Lord Hugh took her by the shoulders and gazed at her with pride.
“Now you understand?” he asked, caressing her cheek and smoothing her hair over her shoulder. “The gift you have been given? The honor paid to you?”
Brienne’s thoughts were a jumbled mess. The memories of the goddess in her moment of defeat mixed with the horror and fear of her own mind, and she struggled to figure out what was real and what was not. She glanced over at the wall, where something unspeakable had happened and saw nothing there now. But she felt the power, now banked, waiting.
“The goddess is so pleased with you, daughter,” Lord Hugh said, stroking her arms and placing his hand over the burning brand on her skin. She hissed as his fire touched her skin. “We owe her much for the power she has given us. So much.”
He turned his head and looked at Gavin and James, who now stood in a haze of terror and disbelief in the corner. She tried to go to them, to explain that she was still . . . she was . . .
What was she? Truly, she did not know at this moment. Her father held her in place for a moment until she stopped trying.
“She is in need, Brienne.” He gazed into her eyes until she realized what he meant.
Them. The goddess needed them. Just as in her vision, a human must be offered.
“Sacrifice is the supreme way we worship her.” Once more she could not move. He walked over to the two men who had meant so much to her—one who’d raised her and loved her as his own and the other who’d accepted her when no one else would. “Choose, Brienne. Choose the best sacrifice to show the goddess how we are her servants.”
Lord Hugh came back to her, kissing her forehead and her mouth and whispering in her ear, “Go and bring one of them to the goddess. Your willingness to choose one of the humans shall please her.”
Her mind emptied itself. Nothingness filled it. She could not think of such a thing. She stood there mindless, stunned by such a horrific choice. It jolted her back to the true Brienne hiding within. And William’s words were the first she could hear there in the blankness.
You must know in your heart which one you are. Who and what you are, Brienne. And let no one take that from you.
She was Brienne, daughter of Gavin and Fia. She was human.
When Lord Hugh eased his hold on her so that she could make her choice, she did, choosing to throw herself at the opening in the wall. No one would die for her or by her hand. But the barrier held, and she hit it hard. Flung away by the impact, she tumbled to the floor.
“Stupid bitch!” he yelled, slapping her with the back of his hand and then flinging her at the wall. “Too damned human still. I will teach you the way of this,” he said.
She turned to flame and attacked him then, throwing every bit of what she’d learned in those hard lessons at him. She also needed to protect the two who watched. Lord Hugh disappeared and formed again behind her, wrapping himself around her flaming form and forcing her toward Gavin and James. Though Gavin stood firm, James backed away until the wall behind him stopped him. Lord Hugh grasped her hand, still flames, and reached out toward James.
Brienne fought him. She pulled away and tried to free herself from the fire she was, but his power encircled her and made her reach for the terrified James.
And Gavin stepped in front of him.
“Take me, Lord Hugh. Leave the boy,” the man who was her father said with a quiet braveness. His selfless words gave her the strength she needed to change to her human form.
“Nay, my lord,” she begged. “What do you want of me? Do you want me to obey you? I will,” she promised, kneeling before him. “Do you wish me to use my powers as you say? I will.” She put her head down at his feet. “I swear. Just let them live.”
Minutes passed as she prostrated herself before him. She prayed with all her soul that he would relent.
“Ah, the sight of my obedient daughter abasing herself before me has moved me to mercy,” he finally said. “Rise and take your place at my side, daughter.”
She pushed herself to her feet and wiped the tears out of her eyes with the back of her hand. Lord Hugh’s expression was empty as she walked to stand beside him.
“I should thank you, Gavin, for raising her to respect her father’s words,” he said. “But I think she learned to be willful from you and the bitch you married.”
Before Brienne could stop him, Lord Hugh slammed Gavin into the wall with his power and held him there. Then, grabbing her hand in his, he pointed at James, who stumbled toward her in spite of his struggles not to. When the terrified young man stood within arm’s length, Hugh placed their hands, now flames, on the center of his chest and forced him back to the opening in the wall.
“Next time, you will obey me,” he warned her, as they pushed the screaming man through the barrier to the goddess.
Hugh released her, and she reached in, trying to grab James and pull him free. She heard his screams and then a roar before she lost her grip. Falling back, she wrapped her arms around her head, trying to block out the sounds as he was sacrificed within the darkness. Brienne fell to her knees and retched until she could only heave an empty stomach.
She had killed him. Killed James. And he knew it as she pushed him in to be destroyed by whatever lived on the other side of the barrier. Rocking back on her heels, she wanted to die.
When Lord Hugh released Gavin from his hold, she expected he would be her next punishment. She had no strength left to resist him and would not be able to save him. Sobbing, she curled into a ball on the floor, unable to watch her father die because of her.
“Get out,” Lord Hugh said quietly.
She lifted her head to see him directing Gavin to the steps. And she knew he would not leave her behind.
“I pray you, go now,” she begged him.
