WINDREAPER (13 page)

Long after she left, Conar stared at the bottle on the floor. The golden color sparkled in the torchlight. It seemed to beckon, to call his name.

He picked it up, looked at it, then hurled it across the cell.

"Where the hell is he, Hawk?" Brelan shouted. "I left him in the dungeon. I told him there would be rooms waiting for him."

Roget du Mer spread his hands wide. "I have no idea where he went. I've had men looking for his ass all morning. I sent Bent to the Green Horned Toad, but Amber-lea hasn't seen him, either. So far we haven't found any trace of him. His things are missing, as well."

"And his horse?"

"Not in the stable," Sentian answered.

"Shit!" Brelan ran a hand through his curly hair. "Just fucking great! How the hell are we to protect him if we don't know where he is?" He turned to Thom Loure. "Find Storm. He came in this morning with the last group of raiders. Tell him we may need to send him and his men to Virago and Ionary this afternoon. By the gods, he may have even gone to Necroman!"

"What about Oceania?" Roget asked. "Would he have gone there to let Grice know about Liza?"

Brelan stared at him. "I doubt it. Anyway, a messenger has already been sent. Hopefully Grice and Chand will find a way to come and see her. She's been anxious about them and now is a good time for them to come."

"Now was not the time for Conar to pull one of his disappearing acts," Roget mumbled. "With all the plans we have in motion, if Kaileel's men catch him, everything will be ruined."

"It's not like him to take his things and go," Bent said, guilty for not having watched his Overlord as closely as he should have, as closely as du Mer had asked him to.

"What are you going to do, Wren?" Sentian asked.

Brelan threw his hands in the air. "I don't know, Sparrow. That depends on our missing leader and how long the bastard's gone!"

* * *

He was gone six months.

Long into the soft warming of springtime, when trees budded forth and hibernating animals returned to the forests beyond Boreas Keep, a rider, dressed in the black and tan colors of the Raven's forces, arrived at the keep bearing a message from the man known as Eagle—Prince Chase Montyne of Ionary.

Upon reading the missive, Brelan stomped out of the guard room in search of Roget. He snapped at everyone in his path, ignored any greetings aimed his way. Finding his friend in a game of chess with his brother, Teal, Brelan felt his frustrations mounting.

"I need to talk to you, alone," he hissed.

"Make yourself scarce, little brother," Roget told Teal.

Teal eyed Brelan, got up immediately, and left.

Once Teal was out of earshot, Roget leaned back in his chair and waited for Brelan to speak. When all Brelan did was stomp from one end of the game room to the other, his fists clenching and unclenching, Roget sighed and broke the silence. "Tell me what's happened."

"Do you know how angry I am?" Brelan snorted.

"By the way you're wearing a hole in the carpet, I'd venture to say you're a might upset."

"A
might
upset? I am
pissed,
du Mer. I am
royally
pissed!"

Roget smiled. "I gather this has something to do with Conar. Have you found him?"

Brelan held up Chase's note. "This note is from Ionary!"

Roget nodded sagely. He folded his arms across his chest and waited.

"Well?" Brelan bellowed.

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to ask me what's in the damned note?"

Roget turned his head to one side in polite inquiry. "Brelan," he stated calmly, "what's in the damned note?"

"He is in Ionary! Before that he was in Virago. Before that, Chale! He has been leading attacks in those provinces! Do you understand what I'm telling you?" Brelan flopped down in a chair.

"He's been a bad little boy. Is that a correct assumption?"

Throwing aside the note, Brelan turned a scowl to Roget. "He's been risking his life to lead those damned attacks. That was
not
what Occultus had in mind. Hell, neither Chase nor Tyne nor Rylan knew he was in their kingdoms!"

"So what do you propose we do?"

Brelan gave his friend a piercing glare. "I've sent Bent after him!"

Roget shook his head. "And you think he's going to drop what he's started and come back with Bent like an errant schoolboy? For the love of Alel, he's doing what he was destined to do. Let him do it." Roget clasped Brelan's arm. "He is
not
a little boy. He's a warrior. He sure as hell isn't going to appreciate being sent for and I
know
he won't come back until he's good and ready. If you push him, he might not come back at all!"

