But for once it was the old knight who was leading. He definitely seemed to be going faster than he normally travelled. Dylan was keeping to my right and Aron my left. And I was grateful that they were both so close by.
“Is there a reason to hurry, sir?” Dylan asked.
It was such a turn around from the way things usually went, I couldn’t help but laugh.
Sir Dagonet smiled at me, but said, “Not really, wot? Just, um, feel the need to get there quickly, don’t you know?”
“Could it be your nectere? Could Lady Nimuë be in a hurry?” Aron asked.
Sir Dagonet looked at him thoughtfully and then said, “You know it very well could be, Aron. Very clever of you to think of that.”
Aron gave a shrug. “I’m just trying to understand the magic. I don’t know how it works.”
“An astute observation, nonetheless, wot, wot?” Sir Dagonet said, turning back to face forward and continue on at an even faster pace.
After a while I felt as if I was struggling to keep up, and I wasn’t sure, but I thought Scai had given up altogether and had fallen asleep against my back.
We were coming up to a clearing so I asked loud enough for Sir Dagonet to hear me, “Can we stop for a break?”
Dylan immediately slowed his horse and turned toward Scai and me. A warm smile lit his eyes as he looked at her. “It looks like Scai already has.”
“Is she asleep?” I asked, making my voice quieter, so I didn’t wake her.
He just nodded.
As we pulled our horses to a slow stop on the grass, Dylan jumped down and was pulling Scai down and into his arms.
Watching her go, my head began to spin ever so slightly, but strong arms caught me from the other side.
“I’ve got you,” Aron said, smiling up at me.
And indeed, he did. He guided me down off the horse so that my body slid intimately down his. My feet had barely touched the ground when he bent his head lower toward mine. I could feel his heat from my lips to my toes and I was definitely feeling light-headed.
“Ahem! Well then, wot?” Sir Dagonet’s voice was a little too loud and a lot too close.
Aron jerked back and took a step away. Immediately, the cold of the day pressed in on me bringing goose bumps to my arms. I rubbed at them vigorously, hoping to get warm again. You wouldn’t think that someone with the ability to control fire would feel cold so acutely, but actually, I was even more sensitive to it than others, considering the heat residing within me.
Aron gave me a little wink as if to say, “We’ll finish that thought later.”
I gave a giggle in response, but Sir Dagonet’s expression made me suppress it pretty quickly. He was looking distinctly fatherly and disapproving. I turned away to see if Scai needed anything.
I didn’t remember him giving Scai and Dylan such looks ever, although he did tell them that they had to stop being intimate. That didn’t last very long, although I was pretty sure they had tried. But they loved each other. Why shouldn’t they be together?
I stole another look at Aron. He was watching me, too. Did he care for me? I had a feeling…
“Bridget.” Dylan’s voice reminded me where I was and what I was supposed to be doing.
“Yes,” I answered, shoving my embarrassment away. I knelt next to Scai, who was resting against a tree on the sun-warmed grass. I wrapped my fingers around her wrist to feel the pounding of her blood. It was a little fast and hard, but I guessed that was normal considering what she’d been through the day before. Brushing her hair back off her forehead, which was only slightly warm to the touch, I asked, “How are you feeling?”
“Just tired,” she answered, smiling up at me.
I nodded. “Then rest. You need it.”
“Maybe she should ride with me the rest of the way; that way she can sleep,” Dylan offered.
“Sounds like a good idea,” I agreed.
We shared the little bit bread and cheese we’d brought from Holme, and I tried to coax Scai into nibbling at a little.
“You need the energy,” I said to her.
She shook her head. “I know. I just don’t have the appetite.”
“So, just take a little.”
“If she doesn’t want it, best not to force it, don’t you know?” Sir Dagonet said, watching us. He stood up. “So let’s be off, shall we?”
We had all only begun to eat. Both Aron and Dylan had their mouths full, so I said, “Just a few more minutes, sir.”
We don’t have a few more minutes!” he snapped.
Dylan swallowed his mouthful. “Yes, sir, we do. Scai needs to rest and we all need to eat.”
“I understand that this nectere is—” Aron began.
“You understand nothing,” Sir Dagonet said, cutting him off. He then stopped and turned away from Aron. When he turned back, he said, “I’m sorry, Aron, that was uncalled for, wot? I believe you’re right. It is the nectere.”
I stood and put my hand on the old knight’s shoulder. “It must be very difficult to deal with Lady Nimuë’s emotions.”
He sighed and nodded. “It’s only her stronger emotions that affect me, but it is not easy, don’t you know?”
“Well, at least we know that she’s also on the road and clearly in a huge hurry to get wherever it is she’s going,” Scai said.
“Yes, but the question is, where is she going?” I asked.
Dylan shrugged. “To Saerdbury, I suppose. He turned to Sir Dagonet. “Are you certain, sir, that we need to go to Gloucester? If Nimuë is in such a hurry to get Saerdbury, perhaps we should be, too.”
My heart tightened in my chest at the thought of skipping our visit to my family.
“No, no. We definitely need to go to Gloucester. Certain about that one.”
