The House Of Gaian (18 page)

Since Breanna still seemed stunned by the news that a witch could actually do what she’d bluffed the Lightbringer into believing a witch could do, Liam nodded his assent.

After the Fae rode off, Donovan whistled softly. “Mother be merciful, Liam. Even if we only get help from a few of the Clans, we stand a better chance than we did an hour ago.”

“I know.” Now that the Fae were gone, he noticed how pale Falco looked. Couldn’t blame the man. He hadn’t been sleeping easy after learning there were witches out there more powerful than Breanna and Gwenn, who he thought were quite powerful enough. Since Falco would have to work through his own feelings, Liam rested a hand on Breanna’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

She just blinked at him, as if she were trying to get the world back into focus. Then she blew out a breath and bent to pick up her bow and arrow. When she straightened, she looked at the woods. “The Huntress, the Hunter, and the Gatherer.”

“Sounds like the title of a play the Muse would create, doesn’t it?” Gwenn let out a little grunt as Donovan finally wrestled the fireplace poker out of her hand.

“Yes, it does,” Breanna replied. “If they do come together, at least we won’t be sitting in the front row.”

Smiling, Adolfo watched through the bars of the locked door. The largest of the three nighthunters in the cage had been trying to figure out the simple lock on the cage door for an hour now. Its incentive was close enough to make it fiercely hungry but was still out of reach. Yes, there was a feast waiting for his creatures if they could get free of the cage: the two old witches he had drained of power in order to try this experiment—and the apprentice Inquisitor he’d used to assist him. The youth had been a good choice, an open channel for power but too weak to use it himself. Useless as an Inquisitor because of it, but he’d taken the youth because it was better to control a weak vessel than to have it controlled by someone else. Besides, even the useless had their uses—and it had quieted the doubt that had plagued him since the Gatherer had left him with a dead arm to weave the Inquisitor’s Gift of persuasion around the apprentice, to chain another person so completely with nothing but that Gift flowing through his voice.

He looked at the corner of the room where the apprentice lay, staring at him with terrified, pleading eyes.

While his voice had rolled over the youth, the apprentice had taken the knife Adolfo handed him and cut out his own tongue—and then opened his own belly with a deep slash of the blade. Now the apprentice lay on the floor, his face smeared with blood, a little more of his guts spilling onto the floor with every effort to move.

The witches were crawling around on the floor, sensing there was danger nearby, but unable to see it, hear it, or scream out of fear of it. No feet to walk on, no hands to guide them. They always thought they were so powerful, but they were nothing more than meat.

He heard a
click
, saw the cage door swing open. For a few heartbeats, the nighthunters stared at the opening. Then they spilled out, flinging themselves on the blood and fresh meat that flailed desperately to escape the sharp teeth and claws.

Adolfo watched for another minute or two before closing the wooden door over the bars and latching it.

It was a pity he had to leave the nighthunters locked in that cellar room to die, but they were too dangerous to take with him. No matter. Now that he’d mastered how to twist the magic in a specific way, he could create the nighthunters when and where he needed them.

He’d succeeded beyond his expectations—but not beyond his hopes. The successful transformation of this new host creature into a nighthunter gave him a far more terrifying, and deadly, predator than the animals in the woods.
This
is what he would unleash on Sylvalan as punishment for defying him, for refusing to put women in their proper place, for helping the females whose power continued to seep into the world.

He was ready. Everything was ready. Even now, the army from Arktos was marching toward the northern border of Sylvalan to join the eastern barons he’d commanded to take the roads north of the Mother’s Hills, cutting off any help from the midlands. The southern barons that he controlled, along with more of the eastern barons, were doing a forced march to cut off the roads between the southern end of the Mother’s Hills and the coastline. Their orders were clear, and there were enough Inquisitors going with both armies to make sure the orders were carried out. They would kill any baron who tried to stand against them. They would kill his wife, his children. They would kill the squires and magistrates, leaving the villagers and farmers with no leaders to follow. They would take whatever food and supplies they needed, then burn the fields. Starving people had little strength for defiance. They would lay waste to the enemy’s lands until there were no enemies.

Ubel was already on his way with a fleet of ships packed with fighting men. A quick stop at Seahaven and Wellingsford to make sure there weren’t any ships trying to hide witches among their cargo, then up the west coastline to the small harbor that was a day’s hard march away from Breton.

By tomorrow night, he, the Master Inquisitor, would cross the Una River to lead the Wolfram army and the remaining eastern barons under his control straight to Willowsbrook. He wouldn’t kill Baron Liam, not right away. He would take the time to soften Liam and his family. Liam’s last act would be to offer himself as meat to the gifts that would be left behind to haunt his people for years to come.

The Sylvalan barons who defied him had no chance. He had the strength of Wolfram and Arktos to throw into the fight, as well as the eastern barons he controlled, while his enemies would have to splinter whatever strength they could gather in order to meet the three arms of his army as well as libel’s attack in the west.

