Faelan: A Highland Warrior Brief (9 page)

“Where is it? How can it be stopped?” But the halfling’s eyes had clouded with death. Damnation. He couldn’t suspend or destroy Druan until he knew what he’d created and how to stop it. He would have to get close enough to shackle the demon an
d find out what he had planned.

He spent much of that night trying to find Druan. He searched the woods in the direction Greg had disappeared. He didn’t find a demon, but he smelled something strangely sweet. He caught a flash of long, pale hair and slipped closer. It wasn’t a woman, but a man hurrying through the woods. Faelan watched him, noting his movements were unusually graceful. And fast. Faelan ran after him, and when he thought he was closing in, he suddenly tripped and fell. His trousers, already torn from his fight with the halflings, were now ruined. Faelan climbed to his feet, looking to see what had tripped him. Nothing was there. Not a stick or a stone, but the sweet smell was strong. Faelan continued to search for him, but the strange scent disappear
ed along with the man’s tracks.

When he returned to the horse farm, Faelan opened his trunk to look for another pair of trousers, but he couldn’t find any. He’d have to wear the torn ones and hope his arse didn’t show or put on his kilt. Disguising himself wouldn’t matter as much now. T
omorrow night it would be over.

Faelan saw the portrait Alana had painted, and he ran his finger over the four leaf clover that she used to mark all her paintings. One leaf for each of them. Faelan, Ian, Tavis, and Alana. He gathered all the gifts his family had given him and studied each one. God, he missed them. Tavis and Ian should have arrived by now. He wanted them here almost as much as he wanted them to stay away. But if the halfling was right about Druan’s disease being ready, it was to
o late to wait for help anyway.

When Faelan finally collapsed in his bunk, his dream lass came. This time she felt more real than ever before. And in the morning when he woke, her presence was so strong he almost expected to see her squeezed beside him in his narrow bunk. His battle marks tingled, and he touched his chest, remembering the feel of her cheek pressed against his skin. He didn’t get up right away, but stayed there remembering her touch, her voice, her lips, and he knew that if for no other reason, he had to save the world for her. But somehow he fe
lt as if he was saying goodbye.

He spent the day searching for Druan again. He wasn’t anywhere to be found. All he could do was go forward with the meeting Greg had arranged and hope Druan showed. Faelan sent warnings to the warriors in New York City and also to the clan in Scotland. If he didn’t succeed in destroying Druan, at least the clan would know what Druan was up to. Michael would then reassign Druan to another warrior.

That night, Faelan crouched behind the crumbling chimney of the burnt-out farmhouse. He could hear Greg’s worried breathing and hoped the coins jingling nervously in the man’s pocket were enough to buy his loyalty. The full moon was covered by clouds, and there was a thickness in the air that didn’t sit well, but he attributed it to the coming storm. Even the horses, hidden in the nearby grove of trees, neighed and stomped uneasily.

He’d already warned Greg to flee as soon as Druan—Jeremiah—showed. Faelan felt the warmth of his talisman and hoped he wouldn’t have to use it. The time vault waited behind the trees, ready to suspend the demon if Faelan got his answers.

The wind kicked up, slapping his kilt against his legs. He’d opted to wear it rather than his torn trousers
. It made him feel
closer to home. Soon, he would be back in Scotland. The first fat raindrop hit his nose, followed by the second and third. A jagged flash of lightning split the sky. Faelan flinched. “You sure Jeremiah’s coming?”

“Should’ve been here,” the man said.
“Probably ran into the storm.”

It came fast, the sky blackening as wind howled through the trees. There was a loud crack, and sparks flew from a nearby pine. Faelan heard horses approaching, hooves pounding the ground like an army from hell. He gripped his s
word. “You said he’d be alone.”

“He was supposed
to be.”

At least a dozen riders entered the clearing, mounts snorting as the night flashed. There were too many. He couldn’t take them all alone. Then Faelan saw them, sitting in the midst of the others, four figures taller than the rest. Like the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Druan rode in front, flanked by the other demons of old, faces any warrior knew from the time he could lift a sword. Tristol, Malek, and Vol
tar. What were they doing here?

