Her Knight's Quest: A Warriors of the Mist Novel (15 page)

A third joined the conversation. “You’re likely to be wondering if any of us bears a grudge and if you need to be careful of turning your back on us.”

Duncan crossed his arms over his chest, not sure where this was headed. “The thought did cross my mind.”

Josup took a step forward. “In battle, your life depends on the man standing next to you. If you can’t trust him, then you’re fighting enemies on two fronts. Musar and his wife both testified that it was blood magic that caused the death of our friends, not you. Their word is good enough for us.”

“Fair enough. If any of you have questions, I prefer you come to me directly. If you have suggestions on how to make the abbey safer from attack, let me know.”

Before anyone else could speak, the dinner bell rang. Perfect timing. “After dinner, I have work to do in the library. If you have need of me, have the sisters send for me.”

Then in a show of faith, he turned his back on them and walked away.

*  *  *

Upon entering the dining hall, he joined the men at the corner table, the same one Rubar and the other guards had used. As he sat down, he spotted Lavinia at her usual spot at the head table. There was an empty seat next to her. Had it been for him? Possibly, considering the odd expression on her face when she noticed him back in the corner.

He hadn’t wanted to presume that she’d want him there. He also thought it best to distance himself from her, especially in front of the other sisters and the new guards. Her reputation could suffer, something a woman in her position could scarce afford.

He let himself be drawn into the conversation among the guards. From what he could gather, they’d all served together at various times over the years. Musar had done a good job in selecting the men, a debt Duncan would likely never get the chance to repay.

He would make sure Lavinia knew, though. She’d sleep better knowing the men who patrolled the abbey knew what they were doing. As the various courses were brought to the table, he watched as she carried on an animated conversation with Sister Joetta and Sarra, the young novice.

As if sensing his gaze, the young girl turned in his direction and smiled. He nodded back to her. She’d lost so much in her young life, yet she’d retained much of her innocence. It infuriated Duncan to know that as long as Ifre Keirthan ruled Agathia, she’d never be safe. The bastard had much to answer for.

And if it took every last breath Duncan had, he would see to it the man faced a reckoning. All of which made him wonder how his friends were faring. He wasn’t used to being isolated from them like this.

Tonight, after he finished in the library, he would send Kiva flying back to Gideon. The captain would want to know what progress Duncan had made. At the same time, Duncan needed even that tenuous connection with his friends. Watching the easy camaraderie among the guards had reminded him of how lonely he was without the other Damned.

Once again, he found himself watching Lavinia. If Gideon were here, he could talk to him about this jumble of feelings he had for her. Surely Gideon would understand, what with his own powerful connection to Lady Merewen. Come to think of it, Duncan also owed Murdoch an apology.

Averel wasn’t the only one who’d teased the big man about Lady Alina. But then none of them expected to encounter such women in their lives. It was just another reminder of how much they’d all lost when they’d offered their souls and their service to the Lady.

Feeling the weight of his past, he sipped his wine and stared at the one woman he’d ever met who could have laid claim to his heart.

Chapter 16

“M
y dear sister, it is past time for you to return to the family home. . . .”

Ifre Keirthan stood warming himself beside the circle of fire in his underground chambers and considered his options. His efforts to trace his sister’s scrying had netted him nothing—how dare she go to such lengths to hide from him?

Now he would have to resort to tracking the coins instead. It was definitely a more complicated spell, but one that should produce more reliable results. He returned to the altar and began his preparations. First, he hung a fresh map of Agathia and the surrounding lands on the wall.

He’d spent a great deal of money to obtain the most accurate map in existence, one drawn by a master cartographer from the trading clans. Some of the routes through the mountains were known only to the clans, and it was information they didn’t share with anyone. Ever. But with enough money coupled with the right threats on the table, it was possible to pervert the loyalty of anyone, even a mapmaker.

A movement behind him drew Ifre’s attention back to the altar. He smiled as he turned to face the woman who was chained to the four pillars that formed the cornerstones of the altar.

“Ah, yes, you are awake now.”

He drank in the luscious sound of her whimpers, soaking in the extra spice of fear and dread in the woman’s voice. She must know what was coming. She should. This was her third time to offer her up her blood to fuel his spells. Each time, the magic she provided was weaker, which meant he’d have to burn more of his own reserves. He’d have to replace her soon.

He drew his dagger, the blade once again a dull silver. When he finished feeding the steel from the woman and then his own vein, it would be pulsing crimson and ready to invoke the tracking spell he’d built into the coins. Once he learned the direction of their paths, he would send the troops out to fetch his sister.

He couldn’t wait. The magic in Lavinia’s veins would garner him enough strength to bring the entire country to heel. Once he had all of Agathia firmly within his grasp, it would be time to seize power beyond his own borders. After all, power begat power—magic even more so.

