Rising Fire (23 page)

Swinging the hammer and thrusting the sword, he cut down the first ones who tried to stop him. Turning in a circle, he killed several more, parrying and thrusting, swinging and pounding, reveling in the blood that splashed and the bodies that exploded under his blows. They dared to stand between him and the fireblood who was his.

Swing. Hit. Dead.

Slash. Cut. Dead.

Over and over until his opponents fell before him. It felt good. It felt wondrous. It felt . . .

Her scream pierced the air and drew him from his deadly dance. Turning to where Hugh held her, he saw her pointing at the forest, a look of sick horror on her face before she screamed again.

“William!” Marcus called to him. The priest used some voice that reached through the fog of war to him. He looked at the forest, and even the warblood in him was horrified. He pulled his power back, thinking of it going back into his blood, and his body shifted, but not all the way back. His weapons remained where he needed them.

He'd wondered where the soldiers were that would use the swords Hugh had stashed at the ready. Coming through the forest was Hugh's new army—the villagers. William recognized many of them, but they were different. Men, women, even children, carried swords or daggers before them. Walking at a stinted gait, they were lifeless. They were creatures with glowing eyes and no will of their own. Worse, Gavin led them forward.

“He has bespelled them!” Marcus explained. “They will fight and kill because they cannot resist it.”

“Well, priest, what the bloody hell do we do now?” Roger called out to him. His men were trained fighters, but to kill these people was wrong.

Brienne screamed again, struggling with Hugh, who nodded again and called out some word he did not understand. But those under his power did, and they began to run now, growing closer very quickly.

“Gavin! Father!” she screamed, but the man who used to be her father did not even blink at the sound.

“Roger, Gautier,” William called out. “Tell the others. Knock them down. Do not strike them unless you must!”

He had expected a diversion. Any good battle commander would. However, this was not what he'd expected at all. A counterattack mayhap. More men
attacking from a different direction. But not this depravity. Now he watched as Gavin turned and stalked him.

“William.” She called out his name once, and when he looked at her, she fainted. Hugh mocked with a salute and rode off carrying her unconscious body with him. He had barely turned back when Gavin launched his attack.

Being a blacksmith, Gavin had the strength and experience to wield a sword well, and he did it in spite of whatever spell controlled him. William felt his blood rise as he faced the challenge, but he forced it back, preferring not to slaughter this man. Using his own skills, he pushed him back and back until one of his men came up from behind Gavin and hit him on the head with the hilt of a sword.

He joined his men, and they did the same all over the field, though fighting children was the most sickening thing he'd ever faced in battle. Finally, after more than an hour of fighting, they had prevailed. A number of villagers had been wounded and a few of his men as well, and it would take time to see to them. Roger approached as he spoke with Marcus about the spell used on the villagers.

“Gavin is . . . awake and would like to speak to you, Will,” he said. There was a distance in his friend's tone that bespoke of trouble.

“Is aught wrong, Roger?” he asked, following him to where the blacksmith was tending to his neighbors.

“I just look at you and see that . . . warblood creature. How?” Roger let out a breath and stopped. “Do you have any idea what you look like when you change?” He shrugged and shook his head in reply. “I thought I was prepared. I thought I'd seen it before, on
that day, but Sweet Christ, Will! You turned into a seven-foot-tall, blue berserker before our eyes.”

Roger raked his hands through his hair and shook his head.

They'd faced so many shocks this day, William had no doubt they all wanted to leave and go back to their customary existences.

“And I will again, Roger. From what Marcus tells me, I will often, and I may not have seen the full extent of whatever my powers might be. And there will be others with other powers.”

He noticed the others were listening and decided it best to sort this out now.

“This is unlike anything I have faced before in my life, and it is not over,” he called out to his men. “We are being called to a purpose unlike any we can imagine. Some of us will survive and some will not. In good faith, I cannot force you to keep your pledges of service to me now that this has been thrust on me.” He met the gaze of each of his men and then Gavin's. “But I must answer this call. I must stop this man—this monster—who would destroy everything that is good.

“So, each of you, examine your own consciences and make your decision. Those of you willing, those of you able, we leave in two hours. Those of you who cannot commit your lives and souls to this endeavor are free to leave with my blessing and my thanks for your service.”

As he walked over to where Gavin sat, he heard Marcus's words to Aislinn the seer.