I began breathing again. I popped the rest of my cheese into my mouth, then said around it, “Well, then, let’s be off,” before anyone could argue otherwise.
<><><>
It was not surprising to Father du Lac that everyone in the pub was watching him. Not only did being followed by five armed knights make one a little conspicuous, it also made it very easy to get the cooperation of anyone he cared to speak to. This included the innkeeper of the pleasant little establishment into which he had walked. Nimuë sent up a silent prayer that this time she would get some useful information.
This was the fourth pub she and her knights had visited this morning and she had yet to get what she wanted. She supposed she should be impressed that the Vallen community here in Gloucester had managed to blend themselves into the ordinary community so well, but it was not making finding Scai’s family any easier. After traveling the better part of the night to get here well before the children came bearing Scai’s body for burial, Nimuë had not expected to have this much difficulty in finding this family.
It would be so simple to kill the other two children once she knew where they were. Gloucester was a large city.
Father du Lac smiled at the rotund innkeeper whose little eyes shifted this way and that.
“May, may I help you, my, my lord?” the innkeeper asked. His jowls and chins wobbled, and his eyes did not stop darting from one knight to another. Nothing in the man’s face was still.
“I am Father du Lac,” Nimuë said, giving the man her most calming smile. She really did not want the fellow in such a state that he could not answer her questions.
The man’s eyes came down to hers in surprise. “Oh, of course, er, Father. May I help you?”
She pushed her calm at the man. He sighed—just a little exhale of breath—but it was enough. “I am certain word has reached you of the witch hunts commanded by the king?”
The man grew paler. This was a good sign.
Father du Lac’s smile grew. “We are here to find them.”
“Find… find whom, Father?” the man asked.
Nimuë closed her eyes for a moment, praying for patience. “The witches.”
“I, I don’t know any.” The man shook his head
sending his jowls and chins flying from side to side.
“I am sure you do, only, perhaps you are unaware that they are witches. For example, do you know anyone who can heal? Anyone who makes potions?”
“N-n-no.”
“Anyone who can do excellent work, better than what you might expect?” she asked. Surely, he had to know of some witches, this was one of largest inns in Gloucester. These Vallen had to be somewhere.
Hope sprung inside of her as her last question had the fellow thinking. “I did have some carpenters in here who were able to rebuild nearly the whole second floor of the inn faster than I’d thought possible. Excellent men. A family, you know. Didn’t charge very much either, barely more than the cost of the materials.”
Father du Lac smiled. This was it. “Yes, that is just what we are looking for. Where can I find them?”
The man paled once again. “I, I don’t know. I never went to them, they always came here to me.”
Father du Lac sighed quietly. “But perhaps you have some idea where they might be found?”
The man shrugged. “Down near the quay on the west side of town, not too far from the cathedral? I’m not certain. It’s just a guess.”
Father du Lac nodded, smiling. “Yes, of course. Thank you for your help.” It was not as much as she had hoped for, but it was more than they had found at any other pub. It was something to go on.
“Of, of course, my lord, er, Father. Any time. Would you care to stay and have pint? On the house, of course.”
Father du Lac just smiled again. “No. I thank you. Not today. Another time, perhaps.” He made a cross in the air saying, “May God bless you and make your business prosper for your good honesty.”
The man nodded and mopped the sweat dripping from his forehead with the towel he used to wipe the bar, clearly relieved to have finished with the interview.
The cleaner air wafting in from the river was a relief after the stench of the city. For that reason alone, Nimuë decided to take the road that wound along the water rather than the faster, more direct route through the heart of town.
The quay itself was a bustle of ships, with men loading and unloading goods. A large open square spoke of a market even though there were few venders there on this day. Nimuë was certain that it would be packed on market day. And, of course, where there was a market, it was entirely possible that there would be Vallen selling their services. Although the people did tend to be doctors, scholars and artists, the easiest way to collect patrons would be to frequent the market.
Father du Lac directed the knight driving their wagon to drive straight up to a group dockworkers. “I am looking for a family of carpenters,” the priest called out to the men.
They looked from him, sitting in a large open wagon, to the knight next to him on the bench and the four others on their shifting horses surrounding the wagon. A look passed among the men and then a shrug. “There aren’t any carpenters around here, aside from a few ship builders making repairs,” one of the men answered.
“Have you seen or heard of any who might live or work nearby?” Father du Lac asked, beginning to sense that something was not right.
The men just shook their heads.
“None at all?” she asked, her temper rising.
“No, Father. Been working here me whole life, and I never seen a carpenter’s shop near here,” one of the men answered doffing his hat.
Deceived! That innkeeper had deliberately sent her in the wrong direction. Her anger spiked. Without a word, she took the reins from the knight next to her and slapped them against the horse’s backs, setting the cart into motion. She nearly turned in the direction of Lord LeFevre’s castle, where they were staying, but then decided to explore the market. Why waste an opportunity? Surely there had to be Vallen about somewhere. They were witch-hunters; they would hunt some witches.
