by Hazel Hunter
When Hendry at last halted she glanced at the pitted snow around them. “I dinnae see how I may aid you in this, Master Greum.”
“Can you cast the spell?” When she nodded, Hendry clamped a hand around her wrist and drew his dagger. “Dinnae struggle, Sister Embry. I require only a few drops of your mortal blood.”
She gritted her teeth as he scored her palm with his blade, and then watched the scarlet drops stain the dirty snow between them. A rumbling from deep beneath the surface rose to shake the ground. She felt a hot vein of power seeping into her.
“Cast the spell now,” Hendry snapped.
Dutifully she repeated the incantation, and felt the power fly out from her in dozens of glowing amber spheres. Each flew to a totem and sank into its chest, disappearing. She expected the army of wooden behemoths to stir to life at once, but they remained unmoving and blank-faced. Snatching her slashed hand from the druid, she pressed her sleeve over the seeping wound.
“It seems that I bled for naught.”
“Our defenders dinnae come to life until ’tis an attack on the settlement.” His reptilian gaze shifted to her neck. “We must be patient a little longer.”
Oh how she understood that greed in his eyes. The dark-hearted bastart wished to cut her throat. Caused by the smell of her mortal blood, perhaps, or how she had so easily tapped into his tribe’s power source. Whatever the case, Oriana knew she had to remind him of her worth.
“We both ken that your lady slips from reason more each passing day,” she said, stepping closer to demonstrate trust she no longer felt. “She accused me of killing that giant with the scarred head, when you ken that none may end your famhairean.”
His nostrils flared, and dislike crowded out the blood lust in his eyes. “She’s ever been fond of Tri, and ’tis no’ like him to stray from his brethren.”
“The last I saw him, he went with Ochd into the forest.” She pretended to start. “Yet I never saw Tri return. Mayhap you should speak to Ochd on it if—when—he returns.”
Her lie made Hendry’s expression darken. “Aye, Ochd shall have much to explain.”
Oriana walked back with him, but once among his giants Hendry ignored her and began issuing orders. Relieved to have diverted his suspicions, she went to the cottage to prepare a morning brew and tend to her wounded palm.
Murdina looked up from the pot she was stirring over the hearth fire. “So, you pleased my mate again. ’Tis all you ever do of late.”
“I but did as he asked, you old fool.” When she was alone with the crazed druidess Oriana didn’t bother to mask her contempt. “Bring me some food. I need break my fast.”
“I’m no’ your cook,” Murdina said, and added a handful of pungent herbs to the pot. “When I took the dark lass to the clearing she told me that Bhaltair Flen yet lives. You didnae kill him, as you promised Hendry. He and the Skaraven deceived you.”
Oriana went still. “No, I…I saw him fall with my arrow in his gut. She told you these lies to turn you against me.”
The other woman chuckled. “Her sister’s a far-seer. She warned Bhaltair of your intent. You failed yet again, wench. Hendry willnae be pleased when I tell him thus.”
Rage gripped Oriana’s throat. Her injured hand throbbed miserably, and something inside her twisted and struggled as if trying to emerge.
“You’ll say naught of this,” she managed to say through clenched teeth. “Master Greum has enough to concern him.” Blood from her wound seeped through her fingers. “Where do you keep the clean linens? I must bandage my hand.”
Murdina nodded toward the trunk beneath the window. “In there.”
Oriana went over and crouched down to open the large chest, but found it filled with old garments. “’Tis no linen–”
“You shallnae take him from me, Slut.”
Murdina loomed over her, and brought down something heavy. As Oriana’s head shattered with pain she sank into oblivion.
Sometime later the feel of sharp stones dragging under her back roused her from her stupor. She tried to cry out, but a rag filled her mouth and stifled the sound. She wriggled, discovering that her wrists and feet had been so tightly bound she could no longer feel them. Above her Murdina grunted as she dragged her into a grove of dead oaks.
“Come here with your coy looks and cunning ways to steal my mate,” the mad druidess ranted as she dropped her inside an old, worn circle of stones. “I saw it from the first, you thieving hoor.”
