WINDDREAMER (16 page)

As she sat by the open window, Liza plaited her hair, working the thick tresses into one fat braid. She noticed Conar watching her from the bed, his head resting in his hand, his elbow digging into the pillow beneath his chest. When his eyes lowered to her slightly swollen belly, he smiled.

"Have you thought of a name for her, yet, Milord?" she asked.

"I like Catherine." He cocked a brow at her grimace. "No?"

"Too old-fashioned. I thought, perhaps, Lindsey."

He snorted. "Too masculine."

"Leonore?"

"Too antiquated."

"Adair?"

He thought for a moment. "That sounds somewhat acceptable."

She smiled and gave away her trickery. "Will you be staying in bed all day?"

His smile widened. "Will you be coming back to bed?"

Liza threw him an amused look. "I think not."

He stretched out full length and put his hands beneath his head. "Oh, well, a man can dream, I suppose."

"A man can get lazy, as well. We've a journey to make this day."

His smile slid away. "Correction--I have a journey to make."

"Don't start that again. I go with you, or by the gods, you'll not go at all."

A shadow passed over his features. "You're with child. You--"

"I can and I will! We'll have no more discussion!"

"Why do I put up with you, woman?"

"Because no one else would put up with you!" She tied a ribbon around her braid and stood, smoothing the tunic of russet corduroy over her thickening waist. "Besides, you need me, and well you know it."

"How will I get you up the mountain? You can't climb. Not with child." He shook his head. "It's not safe, Liza."

Something in his voice disturbed her. She sat on the bed beside him and laid her hand on his chest. "Are you sure you're ready? Are you sure you're strong enough to confront him?"

Conar brought her hand to his lips. "There's nothing stronger than our love, is there?" When she shook her head, he continued. "Then I'm ready, Elizabeth. Together we're stronger that Tohre will ever be. With you at my side, I could defeat the whole of the Domination's forces single-handed. One man is of little consequence."

"He is no ordinary man, love. And he isn't alone. He has Raja."

A hard grimace settled on Conar's face. "She is chaff in the wind."

"Never underestimate a former Daughter of the Multitude."

"I
can
and
will
defeat them both!"

Liza saw determination, confidence lurking in his eyes. Pride swelled her chest; her heart throbbed with love. He was also no ordinary man. He, Conar McGregor, Darklord of the Wind, was a man to be reckoned with. If anyone could defeat the Domination and Kaileel Tohre, it would be her lover, the Raven.

She smiled. "Sure of yourself, aren't you, Milord?"

"As sure as I am the sun will rise on our love tomorrow." His lips claimed hers in a deep, penetrating kiss. For a tantalizing moment, he seemed to draw sustenance from her lips, then slowly withdrew, his bright sapphire eyes fused with hers. "And as sure as I am that my love will last for as long as there is recorded time, and even beyond."

"I love you, Conar McGregor," she whispered, her fingers trembling against his unshaven cheek.

He pulled her to him and delayed his journey a while longer.

Roget looked up the stairs for what must have been the tenth time. Sighing, he glanced at Brelan. "Are you sure they're awake?"

Brelan smiled. "Very sure, du Mer."

"Everything's ready," Grice said, coming into the room. "We've got his horse and hers saddled."

"Those two beasts are a sight to see," Cayn remarked.

"That is what Occultus planned," Belvoir said. "He wants the people to be reminded of the Windwarrior legend."

"There'll be no mistaking the resemblance," Grice said. "Even the saddles and bridles Tran sent are of silver, just like the legend."

"Now, does everyone know what we are to do?" Jah-Ma-El asked. "He isn't to know--"

"He isn't to know what?" Conar interrupted, descending the stairs and pulling on his black riding gloves.

He was attired in the Raven's garb: a black flowing shirt laced with black leather ties--open because of the late-spring heat--and tight black leather breeches over knee-high boots of black kid. His sword, the infamous Deathwelder, lay across his back, the black crystal pommel shining in the sunlight coming from the window. He had rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, and the leather gauntlets along his forearms strained from the hard muscles.

"Well? What isn't he to know, Jah-Ma-El?"

"You might as well tell him your plan," Legion drawled, leaning against the rose-colored marble fireplace. "He'll have guessed."

"Damn you, A'Lex!" Tyne hissed. "Can you not keep your bloody mouth shut?"

Conar laughed. "You all think to accompany us to the Monastery. One way or another, I take it. Am I right?" He stood against the newel post, one arm crossed at the wrist over the other.

