Authors: Ben Cassidy
“Oh come now, Maklavir,” said Hetty sharply. “There’s no point lying to me, or to yourself for that matter.”
Maklavir blinked in surprise.
Hetty kept her gaze on her knitting. “You’ve been afraid of committing to one woman, afraid of settling down to a dull life of domesticity.” She looked up at Maklavir as if he were an eight-year old boy. “So you’ve kept women at an arm’s length your whole life. It certainly has nothing to do with your career.”
Maklavir opened his mouth, then shut it again. He stared at Hetty in stunned silence for a long moment, then raised a finger. “Now look here. You don’t know anything about me, and—”
Hetty gave a lilting laugh. “I don’t need to know anything
about
you, Maklavir. You’ve already told me enough.” She put her knitting down and reached for her tea. “I’m a woman, after all. I’ve been around a bit myself.”
Maklavir frowned. “I hardly think that qualifies you to—”
Hetty pushed a lock of gray hair out of her face. “Love is risk, Maklavir. A gamble. It’s certainly not for the faint of heart. Cowards do not love deeply, or live fully. You treat women the way you do because you are afraid.”
Maklavir leaped up from his chair as if he had been bitten. “Now see here. I don’t have to—”
Hetty took a sip of her tea, then put the mug back down again. “Have you told Kara how you feel about her?”
Maklavir’s face worked for a moment. He paced back and forth, then looked down the hall again. “No, of course not. How could I? You saw her. The woman’s been in a coma for—”
“Surely you didn’t fall in love with Kara while she was in a coma?” Hetty picked up her knitting and resumed. “So why didn’t you express your feelings to her
before
?”
Maklavir tensed, his hands clenching and unclenching in agitation. “Well there wasn’t
time
. There was a temple, and Kendril’s blasted pendant, and an assassin—” He stopped, strangely breathless. He stared at the ground for a moment. “And—and I was afraid. Afraid she would reject me.” He straightened. “Or worse, laugh at me.”
Hetty gave Maklavir a sidelong glance.
“All right,” Maklavir said bitterly. “You were right. I
am
a coward. I always have been. Happy now?”
“Cowards do not give up everything they have and break into a man’s home for the woman they care about,” Hetty said matter-of-factly.
Maklavir sank back down into the chair. “Well, I guess there’s
that
.”
Hetty sighed. “Why is it that men are always so ready for action, yet are so comically inept at expressing how they truly feel?”
Maklavir looked over at Hetty. “You tell me. You’re the great judge of people, remember?”
“That doesn’t mean I understand them,” Hetty said with a sad smile.
“Right.” Maklavir twisted his hands together. “I just…I can’t stand the thought of losing her.”
Hetty yanked on another stretch of the yarn. “My husband may be cantankerous and obstinate at the best of times, Maklavir, but he also happens to be the best surgeon in all of south Valmingaard. You’re in good hands with him.”
“I hope so,” Maklavir grumbled. He looked up sharply at Hetty. “Not a word about this, please. Not to Joseph, or even your husband. I couldn’t—”
“Please, Maklavir,” said Hetty with a good-natured laugh, “I’m not some kind of small village gossip. Give me a little credit.”
Maklavir opened his mouth to respond.
A loud knock came from the front door.
Hetty paused, her knitting needles frozen in space. “We’re not expecting anyone,” she said in a whisper.
Maklavir looked up, suddenly alert. One hand went to the hilt of his sword. “It’s still dark,” he commented with a glance at the drawn curtains. “Who would—?”
“Open up,” a voice thundered from outside. The knock came again, loud and insistent. “In the name of the King!”
Maklavir felt his heart flutter like a bird’s wings. He stood quickly, and ducked out of sight of the main hall. He drew his sword with a shaking hand.
Hetty put aside her yarn and rose to her feet. She gestured questioningly to the front door.
Maklavir tried to swallow, but his throat was suddenly constricted. Instead, he gave a short nod.
There was another series of bangs on the doors. “Open up!”
Hetty crossed into the main hall, and reached for the handle of the door. She glanced back once at the drawing room.
Maklavir dodged back behind the chair he had been sitting in, pressing himself up against the wall. The sword trembled in his hand.
Hetty opened the door.
Two gendarmes, soaked from the falling rain, stood on the doorstep. Their tall bear caps dripped with water, and carbines with coverings over the barrels and firelocks were slung over their shoulders.
