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The Black Triad spoke little as they raced back to town. The pace Baraccus set did not encourage conversation, and judging from the faces of her comrades — Paulo's framed by the black-lined hood he'd pulled up to hide his ears, Baraccus's set like stone — the others were as lost in their inner turmoil as Ton-Kel.
She was half-convinced that she was trapped in an endless nightmare, struggling and sweating to keep up, wondering if she would ever stop feeling sick. Surely this had to be a dream, the result of too much ale or an unwholesome bit of meat; it was far too horrible to be real.
The sun made its relentless way across the sky, and she glanced toward it now and again. They had to beat the sunset to Westmere. It was all she allowed herself to think.
They had finally reached the main road when Paulo hissed a warning. "Someone's coming from the woods."
"Take cover," said Baraccus. They dove into the brush, crouching side by side. For a moment, all was still.
Paulo glanced back. "They're behind us."
Ton-Kel turned to look in confusion and finally heard what Paulo's elf ears had caught earlier. Moments later, three horses burst onto the road and turned toward town, galloping full-tilt. The reins flapped around their lathered necks, and their hides were streaked with sweat and dappled with blood, much of which ran from their empty saddles. One, a burly grey war-horse, wore tattered black barding with a red chevron across the chest and dags the same scarlet as striped his wounded sides.
Ton-Kel gasped. "Stop them! Quickly!" She darted out onto the road into the path of the oncoming horses. Behind her she heard Baraccus call, but her attention was on the horses. Their ears snapped forward as they saw her, but they did not slow. If she could just touch them—
Baraccus shot past her, grabbed the reins of a lean chestnut, and was jerked off his feet and dragged on. A stocky black ran past out of reach, but as the grey thundered by, Ton-Kel managed to brush her fingers along the sleek, wet hide. "Whoa," she commanded with voice and mind. The grey skidded to a halt with a startled snort.
She whirled to where the chestnut and Baraccus were spinning around one another in the dust and threw herself against the animal's side. "Whoa — stand," she suggested, and the horse obeyed.
She glanced up and saw the third horse slow, then paused to look back for its herdmates. Paulo pounced on the reins before the beast could decide what to do.
"What did you think you were doing?" demanded Baraccus, wiping dust from his face. "You almost got yourself killed.”
"Look—" She pointed to the grey's barding. "These horses belong to the Red Triad."
Paulo reached them, leading the black. "At a guess, I'd say they're in trouble."
Baraccus looked back the way the horses had come. "Horses leave a hell of a trail, especially when they're running like that."
"No need to backtrack," said Ton-Kel. "I can get them to take us to their masters." Even as she spoke, she reached for the chestnut — a mare — and started shortening the near stirrup. Baraccus and Paulo did the same to the grey and the black gelding as she pulled the lute case off her shoulder and strapped it safely in back of the mare's saddle. Then she set the command in each of the animals before she swung aboard.
The mare started moving before Ton-Kel was fully mounted, breaking from a trot to a canter by the time they entered the woods.
Ton-Kel quickly regretted her choice; the horse was rough-gaited and squirrelly under saddle, changing directions too quickly for Ton-Kel to maintain her balance. She ducked to avoid being brained by a tree limb, cursed as her knee smacked into a trunk with bruising force, and a few strides later ducked again, only to have her shoulder scrape painfully against another tree.
The late afternoon sun did little to penetrate the forest gloom. She couldn't see the hazards until she was on top of them, could only trust the mare's trail sense. Another wonderful idea, she told herself, I'm going to be the one who needs healing by the time we get there.
Behind her, the steady crash of breaking underbrush told her that the big grey was solving the problem by simply bulling his way through all obstacles. Maybe she should have let Baraccus go first.
Suddenly, the forest opened up and an enormous fallen tree barred their way. As the horses stopped, Ton-Kel stared over the barrier.
This was no natural clearing. The sunlight spilled down through the hole in the forest roof over utter wreckage, as if some giant had tried to sweep a pathway clear through the heart of the forest. Trees lay uprooted everywhere, broken limbs and shattered trunks dripping sap into the torn soil. Huge, gaping holes split the ground.
