Beneath the Forsaken City (28 page)

Aine stumbled to a halt, instantly surrounded by a dozen guards with swords and spears. Someone jerked her hands behind her back roughly. “Please, don’t let her
 
—”

Something hard thudded into her head before she could finish the plea.

When she came to again, she was lying on her side on a
stone floor, her hands bound in front of her and a rag stuffed in her mouth. The orange glare of torchlight burned on the other side of her eyelids. Someone slapped her face, and her eyes popped open.

“She’s awake, my lady,” came a deep voice beside her. Uallas.

Hands hauled her upright and into a chair. She struggled to resolve her surroundings for a moment and then realized she was in Forrais’s great hall. Macha stood on the dais like a queen presiding over her vassals. The keep’s residents and guests crowded the room, the nobles seated at the tables, the servants packed around the edges.

Aine’s heart did a little flip at the sight of the man standing beside her aunt. He was dressed like every other noble but for the sash draped over his shoulders, a symbol of office and authority. She knew the brithem who had presided over cases at Forrais for the last two decades, a fair-minded man who could be swayed by neither threats nor bribes.

This man was a stranger.

If Macha had gone to the trouble of summoning a different traveling judge, one who would presumably be more amenable to her wishes
 
—and untainted by Aine’s abilities
 
—she had been planning this all along. No wonder she had been cordial. She hadn’t wanted to take the chance Aine would flee and rob her of the pleasure of seeing her executed.

“Aine Nic Tamhais,” the judge intoned, “you have been accused of the crime of witchcraft, which is punishable by death in Aron. What say you?”

Uallas removed the gag from her mouth, but before she could say anything, his knife went back to her throat.

“Nothing but the answer to his question,” he murmured. “I’ve been instructed to kill you if you try to sway the men to your side again.”

Aine swallowed, mortal fear coursing through her.

“Answer the question,” the brithem said sternly.

Aine clenched her hands together. “I am no witch.”

“We have witnesses who swear you have used magic to heal on more than one occasion.” He raised a hand, and several people filed in front of the dais: Uallas’s manservant, Oisean, Roidh, Lia. She swallowed down the sudden lump at the maid’s miserable expression. Tears rolled down the girl’s cheek and fell to the stone floor. What kind of threats had Macha made to ensure her compliance?

“Do you deny this?” the brithem asked.

Help, Lord. I have made a mess of this. What do I do? What do I say?

Immediately a presence filled her, like air in a bellows, wind in a sail. She lifted her head and looked the brithem straight in the eye. “No, I do not deny it.”

Shocked murmurs broke out around the room.

“You admit you used magic to heal, yet you still deny a charge of witchcraft?”

“I did heal, aye. These gifts were given to me by Comdiu for the good of His people. If I did not use them, it would be an affront to my Lord.”

“Heresy!” Macha jumped to her feet. “What you speak of has been long denounced by the church. And you dare speak of affronting Comdiu?”

“Who are they to pass judgment on what Comdiu has provided?” Aine returned levelly. “The gifts were given to the followers of Lord Balus, yet they have been abandoned by the church in pursuit of its own power.”

“Clearly you have been ruined by your exposure to the Seareann heretics!” Macha shouted.

The brithem stopped her with an uplifted hand and addressed Aine. “You will not renounce your pagan ways?”

“I will not admit to any wrongdoing for exercising the gifts granted to me according to Comdiu’s great wisdom.”

“Then we will move on to the next charge. Murder.”

Aine choked on the word. “Murder?”

“Do you deny you used your power on Master Diocail and his guards? That your actions directly led to his death?”

The blood drained from her head in a rush. She might be able to refute the charges of witchcraft, but she could not deny she was responsible for Diocail’s actions. “He’s dead?”

“It might as well have been by your own hand,” Uallas said. Even if he were playing a part for Macha’s benefit, his tone reminded her she was well and truly alone. Tears spilled from her eyes.

The brithem stared at her. “If you will not defend yourself, then I have no choice. I declare you guilty of witchcraft and murder and sentence you to death. Guards, escort her to the courtyard.”

Gasps sounded through the room at the summary judgment. Their brithem took hours, days even, to consider the case, but Aine’s guilt had already been long since determined.

