready your supplies and return for you.”
“I would give you my word I will not run, will not try to escape if you release me.”
Mac dropped the wooden plank back down over the hole. It landed with a muffled thump, the wet soil sucking at the wood, gluing it to the ground. He eyed it for a moment, tilting his head to see how firmly it was sealed. The wizard was obviously getting enough air—he wasn’t dead. Still… He nudged the wood with his boot, creating a two inch gap between the board and the edge of the pit. No sense in letting the wizard expire before he could do some good. It wasn’t as though Casan would be shouting for help. He’d likely draw more danger than aid, and well he knew it.
The Archer (The Blood Realm Series Book 3) Page 17