A smear of bright red on a giant boulder glittered wetly in the light. At its base, a hooded figure rose from a crouch. At his feet an armored form lay on the ground.
Baraccus leaped from his horse to the fallen tree, whipping his sword from its sheath. Paulo landed beside him, bow drawn and ready. "Halt!" barked Baraccus. "Stay where you are!"
The stranger dove for the shelter of a nearby stump; Paulo fired. His target twisted, impossibly smooth and swift, and snatched the arrow from the air.
Ton-Kel's heart raced. Paulo was no match for such unnatural speed; only magic would help here. She jumped from the mare to the tree to the ground and rushed forward, readying herself — then froze, staring at Paulo's arrow, now set in the stranger's bow and aimed at her.
"Stalemate," said the stranger. "Your Ranger can kill me, but not before I kill your Mystic." He nodded toward the figure on the ground. "Of course, that won't do him any good, so why don't we call a truce so she can heal him?"
Behind her, she heard Paulo's snarl of thwarted fury, but did not take her eyes from the deadly point of metal aimed at her breast. Baraccus spoke. "Who are you?"
The stranger tossed his head without shifting his aim; his hood fell back, revealing the three green dots, connected by green lines, on his forehead. "I am Jax the Axe, Ranger of the Green Triad." He gave a jerk of his head. "And that is all that remains of the Red Triad."
"You murdering bastard!" Paulo spat.
"Not I," snapped Jax, "Do you think I could have done all this? I came to save them." He uttered a short, humorless laugh. "Too late."
Ton-Kel's gaze shifted to the body on the ground. "Merciful Ohma," she breathed. Then she called, "Baraccus, it's Sir Ulrik — I've got to help him."
There was a pause. "Do it," said Baraccus. To Jax he added, "If you've lied to us…."
Ton-Kel stopped listening as she knelt beside the Red Cavalier. His armor was scratched and dented, the clothing beneath torn and bloodstained. The red chevron across the breast of his arming jacket had been ripped away, the links of the maille beneath it — and the flesh beneath that — torn as if by giant claws.
Her eyes moved down and she swallowed. His legs were gone, sheered from just above the knee, as if by a scythe. Someone, presumably the Green Ranger, had tied strips of leather around the stumps to stop the bleeding. It was a miracle that he still lived.
"Can you heal him?" Jax asked urgently.
Her lips tightened. "Yes." For all the good it would do. Today seemed to be her day to treat the untreatable. She pulled her pouch from her shoulder, reaching inside for bowl and brush.
Sir Ulrik groaned. She hesitated, then drew her knife, cut the strap under his chin, and removed his helmet. She pulled her water bottle free. "Here," she said, "drink," and raised his head with one hand, holding the bottle to his lips with the other.
The water revived him, and his eyelids twitched, opened. "Mystic," he breathed.
"Yes, Sir Ulrik," she said gently. "It's Ton-Kel of the Black Triad. I will help you."
"My legs," he said in the same airless whisper. "Can you…save my legs?"
She hesitated, then shook her head. "No. There is nothing there to save." She steeled herself, then met his eyes. "I can heal you if that is your wish. But you will never walk again. The choice is yours."
He bared his teeth in a silent laugh. "That is no choice at all. If I cannot fight, I cannot live." He closed his eyes, swallowed, then refocused his gaze on her face as if gathering his will. When he spoke again, his voice was stronger. "The Green Ranger is innocent. Killing one another serves only our enemy."
She looked up and met Jax's eyes. His were blue-grey, like Paulo's, but without the humor that gave her Ranger's their warmth. His face, partly hidden beneath a beard the same red-brown as his shoulder-length hair, gave away nothing. She raised her voice. "Sir Ulrik says the Green Ranger is innocent."
Jax added, "Come closer. He can't shout, you know."
