Oath of the Outcast

by C M Banschbach

  A shout from the corridor brought two more soldiers running. One jammed a spear butt into his stomach, sending him doubling over. They pinned his other arm behind him and shoved him forward a few stumbling steps.

  This time they turned up the stairs out of the dungeons. Rhys deliberately stumbled, shoving one of the soldiers off balance and to the ground with a follow up kick to the knee. Another guard stepped in, delivering a blow to his face.

  Dampness dribbled from his nose. The man leaned too close as he grabbed Rhys’s arm, earning himself a head butt.

  The soldiers holding his arms twisted them further behind his back while a third delivered a few punishing blows to his already abused torso. He wheezed a curse as his knees buckled again. They hustled him down the same hall he’d taken a few days ago with Sean and Damon.

  His breath came back when he recognized the door the druids had stepped out of, the one that inspired such fear in Sean. Another few blows before he could recover allowed the soldiers to drag him forward the last few feet into the room.

  The soldiers pinned him in a chair and hastily bound him before retreating.

  “I had heard of your Seers long before I ever came to this country.” Alisher stood a few paces away from him. “I have long desired the power to predict the future.”

  “If you want something predicted, ask me how I’ll kill you,” Rhys snarled, jerking one hand against the straps that held him.

  “I studied the legends with interest, as you can imagine.” Alisher began to pace in a wide circle around him. “Some speak of another person who could amplify the Seer’s power. Maybe even have some power himself.”

  “And you think this legend has something to do with me?” Rhys glanced around the windowless room, taking in the hooded druids that stood against the wall in looming silence. Tension stiffened Rhys’s spine as he tried to brace for whatever would come.

  “The stories say that the power would most often run in those that shared the same blood.” Alisher bent to scrutinize his face, as if trying to see something there.

  Rhys glared at him. “Well you’ll be waiting a long time for a vision.”

  “We were so close with your brother. Only a few more sessions and his power would have been given to Deronis.”

  “Oh, your all-powerful demon god?” Rhys smirked.

  “Have a care how you speak!” Alisher thundered. “He is more powerful than you could ever imagine. He would feed on you, but not even a soul as black as yours would sate his hunger.”

  Rhys didn’t flinch. He had no illusions as to the state of his soul. “Why don’t you volunteer then?”

  Alisher struck him. “You will meet him soon enough, and then you will beg for mercy.”

  “I don’t beg from anyone.” Rhys’s cheek stung as he spat out fresh blood. “Certainly not from fairy tales. That’s all gods are.”

  “I look forward to altering your view.” Alisher signaled to his fellow druids.

  They stepped forward as one, beginning a chant in a language that clashed like a rockslide. Several swung incense burners, curls of smoke dissipating with every movement they made.

  Rhys clenched his fists. His skin prickled as a faint current of something moved through the room behind the druids. It wasn’t strong, like it lurked on the fringes of his vision, but it was there, and it was not happy.

  He flinched as Alisher slammed his hands down on the chair’s arms and leaned into his face.

  “You see it, don’t you? Like he did!” He whispered triumphantly.

  Rhys spat into his face. Whatever it was, its anger was directed more at the druids as it swished around them, stirring the incense.

  Alisher wiped his cheek, giving a slow smile. He stepped back and took the bundle that another druid extended.

  Stormagh. Rhys bit down on the inside of his cheek, trying to stop his scream, but unable to control his grimace of pain as Alisher stabbed an invisible wound through his stomach.

  It let up as Alisher waved his hand, bringing the chanting to a stop.

  “Perhaps you need some encouragement, just as the Seer did in our first sessions,” Alisher said.

  The younger druid that Rhys had knocked unconscious a few days prior came forward holding a cup. He scowled at Rhys before darting away. Alisher took it and signaled his followers again to hold Rhys’s head back as he forced some liquid down his throat.

  Rhys gagged against the bitter taste that burned its way into his stomach. He sagged forward as the druids released him and returned to their circle. The chanting began again.

