My Lady Mage: A Warriors of the Mist Novel (6 page)

He was in need of food to restore his body’s balance. Over the centuries, they had all learned not to rush calling on the magic that brought forth their avatars until they’d had time to adjust to life on dry land again.

Using too much magic too quickly meant it would take that much longer for Gideon to regain his full strength. The same would be true for Kane as well since the warrior had played chase with Merewen’s uncle and his men.

As the path turned, Gideon sensed he was no longer alone. He paused briefly but then continued on. If danger was afoot, Scim would have screamed out a warning. The man waiting up ahead offered no threat.

“Murdoch, a smarter man would be taking his rest near the fire.”

His friend stepped away from the thick trunk of the oak tree he’d been leaning against. He held up a brace of rabbits. “I was headed there but stopped when I heard you stomping up the mountain.”

His teasing grin was short-lived. “We waited until Kane returned before going out to hunt to make sure we weren’t needed.”

“How much did he tell you?”

Murdoch frowned. “Only that Lady Merewen was being hunted with dogs. What kind of scum would do such a vile thing?”

“Her uncle. I’ll tell you and the others everything that I’ve learned after we reach the camp rather than tell the tale twice. I’ll be very interested to hear what Kane has to say.”

Murdoch looked disgusted. “He brought that miserable creature back to camp with him. I was hoping for one day of peace before he brought Hob out to play.”

None of the other warriors had ever felt comfortable around Kane’s companion. Gideon understood their feelings, but the two were inseparable and had been for far longer than even Gideon had known Kane. Perhaps it was because each was the last of his lineage.

The scent of roasted meat now hung heavily in the air. Good. Someone else must have had a successful hunt. Based on past experience, they would all crave extra food as if making up for the years without eating a single meal.

Today they would sleep in shifts and then begin training at sunrise even though the time spent in the river did little to dull their fighting skills. In fact, the five of them remained unchanged from one awakening until the next. As far as Gideon could discern, none of them had aged a day since they first were banished to sleep beneath the river.

Instead, it was the world itself that moved on, ever changing as they slept. In order to cope, they’d learned to find strength and comfort in the familiar, which helped them to accept the things that were new and different.

The trees grew sparser, letting through more of the sunshine from above. Gideon paused to hold his face up to the light, taking pleasure in its warmth. When a man spent decades upon decades sleeping in the damp chill of the river’s darkness, he learned to appreciate the light.
As always, Murdoch stood at Gideon’s shoulder, his patience infinite.

Mindful that he wasn’t the only one in need of a meal and sleep, Gideon moved on. A few minutes later they reached the campsite. There was no written rule that they always had to start off in the same spot, but it provided them with another familiar anchor to this world.

When they entered the clearing, Averel was seated by the fire, turning a sizable piece of meat on a spit. The young warrior looked up with a smile. “Captain, just in time. We were about to go looking for you.”

Duncan came out of the cavern carrying several bedrolls. He dumped them in a haphazard pile. “Gideon, I am glad you have returned. I’ve had a hard time keeping our young friend here from eating your share of the meal.”

“Well, then dressing these will keep him busy and out of trouble.” Murdoch dropped his own catch at Averel’s feet. “Get those cleaned and ready to cook. Once they’re on the spit, we’ll eat.”

As usual, Averel did exactly as he was told without complaining. They all treated him as a favored younger brother but never underestimated him as a fellow warrior. Despite his good nature, he was as fierce in battle as any of them.

He quickly cleaned the hares and set them to cooking. Meanwhile, Duncan carved the venison and passed out portions to each of them. Kane walked out of the cave just in time to join them.

Gideon didn’t want to think about how long it had been since he’d last eaten a meal. How he and his men survived the centuries with neither food nor drink was a mystery only the gods could answer. He chewed the first few bites slowly to give his body a chance to adjust to having all the usual human needs again.

They ate in silence, relishing the moment of peace sitting
in the sunshine. Even Kane, whose nature made him more attuned to the darkness, seemed content in the moment. Maybe the night’s adventure had eased his inborn need for violence.

