Rift (32 page)

She didn’t answer, unsure if she was more unsettled by the incredible power he’d just demonstrated, his observations about Conatus, or where he’d taken them.

“What are we doing here?” Sensing her rider’s anxiety, Geal tossed her head. Eira was relieved to turn her attention to controlling the horse. Handling a restless mount was much preferable to considering the consequences of being in this place in the company of the mysterious Bosque Mar.

“Have I brought you here in error?” he asked, smiling. “Is this not the home of your enemy?”

Having gotten control of her mare, Eira nodded. Then she turned to look again upon Abbot Crichton’s estate.

TWENTY-FOUR

“WOULD YOU LIKE
to admire the manor for much longer?” Bosque asked Eira with the trace of a smile.

The look she threw at him was sour. “You speak to me as though you’ve offered a satisfying explanation of why you’ve brought me here.”

Bosque laughed. “Why I’ve brought you here must be shown, not explained. Shall we pay our respects to the abbot?”

He urged his mount into a trot, leaving Eira’s mare to follow a short distance behind. As they approached the ornately carved doors of the abbot’s house, suspicion crept into her mind. What if all of this—from the prisoner to the strange appearance of Bosque on the hillside—were some elaborate plot orchestrated by the abbot himself? What if he sought a way to accuse her of treachery?

Eira shook off her doubts. Though he benefitted from overseeing Tearmunn, the abbot kept his involvement with their work minimal. He cared not for the arcane knowledge housed in their libraries or the magic wielded by their clerics. Sometimes she wondered if the abbot even believed that the evils Conatus faced were real. She also doubted he was imaginative enough to create such an intricate trap.

When they reined in their horses near the manor, servants hurried to meet them. Bosque murmured softly to his mount. The shadow horse shifted its weight and seemed to gain more substance. The movement beneath its glossy coat became less pronounced. The strange green light in its eyes dimmed.

One of the servants took their horses to be watered and fed at the abbot’s stables, which Eira had heard he’d filled with fine steeds from the far reaches of the earth—not to put to use, but simply to admire. The other servant led them into the house.

They were taken to the abbot’s study. He sat at a wide table of polished ebony.

“Eira!” The abbot set down his quill. “What a pleasant surprise. I was just finishing up my correspondence with Rome.”

Eira offered him a thin smile. “I hope you have good tidings to share.”

“Tidings fair enough for now.” Greed filled his eyes. “I was pleased with my agreeable parting from Tearmunn. I assume you’ve come here to ensure our good relations continue.”

She didn’t answer, glancing at Bosque. Why were they here?

The abbot rose and came around the table to face them. His eyes narrowed as he looked over Eira’s companion. Bosque returned the abbot’s gaze steadily. He stood a full two heads taller than the squat clergyman.

“And who is your companion?” Abbot Crichton frowned. “A guest from one of Conatus’s outposts abroad? An emissary from the Holy Land?”

“I’ve traveled far greater distance than that to be here,” Bosque murmured.

Abbot Crichton’s mouth turned down sourly, but he lifted his hand. “I am the abbot of Tearmunn. Tell me of your origins and perhaps I will grant you the Church’s blessing. You’ll find it worthwhile to be in my favor.”

Bosque eyed the abbot’s proferred hand with disgust. “I need not your blessing.”

The abbot stared at Bosque. His cheeks purpled and he spluttered. “What blasphemy is this? Do you know whom you address?”

“I do.” Bosque smiled. “And I am here to make an offer.”

“What dealings would I have with the likes of you?” Abbot Crichton spat. “You have no authority over me.”

Eira watched the exchange with increasing fascination. The satisfaction of seeing Bosque insult the abbot made her toes curl inside her boots.

“It is not your place to say if you will or will not deal with me,” Bosque answered. “You have caused my friend great pain.”

“Your friend?”

Bosque gestured to Eira. “She makes great sacrifices to protect her world, and yet you dishonor her and her order.”

“How dare you!” The abbot’s eyes bulged. “I’ll see you rot in my dungeon for your insolence.”

“My lady.” Bosque looked at Eira, ignoring the abbot’s strangled protests. “May I show why I led you to this place, and to this man?”

With a shiver of anticipation, Eira nodded.

Bosque smiled and returned his attention to the fuming abbot. “I offer you this choice. Submit to Eira’s will and plague her no longer with your petty quests for wealth and power. You are not worthy of her time or worry.”

“Submit?” Spittle collected in the corners of the abbot’s mouth. “Tearmunn and all within it defer to me.”

“That may have been true,” Bosque answered. “But it shall be so no longer.”

Though he glared at Bosque, the abbot wasn’t foolish enough to advance on a man who projected such pure physical power. Instead he lunged at Eira.

All Bosque did was wave his hand. The abbot flew back, toppling head over heels across the table and onto the floor.

“You would be wise to heed my warnings,” Bosque murmured as the abbot struggled to his feet. His red-faced fury had whitened into shock.

“Who are you?” Abbot Crichton’s voice trembled.

“The one who will change all things.” Bosque lifted his hand, tracing a shape in the air. The path his fingers drew filled with flames in their wake, suspended in the air, blazing but giving off no smoke.

The abbot gave a strangled cry and made the sign of the cross. Eira took several steps back, but was more fascinated than frightened.