"We thought you might need help," Roget admitted. "Tohre won't be unguarded."

Conar grinned at them for a long time before snorting with glee. A sound on the stairs caught his attention, and he looked up to see Liza descending. As usual, his breath caught in his throat, and he felt immense gratitude that she was once more his, and his alone. He held out his hand and led her from the stairs.

"These bumbling oafs plan to accompany us, Milady. What do you think we should do?"

A soft smile lit her face as she looked at each of the men. "I think we should consider it, for I fear they will go, with or without your permission. We can't have them wandering about the mountainside and getting into mischief while we're otherwise preoccupied. There's the safety of the townsfolk to consider."

Grice growled. "Are you saying we're a danger to ourselves, Anya Elizabeth?"

"That's exactly what she's saying, Wynth," Legion said, his smile looking a tad forced. "You'd better give them permission, Conar, else keep watch for them to pop out at a most inopportune moment."

"You didn't think we'd let you have all the fun, did you, Conar?" Rylan argued.

Conar sneered with good humor. "It never entered my mind that the lot of you would do as I asked. You haven't before--why waste my breath?"

"Precisely so!" Jah-Ma-El said. "Waste not, want not!"

"Occultus wants to see you both," Ching-Ching reminded Conar and Liza. "It won't take long. He's in the Temple."

Conar and Liza made their goodbyes to those staying behind: Cayn, Marsh, Gezelle, Amber-lea, and all the others not an intricate part of the Wind Force.

"Take care, Legion," Conar said, putting out his hand.

Tears filled Legion's eyes. He rushed forward, gathering Conar in a strong embrace. "Please come back to us. Don't let anything happen to you."

"Count on it." He eased Legion away and gripped the man's biceps. "Watch over my family while I'm gone, big brother. I entrust their lives to your safekeeping."

Legion bobbed his head and withdrew his hands from Conar's shoulders. His eyes went to Liza. "You'll take care?" When she nodded solemnly, he sniffed and looked away.

"Occultus is waiting," Conar whispered and took Liza's hand.

Outside in the warm sunlight, people milled about the Temple steps. When at last Conar and Liza exited the building after praying with Occultus and receiving last minutes instructions, neither could smile.

"Are you all right?" Grice asked his sister, his eyes searching hers.

"I'm fine," she answered, palming his cheek. "It's just a big responsibility Conar and I have undertaken."

"And a dangerous one," Conar whispered, looking across the courtyard.

"You haven't seen your mare," Brelan said, as if sensing the troubling undercurrent and wanting to break the awkwardness of the moment. "Don't you think it's time you did?"

Liza smiled, thankful for Brelan's insight. She bid her final farewells to those inside the keep and followed the men of the Wind Force outside.

"Isn't she a beauty?" Sentian whispered, leading the mare to her.

Liza stared with awe at the albino mare. Windkeeper, her beautiful mare, had long since gone on to her final pasture, but this lovely beast would be a daring partner for the black steed side-stepping beside her. Liza laughed as the mare coyly lowered her head beneath the gently nipping teeth of the big black stallion.

"You little flirt!" she admonished, fondly patting the sleek neck. The mare jerked up her head, tossing the white mane in the air as though acknowledging the comment.

"What will you call her, Milady?" Sentian asked, handing over the reins.

Liza looked at Conar. "Since your steed was named Demonwind, I shall call her Seafarer, for she shall follow the wind. As I follow you, Milord."

Conar cupped her cheek with his gloved palm. "Are you ready to go, my love?"

She squared her shoulders. "Ready."

He helped her mount the milk-white mare. Liza settled into the silver-worked saddle and drew lightly on the beast's reins to still her urge to gallop. Conar threw his leg over Demonwind and surveyed the group of men mounting their own steeds.

"Ready?" he called.

"Aye!" came the resounding cry.

"Then we ride!"

Conar gently kicked the stallion in the ribs. The horse broke into a fast trot. Tossing its head, the hell-spawned stallion canted away from Boreas Keep, his mare following.

"The Wind be at your back, Lord Conar," Meggie Ruck sobbed as she watched the troop gallop past her tavern. She put a hand to her withered brow. "The Wind be always at your back."

Deep in the high Serenian peaks, Kaileel Tohre stared into his conjuring well. A muscle tightened in his cheek, and his cadaver-thin face paled. "It is beginning. They have left Boreas."