Uallas stared at Macha. “My lady, the tradition is to give the condemned three days to consider their immortal soul.”

“She has admitted to witchcraft! She has already sold her soul to the darkness. Three days or three years, she will not renounce the evil of her ways.” Macha spoke with such pious conviction Aine could almost believe she spoke from her beliefs and not her greed. Uallas stepped back, his hands spread wide as if to concede to her judgment.

Two guards she didn’t recognize replaced the gag in her mouth and unknotted the ropes that held her fast to the chair.
Their hands bruised her arms as they dragged her toward the entrance. The crowd parted and then closed around them, carrying them out the hall’s doors and into the courtyard like the current of a river. Why so many? Why such an interest in where she was to be taken?

Nausea roiled through her, and her heartbeat pulsed in her ears, making her light-headed. She numbly took in the guards on the edge of the courtyard, the armed lords around her.

The guards stopped her before a wooden pole, and someone handed one of them a length of rope. Her knees went weak. She was to be burned? The guard wouldn’t meet her eyes as he pushed her against the pole and began to lash her to the splintered wood. At that moment, she was actually grateful for the support. The ropes were the only thing holding her upright.

Macha stepped up before her, firelight and malice in her eyes. “Niece, this is your last chance. The brithem is willing to commute your murder sentence. Admit and repent of your witchcraft so you may be spared.”

Aine’s head dropped forward as tears slid down her face. Macha offered to commute the sentence she deserved if she would admit to a crime she hadn’t committed. A sob built in her chest, begging to escape. What was the point? Her actions had caused the death of a good man, a loyal man, and his sacrifice had availed nothing. She deserved this death. She deserved to pay the price for the life she had stolen through selfishness and fear.

I’m sorry, Lord Balus. I failed You. I didn’t trust You, so I made all the wrong decisions. Is this my punishment for my disobedience?

In her despair, she barely noticed when Macha took a torch from one of the men and touched it to the kindling at the base of the stake. It caught immediately, the flames crackling to life and slowly catching the larger pieces above them.

The crowd backed away several steps, pressed back by the ring of warriors, as the fire caught the pitch with a whoosh and engulfed the platform.

Aine moaned at the first touch of heat, terror crowding out her resignation.
Comdiu, please! Why have You abandoned me? I don’t want to die!

As if in answer, the flames licked her skin. She screamed.

Oisean lunged for the pyre, but two men restrained him. The scene grew fuzzy around the edges then, the pain distant even when the fire caught the hem of her dress. The smell of burning wool and hair surrounded her.

Then the flames morphed, the sickly orange glow changing to a pure golden light in the vague shape of a man. The heat still lapped at her skin, but pleasantly, like the sun’s warmth on a winter day. Peace settled over her spirit, warming the cold places inside.

“Am I dead?” She was not in that other place, the one she’d visited when she’d died beneath the waters of Loch Eirich. Beyond the Companion, she could still see the watchers, still hear Lia’s plaintive sobs.

“No. You are not finished here. You have not obeyed.”

Aine bowed her head, awash in shame. “I must go back, mustn’t I?”

“The forsaken city is to be rebuilt. In it lies the heart of the land, the heart of the people.”

“The forsaken city?” she whispered. “Ard Dhaimhin?”

She got the impression of a smile, even though the Companion had no distinguishable features. “Go now. You have all you need to carry out our Lord’s work. Have faith and you will prevail.”

The ropes binding her wrists together and holding her to the pole fell away. She stepped forward through the flames, but the fire did not touch her, nor did the coals singe her feet. Cool air washed over her.

And then it began.

She’s alive! She cannot be alive!

She’s a spirit, come to take revenge on us all.

It cannot be.

I have failed; I have broken my oath.

The clamor of voices in her head sounded like a hall full of nobles, amplified. She pressed her hands to her head, wanting to shout for them to stop, but no one’s mouth was moving. The observers stared in open-mouthed wonder.

Please stop!

Instantly, the voices subsided. A few people jerked back a step.

“Witchcraft!” one man shouted, pointing a finger at her. The murmurs began aloud this time.

“Quiet!” she screamed. Or perhaps she just thought it. Either way, the noise ceased. She looked among the crowd, focusing on individuals. Her gaze landed on Lord Uallas, who wore an expression of shock, relief
 
—and shame.