After a moment's hesitation, she heard the muffled crunch of their boots. Paulo stopped beside her; Baraccus stepped over the body, across from Ton-Kel, shot a final, suspicious glance at Jax, and sheathed his sword. He knelt down beside the wounded man.
Sir Ulrik looked up at him, the grey eyes afire in his bleached face as he kept death at bay by the strength of his will alone. "'To live by the sword is to die by the sword.'" he quoted. "As one Cavalier to another, I ask for a warrior's death."
Baraccus nodded gravely. "You have the word of Baraccus of the Black Triad."
The Red Cavalier closed his eyes. "My horse…my beautiful Hideg…."
"He's safe," Ton-Kel assured him. "We have your horses."
"Good. Keep them. They're good horses. The mare is a handful, though." He opened his eyes again to look up at Baraccus. "Hideg is yours, if you want him. He will serve you well, as he did me."
"A princely gift," said Baraccus. "I have one to offer you in return." He reached over his shoulder and pulled loose the Red Sword of Might. "We found this in the swamp, along with the former Red Triad. It is yours." He laid it carefully on the Cavalier's chest.
Sir Ulrik closed his hands around the blade. "Ah. Better late than never, I suppose." He drew a labored breath. "Bury it with me, that the next Red Triad may find it in my keeping."
"Sir Ulrik," said Jax, "Who did this to you?"
The Red Cavalier swallowed. "The trees came to life, rose to attack us…Gottfried was…torn in half like a rat, the pieces flung…the ground opened and swallowed Zizka. Brave Zizka, whose arrows were always so sure to the mark…." His face twisted with pain, though whether more physical or emotional, Ton-Kel could not tell.
"Did you see them? See who it was?" asked Baraccus.
Sir Ulrik drew another breath. "No. But we followed…. Listen. The Earth Cup and the axe have been taken…stolen…we followed the thieves, the Blue and the Red together…they took one trail, we the other. You must find them, get them back." He raised his head, his eyes blazing with urgency. "They will strike tonight, before moonrise, when evil is strongest." His burst of strength fled, and his head fell back. "They will kill again. Find the circle. Stop them."
Ton-Kel leaned forward. "Sir Ulrik, find who, what circle? What is the Earth cup?"
The Red Cavalier opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. His face twisted in agony.
"He's told you all he can," said Jax. "For mercy's sake, finish it."
Baraccus picked up the Red Sword and rose, holding it like a cross. "Go with God, Sir Ulrik Ochs of the Red Triad. Rest easy, knowing that you will be avenged." He grasped the sword by the quillions; Ton-Kel turned her head as he drove the point down. For a moment, there was silence.
"We'll bury him in one of these holes and move out," said Baraccus quietly.
Jax slowly rose, brushing off his knees. "Let's get started. It's getting late." He shouldered his bow and handed Paulo's arrow back to the Black Ranger, who snatched it with a sullen glare. "You're welcome," said Jax.
Paulo ignored him, turning to Baraccus. "The horses are in no condition to run all the way to Westmere, even if they were fresh."
The Cavalier glanced at the horses, then at Ton-Kel. "Can you heal them while we take care of Sir Ulrik?"
She nodded. "It's no different from healing a person. I'll see what they need." She could almost feel sunset breathing over her shoulder, but Paulo and Baraccus were right. The horses were already tired; treating their injuries would at least coax a few more miles out of them, a little more speed.
A brief examination proved that the injuries were mostly minor cuts and scrapes. The big grey was the worst off; one shoulder looked as if it had been clawed open, the skin hanging down in shreds. He stood with handsome head drooping, eyes nearly closed with pain. She patted him gently. "Poor Hideg. Let's see what we can do for you, shall we?"
She had just pulled out her bowl and brush when she saw the Green Ranger crossing quickly toward her. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Why aren't you healing them? We don't have the rest of the afternoon, you know."
She shot him a glare. "I don't tell you how to shoot a bow, you don't tell me how to do a healing."
"But you're wasting time." He pointed to her tools. "Ankh always says things like that are just training tools. The power is in the laying-on of hands. You're a full Mystic now, in a Triad. You don't need those things. Just touch them and heal."
