The Hunt: A Custodes Noctis Book (8 page)

“What happened?” Galen demanded.

“There was something here, never seen anything like it,” Rob said softly. “Maybe it came through the Veil?”

“Maybe.”

“Did you sense anything?” Rob asked, wondering if they needed to act.

“Nothing specific.”

“Do we need to…?”

“I don’t think so, not yet.”

When the man standing beside the table cleared his throat, Rob looked up. He was tall with silver-shot black hair, wearing a cassock. “Father Blake?” Rob asked.

“Yes,” the priest said, a smile creasing his face. He sank down in the chair across from Rob, a concerned look in his eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked kindly.

“Yes, sorry, migraine,” Rob said. “I’m Rob, this is Galen, I called you.”

“Yes?” Blake turned to the waitress who had approached them. “I’ll have whatever they’re drinking.” He gestured towards their glasses. “Thank you, my dear.” He watched her go with a smile on his face, then turned back to them. “So, you read
Mercury of the Philosopher.
”

“Yes, I enjoyed it.”

“Now, now, you don’t have to lie to me,” Blake chuckled.
 

“But I did enjoy it,” Rob said, smiling at the priest. He could sense a growing agitation from Galen, he glanced over, his brother had a frown on his face.

“Then you were one of the few.”

“I doubt that. It was brilliant.” Rob blinked, it was odd seeing the world without the Sight, the fact that Galen could completely strip the Gift away, no matter how briefly, awed him. Sometimes he wished Galen would listen when he tried to explain how unique that kind of power was.

“Flattery is a sin.”

“I mean it though, your analysis of the historical motivations of the alchemical movement in the larger context of the later…”

“Rob?” Galen nudged him.

“What? Oh. Sorry.” Rob grinned sheepishly.

“Yeah,” Galen said, shifting in his chair and rolling his shoulders.

“You wanted to talk about Petronius?” Blake prompted “What can I tell you?”

“It’s in relation to the passage about the
Saga of the Winter King
,” Rob began. The world was wavering around the edges, he recognized it as the Sight returning and damped it down so it wouldn’t come back all at once.

“Ah, yes, it’s one of the more obscure passages in his writing. Interesting to think that the Saga had been lost for several centuries at that point.”

“That’s one of the things I wanted to ask you about.” Rob blinked, the colors that accompanied the Sight were coming into focus. “Petronius hints that he knows the origins of the Hunt itself.”

“Yes, he does.”

“And in
Mercury of the Philosopher…
” Rob blinked again, staring at Blake as the Sight returned.

“Yes?” the priest said, raising his eyebrows.

“In the book you…” Rob took a steadying breath as colors, light and shadow, started moving around the man seated across from him. “You…”

“I?” Amusement rippled through Blake’s voice.

“I think it’s in chapter fifteen,” Rob said, trying to clear his head as the enormity of what he was seeing began to trickle into his mind. “That you… That you…”

“Rob?” Galen asked softly.

“What’s wrong?” Blake said solicitously.

“You, I’ve never seen…”

“Ah, yes, I did wonder how long it would take.” Blake laughed.

“What are you talking about?” Galen snapped.

“You’re
Custodes Noctis.
Which means he can see me,” the priest said, gesturing towards Rob.

“What does that mean?” The growl in Galen’s voice made Blake smile.

“Gods, Galen.” Rob turned to him. “I should have known, I’ve just never seen one.”

“One what?”

“Of the Fae. My gods, Galen, he’s one of the Fae.”

“The Fae?” Galen said, staring at his brother, then turning the look on the man who sat across from them. Blake was smiling, an eyebrow quirked in amusement. Galen rolled his shoulders, suddenly understanding where the odd sense of discomfort had been coming from, on the heels of that came the realization of how much the call of the Hunt was beginning to affect him. If Blake was indeed Fae, Galen should have been able to sense him, should have been able to stop Rob before the full Sight of the man hit his brother.

“Who are you?” Rob was asking the priest.

“I told you, Stephen Blake.”

“No.” Rob shook his head.

“Yes,” the priest said with a smile. “I assure you, I am Stephen Blake, I have been for quite a while now.” He chuckled. “I will say this solves the problem of my other errand.”

“What?”

“I had planned on looking the two of you up this evening.”

“Us?” Galen demanded.

