by Lee Roland
Claire’s face was a mask as she watched them approach. Her incredible beauty glowed, but the High Witch’s regalia, the silver circlet and virgin white brocade robe, didn’t seem quite as regal as it had on Tana.
Tana gazed at Claire for a moment and then gave a slight nod of her head.
Maeve swelled with pride. Tana hadn’t bowed. She’d shown respect for the office of High Witch, but not for the woman sitting on the throne. Good for her!
Silence grew. By protocol, Tana was supposed to speak first and offer her service.
Claire, accepting her loss, dispensed with the formalities. However, she did speak with the royal prerogative. “We wish to inquire about your granddaughter’s role in the destruction of Elder’s only bridge to the world outside. There’s also the matter of this.” She tapped the Wandering Stone with her toe.
One Council member, a warlock, stood. The rules required that Claire recognize him.
“There is also our guest, Ancient Mother,” he said. Not rude in attitude, but he had actually interrupted her. It wouldn’t have happened under Tana’s tenure. “We’ve not had a new witch come among us in a thousand years.”
Claire stared at him, and he wilted under her powerful gaze. “Thank you for reminding us, Nicolas.” The tone of her voice said she would take that thank you back later in small, painful pieces. She smiled at Flor. “Please forgive my lapse in protocol. It’s customary for strangers to introduce themselves. Will you so honor us?”
Flor stepped forward, bowed, then straightened. “I am Flor Víbora Ahaun, Scion of the House Manahuatal, Nagini of the Na’thumatal. By my name and the honor of my family, I offer friendship and goodwill and beg the same of you.”
Maeve didn’t know what all those titles meant, but everyone, including Claire, was staring at Flor as if she’d stripped naked in front of them. Nagini? What the hell was a Nagini?
“Welcome, Scion of Manahuatal,” Claire said. “We are honored. Remain our guest as long as you wish.” Maeve heard true respect in her voice, and she cursed to herself. She didn’t know how many more Flor mysteries she could stand.
Claire wasn’t going to enlighten her either. She turned straight to business. “Maeve.”
Maeve bobbed her head. “That’s me.”
Tana stirred, but she didn’t interfere.
“Come here.”
“There’s a rock in the way.”
“Walk around it!”
Maeve stepped around the Wandering Stone. “Claire, I don’t think this is a good idea. The last time—”
“You are to address the High Witch properly.” Claire’s hands gripped the arms of her chair so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“Sorry. Um…let’s see. Your majesty? Your honor?”
“Maeve!” Tana hissed.
“Forgive me, Ancient Mother.” Maeve straightened and tried not to laugh. Addressing Tana by the High Witch’s title was appropriate. Addressing Claire as the same was a farce.
Claire accepted the words, but her mouth was a thin, tight line. She reached out and touched Maeve’s shoulder. “You will speak the truth, until I release you.”
Maeve’s insides twisted with rage. For a witch to work compulsion magic on another witch was the ultimate insult. No one but Tana had ever used magic on her, and that had been only in an emergency. Yes, Immal had done it with the original compulsion to go home, but that was different.
Claire’s truth binding shimmered around Maeve for an instant, penetrated, and then dissipated. It wouldn’t work. And since it was internal, none of the spectators would know. But surely Claire knew her spell had failed. Was she giving Maeve the opportunity to lie?
“Did you destroy the bridge?” Claire demanded in a tight voice.
“No.” Maeve met Claire’s eyes when she answered. She could tell the truth on that one. Of course, if the next question was, who did, she’d have to lie. She didn’t want to toss Inaras’s name around, lest the Elemental appear again and bring the Council House down around them—like the bridge.
“But you broke my ward on the bridge?”
“Yes.” Again, she could be truthful.
“Why?”
Why? Shouldn’t Claire be asking how? How a half-assed young witch wiped out a spell created by supposedly the most powerful of them?
She shrugged. “I don’t like platinum blonde.”
Claire ignored her answer. “Did you tell the dragon Yarrow to drop that creature on my house?”
