The Pillars Of The World (21 page)

Eight of his Inquisitors stood to one side, watching the two in the rowboat that floated in the center of the pond. Beside him, the village magistrate cringed as the woman was pulled up, again, from beneath the water. She gasped for breath, a harsh sound that carried clearly in the still morning air.

“Do you admit your guilt and confess your crimes against your neighbors?” the Inquisitor holding the rope asked in a loud voice.

“No!” the woman gasped. “No! I—”

The Inquisitor let the rope slide through his gloved hands. The woman disappeared beneath the water.

Again.

She’s been in that pond for close to an hour, and she’s still fighting
, Adolfo thought, sharply watching the way the rowboat rocked on the water.
But she won’t last much longer. Very soon she’ll
understand there’s only one way she can end her punishment. And then we can leave this place
.

“Master Adolfo,” the magistrate said, casting an anxious eye toward the other villagers who had been summoned that morning to gather around the pond. “Master, my wife’s cousin is a good woman. She
couldn’t
have done such malicious things.”

“Are you saying these people, who look to you as a leader in their community, are liars?” Adolfo asked quietly. “Are you saying that the women who freely confessed in order to unburden their spirits couldn’t name the others who had been drawn into the dreadful snare of the witch’s magic, and became witches themselves?”

“Witches?” The magistrate sweated. “No, no, Master Adolfo. They weren’t
witches
.”

Adolfo looked at the man until fear did its duty and the man’s will crumbled beneath it.

“I am the Witch’s Hammer,” Adolfo said. “I have spent my life studying these foul creatures, these whores of the Evil One. I know its stench—and theirs—when I smell it. Do you deny the troubles that have come to plague your village? Do you deny that
two
of my Inquisitors have died here in a matter of days? Two men trained and prepared to deal with the Evil One’s servants were overwhelmed while staying in this place. The only way such a thing could happen is if the Evil One found vessels to give it roots here, vessels who had remained hidden from the good people of this community.”

He paused long enough to nod to the Inquisitors in the boat. The one holding the rope pulled the woman up to the surface again.

“Perhaps,” Adolfo continued softly, “you protest this cleansing of evil because you fear what we might be told during a confession. Perhaps you have had lustful thoughts about your wife’s cousin. She is a beautiful woman and bold with her opinions. Perhaps you are close to being ensnared into the Evil One’s service. Perhaps. It is not always as easy to tell with men when the Evil One’s hold on them is still weak.

Softening the flesh is the only way to discover such things. But you and I have not talked about such things in private, have we?”

The magistrate turned pale and swayed on his feet. “I didn’t ... I never . . . But . . . can’t you simply let her die?”

Adolfo could almost smell the man’s fear. It didn’t matter if the magistrate had done nothing more than allow his thoughts to wander or had actually indulged in fornication with his wife’s cousin. Now he simply wanted the woman silenced before the Master Inquisitor found a reason to look at him more closely.

“She must have a chance to redeem her spirit,” Adolfo said gently. “Otherwise, the Evil One will have her in death as it had her in life, and she will endure unspeakable torment in the Fiery Pit.”

The Inquisitor in the boat let the woman sink, then pulled her up quickly. After a couple more dunkings, when she didn’t have quite enough time to draw a breath, he pulled her up, let her gasp for a moment, then said, “Do you—”

“Yes!” the woman screamed. “Yes! I confess. I did what you say I did. I confess!”

Adolfo nodded.

The Inquisitor released the rope. The woman sank to the bottom of the pond, weighed down by the sack of stones that had been tied to her legs under her dress.

Everyone waited. Finally, the oars were set and the Inquisitors began rowing back to the shore.

Adolfo raised his voice enough to reach the silent crowd. The persuasion magic flowed through him, turning his words into hooks that would capture these people and never quite let them go. “It is done.

The Evil One’s servants have been cleansed from this village. The foul magic they released on their neighbors may continue a little while longer. There is nothing we can do to prevent that. But it will cease, and then you will be free of it—as long as you men remain vigilant. Look around you carefully and take note of the other honest folk who came to witness the end of evil—and remember who stayed away.

