The healer patted Ciara on the shoulder as she walked her to the door.
"Remember," Konly said as Ciara started across the square, "sometimes we just need to be still and let them come to us."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bolin knew the lands between the Greensward and Nisair better than most. Unfortunately, the two most direct routes skirted both the Nethers, Donovan's home, and the Great Fen in which the crone dwelt. Or had dwelt. The attacks on the messenger and the Imperial escort assured him Donovan still lived. Not knowing whether the crone had survived the battle just added another layer to Bolin's worry. Not being able to deal with them while Ciara remained safely in Galys Auld gave him nightmares. Or would if he could sleep.
He frowned at the map spread across the table in his study. Though Nialyne had announced she wouldn't burden the expedition with a carriage, opting to ride her own mare instead, a supply cart would be a necessity for man and beast. That would make it impossible to take the quicker, more secretive, routes Bolin would have preferred. He traced a line east out of Galys Auld, to the Southrun, then another in the opposite direction, northwest out of Galys Auld and toward Guldarech. The safer route would be the Southrun. It would put them well away from the Nethers. It would also add days to their journey. No matter how he manipulated their route, safety meant a longer journey. A longer journey meant more time for Donovan to move against them.
The lantern on the table flickered as it burned low, and Bolin lifted the glass and blew it out. He kicked his boots off, and sank into a chair before the fireplace, slouching down until he could rest his head comfortably against the cushioned back, stretching his legs out in front of him. The dancing flames bounced shadows across the beamed ceiling; chasing one another as the fire flickered along the lone remaining log.
If he were smart, or less inclined to keep his head, he'd stay in Galys Auld and send a messenger to Nisair, explaining to the Emperor the folly of his request, then send out a small, hand-picked force to put an end to Donovan. But Bolin knew the Emperor better than any, and the man could be downright pig-headed when he decided on a certain course of action. Not that anyone could fault him as emperor. Dain had taken the throne after the death of his father, and a failed coup by his uncle. He had been all of fifteen years old at the time, and still men had been willing to follow him without question. Well over twenty years later the people were no less enthralled with him than they had been. But then, they had the luxury of seeing him as something close to godlike, and without fault. Bolin knew him as a man, and like all men, imperfect.
A memory played out behind his eyes of the last time he had been at Nisair. Ariadne had followed him after preventing him and Dain from coming to blows.
"So you'll leave without a word, then?" Ariadne caught up to him at the stable.
"By the Emperor's command," Bolin said.
"Goddess's light, can neither of you see past your own pig-headed pride?"
Bolin ignored her as he led Sandeen into the yard. He would have continued to ignore her if such a thing had been possible. But Ariadne put herself directly in his path, her expression hard.
"He doesn't doubt you," she said.
"He cows to the mages. He knows as well as I where the real threat lies, yet he allows Arnok to sway him. Tell me, Ari, when is the last time any of the mages set foot outside of Nisair? They are blind, and yet Dain licks their heels like a pup."
"And you'd rather he lick at yours?"
He glowered at her. "Are you done?"
She laid a hand on his arm. "Don't go in anger, Bolin. Wait until tomorrow when both of you have had a chance to calm down."
"That will change nothing. His mind is set."
"And yours?"
"I do as the Emperor commands," he said. "As always."
Ariadne snorted. "You will do as you see fit and expect my brother to accept it. Or push him to ask for your head."
"There are times that would be preferable." Bolin covered her hand with his, his finger brushing across the ring she wore, a reminder he did not always do as he saw fit. "When will you be returning to Courrin?"
"In a few days. The children are anxious to get home and see their father. You could stop in for a visit some time, you know?"
"My duties rarely take me north."
"On purpose."
"Ari--"
"Promise me you will talk to Dain and not let this fester," she said. "He needs you, Bolin."
That had been over four years ago. Bolin had conveniently avoided the Emperor, and found many excuses for repeatedly ignoring Dain's requests for him to make a personal report. The Imperial Mages were the ones who had insisted on sending Bolin out on the search in the first place. They likewise knew when Bolin found Ciara, and must have wondered, like others, why he did nothing.
There were times Bolin wondered himself.
His hand drifted up, his finger idly tracing the pendant beneath his tunic. Ciara's image floated behind his eyes: her brown hair slipping from its braid, hazel eyes dark and smoky, the way they looked when she moved close to him. Those times when he could feel her desire as though in answer to his own. Before the flash of anger that could come quick and sharp like a lightning strike, without warning or provocation.
They needed to find someone capable of training her. Until that happened, she posed a serious threat to everyone.
But first they had to get her safely to Nisair.
Bolin growled and pushed out of the chair, padding barefoot to the veranda doors, open to allow the gentle late summer breeze in. His rooms, on the backside of Nialyne's sprawling manor, opened onto a stretch of plush lawn that slid gently into the creek. He'd chosen these quarters because of the seclusion they offered, and the serenity of the view. He rested his shoulder against the door jamb, and sighed into the night.
Like all the elders, Nialyne's magic was bound to the Greensward. The further they ventured from its borders, the weaker it would become. It would still be substantial, all things considered, but Bolin had no desire to pitch himself and Nialyne against Donovan and the witch while trying to keep Ciara out of it.