Brelan lowered his face in his hands. "I could lock the little fool in an armoire and throw away the damned key like Legion did once!"

"We've all felt that way about our little brothers. But you've got it luckier than I do in that department." When Brelan looked up, Roget smiled. "Conar can take better care of himself than Teal
ever
will. I worry some irate gambler will slit his gullet one night or some husband will come after his prick with a carving knife. But I tell you what—I don't lose sleep over it. What good will that do? He's a grown man and I'm not his nursemaid."

Brelan ventured a fleeting smile and levered himself up from the chair. "I make a terrible nanny, don't I?" He laughed ruefully.

"Nanny or not, you have to know when to let go. Conar is a better man than either of us. He won't take any chances with his life."

* * *

Conar had taken a lot of wild chances that set his men's hair on end. He won their undying loyalty on the first foray he had led into the wind forests of Virago. He had been an unknown quantity, a myth to these men before that day. Rumors and wild speculation added zest to a man's reputation, but actual proof that the Raven existed was not something any of them knew firsthand. Although he had fought with his men in Serenia, he had not ventured onto the soil of the other kingdoms before that time.

When the masked man had appeared at Tempest Keep, the palace Rylan Hesar had just reclaimed that month, the men thought little of it. Their own Overlord, Condor—better known as Prince Rylan Hesar—dressed in the same outfit this man wore. These men were not stupid. They had friends and relatives in Ionary and Oceania and Chale. They knew the Darkwind was many men, and the ones who didn't know had rightfully concluded it was the royal Princes of their homelands who led the forces. It was rumored that Serenia's own Darkwind was Lord Brelan Saur.

So when the black-caped man strode into the keep, his mask tightly wound around his head so that the remarkable blue-black eyes were the only visible sign of humanity within the disguise, the men eyed him with speculation, but no real astonishment. He had not been the first to come to Virago for a visit with Condor. What did surprise them, however, was the deference their Overlord showed him, and when he announced his guest that night, they turned shocked faces to one another and went to their knees in homage. It was the first real evidence that there was only one man behind the whole force and that he was, in fact, the Dark Overlord of the Wind.

Early the next morning, the masked man had insisted on leading a party of ten well-chosen warriors into the wind forest of Judade province, a seven-hour journey from Tempest Keep. They were about a mile from the Cave of the Winds when Conar held up his black-gloved hand for the men to stop. Dismounting, he peered closely at the grass on which they had been about to travel. He looked toward the Cave of the Winds. Squinting, his hands on his hips, he called over his shoulder to his second in command, a man called Egret.

"Have your men dismount and secure the horses. No one has been this way. We will circle around and slip into the forest surrounding the Cave. That's where the caravan will camp for the night."

Condor had received word that a shipment of goods was being taken across the coastline of his country and along the southern tip of the wind forest. He had planned the trap for Kaileel Tohre's men himself, but Conar had showed up to lead the attack and had completely changed the battle plan.

"Are you sure, Lord Darkwind?" Egret questioned, his cap held nervously in his hands. "Condor said we was to…"

Dark anger bored into Conar. "Have your men dismount!"

"Aye, Milord!" Egret told his men to do as the Darkwind asked.

It took the men less than fifteen minutes to wind their way through the thick forest and reach the mouth of the Cave of the Winds. Hiding amid the lush foliage, they waited, crossbows in hand, for Tohre's troop of Temple Guards. They were nervous, even though they were seasoned warriors, but when they looked at the calm, cool stare of the masked man who waited, arms crossed against his wide chest, they felt less anxious about the outcome of the day's fight.

It was near sundown when the jingle of harness echoed through the trees. Heads came up and crossbows were nocked with quarrels. The men formed a loose circle around one section of the trail leading to the Cave of the Winds. Their black and tan clothing allowed them to blend in with the dark green foliage. No metal gleamed on their weapons; no sound came from them. They were to be a deadly surprise to the unsuspecting men who cantered into the overgrown clearing.

"We'll camp here for tonight!" a rough voice called from the advancing troop. The speaker motioned for his men to dismount, totally unaware of the eyes watching their every move.

When they dismounted, a sharp whistle pierced the air. Ten men, their crossbows nocked and aimed, stepped from the forest covering.