He heard a gasp. His accomplice hadn’t run. The man stood frozen, staring at the ancient demons. The sky lit violet, and Druan’s yellow eyes found Faelan. The demon rode closer. Tristol, Malek, and Voltar followed in their true forms. They seemed puzzled to see Faelan. The remaining horsemen, halflings and demons, closed in around them.

Faelan regretted getting an innocent human involved, but it couldn’t be helped now. He shoved the man behind him. It was too late for retreat. He’d have to destroy Druan by hand and save the talisman’s power for the rest. It wouldn’t be strong enough to kill them all, but it might give Greg a chance to escape. There was no way out for Faelan. He would die. His only hope was to take with him Druan, and as many others as he could. “As soon as they’re distracted, run,” he whispered over his shoulder. “I’ll try to hold them off until you’re safe.”

“Did you think you could stop me, warrior? Stop my war?” Druan hissed as Faelan raised his sword.

“I will stop you, you bastard,” Faelan yelled over the storm. “We both know this isn’t about war. The war’s just a distraction for this disease you’ve created. You’re planning to destroy every human on earth.” And by the time his clan and the other warriors got the message, it would b
e too late. Everyone would die.

Druan’s eyes widened. His thick, grey skin quivered.

“What disease?” Tristol roared, turning on Druan. Where the others were hideous, Tristol was striking. Long black hair flowed from a face that looked almost human, except for a slight bulge in his forehead. He was rumored to be the closest to the Dark One, hell’s favorite son. What was he doing with Druan?

“Lies. He tells lies.” Druan looked over Faelan’s shoulder. “W
hat are you waiting for, Grog?”

“Grog?” Faelan tensed and started to turn as a jarring blow struck his skull. He’d been betrayed. It was over. The world was doomed.

***

“You weren’t supposed to bring the warrior yet,” Druan hissed, after the rest of the League had left to get out of the storm. It had taken all his persuasive powers to convince the others that Faelan had lied. They had all been furious, particularly Voltar and Tristol. Druan still wasn’t sure Tristol believed his story. Everything would have been destroyed if they had uncovered his plans for the virus. Centuries of work would have been wasted.

Grog wiped rain from his face. “I apologize, master. I mistook the time.”

If Druan didn’t know better he would suspect that Grog had brought Faelan early in hopes that the warrior would be successful in his attempt to destroy Druan. Surely Grog wouldn’t do such a thing. Druan had taken the demon under his wing, helping him rise in power. “Onca,” he called to one of his halflings. “Help Grog move the warrior.”

“The storm is getting worse,” Grog said. “Should we wait until the rain stops?”

“No. We must do it now.”

Druan watched as they dragged Faelan to the time vault Grog had seen the warrior hide behind the trees. Druan was elated to find that it existed. He had searched for one of the magical boxes for too long with no luck. Now, he would see if the rumors were true. The strange box was beautiful, made of wood and metal that had been etched with symbols. Green stones were set in the corner. The Druan put the round disk he’d found in Faelan’s pocket in the lock. He turned the disk and heard several clicks. Cautiously, Druan raised the heavy lid and looked inside. The interior of the box was covered in the same green
stone as those on the outside.

“Lock him inside.” He stood back as Grog and Onca lifted Faelan and laid him inside. “Careful,” Druan warned. He wanted the warrior in good condition when he awoke to witness the destruction of mankind. Assuming the time vault actually worked. Even if it didn’t, capturing the Mighty Faelan would teach the archangel the folly of sending a warrior to destroy an ancient demon. This would be a kick in heaven’s teeth
.