“No! Damn it.” Maeve stamped her foot. Childish, but the only expression permitted her. “How dare you. He wasn’t a creature! His name was Andovar. He was one of the great Elder dragons born on Ataro. Have you bothered to ask why it happened? Do dragons go mad every day now?”
“I’m asking the questions, witch.” Claire’s clear voice vibrated with irritation. “Did you drop the Wandering Stone on the Council House?”
“No. I sat on it, it floated up, and when Raymond lifted me off, it dropped. If I’d known I was over the Council House…”
Maeve stopped because any apology would be a lie. No one had gotten hurt anyway.
Claire glared at Maeve with narrow strained eyes. “There is another more serious matter. You are charged before this Council with black magic, thereby breaking the Oath of Elder.” She spoke with the High Witches’ authority, and the room stilled to match the charge’s serious nature.
The penalty for black magic was exile. She faced Claire straight on. “I’ll answer the charge. Where’s my accuser. I cut class on spells and potions, but I know the Code.”
A tall, swarthy man emerged from the room’s dark edges. Dressed in animal skins, he appeared craggy as the cliffs on Ogre Mountain. He led a Slough Hound by a steel chain leash and collar.
Maeve’s mouth dropped open. “What in Inaras’s name have you done, Claire?” She clenched her fists prepared to fight. “The Oath binds the hounds, too. They’re Iameth, you can’t leash and chain—”
“Silence!” Claire stood, possibly to reinforce her authority. “Listen for once. This is Ozair. The witch Ozair of the Skye clan.” She glanced at the tall man. “He’s lived with the hounds for many years. He’s alive, so that means they accept him. The leash and chain are none of your affair. You have been accused of using black magic to kill hounds, who are, as you said Iameth.”
“I didn’t use black magic to kill the hounds,” Maeve said softly, looking straight at Claire. “Slough Hounds attacked me without cause. I fought them. There was a flood. They drowned. Okay, you want a confession. The truth. Yes, I cursed the person who dragged the Hounds of Elder from their homes and set them to fight and die in an alien place.”
Maeve focused on Ozair. “Is that you? You look a little thin. Not sleeping much, are you? If you’re the Slough Hound’s keeper, you’re a poor master.” She spoke to Claire. “You want to judge me? Will there be justice for the hounds?”
Ozair sneered, but the hound at his side stirred on its leash. An ancient female by the looks of her, scared and lame, raised her head, and Maeve saw the intelligence in her eyes. Maeve started to turn to Claire and bitch again, when Ozair bent down, snapped off the chain, and released the hound.
Claire hissed through her teeth, and Maeve knew this wasn’t supposed to happen. Well, that was one way—using the Slough Hound to kill Maeve would probably break the curse on him. Didn’t he realize that if the hound killed her, he’d have to face Tana?
The hound made no move to leave the keeper’s side.
“What are you doing?” Tana shouted at Claire.
Maeve felt Tana and Claire gathering power. She held up her hand. Instinct guided her thus far, best let it do so now. She dropped to one knee and faced the hound. She remembered the sorrow and anger that caused her to send the curse.
“Grandmother,” Maeve said softly. “Where are your children? Who drew them from your den and cast them into a strange world? They were brave, but who used them as common animals to track and run other Iameth to the wall?”
The hound walked forward slowly, as if the age of the mountains were upon her. Finally, she came eye to eye with Maeve. Pain radiated from her in boundless waves. What did she want? Not Maeve’s life—she could have taken that easily.
Maeve reached out with both hands and placed them on the sides of the hound’s face. Her ears were shredded, and her body scarred from battles to protect her pups from the males. Mercifully, her teeth remained sharp and her limbs powerful.
Maeve could only think of one thing to do. She tried to remove the collar, but it had no clasp or buckle. She glanced up at Ozair, and he smiled—a cold smile like bitter, starving winter.
What the hell? She had already broken so many rules one more wouldn’t matter. She’d already admitted to black magic—a banishing offense.
Maeve opened herself to magic, grasped the collar in both hands, focused on one place, and said, “Break.” She released the magic, and the collar snapped.
