23 THE RIGHT PATH
“PREPARATIONS ARE TAKING longer than I thought.” Roth’s voice echoed through the lofty hall. “We won’t be ready till well after Gateway.”
“Your recruits should be improving by now, Captain.” Seated next to Lara, Alar leaned back in his carven chair, his gaze veiled. “And since the ironsmiths work late every night, your armory must be bristling.”
Roth shot the prince consort a glare before he shifted focus to Lara. “I suggest we delay this until the spring, My Queen,” he said, his tone clipped. “After the snows have come and gone. There’s less risk of the weather hindering us.”
“The weather is more of a problem for the Shee than us,” Alar responded. “It sounds to me, captain, as if you’re making excuses.”
Silence fell in the hall. It was mid-morning, two days after the handfasting. As usual, everyone had emptied out of this space so that the High Queen could hold her council in private. Only a couple of servants waited in the shadows by the doors leading to the entrance hall.
Lara exhaled sharply. Roth’s attitude frustrated her.
He’d promised they’d be prepared to march soon, but was now having second thoughts.
She wondered then if he was being deliberately obstructive.
Did he still resent her for spurning his advances?
“We can’t wait,” she replied. “The Shee certainly won’t. ”
Indeed, they all remembered Fern Sablebane’s admission. The Shee would invade within the turn of a year. Lara had to make the first move.
Roth frowned. “But we—”
“Get the army ready, Captain,” she cut him off. “I’m counting on you.”
He stared back at her, his pale-blue eyes hardening.
However, this time he held his tongue. Good.
She didn’t want excuses. Alar was right.
Roth had enlisted many more warriors from the villages around Loch Lethe and Strathnich Forest than they’d expected.
Earlier that morning, she’d watched from the walls as they trained in the yard below.
Meanwhile, the fug of smoke from the forges hung over Duncrag these days.
No, their army wouldn’t equal the number of wulvers—but it had to be enough.
“The peace envoy hasn’t yet returned, My Queen,” Annis spoke up then, her voice shattering the brittle silence. The chief-counsellor’s round face was unusually strained this morning. “They should have sent word by now. Something is wrong.”
Shifting in her seat, Lara could feel Alar’s gaze on her, yet she deliberately avoided looking at him.
He’d warned her she’d sent those druids and warriors to their deaths, but she wouldn’t hear of it.
She didn’t want him to be right. “They have time, Annis,” she said finally. “We need to trust in them.”
“Without the support of the hill-tribes, taking The Uplands will be difficult,” Cailean reminded her.
“Difficult … but far from impossible,” Alar replied. “You have my army, remember?”
Cailean’s jaw tightened. “What if it’s not enough?”
“There’s also the issue of the Slew,” Gregor interjected gruffly. “You all seem to have forgotten that they’ve taken to straying from their burial grounds.”
Lara’s pulse fluttered in her throat. The chief-sacrificer was right. She’d been so occupied by political matters of late that she’d given little time to The Unforgiven.
“There haven’t been any sightings of them in the past moon,” Cailean answered.
Gregor scowled. “Aye, but Gateway’s looming.”
Lara began drumming the fingertips of her right hand on the table.
The light of the cresset burning behind her glowed in the amber depths of the Ord-ree seal .
“We aren’t leaving until after Gateway, anyway,” she reminded her council, tempering her irritation.
They’d all agreed on this plan, but now they were having second thoughts.
“The Unforgiven hopefully won’t give us any problems.”
Gregor didn’t look convinced.
“I’ve been searching the archives for information about the Slew,” Gil said then. “Nothing new has cropped up yet … but I can keep looking.”
Lara glanced her archivist’s way. Gil sat to Bree’s left, his eyes watchful, as always. “Aye … do that,” she answered with a nod. Perhaps their odd behavior could be explained. There was nothing to say it wasn’t cyclical.
She then shifted her attention to her husband. “What do you think, Alar?”
He inclined his head. “About the Slew?”
“About everything we’ve talked about.” She could feel Roth’s glare boring into her; he was angry that she sought the prince consort’s opinion rather than her captain’s. She did, for her husband was a clever strategist.
Alar stroked his jaw as he considered her question.
“Who knows what will happen with the Slew,” he replied finally.
“I wouldn’t let them sway you. I agree with you, Lara.
We should march before winter … not wait for the Shee to attack first.” His gaze glinted as he met her eye.
“My wulvers are primed … you need only say the word.”
Warmth flared under Lara’s ribs. Once again, she appreciated his support. Sometimes she felt like a lone reed in the wind. She itched to get her campaign underway. She had to show her people that her word meant something. She would take back what the Shee had stolen. She would protect them.
Alar understood what drove her. Why didn’t everyone else?
“It’s settled then,” she said with a decisive nod, catching Roth’s eye to ensure he heeded her. “We move after Gateway, as planned. We shall strike out from Dulross and march on Strath.”