  The room began to blur, and each word grated on his ears. Alisher stood several tempting paces away, watching with sharp eyes that somehow seemed even darker. The torches on the walls blazed too bright, driving away the flickering shadows in the corners.

  Rhys squeezed his eyes closed, trying to clear his vision, but it didn’t help as the druids continued. Alisher’s voice joined in, his cadence rolling and powerful as if trying to command, then switching to a more cajoling tone. The presence darted faster on the edges of his periphery, but came no closer than it had before.

  Rhys drew a slow breath, trying to stay calm as his vision danced and flickered.

  It went on. And on. And on.

  Rhys lost track of the time in the dizzying spin of pain and chanting, but the harder Alisher tried, the less he got.

  When Alisher uttered a growl of frustration and began to pace the length of the room, Rhys slumped against the chair, exhausted, but grimly pleased that whatever they’d done to Sean hadn’t worked on him.

  “Anything else you want to try?” he asked.

  Alisher stood for a moment, hands clenching and unclenching. The blood drained from his face in anger. He extended his hand, and another druid placed a knife in his palm.

  Rhys stiffened as Alisher leaned close again. He held the druid’s cold gaze as the knife slashed across his palm. Alisher turned Rhys’s hand over and squeezed dribbles of blood into a small bowl that the young druid held.

  He finally flicked Rhys’s hand away and took the bowl from the novice. Rhys clenched his hand around the shallow wound, ignoring the sting that pulsed through his palm. Alisher tilted the bowl one way and the other, murmuring under his breath.

  When he glanced back at Rhys, his black eyes held a discomforting triumph. “This will do for now. Take him.”

  The guards re-entered and dragged Rhys back to his cell. He didn’t try fighting.

  Once alone, Rhys allowed his hands to shake. Sean hadn’t lied when he said there was a power to be feared. And from Alisher’s reaction, he hadn’t imagined the dark presence in the room.

  So what in flames did Sean see? And what were they trying to get from him?

  Chapter 24

  Bryn tugged his weary mount to a halt. He stood at the center of an empty crossroads, a faded sign pointing the way further into the domain of Clan MacDuffy. Despite the urgency that had filled him during the grueling four-day ride there, he looked around with interest.

  This is the place the Baron came from. The beauty of the green around him smelled fresh and new. In another life, if the Baron and I had met at this crossroads, would we have been friends?

  The brand under his gloves itched as if to remind him that the possibility was a remote one.

  He clucked gently and his mount clopped down the western road. Possibilities didn’t matter. He had a task to finish so he could return to the Baron for either rescue or revenge. Rorie had promised the same when they parted ways two days ago, the highlander riding up into the mountains to gather the rest of the Cairns.

  A milestone fell behind him and at the second, he turned north onto another worn path, now beginning to see signs of civilization. He kicked his mount into a shambling trot towards the impressive wooden structure that rose proudly in the distance. The Talam’s house, around where he should find Sean’s family.

  A child’s shout brought him to a halt. He watched two youngsters stumble after a rambunctious herd
ing dog, delighted shrieks echoing in the afternoon air. They finally noticed him when the dog paused to stare and give a warning growl. They looked enough like Sean for him to know he was in the right place.

  “I’m looking for your mother,” Bryn said. “I have a message for her.”

  They regarded him warily and backed up a pace.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he reassured them. “I’ve a boy that’s not much older than you two.”

  That seemed to soothe them a little, and they turned as one to run past the barn and into the open fields. Bryn dismounted and led his horse in a wide circle around the grumbling dog to the well where he hauled up a bucket of water.

  “What do you want?” a gruff voice asked.

  Two farm hands stood protectively in front of a woman. Bryn sized them up. They both held themselves like they knew how to fight. He had no doubt that the hoe and pitchfork in their hands could become weapons the moment they wanted.

  “I’ve a message for Sarah,” he said.

  The woman pushed through the men. “Who are you?” she demanded, her own stance still guarded.

  “One of the Baron’s men.”

  “The Baron?” She gasped. “What happened? Is Sean--?”