Keep watch over the women who are beholden to you. Do not shirk in your duty to discipline them. If you do not wield the strap with enough strength to help them remain modest and chaste, you do nothing less than thrust them into the Evil One’s embrace. Beware the sharp-tongued woman and the one who is bold with her opinions. They weaken men. Beware the woman who enjoys the carnal duties of marriage too much.

She will be tempted too easily to enjoy a handsome stranger, and the Evil One’s face is always handsome when he seduces such a woman. Once she has fornicated with evil, she will become the vessel that will be able to ensnare
you
. Stay vigilant, do your duty, and the Evil One will not be able to touch your families again.“

The villagers shuffled their feet uneasily. There was fear in the women’s eyes, which satisfied Adolfo.

He strode away from the pond, his Inquisitors following. He didn’t stop until he reached the inn. His carriage was out front, already loaded with his trunks. The guardsman, who was his new coachman, nodded to indicate everything was ready for the Master Inquisitor’s departure. A surly man who did not welcome conversation, Adolfo found him to be an adequate replacement for the previous coachman. The fool who had tried to trick him into being on the road during the Summer Moon was dead. One of those unfortunate accidents that could occur on an unfamiliar road in a strange country—especially when the accident was arranged.

“It will be good to leave this place,” one of the younger Inquisitors said quietly, looking back toward the pond.

“Yes, it will,” Adolfo replied.

The young man looked at Adolfo with troubled eyes. “Master Adolfo, we have lost four of our brothers in the past few days, and others have been injured badly enough during the time we’ve been in this land that they’ve had to give up our great work.” He hesitated, then the rest of the words came out in a rush. “

This isn’t our land. These aren’t our people, our families. Why do we have to be here?”

Adolfo had wondered when that question would be asked. “We are here
because
of our land, our people, our families. If we do not cleanse this foul witch magic from Sylvalan, it can creep over the border and root again in Wolfram. There are already indications that the cleansing was not as thorough in Arktos as we had thought. You’ve already seen that the power here is stronger than anything we’ve stood against. The Evil One embraces many here.”

He studied his men. They were already tired, and they were frightened. The Small Folk didn’t have more than what was considered mischief magic, but even that kind of magic could become deadly when the Small Folk banded together. They hadn’t been able to stop the cleansing of the witches from the Old Places simply because they hadn’t realized what was happening until it was too late. Even so, in Sylvalan they were a force to be reckoned with, and the Fae’s presence was stronger here as well. He had no doubt that this land could be cleansed of the magic that kept men from their rightful place as master and ruler, but the work was proving to be more dangerous here.

“The safety of Wolfram rests on our shoulders. We cannot put down the task we have been given.

However, from now on, you must work in pairs so that you can keep watch for each other. You will continue your search for the witches. But seek
only
the witches. Do not concern yourselves with the females who embrace the witch’s ways and do not conduct themselves with proper chasteness and modesty. They have no true magic and can be dealt with later. Use the power of the Inquisitor’s Gift to seek out the real witches. Crush their magic swiftly, and go on before anything has time to rally against you. At the end of the summer, we will all meet again at Rivercross—and we will go home for the cold months of winter. We will go home to rest and regain our strength so that we may continue our great battle against the Evil One and his whores.”

He had said the right thing, Adolfo decided as he saw the determination in his Inquisitors’ eyes. They would cleanse the eastern border of Sylvalan to keep Wolfram, their homeland, safe. Then they would go home. And he would never tell them that it wasn’t consideration or concern for them that had decided him; it was the woman on the dark horse who had ridden out of the woods and snatched his nephew’s spirit from his body. He knew the stories about the Fae who were called Death’s Servants. They could guide a spirit that had already left the dead flesh, but they couldn’t take it while the flesh still lived. But there was one who was Death’s Mistress, one who could ride through a village and leave nothing but corpses in her wake. Having Death’s Servants picking around like crows on a battlefield was one thing; having the Gatherer become curious about the deaths around the Old Places was another.