Hetty gave an uncertain smile. “Good morning, gentlemen. How can I—?”
“We’re looking for three fugitives, ma’am,” one of the gendarmes said roughly. “A woman and two men.” He put a hand on his sheathed sword. “We need to search your house.”
Chapter 15
“Take it off,” Kendril said.
Tomas glanced at Kendril for a moment, then moved over to where Bronwyn was tied to the wooden column. He yanked off the burlap sack that was over Bronwyn’s head.
The witch glared at the two of them. Her face was bruised on one side, the purple and black discoloration showing clearly on her pale skin.
“The gag, too,” Kendril said.
Tomas reached over and undid the handkerchief that was stuffed into Bronwyn’s mouth.
The witch spat and coughed. She looked up and smiled.
Kendril sat down on an overturned mill stone. “Hello, Bronwyn.”
“Kendril,” Bronwyn said sweetly. She tilted her head ever so slightly. “It’s been quite some time. There’s something…different about you.” She peered hard at Kendril’s burned face. “Your hair? You’re growing it out?”
Tomas raised a hand to strike the woman.
“
Tomas
,” Kendril said sharply.
The man hesitated, his hand still upraised.
Bronwyn looked over at Tomas with a patronizing smile. “I don’t think I know you. Oh, wait, you’re the one who was in the cave, weren’t you? The man who was so willing to do whatever I told him?” She gave a mocking little laugh. “Most people aren’t nearly so susceptible to my spells. Your will must be exceptionally weak.”
“Shut up!” Tomas roared. His hand flashed down and cracked across Bronwyn’s face
Her head lurched to the side. Tied to the post, she couldn’t avoid or block the blow.
Kendril leapt up like a flash and grabbed Tomas, pulling him back. “Calm yourself,” he hissed into the other Ghostwalker’s ear.
Bronwyn spat some blood out onto the wooden floor of the mill. “It’s just the two of you, then?” Her eyes twinkled, despite the obvious pain she was in. “You’re both dead men.” She glanced askance at Tomas. “You, I couldn’t care less about.” She switched her gaze to Kendril. “But
you
, Kendril….” She sighed heavily. “Such a waste.”
Tomas reached for the knife sheathed at his belt. “Let me at her for five minutes, and then we’ll see who—”
“Tomas,” Kendril said between his teeth, “
outside
.”
Tomas looked over at Kendril with surprise and anger.
Kendril kept his gaze steady on Tomas’ face. “Outside,” he repeated.
Tomas passed a hand over his face. He blinked, then nodded. Without another word, he walked past the central mill stone, the pulleys and gears of the mill room, then out the door.
The roar of the river sounded more loudly for a moment, then became muffled again as the door slammed shut.
Kendril turned back to Bronwyn.
“Well,” Bronwyn said, “you have me tied and helpless. What are you going to do with me now?”
Kendril moved up towards her, his face hard. “I’m going to ask you some questions. And you’re going to give me some answers.”
Bronwyn rolled her eyes. “That’s all? Really, Kendril. You have such a lack of imagination.”
The mill room they were in was large and rectangular-shaped. Windows lined the river side, letting in the pale light of morning. Towards the back and opposite the door that led outside was a flight of stairs leading up to the second story.
Kendril clenched his jaw, moving over towards one of the windows. He glanced down at the boiling white water of the fast-moving stream.
“You look awful,” Bronwyn said, her voice dripping with false compassion. “What’s wrong, Kendril? Haven’t been sleeping well?”
Kendril bit his lip hard, still staring out the window. Sleep did indeed sound good about now. He had only managed to grab a few hours after they had come to the mill the night before, and that hadn’t nearly been enough.
And then there was the Ravenbrook estate. Just seeing it again had…well, had brought back too many memories.
Kendril turned. “What are the Seteru planning, Bronwyn?”
She gave him an innocent look. “The Seteru? Really, Kendril, I think you credit me with far too much. To think that the gods of the Void would tell me their plans.” She took a deep breath. “I could only hope to be so trusted a servant.”
“Is that what you were in Vorten,” Kendril snarled. “A servant?”
A hint of something flashed in Bronwyn’s eyes, but it was gone in a moment. She lifted her head. “The ways of the Seteru are inscrutable to mere mortals,” she said.
“You mean killing all those people,” Kendril said. He stepped closer to the bound woman. “Burning the city to the ground? Raining fire from the sky?”