  “Alive and safe.”

  Her small cry interrupted him, and he half-stepped forward to support her, but one of the other men was there first.

  “If Sean escaped, then why did—the Baron send you here?” The younger of the men asked.

  “There were—complications. The Baron feared for your safety.” Bryn addressed Sarah.

  Sarah stepped closer, concern sharpening the lines around her eyes. “What complications? What happened?”

  “It’s none of your concern. But Lord Adam’s soldiers will most likely be after you and the little ones.”

  “We should tell MacDuffy,” the second man growled.

  Sarah nodded. “Yes, Tommy, go to the Laird and ask him to meet us at the Talam’s house. Finn, will you stable the plow horse and then join us?”

  Both men grunted agreement and set off to their respective tasks. Sarah turned a steady gaze back at Bryn.

  “My father-in-law will want the news. And so will the Laird.”

  Bryn’s hands twitched as her gaze lingered on the gloves. No doubt she would know a good man had no reason to wear gloves this time of year. The Seer’s wife was no fool. She knew what he was.

  “I knew—the Baron, a long time ago.” She wound her arms across her stomach, suspicion lingering in her eyes. “I trusted him then.”

  Bryn dipped his head in a nod. “He gave me the task of warning and protecting you. I gave him my word.”

  She bit her lip as her gaze again strayed to his hands. Bryn had forgotten the distrust of those outside the mountains. In the Dragon Keep, every man had a past, but they’d all taken a second chance with the Baron. He looked to the children, sheltered behind the protective bulk of the dog.

  “What would you do if your children were starving?” he asked.

  Some of the stiffness vanished from her shoulders, and she turned away.

  Bryn half-smiled. He knew. That’s why he sent me instead of Rorie or Jes.

  “Is Dada coming home now?” the boy asked.

  “Soon, darling. This man has some news for us.” Sarah gathered her daughter up. “But we need to go see Grandfather.”

  “Did our uncle find him?” The girl brushed wild red locks from her face.

  “You don’t have an uncle,” Finn said as he returned from stabling the horse.

  Bryn didn’t miss the scowl Sarah sent Finn’s way. The boy looked tempted to blurt a correction, but his mother’s touch restrained him. Something about it nearly brought a smile to Bryn’s face.

  So the Baron does still have a family.

  He kept a short distance from the clansmen as they trudged up the road to the Talam’s house, Finn glaring at him almost the entire way. The boy ran ahead to warn of their approach, bringing the Talam in from the fields.

  Bryn blinked at the shape of the Talam’s face. Were it not for the age and the weathered expression, it might have been the Baron himself looking out at him from the Talam’s eyes.

  The Talam wiped dirty hands on his trousers and appraised Bryn. “My grandson says you’re one of the Baron’s men.” The statement could not disguise the sorrow and longing that lingered over the nameless title.

  “I am. I also have news of your son, Sean,” Bryn said, careful of the Clans’ tradition.

  “The Baron is still my son,” the Talam said quietly.

  Sarah’s chin tilted up in pride at the defiance, but Finn scowled again. Bryn began to think the man had no other expression.

  “But what of Sean?”

  “He escaped and is being escorted to the Carraig, most likely already arrived,” Bryn said.

  “Ilan be praised!” The Talam glanced at the sky. “He did it.” The Talam turned to Sarah. “Does Brogan know?”

  “I sent Tommy to deliver the news,” she reassured him.

  “Good. Laird Brogan will want to speak with you as well. He’ll be on his way here. What’s your name, lad?” The Talam asked.

  Bryn couldn’t remember the last time he’d been called lad.

  “Bryn, sir.”

  “Well, Bryn, now we’ve met, so you can call me Dermot. Tether your horse and come in for a drink while we wait.”

  Bryn gratefully complied and soon nursed a mug of dark, frothy ale. They did not have long to wait before hoofbeats clattered in the yard, and the laird strode into the house. Bryn didn’t feel inclined to get up, so, from his seat at the table, he took his first look at the man who had cursed the Baron.