Bolin wondered if Konly had an herb that could safely knock Ciara out for the duration of the journey. Or at least numb the part of her that drew Donovan. It would have the added benefit of removing that particular distraction from Bolin's mind as well. Even now his blood raced when he thought of her power. A simple word would waken it, would bring it to him willing as a lamb. Just as willing as Ciara would be. She would give her body to Bolin as she would give her power to him: freely and without reservation. And he would take them both. But in the latter case, Ciara would fight him once she realized he meant to keep it.
But what if he were to merely hold Ciara's power until they were clear of Donovan? Just as he had held the witch's magic. He doubted he would suffer the same ill effects, and that would certainly make things easier. They wouldn't have to worry about Ciara losing control or calling to Donovan. And really, if he chose to do so, who could stop him?
"Unholy mothers."
Bolin shuddered at the reality of what he considered. The seeds of those thoughts had been planted by Donovan when he'd had Bolin in his hands, weak and near broken. It terrified him now that he hadn't rid himself of them. He would have to stay well away from Ciara, no matter what it took, and trust to Garek and his men to see to her safety. It had just become painfully obvious he couldn't trust himself.
He wandered back inside and poured a drink, his hand shaking as he raised the glass and downed the contents in one hard swallow. Sleep seemed unlikely, but he stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling, his arm folded behind his head, and tried to keep his thoughts on planning the route to Nisair.
It almost worked.
***
A figure moved out of the darkness surrounding him, a woman, dark skinned and slender. The shadows flowed with her as she came toward Bolin. She lifted her hand, a casual gesture that sent pain shooting through his left arm.
"Y
ou intrigue me." She trailed her fingers across his bare stomach, leaving behind a streak of black ooze that burned his skin. "What are you I wonder?"
Bolin tried to reply but his mouth, like the rest of his body, refused to work. He stood rooted, unable to do anything but breathe. Her scent--wet earth and pine, mingled with wood smoke--tantalized his nostrils.
"Do you know what I am?" She circled around behind him, and he willed himself to turn with her to no avail. Her voice carried the ripple of an accent in a throaty burr. "I'm your death. But you've no fear of death, do you?"
She pressed herself against his back, encircled him with her arms as her hands caressed his body. "Before I take your life, I'll take your pleasure, and give it in equal share. You desire power. I can feel it. I have power the likes of which you have only just tasted. It revolts you just as it draws you, doesn't it?"
She turned him in her arms and found his lips with hers. Her breath filled his mouth, tepid and seething, like tendrils of oil that slid down his throat and choked him. She smiled as she released him.
"Soon, you will seek me out." She touched the scar on his arm. "We are bound until I decide otherwise."
***
"Are you still with us?"
Bolin jerked his head up and looked across the table. Garek surveyed him, brow raised, and the corners of his mouth pulled down in an expression similar to the one Nialyne wore beside him. They'd gathered in Bolin's study shortly after breakfast, giving Garek a chance to give his men a day's worth of orders to keep them occupied. Ciara, thankfully, had gone straight to the healer's hut.
"I asked if you've decided on a route yet?" Garek said.
Bolin cradled his arm, absently massaging it through his shirt sleeve, and glanced back down at the map spread out before them. Although sleep had eventually come, it hadn't been even close to restful. "There's no good choice. The shortest routes put us too close to Donovan, or would be too difficult to venture with a cart."
"Or a Galysian elder?" Nialyne asked.
"Hence the reason for a cart," Bolin said. "But there's no chance I'm going to convince you to remain here, is there?"
She smiled. "No."
"And you're certain Donovan will be a problem?" Garek asked.
"He wants Ciara."
"The girl?"
"Aye."
"And why is that again?"
"Because," Bolin said, "she has incredible power."
Garek held up a hand. "Enough said. Spooky stuff. You know I don't care for it. Sets my flesh to crawling just thinking about it. We'll keep it simple. He wants her; we can't let him have her." He chewed at his mustache. "So, what about east, catch the Southrun past Broadhead? Fairly easy country for travel, even if we opt to keep off the road."
Road or not, Donovan and his new pet would find them. The only questions were when and how.
"Or," Garek drawled the word out. "We sit back on our heels, and send word to the Emperor that his demand reeks worse than the cesspit on a hot summer day, and we'd sooner run naked through Guldarech during festival than make the trip."
Bolin stared at the map though he could have redrawn it blindfolded. Garek had no idea how sorely tempting it was to do just that. Damn the unholies, if the Imperial Mages were so curious about Ciara, they should make the trip to Galys Auld instead. Donovan couldn't touch her within the borders of the Greensward. At least, not yet. But how long before he tried? How long before his patience ran out, with his prize so close? And the idea of turning the Greensward into a battle ground made Bolin's stomach roil.
Perhaps within the walls of Nisair they could hold onto the illusion of safety.
"Bolin?" Garek waved a hand to catch his attention. "Are we boring you?"
He shook his head, ignoring Nialyne's penetrating stare, and dropped his hand to the map, tapping the area around the Southrun. "East. But we'll avoid the road as much as possible. Can you be ready by tomorrow?"