Aine turned to the man who had decried her as a witch. “The blind will never see. This is not witchcraft but the favor of our great Maker, Comdiu, and His son, Lord Balus. The work of man will never overcome the will of the one God.”

As she spoke, she felt the truth of the words flow into her. Unworthy, unfaithful as she was, Comdiu’s blessing was indeed upon her. “It seems that my Lord is not finished with me yet.”

Macha pushed forward through the crowd, her expression as hard as ever. But there was fear in her eyes, and her voice came out just a touch unsteadily. “I have wronged you. What claim do you make upon me?”

The formality of the words triggered a half-forgotten memory of clan law: Aine could make a formal demand of restitution, even demand trial. She opened her heart to Comdiu. His answer was quick and direct.

Aine met Macha’s gaze steadily. “Only that which is mine by blood and right, so that you may understand Comdiu’s great mercy toward you as He has shown toward me. It must be overseen in my absence as Father did in his lifetime. All except that which must be paid to Master Diocail’s family as restitution.”

“You are not staying?”

“No, my work is elsewhere.” Aine looked at the people crowding Forrais’s courtyard. “Comdiu is calling me home.”

The carnage in Cwmmaen’s courtyard
was even more horrifying in the light of day. No one had slept much the night before, but all the men appeared as soon as the first strains of sunlight poured over the horizon. From the looks on their faces, they immediately wished they hadn’t. Conor tied a strip of cloth over his mouth and nose, but it was little defense against the stench. And nothing could shield his eyes from the sight of decay, rotting corpses that should have been interred months ago.

“You don’t have to stay,” Talfryn said as they surveyed the scene. “This is not your responsibility. You have already done more than we could have asked.”

“Unless I plan on walking to Aberffynnon, I suppose I should help.” Conor shot Talfryn a crooked grin. “I still need a way to get there.”

“In that case, we should get to work. Ial went to the village to find more workers, and Master Glyn is taking a message to my brother, but it will be days before the men from Gwingardd arrive.”

Conor nodded and steeled himself for the task. Talfryn retrieved a handcart and several lengths of cloth, which they
used to lift the bodies and transport them outside the fortress walls, where they would be buried. They’d already made half a dozen trips when Ial returned with an adolescent boy in tow. “My lord, look who I found in the village.”

“Emrys!” Talfryn exclaimed. “Where have you been?”

“I’m sorry, my lord. I know I shouldn’t have run, but they didn’t notice me.”

Talfryn took the boy by the arms. “No one is blaming you, Emrys. We just need to know what happened.”

The boy raised tear-filled eyes. “The Northmen attacked, my lord, after you and Lady Hyledd left Cwmmaen. We thought it was a cart from Lord Neryn, but they were hiding inside . . . and then they opened the gates . . .” His voice choked on tears.

Talfryn straightened and met Ial’s and Conor’s eyes in turn. “The cart with which I was captured. They used it to gain entry to the fortress.”

Conor’s chest seized. So this was his fault. Talfryn’s ploy to get himself captured in order to rescue him had directly led to the deaths of almost the entire household. He stepped away, struggling against the agony of guilt. Had he just obeyed Comdiu in the first place, none of this would have happened. Aine wouldn’t be lost, Talfryn’s guardsmen and servants would still be alive, and he wouldn’t have broken his vows to his wife.

“Conor, you can’t take responsibility for this,” Talfryn said. “I obeyed Comdiu. He spared me, my wife, Ial. If it weren’t for you, we would still be languishing beneath the sidhe’s glamour.”

It was a mark of Talfryn’s nobility that he voiced the sentiment
 
—even more that he actually seemed to believe it. But it didn’t mitigate Conor’s responsibility in the situation. Once more, he had blood on his hands.

Even so, if the sidhe had gone to that much trouble to ensure that Conor remain in Gwydden under the influence of her glamour, he had no doubt about where he was meant to be.

That strange sensation in the back of his mind returned, this time less of a battering ram and more of a gentle tug.

Aye. I understand. I’m coming.

Conor worked quietly until the villagers arrived. Once the slain men were carried out and given a quiet burial, the villagers set to scrubbing the stones with water and lye, washing away the putrid evidence of a battle no one could remember. Conor retreated to the bathhouse and scrubbed himself raw.