  One or two of the soldiers who accompanied the laird looked like they might want to change his mind about not standing, but a good glance at his knives seemed to make them rethink with more caution.

  The laird accepted his own beaker and sat down across from Bryn.

  “He got Sean out?” he asked.

  “He did,” Bryn affirmed after a slow sip.

  “What happened?”

  Bryn glanced around to see Sarah and an older woman hovering nearby as Dermot pulled a chair away from the table to join them. They might as well all hear directly from me.

  He told the facts as he knew them up until he had departed from the Wolf’s Head four days ago. Dermot paled and his hands clenched in fists. Sarah wrapped a comforting arm around the woman who could only be the Talam’s wife.

  “Sean and Alan are safe?” Brogan demanded.

  “Yes. One of our men is traveling with them to the Carraig,” Bryn replied.

  “And this other prisoner you mentioned?”

  “A man the Baron knew from the Sea Wars. His name is Damon.”

  Brogan reeled back as if struck. “What did you say?”

  “Brogan?” Dermot half-reached toward him.

  “Did the Baron say anything about this man?” Brogan demanded.

  Bryn shook his head, a nagging suspicion beginning to form in the back of his mind. Especially after remembering the near-panic in the Baron’s eyes whenever he’d looked at Damon. And Alan knows something about him, too.

  “What’s being done about the Baron?” Dermot turned back to what Bryn considered the most pressing matter.

  “Rorie returned to the Keep to summon a troop of Cairns. We’ll take care of the Baron since no one else will.” Bryn didn’t try to keep the bite from his words. He wasn’t going to let the Baron be left behind ever again. He owed him too much.

  An expression not quite like anger flashed across Brogan’s face, but Dermot smiled.

  “We shouldn’t keep you then,” he said.

  “I have to see them safe first.” Bryn nodded to Sarah and the children. “I gave my word.”

  “Adam will be after them by now.” Brogan stirred. “Kean, I want four men to escort the Seer’s family to the northern lodge. Then send a messenger to the Chieftain—I’m taking as many of the Clan as I can muster overnight and
riding to the Carraig. We’ll move with Sarksten from there to join the rest of the army.”

  “Laird.” Kean bowed and left the room. Bryn took another sip of his ale.

  “Will you ride with us?” Brogan asked him.

  Bryn paused before answering. He’d see his charge safely off with their guard. He’d prefer to return to the Carraig alone, but if he rode with the Laird, he might have a chance to pick up some useful information. He nodded, and the Laird took his leave.

  “The guest room will be prepared for you,” Dermot informed Bryn.

  “Dinner won’t be much longer,” the Talam’s wife spoke for the first time.

  Bryn glanced down at his gloved hands. He knew his sentence was too severe for his crime, but he’d done enough since then that he didn’t deserve the hospitality these people were providing.

  They deserve to know before they shelter me like some honored guest.

  He pulled off his gloves and pressed his hand flat on the table where Dermot could see the raised X brand. He swore the Talam’s look was the same as the Baron’s all those years ago when he first saw the brand. Cautious, weighing, then decisive.

  Dermot and his wife exchanged a glance before he turned to Bryn. “He trusts you?”

  “The Baron will never fully trust anyone again. But he sent me to finish this task.”

  Dermot nodded. “You are welcome in my house for the night, Bryn.”

  His wife gave a small smile of agreement.

  This--this is where the Baron came from. He offered a nod to the Talam and his wife. In another life, aye, I do believe we would have been friends from the start.

  Chapter 25

  Early the next morning, Bryn escorted Sarah and the children back to their house where she began to prepare for their journey north. Bryn arranged the packs on the horse the laird had sent in the company of Kean.

  They were ready by mid-morning when the escort arrived. Bryn watched warily, put slightly at ease when Sarah greeted most of the men by name.

  She latched the door to the house and turned to him. “Thank you for bringing the news.”

  He nodded. “You have everything you need?”

  “Probably not.” She gave a wry chuckle as the children darted around the yard saying one last goodbye to their home. “What happened to your children?”