“It’s over, Dewhurst,” Aidan shouted over the roar of the blaze. “You and your men need to put down your iron if you care to see another day.”
A murmur went up among Dewhurst’s men, and Aidan knew that his allies were drawing back their bows. He reached out and felt for the hated man’s Pull, and found that he was cowering perilously close to the blaze.
Though weakening, Aidan sensed the remnants of his own blood still in the other man’s system and gave it a good tug. With a cry, Dewhurst shot through the brush and bracken, barreling over three of his men.
Aidan hobbled over to where Dewhurst lay, now by himself, as his men had distanced themselves. “Start talking.”
“Don’t kill me,” he blubbered. “I wasn’t working for myself. I—”
“Oh, quiet. We both know that’s not true.”
Dewhurst whimpered, and Aidan knew it was a ruse. He felt the repulsion of iron in the man’s grip, and knew Dewhurst was waiting for the right moment to strike. By now, the heat from the house fire had grown unbearable; they would have to move on shortly. “D-don’t you see?” Dewhurst said. “She’s going to kill you. Maybe – maybe if we fight together….” Now the disgraced lord did quail beneath Aidan’s glare. “Don’t you see it? You have to trust me.”
“Trust you? This is – unbelievable.” Aidan took a step back and held up his hand to block out the heat.
Slaíne tugged at his shirt. “Sir, either we’re helpin’ or we need to go.” Her Pull retreated several steps back, and he was inclined to follow, leaving Dewhurst to the Romas who still surrounded them. But something stopped him. The repulsion of the iron that Dewhurst was hiding was all wrong, that much was becoming evident by the beatings of his heart. This was more than just a repulsion he was feeling. The mystery object also possessed a Pull.
Dewhurst was still cowering, his face red and blistering in the heat. He didn’t touch it or look at it, but the man had a rather large lump in his jacket, whence came the repulsion joined with a Pull. What was he hiding?
“Sir,” Slaíne pleaded.
Curiosity gnawed at him, but Aidan knew he needed to get away from the heat. He nodded and turned away. “Very well.”
“Please, don’t leave me to these – savages.” Dewhurst motioned around at the Romas, who had drawn back a few paces but remained with their bows drawn, perhaps waiting for a clear shot. “You’re a better man than that, Ingledark.”
Aidan had turned but now resumed walking.
“Don’t turn your back on me, lad. She’s going to kill you. All of you. I’ve got what you need to stop her. You need me, for pity’s sake. Take me to my horse in the stables. I’ve more information I can give you there.”
Aidan sensed a repulsion before it could hit him between the shoulder blades. He ducked, dragging Slaíne down with him. That was when the Bartlett Band of Romas let their next volley of arrows fly.
Shrill cries filled the air as all of Dewhurst’s men – the ones that had survived the first attack – fled. At once the amount of anchoring Pulls dropped down by thirteen, all presumably belonging to now-deceased men. Aidan looked back at the carnage and saw that Dewhurst had been struck in the shoulder, his wound weeping copious amounts of blood. His eyes, now glazed with pain, swept past Aidan and he let out an incoherent plea.
Aidan spat in his direction and looked away.
Slaíne helped him to his feet as the Bartlett Band of Romas retreated. Isaac Pensworth nodded at him, placing two fingers to his temple in salute. It said it all: “My wrongs have been righted.”
Aidan nodded his agreement, and watched Isaac follow after his ragtag band into the wood. He would have to catch up to them and thank the man personally for coming to his rescue, late though it was. Now that the score was even, Aidan could not help but wonder where they would stand: friend, foe, or something else entirely.
The sky was darkening with the threat of rain as the last Roma disappeared from sight. A wind swooped down upon them, and the flames danced like sprites in a frenzy. Only they and the servants remained, and never before had Aidan seen such a lost-looking flock. The past be hanged, but he could not help them. My fault.
They would not look at him, but moved farther from the blaze. Perhaps they would find work in town, live with relatives, start anew. That sounded appealing to Aidan, being given a fresh start. In a way, perhaps he had been. He was, however, still a wanted man. That warrant would darken his name ’til the end of his days, striking Breckstone off the list of potential places to live. A nomad’s life would continue to be his until he got his family back. Then perhaps he could settle down in his mother’s home village where he was yet unknown and unnamed.
“Sir?” the girl asked him. “Sir, what’re we to do?”
Aidan’s shoulders heaved. “We find the Goblets Immortal. But first we find a horse.”
It took him five minutes of hobbling before they reached the stables. The ostlers had abandoned their charges, which snorted and hoofed at the ground in distress, a few rearing up at the sight of strangers. “Shh,” Aidan soothed, though the beasts were beyond comforting. Perhaps they smelled smoke from the house.
“What has them so?” Slaíne wondered, leaving Aidan to stand on his own. “They’re right frothin’ at the mouths, they are.”
Aidan sniffed the air. The smoke hadn’t reached here yet. Something else was bothering the horses…something that smelled like the beginnings of decay. Aidan looked around for the source of the noxious odor and caught a glimpse of a great mound of hay. The hay was obviously hiding something, as bits of linen and leather poked out here and there. Upon closer inspection, Aidan’s stomach churned. “Bodies.”