"Hey!" the leader of the troop barked. "What's the meaning of this? Who are you?"

Not a sound came from the intruders with their deadly aimed quarrels. They had completely encircled the troop of twenty-odd men. Each crossbow carried five arrows, each pointed at the men before them. Each archer had been handpicked and trained by Chase Montyne of Ionary, the best archer in all the kingdoms.

"I asked who you are?" The leader licked his lips.

"Tell your men to lay down their weapons," Egret told him. "We want your goods, not your lives, but we'll take one with the other, if need be."

Before the leader could say a word, his men unsheathed their swords and daggers and tossed them away, backing up against their horses as though for protection.

"We want no trouble with you," the leader squawked as he unbuckled his sword and let it drop. "Take whatever you want."

One moment the entrance to the Cave was unobstructed, the next a figure emerged into the strong wind of the forest, his black cape billowing behind him. Not even his own men knew how he had come to be inside the Cave. They were as shocked as the troops when the Darkwind strode purposefully into the clearing.

From the tips of his black leather boots to the tips of his black-gloved hands, from the black swirling cape to the cowl that rested on the back of his head, the figure who strode forward gave off a menacing aura, holding every man's attention. Even those who rode with him.

Conar stopped in front of the leader and stared hard at him. His hands hung loosely at his sides, but there was something in the way he looked at the troop leader that made the men think of a coiled serpent readying himself to strike.

"I…I done what you asked, Lord Darkwind," the leader stammered. "Me and my men, we done dropped our weapons. We won't give you no trouble, sir."

Inside the lining of his mask, Conar smiled. He could smell the man's terror.

"What you looking at, sir?" the man whispered. "I ain't gonna do you no harm. My men and me…we…we'll just keep out of your way." The leader took a step backward, but the Darkwind followed. The man's eyes widened in fear.

Conar swung back his cape, displaying the lethal three-foot blade that rested on his left hip. He watched the leader's gaze jerk to the sword, then back to his face.

"Egret?" Conar called as he undid the button as his throat.

Rushing forward, Egret took the flowing cape from Conar's shoulders. He backed away, folding the material as he stepped.

For the first time, the Darkwind's oddly-accented voice was cool, calm, almost cheerful as he directed his question to the leader. "You are called Kullen, am I correct?"

The red-haired man, obviously terrified, didn't answer.

Conar turned to the man standing beside him. His silent question hung in the air. It brought an immediate response from the man.

"Aye, Milord! He's called Kullen. Tymothy Kullen!"

Turning back to the leader, Conar impaled the trembling man with the force of his stare. "You were one of Galen McGregor's men." It wasn't a question, but a dire pronouncement.

Kullen shook his head in denial. "No, sir! Never!"

"You were one of his most trusted men."

"I never worked for the man, Lord Darkwind!" Kullen stammered. "I only did one job for him and he didn't pay me for it!" He tried to back away but came up against his horse.

Conar folded his arms over his chest. "You were the man who captured Conar McGregor; the one who brought him to the Tribunal's Inquisition Hall."

There were mumbles among the men of the Wind Force; they pointed at the Temple Guard, nodded, spat on the ground.

"He was a guard there, Lord Darkwind!" one of the troop chimed in. "He worked for Robert MacCorkingdale!"

"Shut your mouth!" Kullen snarled, looking at the man who had spoken. "You worked there, too!"

"Aye, but not doing what
you
did, Kullen!" The man stepped forward, ignoring the crossbows aimed at his heart, and went to his knees. "Lord Darkwind, I was one of the men that worked there, at the Inquisition Hall, but I had nothing to do with what happened to the young Prince. I tried to help him when I could."

Conar swept the man with sharp regard. "I am aware of that." He returned his attention to Kullen. "This job you did for Galen McGregor? What was it?"

Kullen swallowed hard, urine staining his trousers. He moaned. When the Darkwind took a step closer, Kullen put up his hands. "I only did what MacCorkingdale told me to do!"

"And what was that?"

"It was the Prince who told me where to find his brother, but MacCorkingdale was the one what gave the order."

"The order to do—what?" Conar took another step closer.

"Please, Milord! Please! I was only doing my job, I was! I was only doing what I was told!"