The flaming symbol hung before Bosque. It shuddered and pulsed and then burst outward. Where the fiery shape had been something new, something dark and strange loomed. Its substance moved constantly, not unlike the strange appearance of Bosque’s horse. But this thing was no horse. It billowed like a plume of smoke and gave off the scent of burning hair and flesh. Eira swallowed hard so she wouldn’t choke on the stench.

“Behold.” Bosque smiled at Eira. “A soldier of my army.”

“What is it?” Eira whispered.

“A wraith,” he told her. “Capable of wonders you have never witnessed.”

He pointed to Abbot Crichton and the wraith slithered toward the quivering man.

He shrieked, flailing his arms as the creature’s shadow form poured over him. His fearful cries became screams of pain as the wraith snaked around him. The abbot writhed and screamed.

Eira knew she should be horrified, but watching the pompous man’s torment sent a thrill up her spine.

The abbot’s cries drew alarmed servants to the study. Seeing their master twisting on the floor, assailed by some dark force, they called for his guards. Bosque winked at Eira and summoned three more wraiths, which met the guards who stormed into the room. Their swords passed through the wraiths like sticks through water. Within seconds the guards, like the abbot, were on the floor screaming as the wraiths consumed them.

“Can the wraiths be killed?” Eira whispered.

“Not by any weapons known to you,” Bosque told her.

Eira faced him, frowning. “If you have such soldiers, why do you seek my aid?” She shivered, gesturing to the helpless guards. “It would appear you are invincible.”

“My power is limited here,” Bosque said. “I can only give as much as is asked of me. I came at the beckoning of your blood. I remain only at your will.”

“At my will?” Eira gazed at him, reveling in the promise of power held by his words.

“As I’ve said,” Bosque said softly. His hand came up to touch her cheek. “You and I are the same. Let us help each other. This is merely a demonstration. Every nightmare you and your order have fought, every single one enters this world at my bidding. Imagine if they were here to do your bidding in my stead.”

The abbot’s screams became desperate moans. She pulled her eyes away from Bosque’s penetrating gaze. His eyes were silver, full of a brightness that promised endless possibility.

“Eira, please,” Abbot Crichton called to her. “Have mercy!”

Eira regarded the squirming abbot calmly. As he crawled toward her with the wraith still wrapped around him, her nose wrinkled, reacting not only to the shadow creature’s scent but also repelled by the pungent odor of the abbot having soiled himself.

“Help me,” Abbot Crichton sobbed. “I submit to you. I submit.”

Behind Eira, the guards were still screaming. “You submit . . . to me?”

“Yes!” The abbot clawed futilely at the shadow tendrils that snaked around his limbs.

“Enough?” Bosque cast a sidelong glance at her.

Eira paused, watching as the abbot stretched pleading hands toward her. He thrashed on the floor, his agony terrible. And beautiful. Something new and alive with pleasure raced through Eira’s veins.

“Not yet,” she whispered.

The abbot shrieked again and Eira began to smile.

TWENTY-FIVE

THE WATERS WERE
so dark that Ember didn’t know if she was swimming to the surface or if she was struggling ever downward, sealing her own doom. She kicked hard, hoping that her efforts would win her light and air. The cold, watery prison clung to her, trying to hold her back. With all the strength she could muster, Ember pushed herself up, up, up.

She was gasping when her eyes opened. Squinting against the sudden light, she tried to sit up but groaned when pain shot through her shoulders and back.

“You’re awake!” A woman in gray robes rushed to the bed where Ember lay. She put her hand on Ember’s forehead. “And the fever is gone. It must have broken in the night.”

“Where am I?” Ember asked. The room was small and well lit, but it wasn’t her cell. Morning light streamed in through tall windows, washing dull stone walls in a buttery hue.

“The manor,” the woman told her. “You’ve been battling an infection for the past two days. We were quite worried, but you pulled through. Your constitution is enviable—many people wouldn’t have overcome the fever you were stricken with.”

Ember’s vision slowly adjusted to the sunlight. She glanced around the room.

Misunderstanding her searching gaze, the nurse said, “Don’t worry, my lady, you haven’t been neglected. I’ve been stretching your arms to keep you from losing a full range of movement. You’ll soon need to use your weapons again, lest you lose all the strength you’d gained.”

Ember began to thank the nurse, but the woman went on. “And
he’s
watched over you day and night. In fact, I was surprised to find you alone when I arrived this morning.”

“Who, Alistair?” Ember asked. It was a thoughtful enough gesture for him to stay with her through her illness, if a bit possessive.

The healer shook her head. “No, no. I meant Lord Hess. Of course, Lord Hart has visited you too, but it’s Lord Hess who’s most often here.”

“Barrow?” Ember frowned at the healer, more than a little startled by her words. Of course Barrow would be concerned for her welfare, but surely he had better things to do than sit at her sickbed.

At that moment Barrow entered the room, halting when he saw Ember awake.

“And there he is now,” the healer said.

Barrow looked like a rabbit cornered by a fox, unsure whether to fight or flee.

“Does she need attending?” he asked the healer. “I don’t want to disrupt your care.”

“I was just leaving,” she told him. “No walking yet, but she’ll need to stretch her arms and back. She may need your help with that.”

The healer collected the used bandages and her medicines. Barrow waited until she’d left, then came to sit in the chair beside Ember’s bed. She noticed he had a thick, leather-bound volume tucked beneath his arm.

“What’s that for?” she asked, feeling awkward. The knowledge that Barrow had watched over her daily since she’d fainted made her light-headed and her skin strangely warm.

Barrow seemed equally ill at ease. He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his gaze away from her.