Bronwyn swallowed. “Those who do not join with the Seteru deserve to die—”
Kendril whipped out the dagger that Tomas had given him and pressed it up against Bronwyn’s exposed neck. “How about worshippers of the Seteru?” he growled. “Do they deserve to die?”
Bronwyn arched her head back. She flinched, but still managed to smile. “Now there’s the Kendril I remember,” she said. “Always solving things with a blade.”
“What are the Seteru planning?” Kendril repeated. He pressed his knife a little harder against the white flesh of Bronwyn’s neck. “Tell me.”
Bronwyn croaked out a little laugh. She looked up into Kendril’s eyes. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with, do you? You think that Vorten was bad? Vorten was just the beginning, Kendril.”
Kendril gave a rough smile. “And what’s the end, Bronwyn?”
Bronwyn arched an eyebrow. “Tell me, Kendril. How long has it been since you’ve been this close to a woman?”
Kendril’s knife hand faltered. He became suddenly, painfully aware that he was pressed right up against Bronwyn. He could feel her warm, slender body just—
He stepped back quickly, lowering the knife. He turned his face away, not wanting Bronwyn to see how shaken he was.
“You want information?” Bronwyn twisted in the ropes that bound her. “Redemption will burn. The Great Fang is coming with his men. Nothing can stop them, Kendril, nothing at all.”
Kendril whirled back around, his face hard. “The Great Fang? Who’s that?”
Bronwyn gave a mischievous smile. “Poor Kendril. You always seem at least two steps behind. I thought by now you might have learned
something
, but it seems you’re still just a blank slate.” She moved her eyes over his body. “A handsome blank slate, mind you.”
Kendril raised his knife again. “Enough with your games and mind tricks, Bronwyn. What’s the Great Fang? Your werewolf back at the cave?” His mouth curled into a sneer. “I already took care of him.”
Bronwyn shook her head with a sigh. “You kill one werewolf and you think it’s over? That was just the beginning. A foretaste. Redemption is going to burn, Kendril. The mud streets of this pathetic town are going to run with blood. If you’re smart you’ll get out while you still can.”
“There are more werewolves?” Kendril felt the first beat of real uncertainty in his mind. “More than one?”
“Those Jombards in the cave were just the beginning,” Bronwyn said in a low voice. She glanced around conspiratorially, as if afraid of being overheard. “The Great Fang is coming, and when he does he won’t leave anyone alive.”
Kendril lowered the knife. “That’s the plan of the Seteru, then? They’re striking from the east, from the wilderness of Jothland?”
Bronwyn’s eyes glinted. “The Seteru are coming from everywhere, Kendril. From all directions. I told you, Vorten was just the beginning. Soon all of Rothland will burn.”
Kendril gave Bronwyn a long, hard look. “You’re bluffing. The Jombard tribes are disorganized, scattered. They haven’t broken through the Wall in decades. They’re too busy fighting each other to mount an attack on Redemption.”
“Things have changed, Kendril.” Bronwyn smiled. “There are cults springing up all over Rothland. The nations of the west are like rotten apples, ready to fall off the tree with the slightest shake.” She looked at Kendril with something like pity in her eyes. “When the Great Fang comes, he will come for you, Kendril. He has heard of you. The Demonbane of Vorten. He wants to try his mettle against you. Killing you will prove his strength.”
“So far I’ve killed a winged abomination, a werewolf, and a goddess,” Kendril said with a half-smile. “Somehow this Great Fang of yours doesn’t worry me over much.”
Bronwyn spat on the floor by Kendril’s booted foot. “Blasphemer! You cannot kill the Seteru!”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Kendril lifted the knife again. “But I’m pretty sure I can kill
you
.”
Bronwyn clucked her tongue. “Really, Kendril. After all we’ve been through together? And here I thought you and I were becoming such good friends.”
“When’s the attack coming, Bronwyn?” Kendril put the side of the knife against her pretty face. “How many Jombards are there? Where’s their base of operations? What are they armed with?”
Bronwyn shook her head sadly. “Please, Kendril. I can’t give away all the surprises, can I?”
Kendril looked the woman straight in the eyes. “One way or the other, Bronwyn, you’ll tell me what I want to know.”
“Good,” she said with a flash of fire in her eyes. “I like things a little rough. Are you going to start on me now?” She looked coyly around the mill room and lowered her voice. “We’re all alone, you know.”