One of Talfryn’s remaining servants brought Conor a change of clothes, just as fine as
 
—if more practical than
 
—the court attire he’d initially been given. He made his way back to the hall where Lady Hyledd was supervising the cleanup.

“My lord Conor.” She dipped her head in a gesture uncomfortably close to a bow. “Or should I call you Brother Conor?”

So Talfryn had told her. It hardly mattered now anyway. “Neither, my lady. I’m just Conor.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” The searching look she gave him pierced him through. “What will you do now?”

“Return to Seare. It’s clear to me that’s where I belong.”

“And what of Lady Aine?”

“I must entrust her to Comdiu.”

Hyledd settled onto the bench and patted the spot beside her. “Talfryn told me about everything you’ve been through in Seare. You’ve done everything in your power to ensure her safety. How can you give up now?”

Her words struck deep. She was trying to be helpful, but she couldn’t know how conflicted Conor already felt on the subject. “Please, my lady, know this is not an easy decision.”

“I’m sure it is not. You must do what you feel is right. You
can take a horse and go to Aberffynnon or you can ride north to Forrais. Either way, my husband has promised you an escort.”

“Thank you, my lady. I will give that careful consideration.”

He rose and moved quickly back to his chamber, his heart heavy. Aine had been in danger more times than he could count, more often than not because of him. He should be relieved that he would be allowed to return to Seare and finish the task he’d been given, but he felt nothing but grief at the prospect of giving up on her.

Yet Seare still tugged at him, like the moon on the tides of the ocean.

Is this what You ask of me? To give up the one person I truly love? To sacrifice her for the good of my people? Are You so cruel?

He half-expected a lightning bolt to strike him for his impertinence, perhaps even wished for it, but his accusations were met with silence.

Conor avoided supper in the hall that night, instead staring up at the moon from the newly cleaned courtyard. Two months. Two months since he had married Aine, two months of not knowing if she lived or died. Now he thought she probably lived, but she might no longer be his. Even if the scene Briallu showed him was false, how long would she wait for him? How long would she resist the pressure of her clan to marry?

This choice might mean losing her forever.

But she would be alive. And there are others who need your help. Other wives, husbands, children, whose pain is as great as your own. Would you leave them to suffer when it is in your power to change things? You must do your duty.

The thought was far too rational and unselfish to have come from him, even if it sounded like his own conscience. Comdiu had a funny way of making Himself known.

I will not.

He didn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning in the drafty chamber. Had he not accused Comdiu of cruelty before, the first time he thought Aine was dead? Had Comdiu not had a greater purpose for him then?

I will not
, he thought stubbornly, turning to face the stone wall.

But that tug grew steadily stronger the harder he resisted. What if this was the reason Comdiu had separated them? What if this was another test? He knew he was meant to reinstate the wards, help combat the evil that spread across Seare. Had Comdiu allowed all this
 
—the shipwreck, the sidhe, the separation from Aine
 
—just to get his attention?

His resistance fell from him. He should have learned long ago it was impossible to defy Comdiu’s plans. With a heavy sigh, he turned his heart toward heaven.

You have my attention, Comdiu. Command me.

Prince Neryn’s men arrived four days later, a full company of men with extra horses. Talfryn found Conor in his chambers, packing a change of clothing in a small knapsack and donning his weapons.

“I take it you’re leaving?”

“Aye. I’m going back to Seare.”

“What may I do for you, friend?”

“Transport to Aberffynnon and passage on a ship bound for Seare, if you’re willing.”

“Of course. We’d best leave now. You may need to spend the night in Aberffynnon anyway.”

Conor thrust out his hand. “Thank you. Your assistance is much appreciated.”

Talfryn grasped Conor’s arm and shook his head. “No. I owe you a debt greater than passage on a ship could ever repay. Know that you have a friend in Gwydden, my lord. If there is anything I can ever do for you, you need only ask.”

Conor bowed his head, overwhelmed by Talfryn’s words. He could have simply thanked Conor for his service as a man. Instead, he had thanked him as a prince. It would be touching if his guilt over leaving Aine were not so sharp.

And if Conor didn’t think he might someday have to call in the favor.