So his men would do their work until the seasons changed, and then they would go home to a land where magic had been choked back to a whisper. Hopefully, by the time they returned in the spring, the Gatherer would have moved on to some other part of Sylvalan.

“It’s not that I’m not grateful to have soup and bread to eat,” Ari muttered as she stirred the vegetable soup without enthusiasm. “But it’s
all
I’ve had to eat since yesterday.”

Didn’t matter. There wasn’t quite enough flour to make a new loaf of bread. By tomorrow, this watery soup she’d put together from the dwindling supply of vegetables she had canned last harvest would be the only thing she could put on the table. There were enough greens in the garden to enjoy the taste of something fresh, but not enough to fill an empty belly. She had done her best last year when she’d faced doing all the work alone for the first time. This year she would simply have to do better.

This was the last evening before the dark of the moon, the last evening when she was bound to the promise she had made at the Summer Moon. That didn’t matter either. She knew Lucian wouldn’t come simply to visit. Just as well. Her heart was feeling a bit raw and tender. She didn’t need to be told again in one way or another that men only found her interesting when she provided sex.

“Hullo the house!”

Hurrying to look out the open half of the kitchen door, Ari winced when she saw Neall check his stride as he noticed the wash that was still drying on the line. She knew she was blushing because he’d seen her underclothes, and she hoped he wouldn’t know what the long rectangles of cloth were for.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as soon as he was close enough to speak without raising his voice.

He knew.

“I’m fine, Neall. And you?”

“I’m fine as well.” He looked over her shoulder. “Are you alone?”

Pride nipped her. “No, I’m not—” She clamped her teeth. There was no reason to snap at Neall—or let wounded pride make her dishonest. “Yes, I’m alone.” She hesitated, then added in a low voice, “I’m not expecting anyone.”

He gave her a sweet, almost wistful smile. “Want some company? Besides my own charming self—and this idiotic beast,” he grumbled as he put his shoulder against Darcy, who was trying to push past him, and shoved. “
Wait
. She’ll pet you when she’s ready to pet you.”

The gelding backed up a couple of steps, making noises that sounded like muttering.

Neall let out an exasperated sigh. “You realize if the bottom half of this door wasn’t latched, he’d be in the kitchen with you.”

Ari bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“Besides our charming selves,” Neall said, narrowing his eyes at the gelding when it snorted, “I brought these.” He lifted a string and showed her two salmon she hadn’t noticed because she was too busy feeling embarrassed.

Ari’s heart pounded. Her palms were suddenly sweaty. “Neall . . .” she said weakly. “I know you’re Baron Felston’s relative, but poaching is a serious offense. And you’ve said yourself that the baron doesn

’t permit
anyone
to fish in the streams of his land. If you’re brought before the magistrate ...”

“Are you going to summon the magistrate?”

Ari frowned. He was her friend. How could he think she would betray him?

“I got these from a stream on your land,” Neall said. “Since I’m giving them to you, that doesn’t really count as poaching, does it?”

A heaviness that had been closing around her heart vanished. “Oh.” The word was breathed out in a sigh of relief. “Oh, in that case . . .” She paused. “But Neall, shouldn’t you be attending your work instead of spending so much time fishing in my stream? Won’t the baron be angry?”

“The work isn’t going anywhere. It can wait for a day. Besides, it didn’t take long to catch these fellows.

But they won’t be worth much if we don’t get them into some water.”

“Of course.” Ari opened the lower half of the door. “Come in and be welcome.”

Neall slipped in, closing the door just quickly enough to prevent Darcy from joining them. “See what I mean?” he muttered. He pumped water into the large oval basin that served as the kitchen sink, then set the salmon in it. Revived by the water, they began to move in the basin.

Watching them, Ari’s mouth watered. “Neall, they’re wonderful. I haven’t eaten salmon since the last one Mother caught.”

