Maarav made no move to stop her as she stumbled away, abandoning her wine and supper. Not looking where she was going in the crowded room, she accidentally ran into a tall, thin man in a neutral gray cloak. Thrown off balance, she fell to her knees. The tall man crouched down to aid her, but her eyes were all for the area where Maarav had stood. He was gone, and in his place was one of the serving maids.
She finally turned her attention to the man she'd collided with as he helped her to her feet. First she noticed his impossibly long, pale fingers that gripped her trembling hand. Her gaze raced upward to take in the translucent skin of his face, and oddly reflective eyes. Most of his head was covered by the hood of his cloak, but she could tell that he didn't have any hair. A few of the inn’s patrons cast nervous glances his way, but most quickly returned to their meals.
“You,” she whispered, with her hand still gripped lightly in his.
The Traveler inclined his head. Though many of the Ceàrdaman looked alike, there was no mistaking this man. The last time Finn had seen him, she and Kai were rescuing Anna, at that time known to Finn as Liaden. Finn was pretty sure she'd broken the Traveler's nose that night, but it looked perfectly straight now. Perhaps she'd only bloodied it. She hadn't stuck around to see, as an army of Faie had arrived to slaughter the Travelers, thus releasing the Faie from the Blood Forest.
Still gripping Finn's hand, he turned and led her toward the far side of the room. She tugged back against his grasp, but his grip was iron tight. Unable to free herself, she glanced over her shoulder as she was pulled along, but Maarav was still nowhere to be seen. She wasn’t sure why she even looked, as he had no reason to aid her. Still, he’d claimed that any friend of Bedelia was a friend of his. Perhaps that would hold true, to an extent.
Finn moved forward, lest she lose her feet. She might have fought harder if the Traveler was leading her up the stairs or out the front door, but he seemed to be headed toward an empty table against the wall. The empty table was an odd sight, since the rest of the establishment was brimming with people, but she didn't question it. The Ceàrdaman had their ways.
The Traveler dropped Finn's hand as they reached the table, then gestured for her to sit. She glanced nervously around, then did as he bade. If he only wanted to talk, she would happily accommodate him. She had no love for the Travelers, but this one had given her information in the past, and he might do so again. Of course, Liaden had been the price for the previous information. She was unsure of what he might want this time.
The Traveler lowered his lanky form into the seat opposite her, then steepled his fingers in front of his face, leaning his elbows on the table. He eyed her for a long while, then opened his thin, bloodless lips to speak. “I've come to offer you a deal.”
Finn wasn't surprised. The Travelers were fond of deals. “Will I be told the terms of this deal beforehand?” she asked bitterly.
He inclined his head. “Your people have resurfaced.”
She quirked her lip, pleased to know something before the Traveler deigned to tell it to her. “So that's who stole me away from my friends while we slept,” she said sarcastically. “I had no idea.”
Finn's satisfaction grew as surprise swept across the Traveler's face. “Then you know why they want you back?”
Her stomach dropped. She didn't know, as she had avoided meeting them.
“Ah,” he said at her expression. “Not so knowledgeable after all.”
Finn glared at him. “Will you offer your deal, or not?”
He chuckled, but his mirth was soon replaced by a stony expression as he explained, “We would like you to join us against the Cavari.”
Finn chewed her lip in thought. “You would ask me to fight against my own people?”
The Traveler rolled his eyes. “Your people would only use you. No one likes to be used, my dear.”
She stared him down. “No, they don't.”
The Traveler looked almost abashed, but Finn doubted it was little more than a ruse. When she didn't buy in to the expression, his face fell back into its apathetic lines. “We offer you a partnership, this time.”
Finn scoffed, not believing the offer. Still, she wanted to know why such a proposition was being offered to begin with. “How would such a partnership benefit me?” she asked slyly.
The Traveler cocked his head. “One would think that rescuing you from your people would be incentive enough.”
