“Just like his mother and father,” Alana said.
“Alana,” Ma scolded.
Alana shrugged and tried to look innocent. “That’s what I heard you tell Da.”
“I swear your ears are the size of your head,” Ma muttered.
“Come on,” Ian said, taking Alana’s arm. “Let’s go put Wally boy in his place. I’ll wager you could out throw him.”
Faelan sent Nandor off with Kieran, and the family made their way slowly through the crowd, stopping often as people welcomed Faelan home. They approached the field where the knife throwing was about to begin. The horse’s arse was preening before a small group that had gathered. Wallace MacIntosh was fair-headed with muscle running toward fat and pig eyes that darted back and forth when he was nervous. He looked up and saw the Connor brothers coming and his gloating smile vanished.
After the Connor brothers beat Wallace, and Faelan had been welcomed by nearly every person visiting, the family grudgingly let Alana position them underneath a tree while she made the first rough sketch for a portrait. She was uncommonly talented for a child her age, but everyone was tired, and sitting was the last thing any of them wanted to do. Da fussed because he had spotted a man he thought was interested in one of the new horses, and Ian was withering at starvation’s door. Faelan stared off in the distance saying nothing, and Tavis rubbed his battle marks and pondered what his brother might be hiding. They all fidgeted until Ma and Alana were ready to kill them. Finally, Alana announced that she was finished, and there was a mad scramble to escape.
Faelan vanished like a ghost while Tavis tried to avoid Marna, who was making hand gestures to get his attention. He was so focused on this that he was waylaid by a group of lasses who were obviously hoping to find husbands.
The crowds were thinning when he finally made his way through the tents in search of Faelan. Some people were retiring to their rooms in the castle or the cottages, and others, who had pitched tents along the edge of the field, were laughing and jesting as they recounted and exaggerated the events of the day. Marna trapped him in the stables, her eyes bright with invitation. “I saw you throwing out there,” she said, stepping closer to Tavis. “You’re the best with a knife, you know.”
“Thank you,” Tavis said, wishing she would go away before he lost control and took what she was offering.
“I don’t know why everyone fusses over Faelan when you’re so...” Marna blushed, making her look quite fetching. The sight distracted him long enough for her to bump up against him. Thinking she must have stumbled, for it wasn’t like her to make so bold a move, he quickly jumped back to spare her embarrassment and forgot about the trough behind him. He fell over backwards into the hay, and his kilt flew up past his thighs. He wasn’t sure how much she saw, but whatever it was inspired her to leap on top of him and press her lips to his.
He tried to dodge her, but her hands were all over him. The experience might have been pleasurable if not for the fact that he needed to talk to Faelan, and there was hay poking his arse.
In the midst of this calamity, who should walk in but Faelan and Ian? They stared for a moment and then broke out in grins.
Marna jumped up, her face red as a strawberry, and rushed out like a scalded cat, leaving Tavis sprawled in the hay with his kilt nearly inside out, feeling like he’d gotten caught in a stampede.
“Bloody hell! Don’t just stand there, help me up,” Tavis said.
Still grinning, Faelan and Ian grabbed hold of Tavis’ hands and yanked him up.
“Is this the best place you could find for a tryst?” Ian asked.
“It wasn’t a tryst,” Tavis said, extracting hay from places it didn’t belong, which caused his brothers to laugh so hard they had to sit down. “It was more like an assault.”
“On her or you?” Faelan asked.
“I fell. She assaulted.”
“You fell?” Ian said, wiping his eyes. “And she fell on top of you?”
“Leaped is more like it. I think she crushed my bollocks. No fear that either of you will become uncles anytime soon.”
After he’d put himself—and the hay—back where it belonged, he and his brothers went inside for supper. Ma was elated to have them all at the table, and Alana talked until Tavis’ ears hurt.