Slaíne came up next to him. “More dead bodies?”
“So it would seem.” But the sun was setting. There was not enough light to make out the features of these unfortunates. Aidan searched the Pulls and was startled. “I know these people.”
“You recognize their Pulls?”
Aidan nodded mutely, though he knew she would not be able to pick up the movement in the waning light. He swayed on the spot and thought he was going to faint. “They feel like….” He patted his own chest, ran a hand over his heart to make certain it was in fact still beating. “These Pulls are familial.”
“Come again?”
He turned to Slaíne, a scream building in his throat. “Slaíne. These Pulls feel like…me.”
Her eyes grew wide, and that is when the light in the sky ran out. “They can’t be you, sir. You’re here. You’re not dead.”
Aidan was only half-listening. “They’re both me. But they’re not me.” He shook his head, and then it dawned on him, and he sank to the ground in despair. “I think I’ve found my parents.”
There was no explaining it, no accounting for how it could be so. Yet the fact remained: he knew those Pulls and they were his parents’. But how?
The horses continued their frantic hoofing and snorting. The air grew cold. Aidan’s arms were all gooseflesh, and he could not stop shaking as tears of rage clouded his vision. “Dewhurst. Dewhurst killed my family.”
Slaíne, who had been silent for a moment, spoke the question he couldn’t find his voice for. “Are ya certain? I thought you said they disappeared when you was but a boy.”
“Their bodies are here,” Aidan snapped. “What more proof do I need?”
“I’m not sayin’ it weren’t Dewhurst,” she countered, her tone soothing. “But, if’n you don’t mind me saying, these bodies are newly dead from the looks of things.” She approached Aidan and stooped down next to him on the ground.
Blinking away the tears, Aidan let out a long sigh. “Maybe they’ve been alive all this time and he just now killed them?” Even to his own ears the words didn’t sound right. It was an enigma that he would perhaps never solve. Why had Dewhurst done this? The thought of Dewhurst nauseated him. Bile rose in h
is throat.
Slaíne rubbed his back in soothing circles, and he did not stop her. It didn’t matter now what he did or didn’t feel. Meraude had lied. There was nothing left for him. The Goblets Immortal held no answers about bringing his family back, and there was no point in tracking the magical vessels down.
“This isn’t over,” Aidan said after a moment, perhaps startling Slaíne, who let out a soft gasp. Wiping his mouth, he stumbled to his feet and stared into the darkness where his parents lay. They could not tarry here much longer. The fire brigade would have been called by now, and the yard would soon be packed with volunteers fighting the blaze. The rain had ceased falling, and a nasty wind had blown in from the north.
With a choked sob, Aidan latched on to the bodies’ Pulls and carefully Dismissed them into Nothingness. He could bury them later.
“What are you going to do now?” she asked him.
He did not respond, but Summoned the silver sword.
“Aidan, what are you doing?”
Jaw clenched, Aidan staggered out of the stables, paying no mind to whether Slaíne was following him or not. When he returned to the manor house, the yard was empty but for the dead bodies…and Dewhurst.
The hated man was crawling on all fours, making his way toward a puddle of water, perhaps to calm the heat blisters swelling on his face. He didn’t deserve the relief.
Traces of Aidan’s blood still remained in Dewhurst’s system. Aidan latched on to the familiar Pull and gave the man a good tug in two different directions.
Dewhurst screamed as his breastbone cracked, the sickening sound only just audible over the roar of the blazing house. Aidan was not through with him.
He could find no words for Dewhurst, and physically exhausted as he was, he had no energy to spare for the man’s much-deserved demise. He made Dewhurst aware of his intent through their peculiar mental connection a moment before forcing Dewhurst to raise his hand and Summon the silver sword from Aidan’s hand into his own chest.
Gurgling crimson, Lord Dewhurst toppled over onto his side, shuddered once, and breathed his last.
Exhaustion overwhelmed Aidan, and he heard a ringing in his ears. If not for Slaíne’s Pull, right at his elbow, he might have passed out.
“Sir,” she said, her voice watery and blurred. She then said something he couldn’t catch and handed him something cold and repulsive and yet Compelling: a Goblet, he realized. “Sir.”
Aidan shook his head like a dog getting rid of fleas.
“Didn’t deserve the mercy. But…blimey, what are we going to do now?”
Aidan did not answer for a moment, his thoughts in turmoil. His path was more muddled than before, and his mind could scarce form a coherent sentence. But there was one thing he would hold on to. Only one thing mattered now. “Sam isn’t with my parents’ remains. I think Meraude might have him.” Lies. He knew it. Slaíne knew it. But finally they were on the same page about things. Aidan cast a sideways glance at her, a slow, deadly smile stealing over his features. “Let’s kill the mage.”
Acknowledgments
Julene Louis – your sage advice and insights made this book stronger.
Victoria Vogel – your steadfast belief in my abilities has made me a more confident writer.
Ruth Johnson – your faithful encouragement has kept me from throwing in the towel more often than you will ever know.
About this book
This is a FLAME TREE PRESS BOOK
Text copyright © 2020 Beth Overmyer
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