“I’m sorry, Grandmother.” She tossed the collar aside. “If you need anything else from me, you’ll have to convey the message through a real witch.”
Maeve rose and faced Claire. She expected a look of pure fury. Instead, Claire’s mouth curved up in the minutest of smiles. She appeared…satisfied. She felt a weight against her leg—the elderly hound was leaning gently against her, either to show support or keep from falling.
“What say the Council on the charge of black magic?” Claire sounded clear and strong, as if she’d won a mysterious prize.
Bertram, a Shadow Clan warlock, cleared his throat.
Claire recognized him with a nod of her head.
“Ancient Mother,” he said, “By the Code of Ataro, black magic is defined as that which does unjustified harm. If a witch is threatened, she has the right to defense.”
Another warlock spoke. “But the defense should have been against the hounds, not a curse upon the master.”
“If the master is not stopped,” Bertram countered, “more attacks will occur.”
They wrangled back and forth making a little less sense than they usually did, and Maeve realized no serious punishment would come from her use of magic, black or otherwise. When the Council talked this much, they accomplished nothing.
Claire raised her hand and all debate stopped. She put on her stern High Witch’s expression, frown, narrow eyes, tight mouth. “What are we going to do with you?”
Maeve had a couple of ideas. “Well, you could—”
“Silence!” Claire stared at Ozair, then back at Maeve. “If you don’t remove the curse, he’ll die. Is that what you want?”
Maeve had never wished death upon any living creature. If it happened while she was defending herself or her friends, so be it. The curse was a gut reaction to an inordinate offense against Elder, the enslavement of creatures of magic.
“No. I don’t want him to die.” She glanced at Ozair. He glared back at her. “I don’t want him using the hounds like—”
“He will not.” Claire’s voice softened. “There were few to begin with, now they’re gone. Only this matriarch remains, and she is past bearing young, even if she had a mate.” She gestured at the hound bracing herself against Maeve’s leg.
Maeve’s stomach lurched. Had she been responsible for the extinction of a race of Elder’s children? But how had that extinction come about? The indignity of the situation and the inaction of the Witches’ Council galled her.
“Do you witches know, or do you care, what’s happened to me? To Raymond?” Maeve shouted. “In the Earth Mother’s name, do you care what’s happening to Elder? High Witch my ass, Claire. Harriet could do a better job than—”
“The affairs of Elder are determined by the High Witch and the Council.” Claire’s voice rang across the room, tight and clear. “Now—will you remove the curse?”
Maeve locked her hands into fists. She scuffed her toe in the dirt. “I don’t know how. I mean, I was pissed at what happened, and I made up the words and asked for help and…”
Claire’s face flamed bright red. The use of black magic was bad enough, but the childish, irresponsible wishing of a spell went beyond that.
Tana appeared at Maeve’s shoulder. “Perhaps I can help. What spell did you use?”
“No spell. I gathered the magic, said a prayer, and released it as one of the hounds died. The spell followed the magic back to him. Surprised the hell out of me too.”
Tana looked sympathetic, but offered no help. “Well, love, if you’re going to make it up as you go along, you might as well try to remove it the same way.”
Make it up as she went along? Why not? Maeve shrugged. She opened herself to magic and let witch-sight take over. A sickly yellow miasma drifted around Ozair like a malevolent shroud. Tendrils stretched to the Slough Hound now lying at Maeve’s feet. Was that her curse? It felt odd, not like anything that might come from a witch, certainly not her.
Maeve gathered magic to herself and stepped up to Ozair. His clothing, his body carried the stench of unwashed filth. He glared at her. She splayed her hands flat against the yellow cloud and it shifted against her palms like cold jelly. In a single motion, she released the magic, dug her fingers into the cloud and jerked. It dissolved like smoke.
Ozair screamed and staggered back. Inaras help her. Had she injured him?
Eyes wide, Ozair moaned and held out his hands as if to block her, to keep her away.