Oriana stopped struggling, and made her eyes tear as she gave the mad druidess a beseeching look.
“You dinnae deceive me. I ken what you desire.”
Murdina bent down and jerked Oriana’s hands out away from her body. She lifted her boot and stomped on them.
As her finger bones snap Oriana screamed. Blood spattered the barren soil, and then the portal opened, threshing as it whirled and expanded.
Murdina grabbed her by the hair, and thrust her face close to Oriana’s. “Never come here again, hoor, or I shall end you slowly.” She drew back, and then delivered a vicious kick that made Oriana’s face explode with pain.
This time darkness swallowed her in one gulp.
In the void Barra Omey floated, at first unsure if Murdina had taken her life. She then felt the other soul that inhabited the body. No, neither of them was dead. But as Barra watched, the nothingness of the portal became the workroom in her beloved Gwyn’s cottage. There stood the spirit of the true Oriana peering at one of her grandfather’s scrolls.
So, the sacred grove had seen into her and now played some game of its own? Barra grinned. There was naught she liked more.
Barra manifested herself as a duplicate of the acolyte, and took a moment to savor the illusion of Gwyn’s cottage. Here again were all of the clever druid’s scrolls, his paints and inks, and the many quills he’d fashioned for his writings. All his things remained neatly stowed where he had left them. Beautiful spell crystals occupied niches in the walls, and sparkled with light as well as power. She imagined she could still smell the scent of the wild honeysuckle and lavender that Gwyn hung in dried bunches by the windows to scent the air.
Being close to her soul-mate in this place had comforted and encouraged her. Now it only brought back the bitterness she felt when she’d learned of Gwyn’s murder.
All this might have been ours together, if no’ for Flen and the Skaraven.
She went to join the other manifestation of Oriana. Since Barra could no longer feel their body, that meant the soul born to it commanded its senses.
“You made that wud lady hurt me.” The lass tried to touch the scroll, but her fingers passed through it. “I’m weary of waiting. You vowed you would bring grandfather back to the me.”
“I soon shall, my sweet.” Barra felt impatient at having to yet again reassure the little wench. To do otherwise, however, might prompt a struggle for control of their shared body. “First, we must punish those who took Gwyn from us, as we agreed. Only then may we make the mortal realm safe for his return.”
“Soon.” Oriana’s young face grew pale as her manifestation faded along with the chamber.
Barra’s soul merged into Oriana’s body, and she opened her eyes to see living oaks towering above her. She had been flung from another grove portal against a wall of high stones that she didn’t recognize. When she lifted her hands, she saw that her broken fingers had been made whole by her passage. She used them to touch her face, which had likewise been healed, and finally pushed herself up on her feet.
She had to climb over the stones to better see her surroundings, which appeared to be an ancient highland forest. Although ice glazed most of the trees, a scattering of evergreens told her she had been transported beyond the Wood Dream tribe’s dead settlement.
Making her way carefully from the hidden grove, Oriana reached the bank of a frozen river. On the other side rose a high slope covered by a massive rockfall. She froze as she saw two Skaraven come into view, and disappear again into a labyrinth of
stacked stone at the base of the slope. Slowly she hid herself behind a tree and pressed her cold hands to her hot face. Bhaltair had once mentioned that the highlanders had somehow cleverly concealed their stronghold. No attacker would go near a rockfall for fear of disturbing it.
This, then, had to be the Skaraven Clan’s Dun Mor.
How had the grove brought Oriana to the one place for which she had so long searched? After kicking her unconscious Murdina must have pushed her into the portal. Certainly, the mad druidess hadn’t asked the sacred grove to deliver her here. No one knew its location except the Skaraven and Flen.
Smug joy suffused her.
Only the Gods could have sent me here. ’Tis how they’ve chosen to aid me in seeking justice for Gwyn. They ken that I’m righteous in my quest.