Sure enough, not one hundred feet away a small troupe of actors was performing on a makeshift stage. A handful of people had paused in their work to watch. Father du Lac did as well.
They were too good. She was certain they were Vallen using their powers to enthrall their audience. She realized with a start that she too was becoming unable to look away. “Bring them,” Father du Lac ground out.
“Father?” the knight next to her asked.
“Get those actors and put them in the wagon. They are witches.”
“The actors, Father?” the man asked again, not turning his head from watching the play.
“Do not question me! Yes, the actors. Can you not feel it? They are using their powers to enthrall you. To make you watch their play. Now gather them up and put them in the wagon.” Nimuë was angry enough as it was at having been deceived by the innkeeper and now she had to explain herself to this imbecile? It took all of her self-control to maintain a calm expression on her face and in her voice.
It clearly took some doing, but the knights managed to rouse themselves and do as she ordered, much to the disappointment of the people who had been watching, and the surprise of the actors.
“Is it now illegal to play?” one of the men cried out as a knight shackled his wrists to the side of the wagon.
“It is if you use magic to do so,” the knight answered.
“Magic? But that’s ridiculous,” the man started to protest, his voice turning soft and soothing.
“His magic is in his voice,” Father du Lac called out to the knight. “Do not listen to him. Put a gag on him if necessary.”
The man turned toward the priest. His beautiful, expressive face first took on a look of anger, then surprise, finally ending with an almost sultry look.
“Bring him here,” Father du Lac commanded the knight. She really shouldn’t, Nimuë castigated herself, but truly, the man was too beautiful to put aside so easily. His deep blue eyes called out to her. Straight dark eyebrows slashed or curved depending on what the man was expressing. His smile tantalized, promised, whispered to the woman inside of her. Little did he know the effect he was having. It tickled Nimuë to think that the actor believed he was dealing with an elderly priest.
The knight released the actor from the shackles, then pulled the resisting man toward her.
“How long have you been here in Gloucester?” the priest asked, taking on his most gentle, fatherly voice.
“A week, Father,” the man answered, his eyes downcast.
“Very good. Now tell me the truth or risk the wrath of the Almighty Lord,” Father du Lac said, raising the cross that hung around his neck.
The actor paled ever so slightly. “At the risk of offending both you and our Lord? A little over two months.”
Oh, he was a tricky one, Nimuë thought, suppressing a giggle. Father du Lac just nodded. “Then you know where there are more of you.”
“There aren’t any other actors in Gloucester. At least, none as good as…”
“Not actors—witches.”
“We are not are witches!” the man’s voice deepened, his eyes went wide, and filled with a magic so strong Nimuë could feel it to her toes.
Nimuë could not stop the little smile that lifted one side of her mouth. “Of course not,” the priest corrected himself. “But you do use magic to mesmerize your audience. Tell me where there are others who can wield magic.”
“And why should I tell you anything, Father?” the man said, lingering over her title.
Nimuë used all of her many years of practice at keeping a serene façade. She allowed herself a small smile. “Because if you cooperate, I will let you go.”
“And my troupe?”
“No, just you.”
The man paused, clearly thinking about this for a moment. “You know I can’t do that.”
Father du Lac took a deep breath and looked up as if asking God for patience. “Fine. And your troupe. Tell me where I can find these people.”
“I know many people,” the man answered, turning away as if the conversation were boring him.
“A family of carpenters.” Nimuë was
beginning to tire of the man and his tricks.
The actor shrugged.
“Who use magic.” She almost used her own to get the man to talk, but a slight glance around her told her that all of her knights were watching this conversation much too acutely to risk it.
The actor paused.
“Ah, so you do know them,” Father du Lac said, smiling.
“No.” The man blinked, all innocence.
“You do. Tell me where I can find them. What are their names?”
The man stared hard at her, looking as if he were having a thorough debate with himself in his head. Nimuë got tired of it and locked her eyes onto his. Tell me where they are now. We are both surrounded by very strong, well-armed knights who will do anything I tell them to do. If you value your well-being and that of your troupe you will tell me what I want to know. Now.
The man’s eyes widened as Nimuë spoke to him within his mind. His eyes shifted from knight to knight and a smile grew on his face showing his dimples.
“You wouldn’t. You’re a priest,” the man said with bravado, projecting right into Nimuë’s mind.
“Do not always believe what your eyes tell you,” she replied.
Father du Lac turned to the knight holding on to the actors arm. “I believe our friend needs a little help remembering where he saw these carpenters. Would you...?”
“You will let us go?” the man interrupted as the knight began to twist the actor’s arm behind his back while wrapping a large hand around the actor’s throat.
“I said I would,” Father du Lac confirmed.
“I know of some brothers who are carpenters. I know nothing about whether they use magic or not. The eldest is called Thomas. I don’t know the names of the others.”
“How many of them are there?” Father du Lac asked.
The man’s eyes flicked up to the knight, who was still holding on to him. “Five, and I believe they’ve got a sister, but I haven’t seen her for a while.”
“She is a healer? Red hair?” the priest asked, honing in to the vibration of excitement that was beginning to zip through Nimuë’s blood.
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