Rift (29 page)

Conatus held few prisoners. Most of the sorcerers and black-magic dabblers they encountered were puffed up with pride enough to think they could best the Guard. As a result they died in the field, never having the opportunity to occupy one of these cells. At this time, the wild man from the Black Forest was the stockade’s sole inhabitant.

Eira fitted the key into the lock and opened the thick wooden door. Though it still had the bleak, shadowed aura of a dungeon, the stockade could have been much worse than it was. The stone floors were dry and clean. Care was taken to prevent vermin from making their homes in the nooks and crannies of the building. Even so, the beatific expression fixed on the prisoner’s face took Eira by surprise.

She entered the cell, locking the door behind her. The prisoner scrambled to his feet. As he gazed upon her his eyes widened; even in the dim light they took on an unsettling gleam.

“You.” His whisper slunk through the air. “Yes. Yes. You.”

“Do you think you know me, goodman?” she asked, keeping her voice pleasant. Lukasz had told her this man was mad. Perhaps if treated kindly, he would happily reveal the source of his power.

The man gibbered at her. She looked away when spittle flew from his mouth. “No. I do not presume, lady. I was only sent to find you.”

The flesh along Eira’s spine crawled. “You were sent here?”

I should summon the Guards,
she thought.
Perhaps this man isn’t mad but has set a trap for us.

But she didn’t call out. The silver gleam of the man’s eyes flared and she was filled with the need to know more.

“What is your name?” she asked.

Despite the intensity of their roving gaze, the man’s eyes couldn’t seem to focus. They lolled about in their sockets, wild and constantly moving.

“I am but the messenger,” he rasped. “Beloved and blessed.” His English was clear but strange, devoid of any accent by which she’d be able to place him.

“Then give me your message,” Eira said.

“You received the message. You came.” He spoke almost reverently. “You and the other. But you didn’t stay long enough. You didn’t seek the source.”

“I and the other . . .” Cold slipped along the back of Eira’s neck. “Do you mean my sister? Are you speaking of Dorusduain?”

He crooked his finger at her, leaning in conspiratorially. “The village is gone.”

Disgust twisted deep in her belly and Eira stepped back, regretting her decision to come here. She turned to leave him but was stopped by the man’s anguished cry.

“No! Please!”

Eira looked over her shoulder and saw him on his knees, swaying in despair.

“Don’t leave, great lady,” he pleaded. “You must hear me. I’ve been sent to you.”

“By whom?” Eira asked. She was unsettled but wanted to keep him talking. If she asked enough questions, surely she would garner useful information.

“My master.” He lifted his hands toward the sky in supplication. “My lord.”

“Tell me about your master.” Eira had broken into a cold sweat. “Where is he?”

“Everywhere,” the man told her as he scrambled to his feet. “Here and not here.”

“He must have great power,” she mused. “To be everywhere.”

The sorcerer’s wheezing laugh filled the room. “No one is greater. He is the harbinger of your greatest dreams and the nightmare of your enemies.”

Eira was tempted to ask if the magician’s greatest dream had been to wander the earth in dirty rags.

Before she could quip, the wild man spoke again. “He’s shown you his power—the wonders he has wrought in your world.”

Any humor kindling in Eira was snuffed out by his words. “Like making a village disappear?”

Revulsion filled her when he nodded and clapped with delight.

“He has been searching for you,” he said, offering her a grin marked by blackened and missing teeth. “And now I shall have my reward.”

“How can your master be searching for me when I know nothing of him?” Eira reached into the pocket of her skirt, fingers finding the hilt of the dagger secreted there.

“My master sees all. Knows all.” The man’s eyes rolled up into his skull. “He will reveal his secrets to you.”

“Why would he do that?” Beneath her ribs Eira’s heart jumped, reacting to the mixture of revulsion and fascination that pumped through her veins.

“You hold the answer in your hand,” he said.

At first she thought he’d somehow read her mind, referring to the dagger her right hand gripped beneath the folds of her gown. But he cackled and pointed at her left hand, from which dangled the ring of iron keys.

The man clapped. “The door will open! Master, I have served you well!”

Eira’s temper broke. “Old man, you are a prisoner and at the mercy of Conatus. You brought great evil upon this world and will be punished.”

“You don’t wish to seek him?” The man cocked his head. “He waits for you. He will honor you above all others. He has told me this.”

“And if I don’t seek him,” Eira said. “If I give the order for your execution—which you surely know is your fate—what will your master do then?”

He bowed his head, shuffling his feet. Eira could hear him muttering but was unable to make out his words. When he lifted his head, his eyes were shining with tears.

“If you do not come to him, I have failed and will have earned my death.”

“Your master won’t come to save you? He won’t seek you out here?” Eira still worried that somehow this man was only the first sign of a greater evil to come upon Tearmunn.

He shook his head. “You must go to him. He cannot cross over. The door remains shut.”

Eira lifted the key ring; the iron keys jangled against each other. “The door you wish to open?”

“Not I. Not I.” He gazed at the keys longingly. “Only you.”

“Why me?” she asked.

“Only my master knows,” he told her. “And I am not worthy of such secrets.”

“What is this door you speak of?” Eira took a step toward him. He was harmless, she’d decided. And most likely insane. And yet . . .

“The door to the other side, the other world.”

She froze. The other world. In sites scattered from Europe to the Holy Land to the Far East, clerics of Conatus had scoured ancient texts for evidence of the other—for that place from which Solomon had called forth strange spirits to build his temple. But all their searching led to naught.

It was hard for Eira to keep her voice steady. “Do you speak of the world from which you called the striga?”

He nodded eagerly. “But I did not call them. Only the master may do so. He called the striga and bid them serve me. No creatures of the other side may serve in our world without his permission. He is the ruler of all.”