“Why not?”

“In order to eat one, you have to catch it first. Water isn’t one of my branches of the Great Mother.”

A puzzled look came and went in his eyes. “Do you know what to do with it?” he asked.

It was foolish to let pride ruin a fine meal. “No. Mother always cooked the fish.”

“Then I’ll make you a bargain. If you’re willing to share the smaller one, I’ll clean it and cook it.”

She held out her hand so fast to seal the bargain he jumped. When he clasped her hand, he held it for several seconds. His hand felt warm and strong, more callused than a gentleman’s hands were supposed to be, but Neall had never shirked when work needed to be done.

Feeling confused and a bit too warm, she turned away. “I— We could have what’s left of the bread drizzled with honey or jam.”

“Sounds fine.”

“And there’s some early greens ready to be picked.” She nibbled on her lower lip. “But there’s nothing to dress them with. And there’s no butter to cook the fish.”

Neall said nothing.

Would he make some excuse and leave now? Ari wondered. Gathering her courage, she turned to face him. He was staring thoughtfully at the salmon.

“Fish doesn’t keep well. How’s the ice cellar?”

“There’s enough ice left to keep most things from spoiling, but I don’t think the fish would keep for more than a day.”

He nodded as if he expected that answer. “We’ll trade,” he said decisively. “Ahern is fond of salmon, and he grumbles often enough that the streams on his land don’t have fish worth the effort of catching them. If we wrap the big one in straw and cloth and wet it down well, I can ride over to his farm and see what he’ll trade for it.”

“All right.” Ari hesitated. How much would a fish be worth? “Perhaps some butter and a little salt?”

Neall hesitated, then leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Leave the bargaining to me.”

A few minutes later, he had the salmon wrapped.

Ari stared at the remaining salmon. Now that it had some room to swim in, it was acting more lively. A bit
too
lively.

Neall stepped outside and latched the bottom of the kitchen door. “Ari,” he called softly.

She didn’t like the way he was grinning at her.

“If it jumps out of the basin, don’t leave it flopping about on the floor. Catch it and toss it back in.”

“Jumps?” Ari said, snapping her head around to stare at the too-lively fish. She knew salmon jumped. Of course she knew that. She had seen them leap to get past small waterfalls in the stream, but . . . “It’s going to jump in my
kitchen!”

Ari leaped for the kitchen door, reaching it just in time to see Neall, grinning gleefully, put his heels to Darcy’s sides and take off around the cottage.

“Neall!”

Racing through the cottage, she scrabbled to get the front door unlatched and flung it open. Neall was already cresting the low rise on the other side of the road.

“Neall!”

The gelding went down the other side of the rise, and Neall was gone.

Latching the door, Ari returned to the kitchen. Grabbing a small frying pan from its hook on the wall, she approached the sink warily. “If you jump, I’ll smack you.” She held up the frying pan to show the fish she meant it.

The salmon thrashed in the basin. The tail lifted, flinging water right in Ari’s face. .

Slowly, Ari set the frying pan down. Moving as far away from the sink as she could, she gathered the jars of honey and jam, then sliced the bread she had left.

“He knew this would happen. He knew it. He’s probably just sorry he wasn’t here to see it.” She glared at the salmon. “You know, if he takes his sweet time getting back from Ahern’s, you’re not the only one who’s going to feel a frying pan.”

Neall grinned as Darcy galloped toward Ahern’s farm.

Ari’s lover was a fool. A wonderful, wonderful fool. Imagine getting squeamish about something so natural. The man could have had the pleasure of spending time with her, could have enjoyed just being with her. But he’d walked away because he couldn’t have the bed. Tomorrow the dark of the moon began, and Ari would no longer be obliged to open her door or her arms to this stranger she’d met somewhere at the Summer Moon.

May the Great Mother bless the, man all the days of his life for being a wonderful, wonderful fool.

Neall’s grin widened.