Tension rippled around the table, yet no one argued with her this time. Only the chief-sacrificer dared speak up. “If you are truly resolved to take this path, My Queen, I shall ensure my sacrificers begin a nightly vigil,” Gregor muttered. “We’re going to need the Gods on our side.”
Gil was hunched over a stack of dusty parchments, with a manuscript brush made of feathers in hand, when Lara pushed aside the heavy curtain and entered the alcove.
Three years earlier, she’d put him in charge of looking after the jumble of scrolls in her father’s possession that recorded the history of Albia.
Barely six moons later, they’d discovered another cache of ancient parchments in a vault under the broch, near the healer’s chamber, and Lara had moved him to larger quarters—one with four smaller alcoves off this one, where he could store the scrolls he was slowly working his way through.
Straightening up, the archivist pushed the wavy brown hair out of his eyes. “I didn’t expect a visit from you at this hour, My Queen,” he greeted her. His expression grew teasing then. “Tired of your husband already?”
Lara snorted. “My husband is training with his wulvers.”
“After dark?”
“Aye … it’s their way.”
In truth, she found this habit odd, but she didn’t question it. Alar wanted his wulvers to be fighting ready, and she appreciated his dedication. Even so, it meant that they spent little time together.
And to her surprise, she found herself missing his company. They hadn’t been married long, yet she was more comfortable with him than she’d expected.
He hadn’t touched her since the handfasting though, and she found that strange too. A part of her was relieved. He supported his wife while giving her the space she needed, and she was grateful. Nonetheless, there was a traitorous, soft part of her that felt rejected.
Rejected? Irritation spiked through her. Listen to yourself.
“Have you managed to find anything at all of note about the Slew?”
Gil raised an eyebrow at her abrupt change of subject, yet took the point. “A few mentions, here and there. However, so far, I’ve found only one scroll that goes into detail about them.” He motioned to where a rolled parchment sat on the desk nearby.
“Can I take a look?”
He nodded, gesturing to the stool next to the desk.
Lara settled herself before it and carefully untied the leather thong around the scroll.
Then, unfurling it, she began to read. It wasn’t easy to follow, and she had to concentrate on the loopy script on the parchment and the archaic writing style.
“This was written by my great-great-grandfather’s steward,” she murmured after reading the introduction.
“Aye … it seems the man had a curiosity about spirits … both malevolent and kind. There are many manuscripts here in his hand.”
Lara nodded before she continued to read, letting Gil get back to work.
The document told of how the Slew were the spirits of those who’d committed terrible crimes in life.
Shunned from both the Underworld and the Otherworld, they either dwelled in the ‘Threshold’—the liminal space between worlds—or they lingered around cairns, barrows, and graveyards, where the veil was at its thinnest. They were active at night and preyed upon the weak and fearful, and once a year, at Gateway, they took to the skies and hunted.
Your best protection was to stay strong and healthy and not let fear into your heart.
At Gateway, it was also wise to sprinkle salt at your door, wear an iron protection charm, and ensure a fire was burning furiously in the hearth.
Pausing, Lara glanced across at the lantern that burned nearby. None of this was new to her, but the last line made her reflect. It made sense that fire warded against the Slew. The heat and light chased away the shadows.
Thinking about fire now reminded her of her handfasting night—and how Alar had insisted the flames in the chamber had flared when she climaxed. His comment had unsettled her.
Huffing a frustrated sigh, she rolled the scroll back up and secured it with its thong. “It’s all interesting enough … but nothing here answers our questions.”
“I’ll keep searching.” Across the room, Gil pulled a face. “The archives at Caisteal Gealaich likely have many more … older … manuscripts.” She marked the longing that flickered across his features then. “But I no longer have access to them.”
Moments passed, and then she asked, “Have you ever read anything about fire magic?”
Gil frowned. “Not much … the Shee have never used elemental magic. Indeed, most of them fear it.”
“You know that fire magic was outlawed here … a long while ago?”
He nodded. “Why do you ask?”
“Reading about the Slew gave me an idea,” she replied, thinking on her feet. “If we were able to harness the power of fire somehow, we might be able to protect ourselves against them.”
“Maybe … but no one in Albia has that ability any longer.” His frown deepened. “And I thought it was dangerous, anyway?”
“I know little about it, apart from the old tales,” she replied with a shrug, even as her pulse quickened. “But there might be something in the archives about fire magic. Maybe in those ancient scrolls you dug out of that vault.”
“Do you want me to have a look?”
She nodded, relieved that he wasn’t suspicious.
Her focus these days was on her upcoming campaign, but her connection with fire was starting to bother her increasingly.
Alar had noticed it too, which was worrying.
She needed to learn more about it. Could her ability be harnessed and used for good?
Excitement fluttered to life in her belly.
Could it help them in the war against the Shee?