After a long supper, Faelan disappeared again. He was probably seeing to Nandor. Tavis started for the stables when he spotted Faelan walking toward the graveyard. Tavis followed at a distance and watched as Faelan entered the final resting place for generations of Connors. Faelan sat down between two headstones. Tavis couldn’t remember whose they were, maybe the grandparents. Faelan rested his hands on his knees and stared at the sky where the moon was just peeking above the treetops.
Ian stepped out from behind a nearby tree. “What’s he doing?”
“Bollocks, you startled me. What are you doing here?”
“Same thing as you. Trying to figure out what he’s not telling us. What’s he doing? Measuring out his gravesite?”
“I don’t know, but something’s wrong.”
“Let’s get it out of him.” Ian started to go.
“Wait. I think he’s leaving.” Faelan had stood. He looked around the graveyard once more and then slowly left. Staying out of sight, Tavis and Ian followed him down the hillside and past the stables where a few stragglers—but no Marna...thankfully—lingered from the day’s events, looking over the horses. The Connors raised the fastest and strongest horses around, and several deals had been made during the games. They nodded greetings but kept moving. At the front door, Faelan hesitated, his hand on the knob.
“Spying on your brother, aye?” asked a voice behind Tavis.
He turned and saw Kieran. “Something’s troubling him,” Tavis said. “Don’t suppose you know what it might be.”
Kieran’s expression didn’t change. “I might. But best let him tell it.” Kieran moved on toward the cottage where he usually stayed.
Tavis and Ian went inside and found Faelan standing in the kitchen door, watching their father and mother and Alana who were laughing at something Da had said. Alana sat at the table running her finger over the letters Ian had carved in the wood years before, and looking suspiciously like she wanted to put hers there too. Faelan looked like he wanted to be someplace else.
Ma turned and saw him. She held out her hand. “Come and sit.” Her smile faded. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to leave,” Faelan said.
“Leave?” She frowned. “But you just got home.”
“I’ve been assigned another demon.”
“Another one,” Da said. “So soon?”
Tavis’ battle marks felt like fire under his skin. “What demon?”
Faelan took too long answering, and Tavis knew it wouldn’t be good. But he couldn’t have predicted how bad it would be.
“Onwar.”
Their father was the first to find his voice. “There must be some mistake.”
Faelan rubbed a hand over his face. “Michael came last night.”
“Onwar? Isn’t he one of the ancient demons?” Alana asked, her eyes round.
Everyone knew the names of the ancient demons, but warriors didn’t battle them. They were too powerful for mere humans. Michael handled them just as he did the first order of demons who only operated on a spiritual plane. The second order, the full demons, as well as halflings, were the ones assigned to warriors. Ancient demons were of the second order but they had grown so powerful they were approaching immortality. An ancient demon hadn’t been assigned to a warrior since the seventeenth century.
Ma’s face was pale, save for two bright spots that stood out on her cheeks. “You can’t fight an ancient demon. You can’t.” Her voice cracked. “I’ve already lost one son.”
Da touched her shoulders in a comforting gesture, but his hands were shaking. “Tell us what happened.”
Faelan had gotten the order from Michael on the journey home. Onwar was well known to warriors of all clans. Where
most demons preferred subtlety, Onwar was unstable, wild. He’d killed three strong warriors in the past year.
After Faelan told them what he knew, Ma’s face went blank. She nodded and told him he would do fine, just fine, and then she left the room. Da sent Alana off to bed, much to her dismay, and after declaring that he would speak to the Council the next day, he followed her.
Not surprising, their father was granted an immediate audience with the Council. Many of the elders were in residence throughout the games, which coincided with their usual meeting. The Council was made up of thirteen elders, one of them chief, drawn from the various clans. They met occasionally at the castle, since it was the Connor clan seat. The elders lived in a secret location known only to them for both their protection and the clans’, in case, God forbid, a clan was discovered by demons and destroyed. The elders would then be able to gather reinforcements and do what was necessary to rebuild the clan.