Just touch them and heal. She stared up at him, dazzled by the concept. Was it possible? Did the magic come, not from any power the symbols drew from the air, but from what she drew from herself?
But hadn't she always felt that? The power rising from within her, flowing forth like music….
Well, this was her best chance to experiment. Her patients weren't human and weren't dying. And if it sped things up…she shrugged. "Fine. We'll see if you know as much as you think you do."
Laying aside her bowl and brush gave her an almost physical pang, but she rose and dusted her hands. She laid her fingers along Hideg's withers, took a deep breath to center herself, and closed her eyes. She pictured the symbols in perfect order beneath her fingers. The song rose from her lips, soft and sweet, calling the energy from deep within. It hummed and tingled through her body, her hands.
Then the song ended, and she opened her eyes.
Dried blood matted Hideg's pale coat, and the hair was missing in patches, but there was not so much as an open scratch on his entire body. His eyes were bright, free of pain, and he turned his head to look at her with ears erect. She gave him another pat as her mouth widened in a smile of pure delight. "It worked," she breathed. She turned to look at Jax, to share her wonder, but he was across the clearing, filling in the grave beside Baraccus and Paulo.
Very well, then. She'd better hurry if she was going to be finished by the time they were. She stepped around Hideg and moved to the next horse.
Not long after, the Black Triad rode the three horses away from the clearing, following Jax the Axe on a path he swore was a short cut, and which only he could see. They left Sir Ulrik and the parts of his Mystic they could find behind, in a grave marked with his battered shield, the red chevron emblazoned across its black surface the only identification of the man beneath. The wind and rain would eventually wear it away, but at least, Ton-Kel told herself, the effort had been made.
There was little talk, at first. Suspicion still hung thick in the air between them, and the swishing of leaves, the crunching of bracken under the horses' feet, would have drowned out any attempts at speech.
Ton-Kel spent most of her time either standing in her stirrups to spare herself from the mare's tooth-rattling trot, or flattened over the horse's withers to avoid being swept from the saddle, eyes closed against sharp twigs. Combined with the nagging voice at the back of her head urging her to hurry, the constant distraction helped drown out the questions that sat heavy and sour in her stomach.
The wonder of her new powers flickered and died as she divided her attention between her recalcitrant horse, the terrain, and Jax the Axe, running ahead of her like a fox before the hounds.
He was a tall, long-legged man, as hard and weathered as the trees through which he moved with vulpine stealth, fading in and out of sight ahead as the shadows deepene
d under the trees. Besides the bow and quiver slung over his shoulders and an abundance of knives, he carried a long-handled axe on one hip — the weapon that gave him his name, she assumed. He loped tirelessly through the brush, the wooden shaft of the axe slapping against the soft leather of his tall boots. If it made a sound, the passage of the horses behind him drowned it out.
Just when the underbrush finally thinned enough to allow the Triad to ride abreast instead of single file, the way abruptly turned rough and sharply downhill, forcing the horses to slow and pick their way. Ton-Kel gave her horse its head and leaned back to help balance it, praying the weary animal would keep its feet.
Perhaps Paulo didn't want to be alone with his thoughts any more than she did. More likely, he was just being Paulo. "Correct me if I'm wrong," he called, leaning back on his gelding's brawny haunches, "but I take it you're not really one of the bandits."
Jax hopped over a log Ton-Kel would have had to climb, stopping on the other side to look back up the slope at Paulo. "I lead them. But they're not bandits — just some of the local citizens, caravan guards, and free Rangers who got out of Westmere before they were taken over." He turned and continued downhill, but his voice carried clearly over his shoulders. "The real bandits were all town guards; they've been hitting the caravans all along, keeping people away and getting rich in the bargain. What a mummer's dance! Who'd suspect them, right?"
Her horse stumbled and she clutched the saddle. "But you attacked us."