After they finished their meal, Averel carried the bones out into the woods to provide a meal for the local scavengers. When he returned, he joined the others in staring at Gideon expectantly. He’d rather be sleeping, but he’d get no rest until such time as he satisfied their curiosity. Not that he blamed them. It was difficult to guard against danger without knowing what it was.

He quickly repeated what little Merewen had told him about the situation and then added his own grim conclusions. “Her uncle is determined to destroy what he cannot possess. His younger brother inherited the family wealth along with the talent with horses that made that possible. Under the current laws, Merewen herself cannot inherit because she is a woman.”

He paused to sip some water before continuing. “Her uncle knows that her ability to work with horses will pass through her direct bloodline, not his. If she were to give birth to a son with her talent, Fagan’s control over the manor and all of its wealth and land would end.”

Duncan, always the first to follow facts to their logical end, spoke next. “Then I’m surprised he hasn’t already arranged for her to die in a fatal accident. If she were out of his way, would he not inherit anyway?”

Gideon shook his head. “Not according to Merewen. Their clan’s true wealth lies in the quality of the horses they breed. She claims the herds will leave if there is no one with the gift to hold them. Then the duke who now rules Agathia would be free to award the manor to one of his own followers or even take it for himself.”

Murdoch joined the conversation. “On our past campaigns in this area, we heard nothing of this gift. You speak as if this were more than a talent for judging horse
flesh and choosing the strongest stallions and mares for breeding.”

Gideon had really wished to hold this particular part of the conversation when he’d had more time to come to terms with the truth of what he’d seen with his own eyes. Of course, like him, his men had their own abilities that were beyond human understanding.

“She believes it a simple gift given and blessed by her gods, but I definitely sensed a powerful magic. I don’t know the truth of how it came to be, but Lady Merewen says it goes back generations.”

He looked at each man in turn as he sought the right words to explain what he’d seen. “You all heard Lady Merewen offer to provide us with horses.”

Kane sneered. “I can only imagine the quality of horses she had in mind. Being able to pull a plow is not the same as carrying a warrior into battle.”

Gideon shook his head. “After our ways parted on the trail, I watched as Lady Merewen used her gift to summon her horses.”

He closed his eyes and tried to recall the exact flavor of spell she had used. It had tasted wholesome, even sweet. He still didn’t trust it.

“Our gods do not tolerate dark magic of any kind, but they made no protest when she began to chant. Truly, I found the music of her words soothing with no hint of darkness or evil as she called out to the horses. That doesn’t mean I like it. Too often we have seen that even the purest magic can be twisted to ill purpose. Long have we fought against it.”

He paused again. “We all know well that magic is both seductive and dangerous.”

“And the outcome of this calling?” Duncan asked as he poked the fire and checked on the hares. He pulled them farther from the flames as he waited for Gideon to answer.

“When we reached the bottom of the trail, a small band of mares and their stallion stood waiting for us.”

Averel’s eyes were wide with wonder. “Truly? They came when she called?”

One of Gideon’s favorite things about Averel was his ability to take pleasure in the simplest of things. It was a reminder of better days in Gideon’s own life, days of innocence that he had squandered at such a terrible cost. Rather than dwell on that which he could not change, he simply nodded.

“That they did.”

Kane was still skeptical. “Assuming these beasts are willing enough to carry us, my question would be whether they are battle trained.”

Although his friend was asking for all of them, Gideon suspected that what Kane really wanted to know was if any of Merewen’s horses would tolerate him on their back. Thanks to the taint of his bloodline, few horses would. Gideon allowed himself a small smile before answering.

“She says the horses themselves decide who they will or will not accept. I was chosen by a war stallion, one that almost killed her uncle for daring to ride him.”

He waited for the laughter to come. It didn’t take long. Even Murdoch joined in. “You almost had us believing you, Gideon. Since when do the four-legged pick their own riders?”

“Doubt my words, but you will learn the truth soon enough. The horses will meet us tomorrow just after sunrise at the bottom of the trail.”

He accepted the haunch of rabbit that Duncan offered him. “Now, enough talking. I plan to seek my bedroll as soon as I finish this.”