Finn glanced around the room once again for Maarav, concerned by the meaning of his disappearance. She felt at that moment she needed a lot more rescuing than the Traveler had to offer. “Do they intend to harm me?” she asked, hoping to glean more information.
The Traveler snorted. “The last time they finished with you, they stuck you in the ground for one-hundred years. What do you think they'll do this time?”
Finn looked down at her lap. Being a tree hadn't been bad. In fact, she missed the simplicity of such a life every day. Still, she was not sure if she'd taken that form willingly, and could admit that she was no longer sure if she'd like to do so again.
The Traveler smiled, showcasing his perfect, white teeth. “I see I've gained your attention.”
He had, but not in the way he thought. She would never enter a partnership with the Travelers, especially not while she still held out hope of finding Iseult and Àed. “What's your name?” she asked, trying to buy time while she thought of how to phrase a more meaningful question.
This time, the Traveler looked genuinely perplexed. “We do not have names among my people,” he stated finally, then paused as if deep in thought, “but you may call me Niklas.”
The front door to the inn opened and shut with a loud bang. Finn whipped around at the noise to see Bedelia standing near the door, scanning the common room. Finn turned quickly back to Niklas, wanting to voice her question before Bedelia spotted her. “Niklas,” she began nervously, “why would you offer me partnership? What is my true purpose?”
He leaned in close, as if afraid that someone might overhear. “My dear Finn,” he began softly, “you are a weapon.”
Finn froze. It couldn't be true. She'd been told she was a high priestess of sorts. She was a person, not a sword. She sensed it the moment Bedelia's eyes found her, and turned in her seat to ward the woman away. She needed more time with Niklas.
Her eyes met Bedelia's. The other woman started forward, but Finn subtly used her hand to shoo her back. Bedelia halted, but looked confused, prompting Finn to look back over her shoulder. Niklas was gone.
She turned back to Bedelia with a defeated expression, prompting her friend to close the rest of the distance between them. As Bedelia neared, Finn finally noticed her puffy, red-rimmed eyes and disheveled appearance.
“What happened?” Finn asked as she stood and took Bedelia's hand in hers.
Bedelia flinched as if Finn had struck her, then shook her loose, brown hair forward to partially obscure her face.
“What happened?” Finn demanded more firmly, ready to hunt down whoever had harmed her friend. She had no idea where her courage came from, when just a moment before she had been internally trembling at the Traveler's presence.
Bedelia shook her head. “I'm tired. Did Maarav feed you?”
Finn bit her lip. Had Bedelia asked Maarav to watch over her? “Yes,” she replied quickly, glad that it wasn't actually a lie. He had provided her with food, she simply hadn't eaten much of it.
Bedelia nodded, a distant expression on her face, then walked past Finn toward the stairs. Finn hurried after her, glancing around for any sign of Maarav or Niklas. When neither man presented himself, she followed Bedelia up the stairs to their room.
Once inside, Bedelia went straight for her bed, curling up with her back toward Finn. Finn shut and locked the door behind them, then approached the bed where Bedelia lay.
“Bedelia, please,” she pleaded, wanting desperately to know what had happened to her friend.
With a sigh, Bedelia rolled onto her back and looked up
at Finn, who stood over her. “Do you remember when I told you that I escaped from my previous lord?”
She nodded, then took a seat on the bed beside Bedelia. “I asked if he'd been a cruel lord, but you never really answered me.”
Bedelia closed her eyes for several heartbeats, then opened them slowly. “He was not quite a lord, but he was a cruel master. I encountered him tonight.”
Finn waited for her to say more, but instead she turned her head to the side, avoiding Finn's gaze.
“Should we leave the inn?” Finn pressed. “Is he after you?”
Bedelia shook her head gently, still not meeting Finn's eyes. “Maarav would not allow such a man inside his inn. We are safe . . . for tonight.”