Already he’d unleashed far more magic than his late brother had in all the years he’d served as duke. Once Ifre had perfected control of his weapon, he would strike at will. No one would dare stand against him.

Tomorrow, after he’d rested from the effort it took to search for Lavinia, he’d attack within the kingdom again. The last burst had hit somewhere close to Lord Fagan’s estate. Soon he would aim at the keep itself. Blasting Lady Merewen’s home out of existence would serve as a good example to any other potential traitors.

His plans made, it was time to get to work. He opened the book to the right page. He’d memorized the words but preferred to read the actual text to avoid any mistakes. Carelessness would prove deadly to him, not just his victim.

Right before Armel’s death, Ifre had found several of the banned grimoires in a locked chest that had been handed down to his brother. Their existence had been a bit of a shock, considering his father had ordered all such books to be gathered up and destroyed.

Obviously, he’d secretly retained copies for himself and his heirs. Ifre had been impressed by the sneakiness of it, although he suspected his father had not done so out of greed for power. More likely, he’d done it in case someone else had held back a few of the grimoires for some fell purpose.

Ifre lifted his knife high in the air and began to chant, ignoring the mewling pleas from his unwilling donor. When the last echo of the words faded away, he slashed downward, opening her thigh to the bone. The knife was greedy today, soaking up her blood as fast as it poured out of her veins.

When the flow slowed to a mere trickle, he sealed the wound, not that he much cared if she survived the loss of blood. Her magic was all but gone now anyway.

He next cut his own palm, wincing at the pain. Ashamed of his own show of weakness, he added a second cut, this one deeper, allowing the knife to drink its fill. After cauterizing his palm, which added another layer of pain, he marched over to the map and stabbed the blade into the symbol for his home and shouted the last few words of the spell at the top of his lungs.

With a crack of thunder, a tiny flame started at the tip of the knife and traced a spiderweb of black lines across the surface of the map. Wisps of smoke followed the trail, smelling of burned parchment and blood.

Ifre waved his hand back and forth to clear away the last of the smoke to study what truths the spell had revealed. He’d sent out twenty of the coins. A quick count of the trails showed that eighteen were still on the move, seeking their target. Several of those trails led beyond the boundaries of Agathia and therefore were unlikely to produce any results. It was always possible Lavinia had taken refuge in a neighboring land, but his gut instinct said she’d stick with the familiar.

The familiar. Something niggled at the back of his mind, the same feeling he’d had yesterday when his headache had prevented him from pursuing the thought. Forcing the memory wouldn’t work. He ignored it and studied the remaining two trails.

They’d started off here in the capital city just as the others had. From there, they’d traveled together; their path meandered all over the area. Why? Who’d been carrying them? He traced the line singed into the parchment, slowly making sense of what he was seeing.

It was a trader’s route, which accounted for the twists and turns. Caravans stopped anywhere there were enough people who might need their wares. The trail continued until it disappeared in a small valley between two mountain ranges. At that point, there was nothing left of them except a black smudge on the paper.

The two coins had been destroyed right there on the eastern border of Agathia. Nothing showed on the map, so there was no settlement of any size. That didn’t mean there weren’t permanent residents in the area.

He left the map hanging where it was and stepped off the dais long enough to retrieve an atlas from his private collection. Needing a place to spread it out, he summoned his servants.

When the first two arrived, Ifre pointed toward the altar. “Take her. If she lives, cleanse her wound and then feed her. If not, you know what to do.”

Ifre waited impatiently for them to follow his orders. They knew not to dawdle. Experience had taught them that his need for fresh blood required a steady flow of prisoners. It was only one short misstep from servant to sacrifice.

When they were gone, he opened the book to a detailed map of the Sojourn Valley. Ah, yes, there was a reason for a caravan to stop in such a remote area. He’d forgotten about the abbey at the entrance of the valley. All things considered, Ifre had little doubt someone in that distant abbey had recognized the blood coins for what they were and destroyed them.

Since the coins were keyed to react only to someone of his bloodline, that had to mean that the traders had come into contact with Lavinia. After all, their family had dwindled down to just the two of them.

And now he knew what memory had been floating at the edge of his thoughts. In the brief glimpse he’d had of Lavinia through her scrying, she’d been wearing robes. Yes, the style was right for one of the sisters or, more likely, an abbess to wear. Somehow he doubted his little half sibling would settle for being an ordinary sister.

Since his coins had been destroyed, he had to think Lavinia had survived the incident. He smiled. She wouldn’t live long beyond their next encounter. He’d send out enough troops to tear that abbey apart stone by stone if that was what it took to drag her back to his side.

He’d prepare another of his talismans especially for her. Once the soldiers had her subdued, all they had to do was slip the necklace around her neck to render her docile. From that point, she would follow them back to the capital city without question. The bonus was that as soon as she wore his talisman, he would be able to draw from the deep well of her magic to supplement his own.