When they were all finished eating, Murdoch stood up. “I’ll stand guard while the rest of you sleep.”

Once again Averel gathered up the scraps. “I’ll take the next shift, Murdoch. Wake me when it’s time.”

Gideon stretched out a short distance from the fire in the dappled shade of the trees. While the quiet murmur of his friends’ voices lulled him to sleep, he found himself thinking of Merewen and praying to his gods to keep her safe until he found a way to free her people from the tyranny of her uncle. And if his last conscious thought was the memory of how sweet it had been to hold Merewen’s body next to his as they’d shared his cloak in the darkness, well, that was his secret to keep.

Merewen’s back ached, and her head was pounding from near exhaustion. She counted the minutes until the evening meal would be over and she could safely retreat to her room. Her uncle hated it when she disappeared too early, but sometimes he also grew angry if she lingered overlong. She’d learned to wait until he was well into his nightly pitcher of wine before trying to escape from his odious presence. Right now she was waiting for him to appear before signaling the servers to start bringing out the food.

A movement across the great hall drew her eye. Fagan’s wife, Lady Alina, was making one of her rare appearances for the evening meal. Although Alina was near to Merewen in age, the two of them weren’t particularly close. That was her uncle’s doing rather than any fault of the two women.

Alina was moving slowly and with great care, as if each step caused her pain. Although Alina never complained, Merewen was well aware that she was not the only one who lived in fear of her uncle’s unpredictable temper. All too often Alina’s delicate skin carried the marks of Fagan’s hand or fist.

It was tempting to rush to her aunt’s aid, but Fagan had followed her into the hall. Alina would not appreciate Merewen making a fuss, and both women would likely suffer later for the gesture.

Rather than stare, Merewen turned her attention to ensuring the flow of food from the kitchen to the hall continued smoothly. Then a small ruckus in the middle of the hall caught her attention. Olaf held young Edric, one of the pages, by the collar and shook him as a terrier did a rat. Then with a curse, he flung the small boy to the floor, laughing as he did so.

The boy scrambled backward until he was out of Olaf’s reach. He was careful to avoid the two other men-at-arms, knowing he’d get no sympathy from them. He hobbled toward the kitchen as fast as he could. Her heart hurt for him. Edric had been born with one leg shorter than the other, making it unlikely he’d ever be strong enough to train with weapons. That made him worthless in the eyes of her uncle and his cronies.

When he walked into the kitchen, Edric wiped his face clean of tears and immediately picked up a pitcher of wine to carry out to her uncle’s table. The boy never complained or asked for easier duty. For tonight, at least, she wasn’t about to send him back out there to be abused again.

“Edric, Jarod needs your help out in the stable.”

The boy’s mood improved instantly, but his smile quickly faded. “But what of Lord Fagan’s wine?”

“I’ll take it myself.”

She relieved him of the pitcher he was carrying. Later she’d speak to the stable master about assigning Edric to work out there permanently. The boy would be happier caring for horses, and his willingness to work hard would stand him in good stead with Jarod.

Out in the hall, she carried the pitcher to the head table. By rights, she should be seated with her uncle and his close friends, but he enjoyed seeing her play the role of servant.

In truth, she secretly preferred it as well because it kept her from having to sit with the rough lot he surrounded
himself with, and Olaf in particular. He’d yet to forgive her for making him appear the fool to her uncle. She’d overheard several of the men whispering about how Fagan had beaten Olaf to the ground during weapons practice earlier in the afternoon. If that was true, it would only add to the man’s grudge against her.

If Olaf ever figured out how she’d managed to escape and return undetected, he would immediately report her to her uncle and claim the right to punish her himself. She feared for her life if that were to happen.

As she moved to refill her uncle’s drink, she used the moment to meet Alina’s gaze, asking without words whether she was badly hurt. Her aunt shook her head before returning her attention back to her bowl of soup. As she turned her head, the candlelight illuminated a large bruise on her jaw. The sight caused Merewen to flinch, slopping some of the wine out of the pitcher and onto the table. From there a few drops fell on her uncle’s lap.