Garek shrugged. "See no reason why not. So long as Dafyd can remain here?"
Nialyne nodded. "Absolutely. I dare anyone to attempt to pry him from Konly's care."
"What of a cart and supplies?" Garek asked.
"I have a cart waiting, and have already begun collecting what we need for the journey."
"And we'll take only what we need," Bolin said. "We have to travel light. I'll ask you again, Alyne--"
"The answer is the same, Bolin. You won't dissuade me."
He shook his head but knew better than to continue the argument.
"Is that bothering you?"
Bolin followed Nialyne's gaze, and realized he'd been rubbing the spot of the witch's wound again. "No." He rolled the map to give his hands something else to do. "Garek can help draw up a list of supplies. Keep an accounting to present to the Emperor. We'll travel within the Greensward as long as possible before veering north."
"Which will be how long?" Garek asked.
"Two days. We'll camp at the border, and then strike out cross-country to Broadhead. From there, the road to Nisair."
Garek gave Bolin a look suggesting he had something on his mind that would stay there until they were alone. "So we're looking at a journey of a fortnight, give or take?"
"Aye." Far too much time to be dangling Ciara under Donovan's nose. "Make sure we've enough to see us all the way to Nisair, at the least. There's no guarantee we'll get the opportunity to stop at Broadhead."
"I get the sense there's little guarantee we'll make it three leagues beyond these borders."
"I believe I'll leave you gentlemen to work out the details of our journey without me," Nialyne said. "I've much to set in order before we depart. Commander, please see to it that the good General eats at some point during the day. He has a tendency to forego such basic necessities when something is gnawing at him."
Bolin scowled at her for the comment, but Garek gave her a jaunty wink and a bow from the waist. "Since eating is something I try never to skimp on, I will insist he join me, Lady. Never fear." He waited until the door closed behind Nialyne before turning a more serious face toward Bolin. "You're elsewhere this morning. It's making me uneasy."
"We're never going to make it to Nisair. Dain's a complete and utter idiot if he thinks we will."
Garek's eyes rounded. "Well, that did exactly nothing to put me at ease."
"What were your orders?" Bolin asked. "Exactly."
Garek puckered his lips, clicking his tongue as though trying to come up with a suitable answer. He clasped his hands behind his back, started to speak, appeared to think better of it, then shrugged. "Well, here's the thing, they included instructions to not divulge to you exactly what my orders are."
"I see." Bolin paced to the fireplace and glanced down at the remaining coals, glowing faintly red. "If I were to tell you that once I set you on the road to Nisair, I'll be heading elsewhere, what would you say?"
He looked over his shoulder at Garek. The big man closed his eyes and made a noise deep in his throat. "I'd ask you, on the strength of our friendship, to not put me in that situation."
"I thought as much. Let me ask you another question."
"Can I have a drink first? I've a feeling I'm not going to care much for anything you have to say this morning."
Bolin ignored him. "Did you actually volunteer to join this little venture? Or did Dain choose you himself?"
"Dammit, Bolin." Garek got his drink, downing one glass before refilling it and turning. He rested his rump against the sideboard. "You know the Emperor better than anyone. You can answer that question for yourself, along with his reasons, and every other nit that's pestering you. We're your escort. Your escort. Understand?"
Bolin understood all too well. "How much time were you given?"
Garek emptied the glass a second time. "Till next moon." He wiped his mouth with his hand, then set his glass on the table. "Now let me ask you a question. What's crawled up your backside that's got you twisted in a knot this morning?"
Now Bolin needed a drink, but he didn't go
for one. He rested his hand against the mantel and stared at the embers without seeing them. Instead, he saw Donovan, and over his shoulder the dusky skinned Dominion witch. The look of triumph on both their faces made his blood run cold.
"Is there something you need to tell me?" Garek asked. He came up beside Bolin and passed him a glass of heather wine. "Because I'd rather know what we're likely to be up against before we meet it."
"Are the men yours?"
"As in, did I train them? Aye. As in, did I hand pick them for the escort? Same answer. Bolin," Garek rested his hand on Bolin's shoulder and caught his gaze squarely with his own, "you've got the best escort in the empire, and we've got the best general leading us. So either share your concerns or let them go. But if you keep brooding like a thundercloud over the Inlet, there's not going to be enough drink in all the Greensward to see us through today."
"The honest truth is I don't know what we'll meet along the way," Bolin said. "I wasn't sure Donovan was alive until the attacks on your men and the messenger. I've no doubt of it now. But he's unpredictable. The only thing I know for certain is that he won't stop until he has Ciara."
"And if succeeds in getting her?"
"That can't happen."
"Then we'll insure it doesn't. You and the Lady handle all the spooky stuff. The lads and I will take care of the rest."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ciara didn't sleep much the remainder of the night. Dreams plagued her, leaving nothing but a vague unease in their wake. She rose with the dawn, dressed, and arrived at the healer hut before Konly. Their two patients rested more peacefully than she had. Ciara didn't disturb them. She cleaned up and organized the surgery, then made a list of herbs that were running low. By the time the master healer arrived, Ciara had scrounged up a basket and made her way to the herb garden.
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