No, Adolfo thought as he left the cellar and went up to his room, the Sylvalan barons had no chance.

And once
they
were eliminated, his armies would come together and crush the Mother’s Hills, destroying the wellspring of magic forever.

The air was fresh, invigorating, rich with scents. The water tasted sweet and cool. The ground beneath Mistrunner’s hooves hummed with energy and life. She was home. Not her family’s land or the village she grew up in, but as soon as she entered the Mother’s Hills, she was home.

Almost giddy with the pleasure of being back, Selena looked over her shoulder to see her companion’s reaction to being in the land that belonged to the House of Gaian. After a moment, she returned her attention to the trail in front of her; her pleasure dimmed.

Gwynith and the escorts were obviously uneasy about traveling through the hills. They rode with their shoulders hunched, as if they expected to be attacked at any moment.

The trail forked. Selena took the wider branch, then gestured for Gwynith to come up and ride beside her.

“Why are you so uneasy?” Selena asked. “You live in an Old Place. This can’t be that much different.”

“It is,” Gwynith said, her voice just above a whisper as she glanced fearfully at the trees around them. “

There is power in the Old Places. You can feel the difference in the land and the air the moment you cross the boundary and ride out on land that belongs to the humans. But this place ... It’s so
potent
, Selena. I feel reluctant to touch the land or drink the water for fear I might offend someone—or
something
—here.”

Selena looked around. “I suppose it is potent,” she said after some consideration. “There are so many of us who live here, so many generations who have served as the Great Mother’s vessels, taking in that power and giving it back again. I felt the lack of it when I traveled into the midlands, but I never realized other people would fear what they felt here.”

Gwynith gave her a pale smile. “In a way, it’s not so different from standing before one of the more powerful Fae. One just gives one’s manners an extra polish.”

“You can still go back,” Selena said gently. She studied the other woman. “Or is staying with me in order to send reports to the Hunter important enough that you’ll ride your fear to the end of the road?”

“Oh, that’s not the only—” Gwynith looked away, her face losing all color. “I truly did want to help you.”

“I know. That’s why you’re still with me.” She waited until Gwynith looked at her. “It must be difficult to have your loyalty divided.”

“It would have been ... if I’d had to make a choice. But you and the Hunter want the same thing, so I haven’t had to make a choice after all.”

They didn’t talk after that, simply rode until the trail came to one of the main roads. It was tempting to turn south toward friends and family. She hadn’t been gone that long, but she yearned to be a daughter again, just for a day, to regain the sense of who she was and where she came from before resuming the challenge of shaking the Fae out of their complacent way of life.

Instead, she turned north. The Crones had summoned her.

An hour later, she and her companions cantered down the lane that led to the sprawl of buildings and gardens where she and Rhyann had spent a summer in order to learn from the Crones, the Grandmothers of the House of Gaian.

One of them was waiting for her at the edge of the open courtyard, resting lightly on the cane Selena suspected was still carried so that it would be easily at hand if a difficult student needed a whack on the rump to understand a point that was being made.

“Blessings of the day to you, Grandmother,” Selena said.

“Blessings of the day, Granddaughter,” the Crone replied. “You’ve brought guests.”

“I have.”

The Crone studied the Fae. Then she lifted her cane and pointed to the two young men who had hurried toward them from the stableyard. “The boys will see to the horses and have your saddlebags brought up to your rooms. Come in and be welcome.”

Working to hide her relief—she
hadn‘t
been sure the Crones would welcome the Fae here—Selena dismounted. Mistrunner snorted, sat back on his heels in a way that indicated he was going to be stubborn, and laid his ears back in warning.

“Ah, now,” one of the grooms said, holding out a hand. “We’ve got good grain and cool water, and a soft rain came by the other day to sweeten the grass. But if you’d rather stand here wearing a saddle in the hot sun ...”

Selena wasn’t sure how much Mistrunner understood beyond
grain, water, grass
, and
hot
, but apparently those words were enough. His ears pricked, and the next snort sounded thoughtful.

“Go on, then,” she said, stepping forward to hand the reins to the groom. “You deserve a bit of pampering. And I’ll be with the Grandmothers, so I’ll be perfectly fine.”
Unless one of them decides I
deserve a whack on the rump. Now that would certainly convince the Fae I’m a power to be
reckoned with, wouldn’t it
?

She felt a little stab of envy that the Fae’s horses didn’t show any obstinance about being led away. She wondered, again, why she’d ended up with a horse who thought for himself too much of the time.

As the Crone led them to a shady part of the courtyard, Selena noticed the way Gwynith and the escorts were looking around, wide-eyed.

“It looks like a Clan house,” Gwynith said quietly.

“Or perhaps Clans houses look like this,” the Crone said, settling herself on a cushioned bench.