Druan rubbed his hand—still burning after he had tried to take Faelan’s necklace—and studied the unconscious warrior’s face. “Sleep well, warrior. I have great plans for you.” He slowly closed the lid and locked Faelan inside. Then Druan handed the key to Onca. “Mark this place and guard the key with your life.” He turned to the other demons who were digging Faelan’s grave. “Dig faster,” he roared above the crash of thunder. “We don’t have much time.”

Chapter Seven

Two weeks later

Near Albany, New York

“What’s he doing?” Tavis asked, watching as the Seeker knelt down and put his face near the ground. Frustration sharpened his tone. They had arrived in America later than they had planned. It had taken them longer than expected to hunt down one of the demons. Then, a storm had delayed the trip. Once here, they had tracked Faelan from New York City to Albany and then on to a horse farm where he had taken a job. He hadn’t been seen for a couple of days, but his horse—which from its description bore a striking resemblance to Nandor—h
ad been found wandering nearby.

“Checking the tracks.” Quinn Douglass mov
ed closer, studying the ground.

It had rained recently, and the muddy field was covered with the tracks of men and horses. As if a battle had been fought, Tavis thought, his battle marks tingling. If Faelan had already battled Druan, where was he?

“Something’s wrong,” his father whispered. “We
should have found him by now.”

Simon, a big black man with a bald head and sharp eyes, was one of the most powerful Seekers the clan had. The Council had sent their best. With all the warnings from the Watchers and worry over Faelan’s assignment to a second ancient demon, the Cou
ncil wasn’t taking any chances.

After a moment, the Seeker lifted his head. Tavis waited for him to turn, but he co
ntinued to stare at the ground.

“Did you fin
d something?” his father asked.

“There’s a time vault
buried here,” the Seeker said.

Tavis frowned. “You think Faelan
buried
Druan?” Time vaults weren’t buried.
They were returned to Michael.

The Seeker turned, and when Tavis saw the blank look on Simon’s face, he knew the news was bad. “It’s not a demon inside.”

“What?” hi
s father asked, his face ashen.

A
dull roar filled Tavis’ ears.

Seekers were always focused and calm. They had to be. But Simon’s hands trembled.
“Faelan’s talisman is inside.”

A stunned silence met the Seeker’s announcement. The small group stared at him as th
e meaning of his words sunk in.

Tavis saw his father’s chin tremble. “Dig. We
have to dig.”

Daylight was fading and they didn’t have proper tools. They made do with what they had, but knives and swords weren’t much good in the mud. Fearing his father would collapse, Tavis sent him to a nearby house to borrow a shovel. Quinn also went to keep an eye on him. They came back with two spades, but his father looked like he had aged fifteen years in the past hour.

“What did you tell them?” Ian asked.

“That we were looking for buried treasure,” his father said.

“A husband and wife live there,” Quinn said. “Frederick and Isabel Belville. They’ve invited us to stay while we search.” The Keeper looked relieved. He’d been acting odd the entire trip. Sneaking about at night, looking over his shoulder as if he someone was following him. And Tavis was certain that Quinn was hiding something in his trunk. When Tavis came upon him looking inside it on the ship, Quinn had looked as guilty as a thief.

When the time vaul
t was finally uncovered, Tavis’
father yanked at the lid. It was locked. “Is he inside?
” he asked, his voice strained.

They watched as Simon ran his hands over the vault. “I can’t tell if he’s there. But it’s his talisman inside.” And if his talisman was there, then he must be too. Unless he was injured, captured, or dead, Faelan would never allow someone to take his talisman.

His father leaned against the time vault. His shoulde
rs shook, but he made no sound.

Tavis’s chest and throat felt so tight he couldn’t breathe. He raised his arms, putting his hands behind his head to expand his che
st, hoping to pull in a breath.

Ian shook his head, his face pale, but didn’t speak. He and Tavis made their way to their father’s side and stood near the time vault. Ian’s cheeks were damp now, as were their father’s, but Tavis felt like stone inside. He couldn’t be gone. Not the Mighty Faelan. Not his big brother. Tavis looked back and saw all the warriors and th
e Seeker had bowed their heads.