Maeve whirled, saw the Slough Hound coming, and knew instantly what she’d done. Ozair was not the hound’s friend. He had enslaved them, binding them against their will, and she’d mistaken that binding for her puny little curse. She’d torn away his protection from his vicious slave hounds.
The elderly hound rushed by Maeve and leaped at Ozair. She landed on his chest and propelled both of them toward the shadows. With a snap and crunch, her immense jaws tore his head off before he hit the earth floor. The head rolled away into the darkness as his still beating heart pumped a fountain of blood soaked into the dirt. Ozair had returned to the Mother.
Maeve had seen horrifying accidents in her years on the road. The carnage usually made her sick, especially if children were involved. She searched her heart for pity and found none for Ozair.
The ancient hound collapsed across Ozair’s convulsing body. Had she gone with him? No. She stirred and lurched to her feet. Blood dripped from her mouth and coated her chest and front legs like a crimson bib. She staggered back to Maeve and leaned against her leg again, smearing her jeans with red streaks that would soon turn black.
The stink of a bloody death filled the room. Maeve turned back to Claire. “I didn’t mean to…I guess I’m—”
“Incompetent…destructive?” Claire leaned back in her chair.
A headless corpse sprawled less than twenty feet from Claire, the High Witch of Elder, and she was not angry or distressed, but smug and condescending. There had been bloody battles in Elder, but they usually involved individuals, and they never happened in the Council House.
Maeve drew a deep breath. “I was going to say uneducated. I’d also say every witch in Elder except me, Tana, and Flor has gone insane. How could you let him do that to the hounds, Claire?”
Claire gave Maeve a cold smile. “I did not ask your opinion.” She addressed the Council. “The last living Slough Hound has found no fault in the accused, and neither do I. Does the Council consent?”
The Council mumbled their assent. The collected Witches sat through Ozair’s bloody slaughter without a word, as if they had been mere witnesses to an execution. They had permitted the hound’s destruction, though. When Maeve glared at them, not one would meet her eyes. If Claire felt guilty under the circumstances, it didn’t show.
Claire glanced up at the roof, then down at the Wandering Stone.
“Shall I try to move it?” Maeve asked.
“No!” Claire almost shouted. “We’ve already tried, and it’s not going anywhere without the person who levitated it in the first place.”
Maeve lifte
d her hands, palms up. “Wasn’t me.”
“Well, I’m going to try to limit your destruction. By authority of the High Witch, I remand you to the house of Aingeal Nyx Pallas. You will stay there under penalty of exile until I say you can leave. You are dismissed. Take your hound and go.”
“My hound?” The Slough Hound rubbed its long body against her leg, and its snake-like tail curled around her ankle.
“Your hound. You freed her, she’s bound herself to you.”
Maeve glanced at Tana who appeared to be appalled. Flor’s hand inadequately covered her smile.
“Now I know you’ve all gone crazy—”
Claire jumped to her feet. “Get out,” she shouted. Magic rumbled through the room.
Maeve backed away. “I’m going. I’m going. But you better be careful Claire, yelling causes wrinkles and—”
Tana and Flor each grabbed an arm and dragged Maeve backward toward the door. The Slough Hound followed her new mistress at a more leisurely pace.
“What are you going to do with her?” Tana asked as they reached the truck. She sounded suspicious and kept looking at the hound.
“Take her to your house. Aren’t you the official adopter of orphans?”
Tana leaned against the truck. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“Come on Tana, she’s old. How much trouble can she be? You let Chaos live there.”
“Chaos doesn’t stink.” Tana gestured to the hound.
“So, me and Flor will give her a bath.”
Flor made a choking sound.
As Maeve knew she would, Tana gave in.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Tana retrieved a spice cake from the pantry. She sliced the rich dessert in thin pieces, so Maeve grabbed four and poured another glass of wine. She wore her old kitty-kat pajamas and bedroom slippers. Bathing the Slough Hound triggered a multitude of curses, threats, and ended with Maeve and Flor bathing themselves outside with the water hose. Apparently Slough Hounds loved the water and insisted that her dog washers join her in a liquid deluge.