Oriana knew that the clan would have many warriors patrolling the forest, so she retreated down river until she found a narrow spot where she could cross it quickly. She followed in the tracks of larger boots to another stone maze at the slope’s side, and climbed up to hide in some brush. Within a few minutes more Skaraven emerged from the side maze as others entered it. From her vantage point she could see all who came and went from the stronghold, and how to enter.
Chapter Twenty
THE CHAINS LOOPED between Rowan’s shackles bounced against her thighs as she walked out of the stables. Normally she wouldn’t go for the big theatrics. Performing was Perrin’s thing. But no one yet knew what she’d told Lily and Taran. She also had a point to make, and that required some show as well as tell.
“Quit looking so guilty,” she told Taran as he took hold of her arm in front of the maze entrance to the stronghold. “It’s going to be hard enough for Lily to keep a straight face when she sees us. Wait, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. I am really done with telling you what to do.”
“Indeed.” His mouth hitched. “I’m no’ with touching you.”
The joke made Rowan utter a low chuckle before she put on her best scowl. “Okay, but later. In the meantime, don’t ruin this for me. I’ve earned my fifteen minutes.”
As soon as they entered the great hall every guard drew a sword. Brennus had gathered his clanmasters and their mates around the table, where they were studying a scroll map with the old druid. Perrin gave her a hurt look, while Kanyth glared. The chieftain slowly rose and moved to intercept them.
“’Tis no’ the time for this, Tran,” Brennus said without looking at Rowan.
“Rowan shall speak in her defense now, Chieftain,” the horse master said calmly. “Or I shall challenge you.”
Being threatened never went over well with Brennus, and Rowan saw all the tell-tale signs of his volcanic temper starting to build. But when he glanced at her, a strange regret softened his gaze. Reluctantly he nodded.
Yep, that soft spot for the ladies wins every time.
Rowan made sure to clank her chains as she went to stand at the end of the long table. Taran touched her arm before he took his seat beside Cadeyrn.
Lily’s eyes warmed as she gave her a tiny nod.
“I didn’t make Hendry’s totems while we were being held at the settlement,” Rowan said, resting her hands on the edge of the table. “They were already done. I sabotaged their arms and legs.” She paused to take in the stunned looks. “I created internal gaps and flaws in the wood of every limb and joint. As soon as they start moving their own weight will cause them to collapse. They’ll end up a bunch of really large building blocks.”
Bhaltair’s expression turned skeptical. “You’ve a powerful gift, Mistress Thomas, but the traitors would have sensed your using it.”
“That’s why I volunteered my services to Hendry,” she told him. “I needed an excuse to use my mojo. All he saw was me refining the limbs to be more flexible and have more range of movement. I did a pretty good job of that, too. The actual sabotage I kept out of sight.”
“You’re channeling your power now,” Ruadri said. “I can feel it.”
“Very perceptive, Shaman. But you don’t see me doing anything with it, right?” When he nodded she stepped back from the table. “Hendry made the same screw-up. You guys really need to learn how to play chess. Okay, Taran, it’s ready.”
The horse master stood and struck the table with his fist, making the women start and the wood shudder. An eerie groaning, cracking sound came from within the table.
“All of you, up,” Brennus ordered and tugged Althea out of her seat. He stepped back as the table began to shake.
“By the Gods,” Bhaltair said and allowed Kanyth to help him to his feet. “’Tis madness.”
“Nope. ’Tis my mojo, Old Guy. Only five more seconds. Three, two, one.”
Rowan grinned as the thick legs snapped and the table top plunged to the floor, where it broke apart.
Ruadri stared at the shattered wood before he regarded her and put an arm around Emeline. His moon skinwork began to glow.
“Stand down, Witchdoctor Mountain. That’s what I did to every totem limb I worked on for Hendry.” Rowan crouched down and touched the debris, reforming it as she stood and restored the table to its original state. “Which was all of them, by the way. Great client. He really liked my work.”
Brennus reached out and touched the surface of the now-solid top. “How long before the limbs of the totems fail?”
“They’re a bit bigger than this, so it’ll take a little longer before the weight stress triggers the failure of the wood.” Her chains rattled as she took her hands away from the edge. “Maybe five minutes. I figured the clan could keep them busy for that long.”