It should take a troop of the royal guard three days of hard riding to reach the abbey. He rubbed some warmth into his hands, ignoring the still-tender scar on his palm.

“Yes, dear Lavinia, soon you and I will be reunited. Then nothing and no one will stop me.”

At that, he went in search of the latest captain of his personal guard to give the man his marching orders. The sooner Lavinia was captured, the sooner he could turn his attention to shoring up his control of the nobles and the riches in their holdings across all of Agathia.

*  *  *

Gideon should’ve known Kane would follow him up to the ramparts. He’d come up here to clear his head and think things through. So much for a few minutes’ solitude. With his eyes on the rolling grasslands beyond the palisade, he asked, “What now?”

“I need to leave soon, Gideon, if I’m going to be of any help.” Kane shifted from foot to foot in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. “It will take time to insinuate myself into the duke’s household guard.”

“So you keep telling me.”

Kane was right. That didn’t mean Gideon wanted to hear it. His friend’s plan to infiltrate Duke Keirthan’s personal guard made sense. Having a spy on the inside would greatly increase their chances of overcoming the duke’s efforts to subjugate his people.

Having Averel follow Kane into the capital city, passing himself off as a troubadour, was the only thing that made the idea palatable. Gideon trusted Kane with his life, but the mage-marked warrior would be riding into the source of the blood magic that was casting its deadly shadow over the countryside.

If all of the Damned were together, there was no way the taint of the magic could overcome Kane’s inborn sense of duty and honor. Alone, though, with the pulsing heart of Keirthan’s twisted magic so close at hand, there was no telling how the warrior would be affected.

Centuries ago, Kane had turned his back on the teachings of his grandfather, a dark mage of incredible power. Yet the mark on Kane’s cheek proved the connection was still there, written not just on his skin but in his blood and bones.

“Well? Am I going or not?” Kane practically spit the words out between clenched teeth.

They both knew Gideon had no choice. “Tell Averel to get ready. The two of you will ride out in the morning.”

“But—”

Gideon cut off the other man’s protest. “I know you prefer to travel at night, but we still haven’t heard from Duncan. If he’s going to send word, it will be after dark when Kiva arrives.”

The other warrior stared out at the horizon. “He’s fine, Gideon. Duncan knows how to take care of himself.”

“We all do.” Gideon slammed his fist against the rough-hewn wooden wall. “But we almost lost Murdoch, didn’t we? It took
days
for him to heal. That’s never happened before, not since the goddess claimed us as her own. Duncan’s been gone for days with no word, and now you and Averel are leaving. I don’t like it. We’ve always fought our battles together. Now we’re scattered like leaves on the wind.”

He clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I know you’ll do fine, and the knowledge you will gain will make it easier to defeat the enemy. Yet I hate the whole idea. Besides, who will keep my sword skills sharp if you’re not around?”

He softened the last bit with a smile.

“That would be me.”

They both turned to face Murdoch, his deep voice finally sounding at full strength.

The big man rolled his shoulders and stretched. “We both know Kane always goes too easy on you, Gideon. He thinks embarrassing you in practice makes us all look bad. Personally, I relish those moments.”

Gideon made sure his answering smile showed a lot of teeth and a hint of meanness. “We’ll see about that bright and early in the morning. Maybe a small wager would be in order.”

Murdoch gave him a dubious look. “What do you have in mind?”

Gideon didn’t blame him for being suspicious. It wasn’t as if the Damned ever had much use for money. “Jarod needs extra help cleaning the stables. Whoever loses the bout has to spend the rest of the day shoveling out stalls.”

“Fair enough.” Murdoch glanced back over his shoulder. “In fact, tell you what. We’ll include Sigil, here, in the deal. We’ll all three fight. The two losers haul cartloads of manure.”

Gideon looked past his friend toward the duke’s man, who had become Murdoch’s silent shadow since they’d both left their sickbeds. “Are you all right with helping the stable master?”

Sigil shrugged. “I’d rather feel useful.”

Then with a sly smile, he added, “But then who says I’ll be the loser? I find the idea of sitting in the shade watching the two of you sweat most appealing.”

It was the first time he’d acted more like an ally of the Damned than like their prisoner. Obviously Sigil was feeling more comfortable around them, not necessarily a good thing. Could he be biding his time, waiting for them to get careless around him, so that he could escape?

Regardless, Gideon didn’t relish the thought of having to execute a man he’d come to like.

“Big words, Sigil. I’ll look forward to bringing the two of you a cool drink of water after you’ve been at it for a few hours.”

The prisoner merely nodded, but Gideon suspected the man was actually pleased to be included in their antics. At least someone around there was happy. There was also a limit to how much Gideon was willing to trust him.