“Yes, you. The Emrys
Custodes Noctis.
”

“How do you know we’re…?”

“Those don’t grow on trees.” Blake waved his hand towards Galen’s bracelet. “And the ones that have copper in them? There aren’t many families left who can still claim that honor.” He smiled that wry smile again. “I do recognize the Emrys design, you know. I’ve seen it once or twice before.” The priest looked at Galen and Rob, an entirely different smile on his face, gentle and almost wistful. “You look like them.”

“Our father and uncle?”

“No,” Blake said quietly. “I never met them.”

“Then who?”

“Never mind,” Blake said, shaking his head. “You were asking about Petronius and the
Saga of the Winter King
?”

“Petronius hints that he knows why the Hunt was founded,” Rob said, leaning forward, his hands clasped on the table.

“Yes?” Blake took a sip of his beer. “Good stuff.”

“Father Blake…” Rob said. Galen could sense the agitation flowing off his brother. He nudged him with his foot. Rob looked at him with a tight smile. “Father Blake, I…”

“Call me Stephen, I dislike the formality of the title. Blake is less of a mouthful as well.”

“Stephen, then,” Rob said.

“Blake,” Galen growled.

Rob looked at him with a frown, then turned back to the priest. “I wanted to know if Petronius said anything more about the Hunt in his papers.”

“His papers?” Blake asked.

“Yes, you said in appendix three that you were in possession of at least some his papers.”

“You read appendix three?” Blake said incredulously.

“Of course I did,” Rob replied in a haughty tone. Galen hid a smile. His brother was completely capable of making even a distinguished scholar squirm with that tone. “Appendix three was referred to in Watson’s analysis of the
Saga of Aelfric
and references the hunts of Northern Europe and the concept of the ghost or spirit hunt. He believes that the founding of the Hunt was a metaphor for capturing those that went against Aelfric’s order and were sent to work in the fields, or even put to death.”

“Watson is an idiot,” Blake grumbled. “He actually suggested in a recent paper that Petronius was a hoax entirely, and the papers had been forged in the middle nineteenth century.”

“Was that his latest article in
Annals
? I haven’t gotten to that yet, we’ve been a little busy.” Rob grinned. “I did read the treatise on…”

“Rob?” Galen stopped his brother before he could get started. The agitation from Rob had decreased as the two talked about research, while Galen’s had gone up proportionately. The proximity to Blake was beginning to knot his back and the echo of Rob’s headache was pounding in his temples. “I hate to interrupt the two of you, but can we maybe get back to the point? Maybe find out why one of the Fae is looking for us?” He paused when he realized Rob was frowning at him. Galen rubbed his neck and smiled.

“Galen’s right.” Rob turned to Blake.

“You really look like them.” The priest shook his head. “It’s rather extraordinary. So, back to our friend Petronius.”

“Good,” Galen said.

“He claimed to have a copy of the Saga.”

“It was lost,” Rob said.

“That’s what everyone believed. Petronius, however, said he had a copy.”

“With the missing part?” Curiosity was bouncing off Rob.

“Missing part?” Galen wondered if he’d regret asking.

“Verses two-nineteen through three-fifty are missing. There are several other lines missing as well, but that block wasn’t in the written copies. It was however hinted at in the oral histories of the late thirteenth century. Did Petronius have a copy with the missing parts in it?”

“If I said he did?”

“I’d say it was impossible, had I not found an entry in the writings of Marcellus of London, where he cites a lost copy.”

“You know Marcellus?” Blake asked, his eyebrows climbing.

“Of course.” Rob waved a dismissive hand.

“There are only five copies extant.”

“Yes, that’s what they say.” Rob grinned. Galen sighed, his brother was baiting the priest.

Blake’s eyes narrowed. “Marcellus claimed he knew the Emrys family. He went so far as to say he was considered for the post of Vassal Scholar.”

“He did know the family,” Rob said, the grin lighting his eyes. “And there are six extant copies.”

“There are?” Scholarly greed flared in the priest eyes.

“Yes.”