“As you told us, the prophecy said the warrior will lead us.”

It struck him then—he had not considered the
priests and their pivotal role in this. Marcus spoke of chanting at the stone circle and reading the signs, but if they all knew . . .

“Marcus, do all of your priests know the signs? Do they all know how to chant at the circles?”

“Aye, William. They share the visions and the dreams, though Aislinn is the most powerful and will be the one to close the circle.”

“And you sent one of your men after Hugh?”

“Ahead to watch and follow,” he said, nodding.

“What troubles you, Will?” Roger asked, listening to the exchange.

“If they all know, then they each know,” he said.

“What do you want us to do?” Roger asked, understanding the problem.

“I fear there is nothing we can do for the one sent ahead, but we must guard the rest of you.”

The problems and challenges piled up in front of him with every passing minute. His only hope was that Hugh wanted him to follow to rescue Brienne, because if he did, he'd keep her alive. He hoped that Hugh would find the prospect of luring Will to her pivotal right now. Marcus had explained that either she or Hugh could be used in sacrifice to open the gateway, but chances were that Hugh would sacrifice her. And William knew he would do anything necessary to rescue and claim her.

He just prayed Brienne could do what she must to stay alive until he could reach her. Once she was safe in his arms, he would claim her heart and let the warblood inside tear Lord Hugh de Gifford apart with his bare hands.

C
old misery seeped into her body and soul as they crossed the miles away from Yester and away from William. Her last memory, watching her father, mother, and all the other people from her village turn into mindless pawns to attack trained and experienced warriors, sickened her even now. Worse, she had no idea if they had survived.

She would never think of Lord Hugh as her father again. He'd tossed her to a large, hulking man on a huge warhorse, who carried her before him. Having little experience riding on a horse, let alone one this size, she feared death at every moment. They called him “Brisbois” and his usual task was as Lord Hugh's torturer. He'd come over from France to carry out whatever his duties were. She expected rough treatment from such a man, and so his gentle handling of her when he did not need to be so surprised her.

Yet something was wrong with her, for no matter how hard she tried, she could not shift into fire. She'd tried when she gained consciousness and watched Yester Castle disappear into the distance. She'd tried on
the field when she saw her friends and neighbors come out of the forest armed and empty-minded.

How could she face them now—any of them, those who lived in the village, her parents, William or his men—now that she had killed an innocent man with her power? She'd never felt so soiled or low.

But it had taught her a valuable lesson—never, never, ever trust Lord Hugh. It was just terrible that it had cost a man's life to discover that truth.

“Here. Drink this,” Brisbois ordered, handing her a skin of ale. So very tired and thirsty from hours of relentless riding north, she accepted it and drank deeply.

Though her hands were tied at all times, she was permitted to walk when they made short stops along the road. If Brisbois did not hold her leash, another of the warriors did. She'd heard Lord Hugh order that none speak to her, so she traveled in silence. She handed the skin back and watched as Brisbois returned it to Lord Hugh.

Her stomach turned then as she realized he was putting something in the ale! Her mouth went dry, and she was tempted to force it back up her throat. She gagged and coughed but kept it down. Whatever it was, it was not poison, for she continued to live and regret every moment in her life when she'd longed for her father to claim her.

They stopped for the night a few hours after sunset. The men were accustomed to traveling like this and did not require tents or other comforts. A few blankets were thrown on the ground for her to sleep on and another to cover her. Every bone in her body ached from the hours in the saddle. And yet they had days of travel ahead, from what she'd overheard.

Once sleep descended over the camp, she found it impossible to do so. She feared the nightmares she knew would follow her after witnessing such terrible things. Her body ached on the hard ground. Just as she began to drift off, screams filled the area. She started to get up but was pushed back down by the soldier guarding her.

Glancing around as best she could, she could tell the sounds came from the other side of the camp. Loud voices. Lord Hugh's was one of them. There was another scream and sounds of a beating followed. And then it all was repeated.

They'd captured someone. One of William's men? And he was being tortured. Her stomach rebelled then as she tried to shift. The only thing she could do, it seemed, was set a bush on fire nearby.

She wanted to cover her ears, to block out the sounds, but the way they'd tied her hands around a cart so she could not escape kept her from doing that. And the sounds continued on and on through the night.