Raja smiled. "Then it will be only a matter of time before Conar McGregor is here at our beck and call."

"At
my
beck and call!" Kaileel pointed a trembling finger. His wild eyes pierced her with their fury. "Not yours, bitch! He is mine!"

Raja stepped back from the madness in the man's hooded eyes. The intense way he watched her sent tremors down her spine. "As you desire!"

"I have told you what I intend for him. If you have not the stomach for it, I suggest you leave now." Kaileel raised a fist to her face. "I will have my revenge!"

Trembling before this insane man made her furious with herself. "And so you shall, Holiness. So you shall. All I ask is that you let me be there to see it. I have a vengeance of my own to exact."

Kaileel spat on the floor. "Your so-called vengeance is of no matter to me. You want to see him brought down to your level. I will elevate him to mine! This is only the beginning of the destruction of his soul!"

Raja placed a tight grin on her face. "I know yours is the will to be done, Holiness. I will not interfere. I ask only for the leftovers." Her simpering smile made her ill.

"See that you don't interfere, woman!" Spinning on his heel, he tramped clumsily from the room, his red robes billowing. The door into the conjuring chamber slammed shut behind him, and his footsteps echoed back to her from the far corridor.

Pure hatred spread through Raja. Her lip raised in a sneer. "If you think to merge his soul with yours, think again, Kaileel Tohre! I will never permit Conar to become a part of you!" She stared into the conjuring well, seeing the mist of riders as they made their from Boreas Keep. "I will see Conar at
my
mercy, his soul and body intact!"

Her thoughts flew to the obscene ritual Kaileel intended to use on Conar--The Rite of Transmergence--and a quiver of revulsion shook her to her very core. A similar rite, the Ritual of Transmigration, was used by other sects, including the Daughters of the Multitude, but the rite Tohre meant to practice--a vile, disgusting, unholy ritual--had been outlawed centuries earlier. No sect outside the Domination would dare venture into the illegal conjuring, its sole purpose to steal the soul of one living being and place it in the body of another.

Using the odious secretions of the hosts' body to infiltrate and corrupt the innocent victim's body, the rite would suffuse that corruption into the unwitting soul, as well, taking over what was good and decent. Once the Seven Secretions flowed inside the victim's body, they began to take over every aspect of the innocent's will and replace it with foul evil. The victim's mortal body would then be slain, and his immortal soul drained into the host's body, there to dwell for eternities to come.

Raja had no doubt that was how Tohre had been able to live so long. With the taking on of each new soul, the host body could live as long as each successive victim had been destined to live before his life had been taken.

"You will never have Conar! I will see him dead and buried before I allow you to desecrate him in that way! I will not settle for a hollowed-out shell to animate through my magic. I want the real man!" She dug her nails into her palms. "And I shall have him!"

Raja loved Conar McGregor in a way she did not understand, for love was something no sorceress needed to complicate her life. But her jealousy, the hurt feelings of a woman scorned by the only man she had ever loved, prodded her toward her goal--Conar's enslavement.

If she could not have Conar, no one could. Hell had no fury as such a one who has been rebuked.

"The old woman had a daughter who died," Ching-Ching informed Occultus. "The servants say she hasn't been right in the head since."

Occultus steepled his fingertips and stared across the desk at his companion. "And this disrespect she shows Conar? What of it?"

Ching-Ching shrugged his thin shoulders. "It seems she has ever treated him so. He thinks nothing of it, I am told."

"I do not care for the woman. She is far too disrespectful, for my liking. Conar may not pay heed to her insults, but they are heart-meant. Even Holm could see that." Occultus frowned. "Set a man to watch her. I will know every move she makes while Conar is gone."

"It will be done."

Occultus lowered his hands and placed his scarred palms on the desktop. Pushing himself from his chair, he stared across the room as though seeing into the future. "Make sure this woman makes no contact with outsiders. See that she sends no messages that are not intercepted and read before they are delivered."

"You suspect treachery from her, Master?"

"I expect treachery from everyone, my friend." He narrowed his eyes. "This MacCorkingdale woman has been around Conar all his life. We know there is a traitor in this keep who reports Conar's doings to the Monastery. The hag may be the one."

In the shadows of the corridor outside the library in which Occultus and Ching-Ching spoke, two eyes glared.

The traitor had been avidly listening to the men. With the scraping of Ching-Ching's chair, the spy fled down the hall.

A message needed to be sent to the Monastery while time remained.