Chapter 4 Nothing Is Certain #2
“That’s because you’re making a mistake,” Gregor ground out. The chief-sacrificer’s battered face was set in severe lines this evening. He spoke with a slight lisp through swollen lips. “One we all will regret.”
A gust of wind shoved at her back, making the flames gutter.
The Sweeper had pushed the rain clouds and mist away, yet days of rain had left the air heavy.
And all the while, the Weeper continued her lament.
But this time, the strains of another voice, female and melodious, joined it.
Ren had climbed up onto the watchtower on the palisade and now sang a soothing sain.
I already do. Pain thumped through Lara’s temples at the thought of the first stop they’d be making, and the man who waited for her there. The next time she saw the Half-blood was supposed to be on a battlefield. Gods, how this would choke her.
Pushing aside her churning thoughts, she took a sip from her cup. She usually enjoyed plum wine, yet tonight, it tasted sour. “It wasn’t an easy decision, Gregor.”
“They’re calling you a traitor.” He stared her down across the fire. “They’re saying your father would never have had dealings with the Raven Queen.”
“They’re wrong on both counts,” she shot back, anger rising in a red tide. “I’m doing this for them. And we’re in this mess because of my father’s choices. Don’t compare me to him and expect me to hang my head. I won’t.”
Silence followed. Gregor looked as if he’d just swallowed a mouthful of nails.
Lara glared at him. Gods. Belligerent prick.
She wished she didn’t need the chief-sacrificer on this journey—that she could send him back to Duncrag with the rest of her army the following morning.
As Mor had suggested, she was bringing a small group with her: Bree, Cailean, Roth, Annis, Ruari, Ren … and Gregor. No one else.
A savage howl cut through the village then.
Across the fire, Annis started, wine sloshing from her cup. “The Hag’s scythe,” the chief-counselor gasped. “What was—”
“It came from the direction of the Shee camp,” Lara replied.
Another howl followed, this one filled with rage.
“The Slew?” Ruari asked, his face paling.
“No … it sounds like … wild cats fighting,” Roth muttered.
Lara tossed aside her cup of wine and moved away from the fire, gesturing to the others to follow. “Let’s see for ourselves.”
They did, forming a tight circle around her as she made her way toward the perimeter. The guards there drew the gate open, allowing them through. Beyond, they walked through a line of ward stones that Cailean and his enforcers had dropped earlier. Earth magic prickled Lara’s skin.
Ahead, the line of torches around the tiny Shee camp—a roaring fire pit and a hide awning—beckoned.
In front of them, Mor crouched on the dew-laden grass, hands spread wide. Eagal had flown off, yet she hadn’t drawn the longsword at her hip. Instead, she sang. Breathless, lilting words in the Shee tongue echoed through the trees, mingling with feral snarls.
Meanwhile, her Ravens appeared to be trying to fasten a steel collar around a beast’s neck.
Lara halted abruptly. Shades! Although she’d heard about the deep grooves this creature scored in trees, scars that never healed, she’d never actually seen a clag-doo. Big, lean, and feline, it was easily the same size as Skaal.
Hissing, the predator slashed at the nearest Shee warrior. Its spine arched as it pivoted on powerful haunches. Long claws resembling meat hooks whistled through the air, carving black arcs.
The clag-doo’s amber eyes burned as it dropped low, belly nearly touching the earth, tail thrashing in violent spirals behind its coiled form.
Muscles rippled beneath its black pelt. It sprang sideways, avoiding the glinting steel collar that snapped shut on empty air.
A guttural noise rumbled from deep in its chest while it backed up.
The Shee circled closer, but the clag-doo’s ears flattened against its skull, and it pounced, front paws extended.
Its jaws parted to reveal gleaming fangs as it landed atop one attacker, pinning the struggling male beneath it.
The beast’s head snapped left and right, gaze tracking each enemy while its body remained perfectly balanced, ready to explode into motion again.
And all the while, Mor sang, her hands spread as if in supplication.
“What is she doing?” Lara hissed to Bree.
“A gentling sain,” her warder whispered back. “She’s trying to make it kneel to her.”
Cailean snorted. “Good luck with that.”
One of the Ravens moved then, a blur in the torchlight. Leaping high, the male flung himself on the clag-doo’s arched back. Lara caught a glimpse of long black hair and a handsome face.
Her heart kicked. Did she know him?
There was no time to study the warrior further, for he shouted, “Now!”
An enraged howl followed, as did the flash of silver, and the ‘snap’ of the steel collar fastening—this time around the clag-doo’s neck.
The beast thrashed, tossing the male to the ground. However, the warrior rolled nimbly to his feet, unhurt. He then pulled the warrior who’d been pinned underneath the clag-doo to safety.
Heavy chains pulled the beast’s head down, bringing it to heel.
Despite her fascination with these events, Lara couldn’t concentrate on the enraged feline. Instead, she stared at the Shee who’d just fastened the collar.
The similarity was uncanny. Lean, aquiline features. Black hair that spilled like ink over his shoulders. There was no mistaking he was related to Alar. This had to be his father, Wynn Sablebane.
Feeling the weight of her stare, the warrior glanced in her direction. Swallowing, Lara dragged her gaze away from him, focusing on the Raven Queen once more.
Mor moved forward then, her song growing more strident. The clag-doo tracked the Raven Queen’s steps, its lips pulling back into a snarl.
“I wouldn’t go any closer, cousin.” One of Mor’s Ravens approached her in long strides. “Your song isn’t gentling it. You’ll need time if you want to tame one of these.”
Lara stiffened. Cousin? Indeed, there was a cast to his proud features that reminded her of the queen; he had the same arrogant tilt of the chin and sweep of the eyebrows. A silver half-moon glinted upon one ear. Short black hair curled close to his scalp. His onyx gaze was riveted upon Mor.
Cutting the male an irritated look, the Shee queen ceased her sain.
His lips curved. “It’s a female too … they’re more dangerous than the males.”
“All females are, Vyr,” Mor replied with a soft snort. “Something worth remembering.”
Her cousin smirked.
“Why capture a clag-doo?” Lara spoke up, interrupting them.
Mor glanced her way, gaze widening. She hadn’t realized she’d drawn a crowd. “An age ago, when faerie creatures still inhabited Sheehallion, my predecessors didn’t ride upon an elk or stag … but on a ‘black claw’,” she replied, her tone growing wistful. “Long have I wished to have one as my own.”
The clag-doo made an angry spitting noise, the hackles on its back rising. It was eying the Raven Queen as if it wanted to rip her apart.
“You’re a beauty, aren’t you?” Mor murmured.
A growl rumbled in the clag-doo’s throat in reply.
“I shall name you Dorka … ‘Dark One’.”
It was a fitting name, considering the clag-doo’s plush obsidian coat. However, Dorka didn’t look impressed. The huge feline continued to watch Mor with burning eyes.
“You intend to travel north on this?” Lara was incredulous. Surely, they had more important things to worry about.
A smile tugged at Mor’s lips, excitement kindling in her gaze. “Aye.”