Chapter 6 Uneasy Allies
THE SWEEPER TUGGED at Lara’s cloak and whipped hair into her eyes as she rode Bracken through the gateway of Cobblebrae’s new perimeter. Her pulse quickened. This is it. The first day of the journey that would take her to Dulross.
To Alar.
A familiar heat ignited deep in her chest then, as vindictive thoughts wreathed up. She’d fantasized about meeting him again, about dealing out justice. It choked her that revenge would have to wait.
They needed his help, and if they didn’t get it, this mission would end in the borderlands.
A few yards distant, to the west, Mor and her companions waited upon elks and stags.
The queen sat astride a magnificent white elk with massive spreading antlers.
In one hand, she held a steel chain, and at the end of it, crouched Dorka.
The feline’s plush black coat contrasted against the bright collar around her neck.
Golden eyes gleamed in the dawn light, and a long tail swished furiously.
The Shee had buckled restraints above each of her four paws, allowing the predator to walk but do little else.
Steeling herself, Lara glanced east.
The last of her army—which included servants and a supply train—was moving out, taking the road that would lead them back to Duncrag. They’d bring word from Lara about the task she’d been set. And, of course, they’d also let everyone in the capital know that the High Queen was a fire-wielder.
A hollow sensation settled in the pit of her gut then.
If she survived this and returned home, would she find the gates of Duncrag barred?
Don’t be a fool. She pulled herself up short. Mirren and Torran will ensure that never happens.
With her steward and protector overseeing Duncrag, the fort and the throne would remain hers.
Both her former handmaid and Cailean’s second-in-command were loyal to her—and to each other.
She’d left them in charge the year before, and after Alar’s betrayal, had traveled back to Duncrag to discover there had been changes in her short absence.
When she’d departed just a few days earlier, their relationship had been awkward and strained, but she returned to find them in love.
During the summer that followed, the pair had wed, and Lara was the one to conduct the handfasting ceremony.
Her gaze lingered on the departing warriors and wagons. Spears pierced the drifting mist.
A strange detachment filtered over her then, as if she was dreaming, or watching her life unfold from a distance. It was a sensation that had started visiting her with increasing frequency of late, one that troubled her. Was the stress of everything finally causing cracks to appear?
“You’re making a mistake.” A rough voice intruded, and she turned to find Gregor next to her upon his stocky grey gelding.
The bruises on his face were mottled and colorful this morning, and a scab had formed on his lower lip.
However, when their gazes met, his brown eyes blazed with frustration.
“But it’s not too late to change course.
Break with the Raven Queen and join your own people. You can’t go through with this.”
Anger spiked through Lara. “The Warrior’s balls,” she muttered. “You’re like a baying hound.”
The chief-sacrificer flinched as if she’d just struck him. Yet, vexed now, she pushed on, enunciating each word sharply. “Our path lies north now, Gregor. Don’t bring this up again.”
With that, she urged her mare forward, leading the way toward the waiting band of Shee.
It felt strange to travel with such a small escort. Unnerving and yet liberating.
All her life, Lara had been sheltered. Every time she stepped outside the protective walls of her broch, she was never alone.
She couldn’t even venture into Duncrag’s market without guards, and had only ever left the fort with at least two hundred warriors with her.
And she’d always had servants to tend to her needs.
On this journey though, she’d sleep under the stars, with no attendants to wait on her.
But Mor was right: they traveled much swifter this way. There were no lumbering supply wagons. No warriors keeping up on foot.
The Shee led the way along the road, their leggy elks and stags easily outpacing the horses that followed. Mor kept Dorka on a long chain, allowing her to settle into her own ungainly stride, hampered by shackles.
The Sweeper blew leaves in their path, a carpet of red, gold, and pale yellow surrounding them. The air was sharp, laced with the faint perfume of woodsmoke. Albia was beautiful this time of year, although Lara found it difficult to focus on such details.
As often, her thoughts turned inward.
Now that they were traveling to Dulross, Alar kept intruding. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep him out. Memories tortured her—of how she’d slowly let her shields down around him, how she’d learned from him, believed in him. Given herself to him.
Gods, the humiliation of it.
When he’d turned on her, the world had spun for a few instants. And after the dizziness had settled, everything had looked different. She was different.
“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Lara jerked out of her reverie, her gaze cutting right to Bree. The two women traveled side-by-side, with Cailean and Roth in front of them and Annis and Ren behind. Gregor and Ruari brought up the rear of their party.
Lara grimaced. “How could you tell?”
“You get that look.”
“A look?”
“Aye … hard … hungry … like you were imagining twisting a knife in that fucker’s gut as he pleaded for mercy.”
She snorted. “That’s because I was.”
Bree studied her then, her brow furrowing. “And yet, you’ve agreed to work with him.”
“For the moment.”
“You’re ready to face the Half-blood again then?”
“No.” Lara cut her gaze away. “I’ll never be ready.”
Warming her hands over the fire, Lara looked west. “No sign of the Slew,” she murmured.
“And the Weeper hasn’t joined us yet, thank The Mother,” Ren replied.
Lara glanced over at where the bard tossed a gnarled branch of old pine into the flames. Sparks gushed skyward, illuminating the young woman’s tired face. Ren had held vigil the eve before and was clearly hoping to get some rest tonight.
Lara nodded. “Maybe we’ll have some respite.”
“Aye.” Ren’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Although I don’t think I’ll sleep easily … not with them so close.”