The Council gathered in the library to hear Da’s request. Ian and Tavis were allowed to attend the meeting, though they would have attended whether they were granted an audience or not. It wouldn’t be the first Council meeting they had spied on.
“Can’t you do something?” their father implored of the elders.
The chief elder stood with his hands folded behind his gold ceremonial robes. “We share your concern,” he said, motioning to the other members of the Council seated behind him. “But if Michael has spoken, who are we to intervene?”
“But he’ll die. It’s been two centuries since a warrior was assigned an ancient demon. And there haven’t been but a few on record to ever battle a demon this powerful.”
The Council remained firm. They would not intervene. From the resolved look on his father’s face, Tavis knew he hadn’t expected them to. It wouldn’t have mattered. Faelan would take Michael’s orders over any Council command. The council did agree to send two dozen warriors to battle the other demons that Onwar would have with him, thereby freeing Faelan to concentrate on the ancient demon. While the games were still going on outside, inside the castle the mood was heavy.
That night, Faelan left. Tavis woke from a troubling dream and found his brother’s bed empty. He roused Ian and they dressed quietly, gathered some food and water for the trip, then left a note for their mother and father. Tavis crept into Alana’s room and dropped a kiss on her cheek before joining Ian back in their room. They slipped over the balcony and headed for the stables. He didn’t like leaving without saying goodbye. Ma would be worried, but a little worry now would be better than letting Faelan face Onwar alone.
After gathering their horses, they found Kieran at the cottage and told him Faelan had left. He too dressed quickly, armed himself, and they mounted their horses.
“Where do we start?” Ian asked. “He could be going anywhere.”
“He’s going to London,” Kieran said.
“London?” Ian asked.
Kieran nodded. “That’s the last place Onwar was seen.”
“He’s on Nandor,” Ian said. “We’ll never find him if he doesn’t want to be found.”
Faelan was a strong rider. He knew every hill, tree, and burn on both Connor land and the land surrounding it. Probably the whole of Scotland. “We’ll find him,” Tavis said. They had to. Without warriors to guard Faelan’s back, his fight against Onwar could only end in death.
Chapter Four
London, England
“Something must be done about Onwar. He’s drawing too much attention to himself.” Druan picked up his goblet of wine which was mixed with a few drops of human blood and took a sip. He caught sight of himself in the mirror over the fireplace and admired his natural form, so much nicer than the human shell he was forced to wear in public. Soon, if his plan worked, it wouldn’t be necessary to hide at all. His father’s plague would be nothing compared to this creation. The world would fall at his feet. The Underworld would witness his power, and then he would be the Dark One’s favorite, not that damned Tristol. “If Onwar isn’t stopped, he’ll empty every insane asylum in Europe.”
“What’s he doing?” Malek asked. “Raising an army of lunatics?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Voltar turned his dark gaze from the contents of his wine glass—straight human blood—and he gave Druan and Malek a hard stare. “We could kill him.”
“And risk the Dark One’s wrath,” Malek said, touching the white streak in his hair as he studied the blazing fire in the hearth.
“It’s not as if he’s one of the League,” Druan said, both proud that he’d been selected for the Dark One’s special group and irritated that the others were always in his way. The Dark One had handpicked Druan, Malek, Voltar, and Tristol from all his ancient demons to handle his most prized projects. Each of them had lived nearly a millennium, but if they weren’t granted immortality soon, they would expire. It caused a good amount of contention and jealousy, with each trying to outdo the others to please the master, hoping that he would grant them eternal life. They put on a front of unity for the Dark One, who expected them to work together in the battle against humans, but in reality, the League barely tolerated each other. “Perhaps the Dark One won’t miss Onwar.”
Malek shook his head. “He’s too powerful. The master will know if he’s missing.”
“If something isn’t done, his actions will put our plans at risk. Even the humans are starting to notice Onwar’s activities.” Other than Onwar, the Underworld was quiet, preparing for the Dark One’s American war. Druan wasn’t worried about that conflict. He didn’t want anything to interfere with his own secret project, a virus—something humans didn’t even understand—that would destroy all humanity. He and his sorcerer had been working on it for nearly a century. The others didn’t know. Neither did the Dark One. And they wouldn’t, until he was sure the virus would work. But it was hard to create anything secret when the League was always underfoot.