Galen allowed his attention wander, letting the Gift flow to get a better feeling for Blake. The Fae were not the happy, winged fairies that children’s stories made them out to be. They walked the night, dark creatures, often chaotically evil, and at one time demanded tribute to keep them from wreaking havoc. The tribute varied from the traditional mead, bread and meat to human blood. There was one particular story of the Fae Galen found during his research for his doctorate. It was in an herbal from the late Ninth Century and told of one of the Fae who offered information on healing plants—in exchange for a child delivered to him on the Vernal full moon. The fact that one of the Fae was looking for them was extremely worrying. Knowing the creature’s motives might or might not calm that worry.

He relaxed, focusing the Gift as unobtrusively as possible so Blake wouldn’t sense what he was doing. There was a wall around the priest, Galen gently pushed through it. Not enough to alert the other, but enough to get an idea of what they were dealing with. At the back of his mind he could hear the pounding of hooves, the soft chiming of bells gradually growing louder. For the first time, he let it move a little more into his consciousness, hoping that if Blake did sense what he was doing, the call of the Hunt might cover his tracks in time to get out before something bad happened. The cold mists were eddying through his head when he made contact. He got a fleeting impression from Blake before the Hunt was on him, the call louder than Rob’s voice, louder than the soft hum of their bond. The pounding of horses hooves filled his mind, a raven’s voice floated above him as the icy mists moved through his body.

“Galen!” Rob’s hand was on his arm, Galen blinked, the restaurant came back into focus. “Galen?”

“Here.”

“I think your interest in the Hunt is not just intellectual,” Blake said, smiling at Galen.

“What do you mean?” Rob snapped.

“You’ve heard the call.” There was a pleased glint in Blake’s eyes that bothered Galen. “You have,
 
haven’t you?” Blake asked. “I can see it in you now. I have heard the rumors about you. So they found you, did they?”

“What did you hear?” Galen asked, taking a deep breath. “I’m okay,” he said to Rob, then turned back to Blake.

“I suspect you have a good idea of that, no need to repeat it.”

“What do you know about the Hunt?” Rob demanded, a growl in his voice.

“Me? I’m just a scholar.”

“Do you think I’m blind?” Rob’s growl deepened. “I always suspected Petronius knew more than he was saying, and he—well you—do, don’t you?”

“Rob?” Galen said softly, his brother was angry, the buzz of the emotion battering against him.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Blake said innocently.

“I’m tired of dancing. Once I realized you were Fae, I recognized you from the portrait,” Rob said, scowling.

“What are you talking about?” Galen asked him.

“He’s Petronius.”

“What?”

“He’s Petronius, Galen.”

“He’s…?” Galen paused, sorting through the impressions he had gotten before the Hunt blocked out all else. There was a strong feeling of immense age, a depth of experience that most things—people and otherwise—didn’t have. “Of course. That’s kind of cheating, writing your own biography,” Galen added.

“It’s not cheating,” Blake chided. “Scholars don’t cheat.”

“Scholars cheat all the time,” Galen said, sitting up, the last of the mists drifting to the back of his mind.

“You’re right, it’s what we do best.”

“Galen, this is off point,” Rob said, the anger crackling off him like an out of control blaze. “What do you know about the Hunt?”

“It’s a punishment for
Custodes Noctis
who deny their proper place for some reason. From what I’ve heard, you fit right in with that,” Blake said, glancing at Galen with a smug smile.

A soft growl from Rob was the only warning Galen had before his brother moved. One second he was sitting beside Galen, the next standing beside Blake. The priest had an odd look on his face. Galen smiled. People had made that mistake about Rob before, assuming the enthusiastic, over-eager scholar was not a man of action. It was a serious miscalculation, and once Rob was moving, it could take a lot of effort—or occasionally bloodshed—to stop him.

“If you get blood on the floor, they’ll never let us come back,” Galen said mildly.

“I’ll make it up to them,” Rob said softly. “Shall we discuss the Hunt?”

“Will you take the dagger out of my back?” Blake asked.

“Not for a minute or two. I told you I was tired of dancing.”

“You’re like him in more than looks.” Blake’s chuckle was warm and friendly. “And that makes all the difference. Sit down, Robert, and I will tell you what I know.”

“And why you’re looking for us,” Galen added.

“The two go hand in hand.” Blake watched warily as Rob settled back in the chair next to Galen. He paused as the waitress came over and took their order. “Pretty girl,” he said as she left. Rob’s answer was wordless, but Blake understood and grinned. “So, the Hunt.”

“Yes,” Rob affirmed.