Then she lay back down and gave up the fight.
* * *
William would have liked nothing more than to laugh off every word that Marcus had told him that first day. Ancient gods and goddesses. Gateways. Stone circles. Prophecies and spells. And he might have if only . . .
If he had not seen the power of the fireblood.
If he had not felt the warblood bubbling within him.
With time racing by, they needed to take positions to stop Lord Hugh from escaping Yester. They must not let him get to the stone circle that sat somewhere in the northeast of the country. Having traveled to that region, William knew that there were countless standing stones and circles all over Scotland. Without knowing specifically which one it was, they would be wasting valuable time.
From what William could tell, none of the people with Marcus had any fighting skills at all. They would be worthless in a battle, except he knew this would be no ordinary battle. And William would not remain an ordinary warrior for long either. He would be able to call the warblood to rise and fight, but whether he could control such a power was the unanswered question.
The most elite of Lord Hugh’s soldiers would be the biggest concern for his men. And considering the cache of weapons hidden in the village, there must be more fighting men that Hugh had at the ready. Mayhap they were on the way from Gifford even now?
As his two hours came to a close, one of his men raced back to him from the village.
“They are not far behind me, Will,” Emery called out as he took his place within the line of horsed warriors behind him.
A burst of light filled the sky, and he peered in the distance toward the castle as fire rose above it. Then it was gone and he heard the sound of approaching riders. Had there been an explosion of some kind? Had Hugh destroyed the keep or castle behind him so that none could use it?
A few minutes later, the riders broke through the edge of the forest and he faced Hugh de Gifford on horseback. As he expected, Hugh held Brienne before him. Ashen and in a stupor, she looked exhausted. What had he done to her?
Hi
s blood roiled and raced and his vision began to narrow. This time he did not fight the changes though that did not make it easier. His muscles stretched and grew, his arms strengthened, and his legs grew longer.
“Keep your attention on her, William,” Marcus urged from behind. “Do not lose yourself as the power takes over.”
As Hugh’s forces lined up across from his men, William became the warblood that lived within him. His vision, red and ringed, could see farther and better than his human eyes could. He could smell each of those around him and differentiate their own separate scents. His right arm became a war hammer and his left a huge sword. Now towering over the men, he leaned his head back and let out the war cry that simmered in his blood.
“Take them,” he ordered in a voice he did not recognize.
His legs ate up the ground beneath him, and he crossed the open space between the lines before anyone else could. And he ran right for her. Hugh called out a word, and many of his warriors ran in front of him, blocking Will from getting to her. Hugh pivoted and began to ride away, and the warblood could not allow that.
Swinging the hammer and thrusting the sword, he cut down the first ones who tried to stop him. Turning in a circle, he killed several more, parrying and thrusting, swinging and pounding, reveling in the blood that splashed and the bodies that exploded under his blows. They dared to stand between him and the fireblood who was his.
Swing. Hit. Dead.
Slash. Cut. Dead.
Over and over until his opponents fell before him. It felt good. It felt wondrous. It felt . . .
Her scream pierced the air and drew him from his deadly dance. Turning to where Hugh held her, he saw her pointing at the forest, a look of sick horror on her face before she screamed again.
“William!” Marcus called to him. The priest used some voice that reached through the fog of war to him. He looked at the forest, and even the warblood in him was horrified. He pulled his power back, thinking of it going back into his blood, and his body shifted, but not all the way back. His weapons remained where he needed them.
He’d wondered where the soldiers were that would use the swords Hugh had stashed at the ready. Coming through the forest was Hugh’s new army—the villagers. William recognized many of them, but they were different. Men, women, even children, carried swords or daggers before them. Walking at a stinted gait, they were lifeless. They were creatures with glowing eyes and no will of their own. Worse, Gavin led them forward.
“He has bespelled them!” Marcus explained. “They will fight and kill because they cannot resist it.”
“Well, priest, what the bloody hell do we do now?” Roger called out to him. His men were trained fighters, but to kill these people was wrong.
Brienne screamed again, struggling with Hugh, who nodded again and called out some word he did not understand. But those under his power did, and they began to run now, growing closer very quickly.
“Gavin! Father!” she screamed, but the man who used to be her father did not even blink at the sound.
“Roger, Gautier,” William called out. “Tell the others. Knock them down. Do not strike them unless you must!”
He had expected a diversion. Any good battle commander would. However, this was not what he’d expected at all. A counterattack mayhap. More men attacking from a different direction. But not this depravity. Now he watched as Gavin turned and stalked him.
“William.” She called out his name once, and when he looked at her, she fainted. Hugh mocked with a salute and rode off carrying her unconscious body with him. He had barely turned back when Gavin launched his attack.
Being a blacksmith, Gavin had the strength and experience to wield a sword well, and he did it in spite of whatever spell controlled him. William felt his blood rise as he faced the challenge, but he forced it back, preferring not to slaughter this man. Using his own skills, he pushed him back and back until one of his men came up from behind Gavin and hit him on the head with the hilt of a sword.