“About Maarav,” Finn began, not feeling safe despite Bedelia's assurances. He was the innkeep, and she didn’t like the idea of a possible enemy having access to their room.
“I'm tired,” Bedelia cut her off. “Tomorrow we will move on from the city. You have nothing to worry about.”
Finn felt near tears herself, but didn't have the heart to ask her friend once more if they should leave the inn. More distressing still, was the news that Bedelia wanted to leave the city already. Finn couldn’t leave. Being in Migris was her best chance of finding Iseult and Àed. Bedelia had said so herself.
Feeling numb, she stood, climbed onto her own bed, then snuffed out the lantern that rested on a little table beside her. She closed her eyes and tried to rest, but couldn't quite ignore the sniffles and gentle sobs coming from the other bed, just a few feet away.
The soldier sighed. Over the past week the guard in Migris had been doubled, then tripled. He didn't see what good it would do against the Tuatha Dé Danann. If the Faie came for Migris, the city would fall. The extra soldiers would only mean more bodies. He'd heard about An Fiach, the Hunt, but doubted half of the stories. Twenty men would stand no chance against a giant.
His comrade, Galen, shifted his weight impatiently. “General Eisen must have been bladdered when he gave his commands,” he grumbled. “What good does it do to stare out into the darkness? Why not post a small watch and let the majority rest?”
The soldier turned to Galen, a snide comment on the tip of his tongue, but his eyes were met with only darkness. “Galen?” he questioned.
No reply.
The soldier turned to glance in the other direction, but was interrupted by a sharp pain in his gut. He gasped as he looked down to find a knife protruding from his belly, its pommel gripped by a black-gloved hand. The hand gave a tug, withdrawing the knife as the soldier slumped to the ground.
He tried to look up at his attacker, but the fiend's face was concealed deep within a cloak. “Find the girl,” the form whispered in a feminine voice, not to the soldier, but to someone standing behind her.
There was no reply, only the barest sound of soft-booted footsteps as the soldier's vision faded to black.
Chapter Five
Anders gazed up at the castle ruins ahead of them. His fellow soldiers had not taken long to find the trail of the man-horse creatures that stole Branwen away. Rumors ran rampant through the nearby burghs of murdered travelers, and the pounding of hooves in the night. Tracks had been found, leading them right to this place, far away from the main road.
Though Anders desperately wanted to find his sister, he'd grown increasingly nervous as the hoof prints of the creatures had become more pronounced in the mud. Radley, the leader of his contingent, had remarked that they were nearing their quarry, as the tracks couldn't have been more than a day or two old.
A battle might soon come to pass, but Anders wasn't really a soldier, not like the other men. He was a man of books and logic, and had never even felt the need to throw a punch. He shifted uncomfortably in his dark brown uniform, and nervously stroked the pommel of his newly acquired sword as Radley investigated the final prints.
Said prints ended at the ruined castle, though Anders doubted the creatures had gone inside. He looked up at the crumbling stone, overgrown with foliage in places where the stone had eroded into nothing. The structure seemed like it had been abandoned a very long time ago.
“In we go,” Radley remarked, straightening himself from where he'd crouched in front of the prints. He swiped a hand over his close-shaven head absentmindedly as he looked up at the ruins. “Mind your steps as we make our way, lads. I don't want to hear any of you complaining about twisted ankles.”
Anders wiped the cold sweat from his brow, and looked back to where they'd tied their horses in a nearby copse of trees. A fast getaway wasn't likely. Radley didn't seem worried, but Anders was quite sure that the man had never felt fear or worry in his entire life.
He did his best to appear confident as he walked amidst his companions toward the castle, though he ran a hand over his hair self-consciously. Most of the men wore braids above their ears, sort of an extension of the uniform, and wanting to fit in, Anders had done the same. He thought it less obvious than shaving his head like Radley.
He'd been told there were much larger factions of An Fiach out there, but Radley claimed most of them were fools and children. Anders would believe most anything Radley told him on that front, the man was capable of bringing down giants, after all.