Jax glanced back with a scowl. "We weren't attacking you — we were rescuing you. We saw the guards head out, knew they were up to something. So we followed until it was obvious they'd set a trap for the Triads, and jumped in to rescue you." He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. "But, oh, that bastard is clever. Saw the chance, maneuvered so that when you charged, it was right into our lines instead of his. I didn't realize what he was up to until too late." He paused to turn and look back at them again, teeth bared. "You Triads surely did his work for him; I lost most of my men that day." He faced back down the slope and moved on. "But at least we took the guards with us."
"But your bandits…the Tainted…." Paulo sounded almost aggrieved.
The Green Ranger shot a look over his shoulder sharper than an arrow. "What of it? One Koshka or Sobaka is worth any three normal humans in a fight. Aye, a few of the Tainted have been suckered in by the enemy with the promise of being 'cleansed,' made human again. But most are just as scared of what's going on as any other sane person would be. Many have — had — family here. They want to fight for their homes."
He paused until he reached the bottom of the slope. "Since the last trap for the Triads didn't work out as planned, it seems our friends have decided to try the 'divide and conquer' game. So far, it's working."
"You mean the witches," Baraccus said as his new horse gave up and slid the rest of the way on its haunches. It reached level ground and stopped with a thump. The animal's head was up, but its sides heaved, its breath puffing like bellows. Ton-Kel's mare jolted to a stop beside it.
Jax stopped and turned around. Despite the long miles behind them, he wasn't even breathing hard. "I was hoping one of you would figure it out. How'd you guess?"
"We didn't," said Baraccus. "The boggies told us."
There was something gratifying in the Green's look of utter astonishment. "The boggies told you? You talked to them?"
Baraccus shrugged modestly. Anyone who didn't know him might even think it was genuine. "We had a bit of help from one of our Patrons." He looked down at Jax curiously. "The boggies told us that a Greater Fey came with each of the Triads."
"That explains it," Jax murmured as if to himself. He looked up. "I think I've seen one of them. I didn't get close enough to ask, though." Then his face twisted, grew cold and bitter. "Ours is dead. Did they tell you that?"
Baraccus nodded solemnly. "Your Triad seems to think you're under the control of some malevolent Fey."
The Green Ranger snorted. "Is that the story they're telling? I have a different one, if you're interested."
"We are." Baraccus looked at Ton-Kel on her sweat-sleek mare, then over his shoulder for Paulo just as the black gelding slid down the last few feet and stopped beside the others, head down and steaming. Baraccus drooped the reins over his horse's neck. "The horses could use a breather. Let's talk." He looked down at Jax again. "What happened?"
Jax glanced from one to the other of them as he spoke, as if doubting their belief. "From the first day we got here, we smelled a rat. Something wasn't right. We thought, for safety's sake, we shouldn't stay in town. I snuck out and found a campsite close enough so we could keep an eye on things, but where no one could find us. I took the horses and all the gear, and got everything set up while Ankh and Rowan stayed in town to keep up appearances."
He paused and looked down, the beard shifting as he clenched his jaw. "When I got back, I hid and waited for my chance to sneak in and tell them. I saw some things…Ankh wasn't acting like Ankh. And Rowan — hell. I knew something was wrong, but didn't know what. So I stayed away and watched until I could figure it out. I finally did. Most of it, anyway." His fists curled at his sides. "Too late to stop them from killing our Lady."
For a moment, Ton-Kel couldn't imagine who he meant. Then she remembered what the boggies had said. "Your Lady — a Greater Fey from the Green Faction?"
He turned his head away, speaking from between clenched teeth. "Don't know why I didn't see it coming. I felt it, though. At least, I knew something terrible had happened." He took a breath and looked up again. "She came with us, gave each of us a gift she said would help us out. Ankh's was something she called the Earth Cup."
"That's the thing Sir Ulrik mentioned," said Paulo.
Jax nodded and lifted his hands as if holding it. "It's some sort of scrying device. It's supposed to be modeled on the world as it was, when Tir na n'Og and the Outer lands were one. It does many things, I think, but when you open it, no magic will work within thirty feet. Ankh told us it's known in the oldest stories as the Chalice of Truth. It's the only time I've ever seen him overwhelmed."