Lara tensed, her gaze flicking to where the Shee warriors had taken their places on the opposite side of the fire.
Mor took her place amongst them, folding her long legs into a cross-legged position.
Her lips pursed slightly as she tried to get comfortable on the stony ground, and Lara empathized.
As queens, neither of them was used to ‘roughing it’.
Once they were all seated, the Shee began their supper of crispy bread, cheese, and fruit. They were also roasting chestnuts they’d collected during the day on the glowing embers at the fringes of the fire. The sweet, nutty aroma blended with the tang of woodsmoke.
Mor sat flanked by her cousin Vyr and Wynn Sablebane.
There were no separate camps, no tents, for there were no wagons to carry rolls of hide and poles.
Instead, they’d dug a large fire pit, which they’d sleep around.
There would be little privacy and no soft furs on this journey.
Behind them, Lara and her escort had tethered their horses, while the Shee had let their elks and deer roam free overnight.
Their mounts would rejoin them in the morning.
Mor’s Ravens had staked Dorka’s chain to the ground a few yards back from the fire—far from the horses that had eyed the clag-doo nervously all day.
Around them burned a perimeter of flaming torches.
The Sweeper had died with the dusk. The evening was still and watchful.
“You’ll need to get used to it, Ren,” Lara replied, keeping her voice low. “Shee and Marav are uneasy allies … for the moment, at least.”
The bard’s mouth pursed, while next to her, Gregor stabbed at the fire with a stick. The sacrificer held his tongue though. Lara was grateful for that.
Cailean appeared then. “I’ve laid the ward stones,” he informed them.
“Good,” Gregor grunted, rising to his feet. “I’ll go and sacrifice some pigeons.” The druid had brought two cages of the birds, strapped behind his saddle, north with him. “We need to keep the Gods happy.”
Lara was about to remind him they shouldn’t use up their resources before they reached The Uplands. However, Gregor had already stalked off, disappearing behind the row of hobbled horses.
Meanwhile, his and Cailean’s comments had drawn the Shee’s attention. Across the fire pit, gazes narrowed, and unease rippled over their beautiful faces.
“We’d rather you didn’t ward this camp … or let your sacrificer or bard weave charms,” Mor said, frowning. “Earth magic weakens us … as you know.”
“As does iron,” Cailean replied. “But we aren’t going north without our weapons either, so you’ll just have to get used to them.”
His tone was blunt, harsh even, and a stony silence settled over the fireside, broken only by the crackling of the flames and popping of chestnuts.
Mor’s onyx gaze narrowed. Meanwhile, Eagal hunched slightly upon her shoulder, as if reacting to her anger. Iron. The Shee couldn’t stand it. Just the merest touch left a terrible burn upon their skin, and prolonged exposure killed them.
Lara cleared her throat. She agreed with Cailean, yet didn’t want to lock horns with Mor so soon.
“We agreed to be your allies … and won’t use earth magic or iron against you.
Nonetheless, we can’t travel without protection.
Especially not now.” She paused then. “Iron and earth magic will help keep all of us safe from the dangers that stalk the night.”
Mor pulled a face, and Vyr raised his eyebrows, while another of the Ravens murmured something rude under her breath.
A young female, slender as a blade, with long dark hair.
Lara stilled. Fern Sablebane. Father and daughter served in Mor’s bodyguard.
Alar will choke on this.
She hoped he would.
“No offense, but we don’t need your protection,” Vyr replied. An amused smile played on his lips now. “We have our own methods for warding our camps.” Around him, some of the other Ravens smirked.
“Well, you use yours … and we shall keep ours,” Lara shot back, her temper rising. “I’m sure we’ll need them both in the days to come.”
Another silence fell then, one neither party sought to intrude upon.
Instead, Shee and Marav alike ate their suppers.
Lara and her companions had also brought their own supplies in saddlebags.
Oatcakes, dried sausage, hard cheese, and apples.
The food would last them until Dulross. Hopefully, they could replenish their supplies there; otherwise, they’d be hunting and fishing for each meal for the rest of the journey.
The chestnuts were roasted, their skins dark and blistered. The Shee then handed them out to everyone.
Taking one and trying to peel it without scorching her fingers, Lara wondered if it was a peace offering of sorts.
As she nibbled listlessly on the sweet chestnut—her appetite was poor these days—she noted that Mor kept stealing glances at her.
The queen’s expression was speculative. Was she trying to get her rival’s measure?
Lara met her eye boldly. Underestimate me at your peril.
To her surprise, Mor smiled back.
“Where’s Gregor gotten to?” Annis drew her attention then. The counselor was brushing crumbs off her white robes. “He’s missing supper.”
“He’s likely sulking,” Ruari replied with a wince. He then rose to his feet. “I’ll go fetch him.”
The seer departed, while Lara shared a look with Bree.
“You need to watch him,” her warder murmured before lifting a skin of ale to her lips and taking a gulp.
Lara frowned. “Aye.”
“He’s always been an aggressive prick,” Cailean muttered.
Meanwhile, the Shee were observing their exchange keenly.
“It’s more than that these days,” Bree answered, frowning. “He’s a pot of milk about to boil over. I wouldn’t—”
“My Queen!” Ruari rushed toward the fire pit, green robes billowing. “Gregor’s gone!”
Her heart kicked. “Gone?”
“There’s no need to panic,” Roth replied, raising an eyebrow at the younger man. “Maybe he’s in the trees taking a piss.”
The seer shook his head, his angular face taut. “Then why is his horse also missing?”