Cadeyrn’s eyes gleamed with pleasure. “Aye, lass. That we can.”
“As for the rest, I was using Ochd as a spy to gather intel on what the druids were doing. I waited too long to tell Brennus about it, and Taran and I got grabbed. Ochd protected me—and that’s another long story that’ll have to wait—but I knew Hendry would toss Taran to the famhairean as soon as we got to their camp. So, I bargained for his life. I convinced Hendry that I hated him and all of you.” She looked at Althea. “You got it in one, Doc. I was playing along to keep us alive. But while I was there I also did what I could to help even the odds and give the clan a fighting chance. Those totems are toast.”
“I told you, she’s not a traitor.” The botanist nudged her husband. “I’m always right.”
“Indeed, my heart. I regret I’ve misjudged you, Rowan,” Brennus said, eyeing the table and shaking his head. “Cade, take those shackles from her.”
“Let’s leave them on for now,” Rowan said, also enjoying this part. “Lil mentioned that you’re planning to attack the settlement tonight. I’d like to help. I’ve taken the full tour of the place, I know where everything is, and—obviously—I make a wonderful stealth termite. Also, for some reason Hendry needs me to finish the Wood Dream’s solstice ritual, and it’s not just to restore the tribe’s lands. Consider me excellent bait.”
Emeline gave her a bleak look. “But he’ll kill you, lass.”
“Not if I hang onto these.” She held up her shackles and turned from side to side like a runway model. “I make a pretty convincing escaped prisoner, don’t you think?”
Cadeyrn and Brennus shared a long look, and the old druid nodded his approval.
“No,” Perrin said and shot to her feet. “I’m not going to let you go back to that place.” When her husband took her arm, she jerked away from him. “I won’t have it, Ka. This time they’ll kill her for sure, and she’s been through enough.”
No one said anything as the dancer rushed over, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the shackle locks. Finally, she tugged them off, threw the cuffs and chains to the floor, and kicked them away.
Perrin stared at them. “Emeline told me everything. What you said about Marion was true. She tortured you for years, and I did nothing but let her spoil me.” She turned to face her. “It’s unforgivable.”
Looking into her tear-filled eyes, Rowan saw amazing love and terrible guilt. �
�You still don’t remember, but I do. You tried to stop her every time you heard me scream or saw her hurt me. You always tried. It’s why she made you forget, too.” Telling her they were cousins suddenly didn’t matter to her anymore, because in that moment she knew they would always be sisters. “Marion’s dead. We’re not. Let it go, and forget about her.” She lowered her voice to a whisper . “Nothing would piss off the old hag more than that.”
Suddenly Rowan had her arms filled with a laughing, sobbing Perrin. As she looked over her sister’s fiery gold head at Taran, she saw the love there, too.
She’d finally buried Marion for good.
Taran sat beside Rowan, holding his lady’s hand as he listened to her talk with Perrin. Rowan seemed happier than he’d ever seen her, and it made him feel envious. He wanted his dark lass to shower him with such smiles and laughter. The delight she shared with her sister revealed a side of her she’d kept locked away, and made her glow.
Brennus called for Kelturan to serve the morning meal, but kept his clanmasters and their mates gathered around him.
“Cadeyrn shall advise the men once we’ve decided on the details of the final attack.” He regarded the old druid. “You’ve worked this out by now, I reckon.”
“Aye, Chieftain.” Bhaltair unrolled the map showing the eastern lands, which had been marked in several places. “I propose to trap the traitors and the giants where they now hide. While the clan surrounds their camp, Mistress Thomas shall divert their attention with her escape ruse. As she does, Lady Lily will divert the waters of the loch toward the giants.”
“I’ll build a grand wave, and then smash it down and divide it into streams,” the chef added. “Should send them all running.”
“Aye, do, Chef,” Kelturan said as he brought a tray of steaming mugs to the table. “Or mayhap toss Rowan berries at them to make them sweeter, as you’re wont to do with near every haunch we put to roast.”