"The Chalice of Truth," Ton-Kel said, searching her memory. "There's a song…."
Jax shrugged. "It's very old. Ankh says it's one of the most powerful things the Fey ever built. If you know how to use it, you can find out almost anything you want to know. Including True Names."
She straightened. "That's how she did it," she said, her voice hard with certainty. "Lily captured Ankh and used the Chalice to find your Lady's Name." She looked over at Baraccus and Paulo. "Now she has the Chalice, the power of a Greater Fey, all Ankh's knowledge and abilities at her command — as well as who knows how many lesser witches willing to do her bidding."
Jax snorted and scowled up at her. "Lily? Not likely. She hasn't the wit. Her kind never thinks of anything beyond her next conquest and what she can gain from it."
Baraccus looked doubtful. "A mind devious enough to have masterminded all this could masquerade as anything."
"Maybe," Jax admitted. "But her brother's a better bet."
Ton-Kel could feel Baraccus and Paulo looking at her, but could not meet their eyes. "You're wrong. Galen's the one who called for help."
"Did he?" He shot her a look. "I sent out messengers twice. Neither made it. Someone else may have tried."
"Who stopped them? The witches?" Baraccus asked.
Jax nodded, his mouth pulled tight. "Them and trolkien. We're at the edge of the Mists; trolkien sneak in now and then. The boggies used to keep them out—"
"The boggies?" Paulo's voice rose in disbelief. "Trolkien are afraid of boggies?"
Jax snorted. "How can even a trolkien hurt something that doesn't have a body? And trolkien may be immune to magic, but they can still drown, or smother, or be torn apart by something bigger and stronger. But since the boggies have been under attack, the tro
lkien are keeping us busy."
Ton-Kel shivered and looked around. Darkness gathered in clumps under the trees, but she saw no movement. The woods were silent, but then they usually were. No birds sang, no breeze rustled through the leaves. The panting of the horses, easing now as they caught their breath was the only noise. "We haven't seen any," she said. "And we got here all right."
"Sure, you got in. The witches had to let you in, like they had to let us in," said Jax. "Now just try and get out. Haven't you figured it out yet?"
He moved closer to her horse and glared up at her. "They can't afford to let us go. They need us. Dead if they have to, but I think they want control of a whole Triad. They failed to capture the Greens, because of me. Seems they decided not to use the Reds. That leaves you and the Blues." He, too, scanned the surrounding brush, but it seemed an automatic motion, as though from long habit. "They can't afford to let word of this get out any more than the Fey can."
Paulo nudged his horse forward a step, scowling uneasily down at the other Ranger. "What do you mean, the Fey can't afford — do you honestly think people are going to start hunting Fey for their powers? Give humanity some credit."
Jax gave a short, sharp bark of laughter. "I give credit where it's deserved," he said. "But granted, hordes of people are not likely to start killing and eating Fey. If for no other reason than the Greater Fey would slaughter every human in Tir na n'Og."
"Then what—"
"Think on it." Jax narrowed his eyes up at Paulo. "Why do you think these people here did what they did in the first place?"
"Autonomy," answered Ton-Kel automatically. Baraccus and Paulo looked at her, and she cleared her throat. "To be self-governing, free of the rule of the Fey." She kept her face blank, her eyes on Jax. No one must ever guess how much sympathy she had for the rebel's cause, if not their methods.
The look Jax gave her was penetrating, and she found herself suddenly unable to meet his eyes. "Strong motive, freedom," he said. "That and the simple lust for power. What we have here is a full-scale rebellion. Do you think the Fey want words of that sort getting about?"
He turned away, and broke once more into the tireless lope, his voice floating back over his shoulder. "Come on, we'd better get a move on."
Baraccus and Paulo nudged their horses forward and she fell in behind. The underbrush had given way to a thick, muffling carpet of moss, leaving plenty of space for the horses to spread out, but she no longer trusted her expression, preferring to ride where she needn't fear what her face might reveal.