Tavis turned back to the muddy time vault, unable to fathom that his brother might be locked inside, frozen in time. Time vaults were made for demons, not humans. Druan must have put him there, and without Faelan’s talisman, there was no
one to stop the ancient demon.

Stiff with shock and grief, they searched the hole for the key, hoping it had been buried with the time vault, and when they couldn’t find it, they covered the hole so no one would know the time vault had been removed. Tavis sent two warriors to accompany the Seeker back to town and purchase a wagon. He insisted that his father and Quinn go to Frederick and Isabel’s house before they became suspicious, while he, Ian, and the others disguised the time vault with branches and waited for nightfall. When it was quiet, and the house was dark, they went to move Faelan to holy ground. In case Druan, or whoever buried it, came back. A soft rain fell, as if heaven mourned. Even with four warriors, the time vault was difficult to move. Tavis’ muscles strained as he lifted his end. “Careful, don’t drop it!” he warned, when one of the warriors stumbled under the weight. Panting, they placed the time vault in the wagon.

“Someone’s coming,” Ian whispered.

They waited to see if they would be discovered, but the lone horse and rider moved past. When the path was clear, they continued their task. They unloaded the time vault outside the graveyard and carried it toward the crypt they’d seen earlier. It would protect Faelan for now. They were surprised, and relieved, to find the crypt empty. After placing Faelan inside the burial vault, they stood in a circle, their faces somber. Then the others left for town, where they
and the Seeker had taken rooms.

Tavis and Ian spent the night i
n the crypt with their brother.

“Do you think he’s alive?” Ian asked.

“Aye. He doesn’t feel dead to me.” Not quite alive either, but not dead.

“We could find Druan and shackle him. Make him tell us what happened.”

“We’d never get close enough to shackle him,” Tavis said. “We would die. That would kill Ma, losing all her sons. We have to believe he’s alive and that he’s safe inside.” Tavis looked around at the crypt. “We need a permanent place to put him until then.”

“I wish we could take the time vault with us,” Ian said. “He belongs at home in Scotland.”

“Aye, he does, but it’s dangerous to move the time vault.” There were stories about the contents being destroyed if moved around too much.

“H
ow do we know that?” Ian asked.

It was likely a fable, considering that time vaults were sent back to Michael and no one would have lived long enough to know such a thing anyway. Still, they couldn’t risk injuring Faelan more than he might already be. “The warning could have come from Michael. Do you want to risk it?”

“No. But we can’t just leave him here, unprotected.” Ian looked around at the small tomb. “This crypt would be the safest place. We wouldn’t have to move him again, and it’s on holy ground.”

“I think Frederick would notice if there was a time vault in his crypt. We could bury the time vault in the graveyard, but Frederick would notice that too.”

“I don’t want to put Faelan in the ground,” Ian said. “What if he can’t breathe?”

“He’s not breathing anyway.”

“We don’t know that. Maybe it’s different for humans. Maybe time doesn’t stop inside. Maybe it won’t open after a hundred and fifty years. Even if it does. What’ll he wake to? No family. Everything he knows dead and gone. That’ll be worse than death.”

“He has to be alive,” Tavis said. “His talisman is the only thing that can destroy Druan.”

“We have to find a safe place to keep him.”

“We could ask to buy the crypt, but I don’t know what explanation we would give.” Tavis sighed. “We’ll think of something. First, we have to find the key. Without it, nothing else matters.”

Tavis’
father and Quinn remained as guests of Frederick and Isabel under the pretext of searching for treasure, when in fact they were looking for the key to the time vault and keeping an eye on the crypt. Finding the key was crucial. Without it, the vault wouldn’t open, even after the proper time had passed. But they had no idea if Druan had the key or if he’d hidden it somewhe
re.

The next night, they got lucky and found a man sneaking around where the time vault had been buried. Tavis jumped the man, and he said that he was looking for a lost key. It was too much of a coincidence to believe that it was any key other than the one to Faelan’s time vault. With the right motivation, the man—one of Druan’s minions, they learned—admitted that he was helping the halfling, who had held the key for Druan that night. The halfling had lost the key and was terrified that Druan would find o
ut.

