Page 22

T wenty

S UNSET, AT LAST.

Torquil carefully laid the old scroll on his desk, glancing at the open wooden chest that held its twin.

Another fruitless afternoon of chasing the elusive Magic had eaten away his hours.

When he returned, he would replace the scroll on its silken bed where it lay with its companion, one on either side of the ancient sword.

He hadn’t the time to roll it properly now.

He had overly much that required his attention this night.

He began the process of clearing his mind as he removed his clothing, folding each piece and placing it in a neat stack beside the bed of pillows.

Lowering his body to the pallet, he ignored the aches and pains of a day spent trying to force the Magic to work.

It would come. It would be his. These spells were more challenging than anything he’d done before, but he would master them just as he had the others.

With a glance to the door, he dismissed any concerns about being interrupted.

Ulfr usually guarded his lair when he set out on a spirit journey, but he had nothing to worry over.

No one in the entire castle would ever consider entering his tower chambers without his express permission.

No one but his sister, and it was her absence that instigated the need for what he was about to do.

Still, caution was his ally. He spared an extra moment for a spell of protection before turning his attention to the task at hand.

Now, his only concern was to concentrate, a task made more difficult by the beast within, demanding its freedom.

He wrestled the beast back into the dark corner where it lived and reached once again for the concentration this task demanded.

Focus on the breathing. See the shape of what he would be. Will his spirit to take that shape. Feel the great owl claiming him. Become one with the great owl.

In an exhale of breath he rose above his body, taking no time this night to admire the shell that housed his spirit. There was no time for such small pleasures.

Onto the ledge and over it. With a swoop he was airborne, his great wings beating against the cold, damp air.

He circled the courtyard, where the castle’s activity had begun to settle down for the night, and allowed the air current to sweep him up and over the massive walls that protected his keep.

Just below and off to the right, the Tinkler wagons camped.

He circled, but as he’d expected, the pale green glow of Faerie Magic hung over the encampment like a shroud, all but obscuring the people themselves.

Unexpectedly, a movement within the camp stood out. A glow of red spiked from the canopy of green, like a ruby tumbling through sluggish waters.

What had the Tinklers got their hands on? Some new trinket they’d likely stolen from an unsuspecting host somewhere along the way, he’d guess.

It intrigued him, and at any other time it might bear further scrutiny. But not on this night. He had too many miles to cover, and after a day spent pushing his mind to its limits, he could already feel his energy flagging.

With a flap of his enormous wings he turned west, following the trail he knew all too well.

All sorts of small creatures made their way across his lands this night, but none of them the human prey he sought. He came across Ulfr’s party camped in a small clearing near a stream, their fires burning brightly. Nothing out of the ordinary there.

Torquil lowered his head against the wind and flapped his wings, covering great swaths of ground.

Ahead on the right was the wagon his men had abandoned.

He circled, dropping lower to inspect the scene more closely.

The wagon lay on its side, one wheel clearly broken.

From what he could see, only one barrel of flour had been lost, its contents spread all around.

The others appeared to be fine. His sister and her witch would have to make do with those because he had no intention of sending more.

Not much farther to go, now. He could already see the glow up ahead.

He couldn’t fly any closer. The dome of color covering Orabilis’s home prevented his approach.

Not the soft fuzzy green blanket that masked the Tinklers’ encampment, but a hard, emerald green shell dominated here, with random sparks of color shooting out into the sky.

Sparks that could, and had in the past, singed his feathers.

It was the damned rowan trees ringing her property like a chain of sentinels on guard.

He’d known he’d see nothing there, but from here, he’d begin his search, spreading out in ever-widening circles, covering all the distance a mortal on horseback might have covered in the day since Ulfr had last laid eyes on Christiana and Chase.

If they were anywhere but inside that ring of emerald, he would know it. He would find them.

He would find them and make them pay for their disloyalty.

A GREAT WHOMP of wings overhead had Brie scanning the dark sky above her. There was no moon, but she possessed the excellent night vision of a born hunter.

High above her, an enormous bird circled against the backdrop of clouds. If only she had her bow she could easily pick it from the sky. A creature that size could feed the Tinkler families she traveled with for a good two days.

But her bow was neatly stored in her room at Castle MacGahan, and her sights were set on larger prey.

Tonight she foraged for information to help her in her quest for revenge.

Tonight she tracked Torquil MacDowylt. Once she had a feel for his routine and habits, then she could formulate a plan to make him pay.

She pulled the cloak she’d borrowed from Eleyne closer around her face.

It was too short by far, but in her experience men didn’t waste time looking at a woman’s feet.

It was her face she wished to hide. If she slumped down a bit and kept her face to the shadows, she stood a chance of being mistaken for one of the old women who lived here at Tordenet.

If she were careful enough, she just might manage to avoid contact with everyone.

Though the iron gates had been shut for the night, the small wooden entrance to the massive castle wall had been left open.

She could thank the small but steady stream of women from the castle out to the Tinklers’ wagons for that.

Women everywhere loved an opportunity to inspect the Tinkler wares, even if their laird did not approve.

She crossed the empty courtyard and made her way up the main staircase, expecting at any moment to be challenged as to her intent.

But not even when she slipped into the dark entry hall inside did she see anyone. Her luck was holding! And luck, as her da had been fond of saying, could often save a man. Or, in her case, a woman.

If the little kitchen maid had told her true, the stairs toward the back of the great hall should lead her where she needed to go.

The young woman had been adamant in her claims that though the lord and master of Tordenet slept in the laird’s chambers on the second floor, he spent all his days in this tower.

If this was where he spent the better part of his time, this would be where she would learn the most about him.

Brie’s feet slowed as she reached the heavy wooden door at the top of the narrow staircase. What if Torquil MacDowylt had not yet retired to his chambers? What if she walked in on him? It would be the end of her schemes before they’d even begun.

No! No more what if s. She was here and she would go through with it.

The door opened easily, allowing her entrance into a tiny room illuminated only by dying embers in its small fireplace.

This hardly looked to be a place for the great Torquil MacDowylt to spend his days.

Castle MacGahan had storage rooms larger than this.

This room, with its solitary chair, presented itself more as a guard’s outpost than a room a laird would use.

Brie turned in a tight circle, scanning the walls until she spotted a narrow door. A door with a slit of light splashing out where the wood didn’t quite meet the stone floor.

Her breath caught in her chest. A light that bright could mean he was in there.

She crossed to the door and positioned her ear against the wood.

Holding her breath, she listened for any sound coming from the other side.

Nothing. Perhaps with his great wealth, MacDowylt thought nothing of leaving a fireplace burning in an unoccupied room.

Only one way to know.

Squaring her shoulders, she leaned against the door, pushing it ever so slightly open. A space large enough for nothing more to enter than her fingers. She waited, breath held, for the sound of boots against stone.

Not a single noise met her straining ears.

Another push and she slipped inside.

This room, many times larger than the one before it, was more like what she had imagined the laird of the MacDowylt might occupy.

A great table, strewn with papers and a jeweled wooden chest, sat directly across from the door, an enormous candle burning brightly on either end.

Two more candles blazed on the stone shelf behind the table, illuminating the bound manuscripts stacked there.

She stepped slowly across the empty floor, curious as to what might occupy the days of the beast of Tordenet.

Like many elder sons, Torquil appeared to have been well educated. Scrolls and manuscripts littered his table. One, apparently more special and obviously older than the others, lay neatly rolled in the wooden box next to the most fantastic sword she’d ever seen.

Her fingers itched to lift the weapon, to feel its heft balanced in her palm.