He joined his men, and they did the same all over the field, though fighting children was the most sickening thing he’d ever faced in battle. Finally, after more than an hour of fighting, they had prevailed. A number of villagers had been wounded and a few of his men as well, and it would take time to see to them. Roger approached as he spoke with Marcus about the spell used on the villagers.
“Gavin is . . . awake and would like to speak to you, Will,” he said. There was a distance in his friend’s tone that bespoke of trouble.
“Is aught wrong, Roger?” he asked, following him to where the blacksmith was tending to his neighbors.
“I just look at you and see that . . . warblood creature. How?” Roger let out a breath and stopped. “Do you have any idea what you look like when you change?” He shrugged and shook his head in reply. “I thought I was prepared. I thought I’d seen it before, on that day, but Sweet Christ, Will! You turned into a seven-foot-tall, blue berserker before our eyes.”
Roger raked his hands through his hair and shook his head.
They’d faced so many shocks this day, William had no doubt they all wanted to leave and go back to their customary existences.
“And I will again, Roger. From what Marcus tells me, I will often, and I may not have seen the full extent of whatever my powers might be. And there will be others with other powers.”
He noticed the others were listening and decided it best to sort this out now.
“This is unlike anything I have faced before in my life, and it is not over,” he called out to his men. “We are being called to a purpose unlike any we can imagine. Some of us will survive and some will not. In good faith, I cannot force you to keep your pledges of service to me now that this has been thrust on me.” He met the gaze of each of his men and then Gavin’s. “But I must answer this call. I must stop this man—this monster—who would destroy everything that is good.
“So, each of you, examine your own consciences and make your decision. Those of you willing, those of you able, we leave in two hours. Those of you who cannot commit your lives and souls to this endeavor are free to leave with my blessing and my thanks for your service.”
As he walked over to where Gavin sat, he heard Marcus’s words to Aislinn the seer.
“As you told us, the prophecy said the warrior will lead us.”
It struck him then—he had not considered the priests and their pivotal role in this. Marcus spoke of chanting at the stone circle and reading the signs, but if they all knew . . .
“Marcus, do all of your priests know the signs? Do they all know how to chant at the circles?”
“Aye, William. They share the visions and the dreams, though Aislinn is the most powerful and will be the one to close the circle.”
“And you sent one of your men after Hugh?”
“Ahead to watch and follow,” he said, nodding.
“What troubles you, Will?” Roger asked, listening to the exchange.
“If they all know, then they each know,” he said.
“What do you want us to do?” Roger asked, understanding the problem.
“I fear there is nothing we can do for the one sent ahead, but we must guard the rest of you.”
The problems and challenges piled up in front of him with every passing minute. His only hope was that Hugh wanted him to follow to rescue Brienne, because if he did, he’d keep her alive. He hoped that Hugh would find the prospect of luring Will to her pivotal right now. Marcus had explained that either she or Hugh could be used in sacrifice to open the gateway, but chances were that Hugh would sacrifice her. And William knew he would do anything necessary to rescue and claim her.
He just prayed Brienne could do what she must to stay alive until he could reach her. Once she was safe in his arms, he would claim her heart and let the warblood inside tear Lord Hugh de Gifford apart with his bare hands.
Chapter
22
Cold misery seeped into her body and soul as they crossed the miles away from Yester and away from William. Her last memory, watching her father, mother, and all the other people from her village turn into mindless pawns to attack trained and experienced warriors, sickened her even now. Worse, she had no idea if they had survived.
She would never think of Lord Hugh as her father again. He’d tossed her to a large, hulking man on a huge warhorse, who carried her before him. Having little experience riding on a horse, let alone one this size, she feared death at every moment. They called him “Brisbois” and his usual task was as Lord Hugh’s torturer. He’d come over from France to carry out whatever his duties were. She expected rough treatment from such a man, and so his gentle handling of her when he did not need to be so surprised her.
Yet something was wrong with her, for no matter how hard she tried, she could not shift into fire. She’d tried when she gained consciousness and watched Yester Castle disappear into the distance. She’d tried on the field when she saw her friends and neighbors come out of the forest armed and empty-minded.
How could she face them now—any of them, those who lived in the village, her parents, William or his men—now that she had killed an innocent man with her power? She’d never felt so soiled or low.
But it had taught her a valuable lesson—never, never, ever trust Lord Hugh. It was just terrible that it had cost a man’s life to discover that truth.
“Here. Drink this,” Brisbois ordered, handing her a skin of ale. So very tired and thirsty from hours of relentless riding north, she accepted it and drank deeply.
Though her hands were tied at all times, she was permitted to walk when they made short stops along the road. If Brisbois did not hold her leash, another of the warriors did. She’d heard Lord Hugh order that none speak to her, so she traveled in silence. She handed the skin back and watched as Brisbois returned it to Lord Hugh.
Rising Fire Page 22