Brienne did not remember falling asleep, but suddenly someone was kicking her hip to wake her. The sun barely peeked above the horizon and already most of the camp was packed. She stumbled into the bushes when Brisbois came and released her. Then she gobbled down a crust of bread and a piece of cheese before Brisbois tied her hands once again and led her to his horse. When he held out the skin to her to drink, she hesitated.

“This is mine,” he said in a quiet voice. She met his gaze then and glanced at the skin. “I know you are thirsty, girl. Drink now.” So he knew she was being drugged by Lord Hugh.

“My thanks,” she whispered as she took several mouthfuls of the water in it. Only as she handed it back did she see the traces of blood along the edges of his nails. Her eyes met his as she realized he had been the one torturing the unfortunate through the night.

She looked away, knowing that she had done Lord Hugh's bidding as well. How could she hold this man any guiltier than she herself was?

They were on the road soon after. Not long after that, storms struck, slowing their pace to a crawl. Brisbois pulled a thick tartan blanket out of his pack and covered her with it as they rode along. Clearly, some rain and wind were not enough to make Lord Hugh stop. The bigger surprise came when the lord handed her some strips of dried meat.

“Why?” she asked, accepting them and hiding them beneath the blanket. He ignored her question and kept riding, following the others.

“You have to keep up your strength,” he said. She lifted her face to look at him, ignoring the rains.

“Why?” she asked again. He gave her no answer and rode on.

Hours passed, with fewer stops now, and she heard orders passed back through the riders that they were heading for the coast. Though she'd dreamed of visiting the sea as a child, her first view of it was certainly not as she'd hoped. Afraid she'd be sleeping in the rain that night, Brienne was surprised when Brisbois led her to a small barn near a larger stone house.

“Lord Hugh is their guest and sleeps within,” Brisbois said as he saw her settled in one corner of the unused building.

He left for a short time, and another man guarded her from the doorway. When he returned, he carried a bowl and a cup, which he held while the other guard released her from her bonds and left. He handed her the bowl, in which she found a portion of plain stew, still steaming.

“My thanks for bringing this,” she said. “Do you want some?” He shook his head and went to sit by the door.

She dipped the spoon into it and ate it too quickly. He produced a small loaf of bread from one pocket in his jacket and tossed it to her. Then he pulled a skin from inside it and filled a battered cup to the top before bringing it over to her. Brienne drew her legs up under the length of her gown and sat cross-legged, eating and drinking until every morsel of food and every drop of water was gone.

He grunted when she handed him the bowl and cup back empty, and she thought it was one of satisfaction.

“Have you eaten, then?” she asked.

“Aye, with the others.”

She leaned against the wall and pulled one of the blankets around her. The sound of the rain on the roof soothed her, and she could feel her body sinking into sleep, but there was one thing she needed to know.

“That man. Is he dead?”

He did not pretend to misunderstand. “Nay.”

“Will you kill him?” she asked, watching his surprised expression. “Or just torture him?”

He ignored her question then, closing his eyes as though trying to sleep. She knew he would not, for
he'd not yet bound her hands or feet to secure her for the night.

“Is he one of Sir William's men?” she asked softly. It was what she feared the most.

“Nay. He is from the west,” he replied. She let out her breath at his answer. Not one of William's but one of Marcus's group. He must have been following them when he was captured.

“Is it difficult for you to torture or kill someone?” To plan something like that was unthinkable to her.

“You ask too many questions about killing,” he said. “You have no need for such knowledge.”

She stopped asking and leaned her head back. Closing her eyes, she confessed her darkest sin to the man who killed for his living.

“I killed a man yesterday. A friend. A man who had asked to court me,” she whispered. “He made me kill my friend.”

The tears flowed then, silently, and she turned away so he could not see them in the light of the lantern between them. Sorrow filled her as she remembered all the good things about James.

“'Tis his sin, then, no' yours, lass.”

She slept restlessly that night and thought someone stroked her hair, comforting her as her mother used to when she could not find sleep. In the morning, the sun broke through the clouds and she saw the sea for the first time.

*   *   *

William did not waste time trying to follow them to the coast. Instead he took his men at a brutal pace back to Edinburgh and the king. The king was not there, staying at Dunfermline Abbey over in Fife instead, so
William met with his Exchequer and got what he needed based on the king's previous orders. Leaving a message for the king's private secretary about increasing the number of guards on him, William led his company to Leith, to the cog the king's man had ordered made ready for their use.