They found Onca in the woods behind the chapel searching the path that led to town. He cooperated, telling the warriors what he knew, which wasn’t much. He didn’t know why Druan had locked the warrior away, except that it had something to do with revenge and this plot he was brewing. In return for their promise not to kill him and not to tell Druan what he’d done, Onca showed them the exact route he had taken that night, from the field where the time vault had been buried to Frederick and Isabel’s house, where he had stopped once to make sure they hadn’t seen the activity. Then he’d
continued on the path to town.

They searched the area dozens of times, but the key was nowhere to be found. Even the Seeker couldn’t find it. It was as if it had vanished.

Just when it seemed things couldn’t get any worse, the warriors Faelan had sent to New York City returned with the urgent message Faelan had sent warning that Druan’s war was merely a cover for something far more deadly. He and his sorcerer were creating something that would destroy all h
umans. And it was almost ready.

“We should’ve stayed with him,” the oldest warrior said. “But we didn’t want to disobey his orders. This was his battle after all.” The warrior shrugged, looking miserable. “He is the Might
y Faelan.”

“It’s not your fault,” Tavis said. “He would have found a way to get you away from danger anyway.”

They decided that since they couldn’t destroy Druan without Faelan’s talisman, they could at least try to stop the sorcerer and destroy whatever he was working on. That might slow down Druan’s creation. But finding the sorcerer was a problem. The warriors spread out searching for Druan and his sorcerer. They found nothing but loose ends until a stranger approached Tavis and Ian outside town and said he had heard they were looking for Druan. The man was tall and dark-haired, but he kept his face hidden in the shadows, saying he preferred to remain anonymous. He said Jeremiah’s physician—which they reckoned must be his sorcerer—was leaving for Albany that night by stagecoach, and perhaps he could tell t
hem where Jeremiah was staying.

The stranger’s manner and his use of Druan’s
name along with his human identity made Tavis suspicious, and he insisted that the man identify himself. The stranger hesitated, and then said, “If you wish.” When he stepped into the light, Tavis’ heart crawled into his throat. He cursed and started to pull out his talisman even though it would be futile. As he touched the talisman, he felt numbness sliding over him.

“Don’t do anything rash,” Tristol said. “I mean you no harm. In this we have the same goal.”

Tavis stared into Tristol’s dark eyes, unable to look away. The numbness moved from Tavis’ body to his mind.

“Close your eyes and forget.” Tristol’s voice was soft, but commanding.

Tavis had no choice but obey. He felt his eyes closing. For how long, he didn’t know, and when he could open them again, the man was gone. A raven perched nearby, watching Tavis with dark eyes. Tavis felt a familiar chill. He pulled out his talisman and swung around in a circle.

“What just happened?” Ian asked. “There was a man here.”

“I don’t know,” Tavis whispered. He remembered the man—no, a demon—telling them where to find Druan’s sorcerer. “I think he was a demon.”

Ian frowned. “Aye, I think you’re right, but he wasn’t ugly like most of them. He was...beautiful. Bollocks. What did he do to us? Cast some kind of spell?”

“I wish I knew,” Tavis said, watching the raven watch him. “He said we had the same goal. I remember that.”

“It could be a trap.”

“I have a feeling he wouldn’t have needed a trap to kill us.”

“I feel like we should know him. There was something familiar about him, but I can’t remember. Maybe we’re dreaming,” Ian muttered.

Tavis punched him on the arm. “We’re not dreaming. Come on. We’re going to find this sorcerer. Trap or not, we have to check it out.”

They took a dozen warriors with them, just in case, and they found the stagecoach where the demon had said. When Tavis opened the door and looked inside, he first thought the man was a priest. Then he looked past the robes, at the long, gray hair, and he got a shock. “Old Donnal?”