And may She bless Ari as well. He knew she’d been struggling and didn’t have enough coins to buy meat very often. But he hadn’t realized that she hadn’t made use of what would have been freely given until she

’d told him how long it had been since she’d had fresh fish to eat.

What he’d told her was true. He
hadn’t
spent much time catching the salmon. He’d simply gone to the stream and quietly stood on the bank. When a few of the water sprites who lived in and around the stream had asked why the young Lord of the Woods was just standing there, he had told them he wanted a salmon for Ari. They disappeared into the stream, and a few minutes later two salmon were being herded toward him. He had thanked the water sprites and taken the salmon. As simple as that.

He had stopped trying to explain to the Small Folk that he wasn’t a Lord of the Woods. True, his understanding of the woods and the creatures that lived there had always been keen—and might have come from the man who had sired his father. And there was no denying that there were times, when meat was truly needed, when a rabbit or a young buck seemed to offer itself to his bow. But having a Fae grandfather didn’t make
him
Fae. However, that didn’t stop him from accepting whatever fealty was offered when he needed it.

The gelding refused to check its speed when they reached Ahern’s yard, causing a couple of men who worked for Ahern to fling themselves out of the way to avoid being knocked over. A few yards away from the old man, the horse sat on its haunches, stopping so fast Neall almost went flying.

“We’re going to have to talk about this,” Neall muttered. Swinging one leg over Darcy’s neck, he jumped to the ground and held up the wet sack. “I’ve come to barter.”

The stern disapproval in Ahern’s eyes didn’t change. “You ride in here like a pack of shadow hounds are on your heels just to
barter
!” He shook his head. “I have nothing to offer the baron—” He looked over Neall’s shoulder.

Neall turned to see what had caught Ahern’s attention. The gelding was now facing the way they had come, its ears pricked. It took two steps forward.

“Wait for me,” Neall warned.

Darcy took one step back and snorted.

Ahern looked at the gelding, then at the land the animal was aiming for.

“You haven’t come to barter for the baron’s table,” Ahern said.

“No, sir.”

Nodding, Ahern pointed at the sack. “What have you to trade?”

Neall grinned. “A salmon. A big beauty that’s still so fresh it will slap you with its tail.”

“In that case, come inside and we’ll talk.”

“You robbed him,” Ari said, sounding too relaxed to be upset.

“I bargained well,” Neall corrected. They were sitting on the bench behind the cottage, enjoying a fine summer evening.

“You cleaned out Ahern’s larder.”

“Did not. I only took what my saddlebags could hold.” He didn’t want her chewing over that too much, so he said, “Did you have enough to eat?”

She let out a laughing groan in answer.

Smiling, Neall took her hand. When she didn’t pull away, he leaned back against the cottage and closed his eyes, content.

The bargaining
had
been fierce, and it had taken every ounce of persuasion he’d had to convince Ahern that he could only take so much for one fish without Ari starting to wonder if it was a fair barter or charity. Mentioning charity had made Ahern so angry Neall had thought the old man would strike him.

But they both knew Ari, they both knew she could be stubborn to the point of being foolish, and they both knew her pride was the only thing that made it possible for her to face the people of Ridgeley. And bruising pride with too much kindness wasn’t kindness at all. So they haggled and argued until Neall had promised to bring another salmon or two in a few days and pick up the rest of the supplies Ahern insisted Ari should have.

“Will the baron be angry about your ignoring your work?” Ari asked. “Will he wonder where you are?”

“He doesn’t give a damn where I am. He never has unless he wants something. As for the work, let Royce take care of it. After all, the estate and all the tenant farms will be his one day.”

He felt her turn to face him. He kept his eyes closed.

“What will you do when that day comes, Neall?” Ari asked quietly. “Will you work for Royce and take what handouts he chooses to give?”

Neall hesitated, then thought,
Plant the seed now. Give it time to take root
“I have some land of my own. It’s in the west, about a day’s ride from the coast. It belonged to my mother. When my parents died, it came to me. Now that I’ve reached my majority, it’s time for me to go home.”