No cushions for the guests, Selena noted as she sat on the hard wooden bench to the left of the Crone’s bench. Never any cushions for the students. Some things hadn’t changed. Gwynith sat down beside her.

The escorts chose to stand. Selena wished she could do that without giving offense. The bench felt doubly hard after days in the saddle.

“So, Granddaughter, you have brought one of the wiccanfae to visit us.”

“I have.” Selena slanted a look at Gwynith.

“I-I am pleased to meet you,” Gwynith stammered.

The Crone smiled. “No, you’re not. But if you do no harm, you’ll come to no harm.” She looked at Selena, her woodland eyes taking measure with some invisible yardstick before she nodded, apparently satisfied. “And you, Granddaughter. You’ve become
the
Lady of the Moon. The Huntress and protectress.”

“I have,” Selena replied carefully.

Silence. Then, softly, “Was there no joy in it for you?”

Selena closed her eyes. “The dance was glorious—and there
was
joy in it.”

“There was no joy in the storm you shaped and sent into the world.”

“No.” She swallowed hard. “That was fury ... and hurt.”

“Who hurt you?”

Was there something under the mildly spoken question? Oh, yes. In this place, she needed to choose her words with care.

She opened her eyes, letting the Crone see beyond the words. “The former Lady of the Moon took offense at being replaced by a witch. I lost my temper.”

“She challenged you after you ascended,” Gwynith said fiercely. “She had no right to do that. And you still gave her a chance to yield. If she hadn’t pulled the knife on you, you wouldn’t have hurt her.”

Selena looked down and watched her hands curl into fists. “There was too much at stake and too much power in that clearing. Anger gave that power form.”

“And mercy tempered that anger,” the Crone said quietly. “You did what you could to ease the nature of that storm.”

“If Rhyann hadn’t been in the Old Place to help me, it could have harmed a great many people.”

“Yes, it could have. But it didn’t. There will be other storms, Selena. The path you have chosen—or that has chosen you—will not be an easy one. The Huntress does not have the luxury of doing no harm. She is justice ... and she is vengeance. Perhaps the Fae needed to be reminded of that as well as being reminded of their place in the world.”

Gwynith stiffened. “We know our place.”

“Do you?” the Crone asked.

“I’ve given the Fae a choice,” Selena said. “They can be a part of the world or they can remain apart from the world. If they choose to remain apart, I said I would close the shining roads in a way that wouldn’t destroy Tir Alainn but would prevent the Fae from coming down to Sylvalan.”

“You would do that?”

Selena looked at the woman who had first taught her that she was a Lady of the Moon, had helped her understand the Fae half of her heritage. “Yes, I would.”

The Crone studied her. “What does the Hunter say about this?”

Selena smiled grimly. “I don’t know. The Hunter is heading east to a place called Willowsbrook. I expect, when we meet there, I’ll find out.”

“What about you?” Gwynith asked, the words bursting out of her. “Why hasn’t the House of Gaian done anything to help the witches and save the Old Places?”

“The wiccanfae did not ask for our help,” the Crone replied mildly. She used her cane to trace the shapes of the courtyard’s stone floor. “Do you understand who and what the House of Gaian is? Do you understand what we are in the world—and what we can do
to
the world? We are the Mother’s Sons and Daughters. We are the vessels for Her joy and celebration—and we are the vessels for Her terrible justice. We are the rich fields that feed Her children, and we are the storms that can destroy those fields, leaving starvation and death in our wake. Are you sure you want us to walk in the world again?”

Gwynith shivered. The escorts shifted their feet uneasily.

“I’m sure,” Selena said. “The Black Coats will never destroy the magic in the world as long as the House of Gaian stands in the Mother’s Hills. Sooner or later, they will come here, and sooner or later, we will fight.”

“Yes, we will,” the Crone agreed.

“Then let it be sooner. Let the power of what we are sing in the world again before the Inquisitors leave villages in ruins and—” She swallowed hard against a sudden wave of sickness. “And children are slaughtered.”

Silence shrouded the courtyard until the Crone said, “As you will, Huntress, so mote it be.”

Selena pressed her lips together and nodded, not daring to speak yet.

The Crone leaned over and laid one hand on top of Selena’s clenched ones. “You can only do what you can, Granddaughter. It is the Hunter who will make the final choice for the Fae. You understand that?”

Selena nodded again.

Gwynith frowned. “The Lightbringer and the Huntress lead the Fae. What does the Hunter have to decide?”

The Crone stood up. “The Lightbringer and the Huntress may lead the Fae, but it is the Hunter who
rules
the Fae. That was true in the beginning, and it is true now.”

Gwynith shifted on the bench. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you? Then the Fae have stayed away too long and forgotten too much. Come. First we will enjoy the midday meal and take a walk in the gardens. And then I will tell you a story.”