From what Marcus and Aislinn could tell him, the stone circle they sought was north and west of Aberdeen, so they would sail there and go by land from the coast. Though those from Far Island were experienced sailors, his men did not fare as well on board the small ship.

Marcus and the others continued to teach him more about the ancient gods whose powers passed down to him and others and about the prophecies. But their worried expressions warned him that their friend was in danger.

“Do you know if he yet lives?” Will asked them as the ship moved along the coast, north of the firth.

“He lives,” Marcus answered.

“How do you know this? Tell me of this connection you share. Is it because of your training?” he asked, sitting on a bench near the front of the ship.

“Aislinn is the strongest connection we have. She dreamwalks and sees him.”

“Dreamwalks?” he asked, looking to her for an explanation.

“I cannot exactly explain how it works, William,” she said. “I sleep. I dream. I walk and find those I know.”

“And your man? You found him?”

“Aye. Corann has heard me.” He waited for more, but when she did not go on, he asked.

“Will he break, Aislinn? Will Hugh find out the method to open the circle from him?”

“He is not practiced at deception, William. And he is not a warrior. He . . . will break . . . soon.”

If Hugh knew what Corann could do—read the signs, chant the prayers—he might keep him alive. If he did, it could give them time to rescue him when they took Brienne back.

“Can you find Brienne in your dreamwalk?”

“I do not know. I have never sought someone not a priest,” Aislinn said, glancing at Marcus first. “I can try though. You could help me find her since your connection to her is so strong.”

“How? Tell me how.”

“We must wait until nightfall. We will try then.”

The next few hours were the slowest in his life, but finally, the men and women on the ship settled down to sleep for the night. William gathered with Marcus, Aislinn, Roger, and Gautier at the front of the ship, where a tent had been erected. They waited until dark had fallen completely and then began the task of finding Brienne.

William floated. His body remained on the ship, but his mind drifted above them. Aislinn spoke softly to him, pushing him to let go and sleep. He could feel her words and thoughts as though they were touches, nudges, pushing him this way and that.

Lord Hugh pushed his thoughts but not like this. He overpowered with his, while Aislinn gently led.

“Bring Brienne to mind now, William. In your thoughts, make her image clear and strong.”

He smiled as he did it, for the image he had of her was lying naked on his bed, in his arms, as she found her release. Her head flung back, her skin glistening
with sweat, his hand buried between her legs, stroking her until she screamed.

“Mayhap not that clear,” Aislinn instructed as both she and Marcus chuckled.

William opened his eyes and looked at them. “Can you see her as I do?” he asked. Brienne would never forgive him for sharing such an intimate moment with them.

“Nay,” she said with a soft laugh now. “But the way you feel about her is very strong.”

Oh God. Can they tell I am aroused from the memory of her that night?

“Aye.”

Will opened his eyes but she had not, still sitting next to him, eyes closed.

“Take a deep breath and try once more.”

He let the motion of the ship on the water, its gentle rocking as it skimmed over the surface, lull him closer to sleep. This time he saw Brienne as he had the first time. Standing behind Gavin before peeking out to look at him, the colors of her standing out against the duller shades of everyone else and her eyes meeting his.

“Brienne,” he whispered.

“Again.”

“Brienne . . . Brienne. Where are you,
ma chérie
?”

“I see her,” Aislinn whispered, her grip on his hand stronger now. “A small flame in the darkness, I am walking to her now.” A few seconds passed in silence. “Say her name and speak to her. In your thoughts.”

Brienne, are you there? Are you well?

“She is well.” She squeezed his hand again.

Why do you not escape him?

“He is giving her something that mutes her powers. She cannot shift to fire now.” William heard Marcus curse at this news.

“Ask her about Corann. Before I lose her. And ask her to see where she is.”

Brienne, is Marcus's man Corann with you? Is he alive?

“Aye, though she did not know his name. They have tortured him. They are torturing him now. She can hear his cries.”

William felt her hot tears fall on his skin at such a revelation. This time he gently squeezed Aislinn's hand.

He knows how to open the circle, Brienne. Tell Lord Hugh of his worth.

He felt her reaction then through his connection or Aislinn's—fear, anger, sorrow. Then he saw the young man James's death and felt her heartbreak.