Eira rocked on her feet, hardly believing what she was hearing. “Have you any proof of this?”

“He will show you.” The man scampered forward, reaching for her hand. Her dagger flashed out to press against his throat.

“Forgive me, great lady,” he gurgled against the blade’s edge. “I only wish to lead you to him.”

Eira waited for him to back away. He groveled as he moved, muttering nonsense with each step.

“I have not agreed to seek your master,” she told him. “If you value your life, you will keep your distance.”

“Yes, my lady.” He prostrated himself on the floor, making her stomach turn. “Yes. Yes.”

The dagger shook in her hand and her pulse grew quicker with each moment. It was too much, so unexpected. This madman spoke of keys, but it was he who might be her key to everything.

“Have you eaten?” she asked.

From where he was crouched on the floor, the man peered up. “I need no sustenance, lady. I live only to serve.”

She forced her lips into a smile. “I’ll have food sent to you.”

As she backed toward the door, the man moved to a squat. His eyes were huge and she worried he would burst into tears.

“Will you not come with me, lady?”

“We’ll speak again soon,” she told him. “You have my word.”

“Great lady.” He bobbed up and down, trying to bow even in his hunched position.

Eira rushed up the steps, pausing only to press the keys into the warden’s hand. The Circle couldn’t gather until Abbot Crichton departed in the morning. But when he and his gold were well away, she would call her peers together.

Cian didn’t wake when Eira entered their room and stripped off her gown, leaving it in a heap on the floor. Though too occupied by thoughts to sleep, Eira slipped into bed to wait for the dawn. She stared at the ceiling with a smile playing over her lips.

How strange this world was, she mused, that good tidings were delivered from the mouth of a madman.

TWENTY-TWO

EIRA PACED THE FLOOR
while the other Circle members milled around the long, narrow table. Claudio and Ewan represented craft; Thomas and Fionn hailed from the clerics in the office of knowledge. She and Cian, speaking for war, completed the Circle. Eira had invited the knights who’d been sent to the Black Forest to join them. The Guard received some unfriendly glances from Claudio, who believed Circle meetings should remain closed to even high-ranking members of Conatus. But Claudio and others of his ilk were the very reason Eira had requested the presence of the knights.

While Eira continued her restless passes through the room, Cian addressed Barrow.

“How fares Lady Morrow?”

Barrow, whose face was haggard from lack of sleep, said, “Still unconscious. Infection has set into her wounds. The healers are waiting for her fever to break.”

Cian frowned. “Are they hopeful?”

“Yes.” It was Alistair who answered her. “They’ve said a strong spirit will aid her. And no spirit is stronger than Ember’s.”

“That’s true enough,” Barrow murmured, earning a disdainful snort from Alistair.

Sorcha looked at the two of them, lifting her eyebrows. Barrow met her gaze and gave a quick shake of his head. Alistair ignored her.

Lukasz and Kael entered the hall. The commander’s eyes were questioning. The summoning of the Guard to a Circle meeting was rare.

“Please be seated,” Eira said.

The room quieted and all eyes turned upon her.

Offering a thin smile, she said, “We all know how quickly rumors spread through this keep. So I have no doubt most of you are aware of the nature of Abbot Crichton’s visit.”

Murmurs of affirmation answered her.

“The lady Morrow handled the abbot’s inquiries better than we ever could have hoped,” she told them. “Unfortunately the abbot seems to have found other ways to glean information about the inner workings of Conatus.”

Claudio’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying he has a spy among us?”

Eira nodded. “I don’t suspect it’s any of our number, but a servant or a courier. Someone who has access but not loyalty.”

“We must find the traitor!” Claudio half rose from his seat, but Cian grabbed his arm and pulled him back into his chair.

Eira smiled gratefully at her sister. “I’m sure we all share your indignation at this treachery. But I also hope you’ll see the futility of weaseling out any such person.”

“How can you say that?” Claudio snorted. “Let a fiend like that go unpunished?”

“She’s right, Claudio,” Cian said. “The abbot has deep coffers with which to buy informants. If we find one, he’ll simply buy another. Our energies are better spent elsewhere.”

Others around the table nodded their agreement, leaving Claudio to stew silently.

Eira waited until she was sure there would be no further comment on the matter.

Thomas, the eldest member of the Circle, folded his hands on the table. “I have no doubt we’re all in agreement that avarice is the abbot’s greatest sin. But what recourse do we have other than to submit to his demands?”

It was the youngest member of the Circle, Ewan, who added, “Thomas is right. We’re under his thumb and he knows it.”

“What of Lady Morrow?” Cian asked. “Did the abbot request that she be sent away?”

The members of the Guard who had joined the meeting shifted uneasily at the question.

Barrow and Alistair spoke simultaneously.

“That isn’t an option,” said Barrow.

“Sending her home would destroy her,” Alistair muttered.

“Ember isn’t leaving us,” Eira said quickly as the two knights fell to silent glares aimed at each other. “And we will not sacrifice her for our own interests. She was called to the Guard and she belongs here. The abbot is simply using the girl for leverage.”

“I was informed of the payment sent with him upon his departure,” Fionn said. “But I would be a fool to think the issue ends there.”

Eira nodded. “He’s demanding an increased tribute. Four payments a year instead of two.”

Quiet protests rumbled around the table.

“The threat he holds over us”—Eira lifted her hands, asking for silence—“is to reveal to the Church the presence of women in the Guard . . . and to lead his superiors to believe that we delve into dark magics.”

Feeling her own anger building, she took a deep breath. “If we reject his conditions, we’re facing accusations of witchcraft.”

For a space of several beats no one spoke.

Then the room erupted.

“How dare he!” Claudio was on his feet while Ewan beat the table with his fists.