Paulo trotted up almost beside the Green Ranger. "So what are we up against? They may have the power of a Greater Fey without the restraint, honor, training — or vulnerabilities. We don't even know how many there are, do we?"
Jax shrugged as he ran. "I don't know which ones are the witches and which are just puppets. And I don't know if steel works against witches or not. But as a wise man I knew once said, 'I know of nothing living or dead that can last for long without its head.'"
"Well, that's a plan," said Paulo.
Baraccus's voice was as smooth and dark as the shadows around them. "Kill them all, let God sort them out."
Jax spun, narrow-eyed, without breaking stride. "No. We need some way to tell them apart." He turned back and picked up the pace. "I still have eyes and ears in the village. I'm waiting for word from one of my spies. There's something in the wind, something big."
Ton-Kel didn't want to speak. She didn't want their questioning eyes turned her way. She didn't want to hear any more. But the word forced its way out of her throat of its own accord. "Nayir."
Jax slowed, glancing back at her with a wary frown. "Who?"
Baraccus answered for her as he ducked under a branch. "Our Patron, we think. Young, blond man in black. He's helped us once; he might again. We don't know who the Red is—"
"An even bet the Red Triad didn't either." Jax spoke as he ran without apparent effort. "Did your friend tell you who he is?"
"No."
"Then don't count on help from him. If he didn't reveal himself to you, he might not be pleased you know."
"Why not?" asked Paulo. "If he'd told us—"
"Would you? After what happened to our Lady?" Jax's hands were fists as they swung at his sides, and anger ran red in his voice. "My God, the news must have gone through the Factions like a thunderbolt. Her family, at least, would have felt her death. And no word since to tell them what happened. They don't know who they can trust any more than you do."
Paulo frowned. "Nayir seems fairly confident. At least, he's stuck pretty close up to now. He even has a room close to ours."
Jax actually stumbled as he slowed and looked back, his eyes wide. "He's — wait, you mean he's masquerading as a human in town?"
An uneasy prickle danced its way up Ton-Kel's spine. She had to speak. Had to. She edged her horse closer to Paulo's. "You said he was with van der Beck the last time you saw him?"
"Who?" snapped Jax.
Paulo answered. "Philemon van der Beck. A fine, fancy fellow who always hogs the best chair by the fire. He claimed to be a survivor of the last caravan raid." His voice slowed. "He wears red. And Lily—" As if he'd caught Ton-Kel's half-formed thought in midair, Paulo jerked his horse to a halt, nearly crashing into the other two as they stumbled to a standstill. "Lily! She was with them!"
Ton-Kel stared at him, feeling the color leave her face. "He didn't come last night, when he said he would."
"Jesus-Mary-Mother-of-God!" Jax was suddenly beside the horses, seizing Baraccus's reins. "That's what Ulrik meant. They're going to kill again. Tonight, before moonrise." He looked over his shoulder, then up at Baraccus. "We're almost at the road. I've got to gather the rest of my men. You find the Blue Triad, tell them what's going on. We'll meet at Westmere."
He drew a deep breath. "Listen — I have reason to believe that Ankh is still a puppet, as Rowan is his. If I can get to them, I can free them. As an ally, I ask you this: if you meet either Rowan or Ankh before I do, stop them any way you can — but don't kill them."
Baraccus' face was grave, but his eyes measured Jax. "I may have no choice."
Jax bared his teeth. "Black is always quick to kill," he said, "but there is always a choice. Know you, if anything happens to either of them by your hands, you will never leave this place. I promise you." He turned and raced off into the woods, vanishing from sight.
Baraccus stared after him. "This could get ugly."
"Let's hope it doesn't." Ton-Kel reached out and grabbed his arm. "There's no time — it's almost sunset."
"It gets lighter up ahead." Paulo pointed. "It must be the road."
"Then let's ride," said Baraccus, turning his horse, "and hope we're not too late."
Tales from Opa: Three Tales of Tir na n'Og Page 44