Malek looked grim. “Onwar is too close to us. If the master is forced to destroy him, I fear we will all suffer. Remember what happened to the vampires. Destroyed, all of them.”
“We must do something,” Druan muttered.
“We won’t have too,” a voice said from the doorway.
Druan’s fingers clenched his goblet. Tristol. He had appeared out of nowhere as usual. How did he move so quietly?
Still in his human form, Tristol pulled off his top hat and coat, shook off the rain, and tossed the items onto a table. In spite of the cold, rainy weather, he didn’t stand near the fire, but moved in that smooth, flowing way of his to a chair he always seemed to favor. He sat, crossed his legs, and studied the other demons with a pleased look on his handsome face.
He looked like a damned king, Druan thought, taking another sip of his blood-laced wine.
“The warriors will take care of Onwar,” Tristol said.
“And you know this how?” Voltar asked, his voice deeper than normal. He showed the least deference to Tristol. They all were wary of the Dark One’s favorite demon. His position with the master was envied by demons of all orders. A word whispered in the Dark One’s ear could have dire consequences. The others might grumble behind Tristol’s back, but to his face, they smiled. Voltar didn’t bother. But then Voltar never smiled.
“I have my methods,” Tristol said, the expression on his face hardening into something that made Druan’s heart thump with fear. Tristol stared into the flames in silence until Druan wondered if he’d hypnotized himself. Then he looked up, wearing the suave, confident smile again, the one made Druan feel weak inside. “Don’t worry. Onwar is as good as dead.”
***
“I don’t think he even stopped to take a piss,” Ian said, wiping the rain from his brow.
London had welcomed them in familiar fashion; opening her gray skies to anoint them with a steady drizzle that soaked through their kilts, right to the bone. Tavis studied the outline of the city through the misting rain. This wasn’t his first visit, but each time he hoped it would be h
is last. He didn’t like it here. Too many buildings and people. Too many demons. It was hard to breathe in a place like this. “He’s here somewhere. We just have to find him.”
“We should have brought a Seeker,” Ian said, skirting another murky puddle of water. “The Council wouldn’t have liked it, but to hell with the Council. Faelan’s life might be at stake.”
Kieran brushed back his dripping hair. “We’ll go to the Morgan clan, clean up a bit, then start looking for him. He’ll have checked in with them.”
Michael had clans throughout the world, each with the same purpose, protecting humans from demons. Any warrior could expect hospitality from a local clan while on the hunt for a demon.
“A warm meal and a bed wouldn’t come amiss,” Ian said.
“You and your belly.” But they were all hungry and tired. They’d traveled for two nights, sleeping on the ground, eating what was left of their rations. There was a secret house the clan sometimes used, but it was in the opposite direction, on the outskirts of the city. Tavis nudged his horse and they moved on. On the outside, the warriors who lived in London looked far different from highlanders, even from members of their own clan who lived in the countryside. But underneath the refined clothing, warriors were all the same. Tough, strong, and dedicated.
The Morgan clan received them gladly. One of the warriors remembered hearing another warrior say he thought he’d seen Faelan.
“Where was he?” Tavis asked.
“Outside an insane asylum,” a warrior named Benjamin told them.
“Why would he be outside an asylum?” Ian asked.
“There are strange things happening at this asylum. A dozen people have gone missing in the past fortnight.”
Kieran frowned. “Kidnapped or escaped?”
“We don’t know,” Benjamin said. “No one sees anything. And it’s not the only place it’s happening. Demented people are disappearing all over the city. Everyone’s starting to talk. Some of them are relieved, some are afraid. One of our warriors went to check into the matter yesterday.”
Faelan: A Highland Warrior Brief Page 4