Radley reached the entrance of the structure first, little more than a crumbling hole in the wall. Whatever door had once sealed it had long since rotted or turned to ash. Radley signaled those closest to him to halt, then journeyed into the dark ruins on his own. A few minutes later his hand emerged from the entrance, waving the men inside.
Torches were lit and one was handed to Anders, marking him as one of the men who would venture inside, though he wasn’t singled out. Most everyone filed into the dark building, leaving five or six men outside to stand guard. Anders didn't think it likely that he'd find his sister in the ruins, but a small, nagging sliver of hope guided him forward.
The inside of the building stank like a mixture of chamber pot and rotting flesh, though the floor was clear of debris. The men fanned out in search of the source of the smell, or anything else. It was a truly expansive building, and each of the men were able to move in a different direction without traveling in pairs.
As Anders journeyed further into the building, signs of inhabitance became apparent. He kicked an old blanket aside to reveal several pieces of crumpled parchment, which he crouched to read, but found nothing of value. Mainly they were supply lists.
He stood, holding the small torch in front of him to light his way as he entered a windowless room, less eroded than much of the building. The smell intensified tenfold. Not wanting to be the one who had to examine the source of the smell, he almost turned around, but he forced himself to continue. If there was even a chance that the horrid stench was his sister’s corpse, he needed to be the one to find it. She didn’t deserve to be gawked at by an entire contingent of men.
Tears threatening at the back of his eyes, Anders held the torch up to the nearest walls to reveal a light splattering of blood. He swallowed and instantly regretted it as the smell that coated his sinuses made its way down his throat. He took a moment to steady himself, then moved his light across the rest of the room. There was a large shape in the corner. The source of the smell.
He edged closer. He could hear the sounds of the other men, exploring the expanses of the castle, but none neared him. With a final prayer, he lowered the light to the shape, then reeled away at what he saw.
It wasn't Branwen. The body at his feet was twisted and mangled, obviously tortured, but it wasn’t his sister. It was one of the horse creatures. Its entire form was covered in lacerations, and most of its limbs were badly broken.
Anders took a few steps back, then called out, “I found something!”
One of the younger men was the first to find him, but the lad quickly stepped aside as Radley came charging in. Anders held the torch out at his side to illuminate the corpse for his commander. “This was one of the creatures that stole my sister,” he explained,
doing his best to not run and vomit.
Radley crouched down beside the corpse. If he was bothered by the smell, he didn't show it. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger across his stubbly chin in thought. After several long minutes, he stood.
Anders and the few other men who had entered the room waited for an explanation, but Radley turned and strode forward silently, leaving the room and the mangled corpse behind.
After a moment of surprise, Anders jogged past the other men now examining the corpse to catch up with Radley as he left the castle. “Where do we go from here?” Anders demanded as he fell into step at Radley's side. “There are still scores of these creatures out there, and they likely still have my sister.”
Finally Radley stopped and faced Anders. “Worried about these creatures, are you?”
Perplexed, Anders just stared at Radley slack-jawed. Eventually he realized that the question hadn't been rhetorical and answered, “Yes, of course I am. They kidnapped my sister, and who knows how many others they've harmed along the way.”
Radley frowned and sucked his teeth, unimpressed. “I'd say what we really have to worry about, is whatever did that in there. These creatures who took your sister might be fearsome in their own right, but imagine a creature capable of mangling one in such a way.”
Anders found himself stunned once more.
Another soldier, a man by the name of Wallcot, trotted out the castle entrance toward Radley and Anders, carrying some sort of fabric in his hand. “I think this might be of interest,” he commented as he reached them. “The blood on the hem is fresh.”
Before Radley could even take a look, Anders snatched the fabric away from Wallcot and examined it frantically. He recognized that burgundy color, and the darker color of the large patch where the fabric had once been torn. The blood on the hem was indeed fresh.
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