16 DANGER IN THE DARK
CROUCHED IN THE saddle, Kayla peered up at where the last smear of dusk bled from the sky. The Sweeper gusting in from the north carried a bite and a dank, musty scent.
Her breathing caught.
Gateway was upon them.
They shouldn’t be outdoors, not when the world was waking up. They should have stopped in Rhu earlier in the afternoon, but they hadn’t. The next village, Dunfyne, was too far away to reach by sunset—and yet they’d pushed on, heedless.
Kayla’s horse thundered up the slope, flanked by those of her captors.
They’d traveled all day like that; in a protective circle.
She’d given them nothing but trouble since departing Farnoch, and after another escape attempt at dawn, they were taking no chances.
Her wrists were bound before her, the rope sawing at skin already raw.
Suddenly, she couldn’t seem to draw enough air into her lungs.
There’s no way out of this.
She was drowning now, in deep trouble. Being outdoors on the night of Gateway was the final straw. If—
No! Kayla gave herself a hard mental slap. Don’t you dare give up. She had to keep fighting. She had to believe she could save herself.
“Fools,” she shouted, even as the wind whipped away her voice. “None of us will last the night out here.”
Maol shot her a veiled glance, his rawboned features harsh in the fading light.
He was the unofficial leader of this group—heavily tattooed warriors with southern accents.
She’d tried to discover more about them over the past days, but every question had met a stone wall.
His eyes glinted then. Lifting a hand, he pointed north. “We won’t have to.”
Kayla shifted her gaze north, to the top of the rise they were cresting.
The road had left the loch-shore a while back, taking them through woodland of oak and ash.
But there ahead, rising above the trees, she caught sight of a scattering of low stone roundhouses crouching in the lee of a rock-studded hill.
Braziers burned in the gloaming. The scent of smoke reached them on the wind.
Her heart jolted. Dunfyne.
They’d actually made it. Shelter and safety were just ahead. All wasn’t lost. She could rest, could regain her strength, and plan her next move.
Maol urged his mount ahead of the group, dark braids swinging between his shoulders in time with his horse’s stride, reaching the market ground at the heart of the village first. Here, a ring of braziers burned brightly; fire to keep the Slew and other malevolent spirits at bay.
Then he hauled his mount to a halt, the others fanning out behind him, their horses blowing hard, flanks lathered.
They’d ridden like hunted beasts all day.
Kayla knew why.
Ailsa.
Her gut clenched, worry arrowing through her. Stubborn lass. What did she think she was doing? Coming after her was idiocy. Ailsa would only get herself killed. The lass was just another reason why Kayla had to get free. She couldn’t let her get dragged into this.
All these years keeping her safe, ensuring she was protected—and now, she was completely alone.
Maol had recognized her apprentice in an ale-hall in Farnoch.
They’d left that night, had ridden like fiends, although Kayla doubted that Ailsa’s pursuit was all that worried Maol. He clearly had somewhere he wanted to be—and he was so desperate to reach it that he’d pushed on straight into Gateway.
A thin, distant shriek carried across the darkening sky, and her belly pitched.
They needed shelter. Now.
“That one,” Maol ordered, pointing to the largest of the roundhouses.
A weasel-faced warrior named Seoc dismounted and strode to the dwelling, hammering his fist against the timber door. “Open up!” he bellowed.
Only silence answered.
He struck again, harder. Another of the men, Car, tried the door of another roundhouse. Then a third before he shouted, “Open the fucking door!”
Nothing.
Kayla glanced around them. The village had gone to ground. They weren’t opening their doors to anyone until daybreak—and although she wanted to take refuge too, she couldn’t say she blamed them.
“They’ve barred themselves in,” Car snarled, his blunt-featured face flushing the color of liver.
Gerrad, the youngest of the group, spat on the ground. “Cowards.”
“They’re not,” Kayla ground out. “They just don’t want to risk their lives for strangers.”
None of her companions answered her.
Instead, Maol stepped forward, his gaze sweeping the darkened doorways. “Let us in,” he called, voice carrying. “Or we burn you out.”
A long pause followed.
Wind sighed through the village. Somewhere inside, Kayla heard the faint scrape of movement. Her breathing grew shallow; she could almost taste their terror.
Still, no one answered.
Maol nodded to Car. “Do it.”
The warrior snatched a torch from his pack and thrust it into one of the burning braziers. Sparks leapt, the torch caught fire, and flame flared bright in the gloom.
Kayla twisted in the saddle, cursing her bound wrists. “Leave them be.”
Once again, he ignored her.
Striding over to the largest of the roundhouses, Car thrust the torch into the thatch beneath the eaves. For a heartbeat, nothing happened, and then the flame caught with a whoosh.
It spread fast, racing along the dry roof, smoke billowing upward as the wind fed it. A muffled cry sounded from within the walls.
And then another shriek tore through the sky.
Close.
Every man froze.
Kayla’s chin kicked up, and she spied shadows wheeling overhead, winged shapes blotting out the rising moon.
Another scream followed, sharper, nearer.
The first of the Slew dipped low over the rooftops, long limbs trailing, wings snapping.
Seoc rasped a curse.
“Set them all alight,” Maol barked. “Turn this village into a funeral pyre. That’ll chase the spirits away.”
His companions moved to obey.
And suddenly, for the first time all day, no one was watching Kayla.
Heart pounding, she twisted in the saddle once more, eyes scanning the flames, shadows, and chaos surrounding her. Her captors were all distracted, gazes craning upward at the circling horrors as they stumbled toward the braziers with unlit torches.
This wasn’t the right moment for an escape attempt, not with the Slew circling.
But she had a chance.
She had to seize it.
Clenching her teeth, Kayla drove her heels hard into her horse’s flanks. The animal squealed and surged forward, pulling the rope Gerrad had been holding from his hands.
He cursed and made a grab for her, but it was too late.
The horse bolted, tearing free of the others and plunging into the darkness beyond the village at a flat gallop.
Branches whipped at Kayla’s face as they hit the tree line. The world narrowed to the thunder of hooves, the burn in her lungs, and the savage hope pounding in her chest.
Run.
Behind her, shouting erupted. “After her!”
Hooves pounded as they crashed through the undergrowth in pursuit.
Kayla bent low over the horse’s neck, wrists bound, no way to guide it properly—only instinct and desperation driving her onward. The panicked beast plunged through brush and bracken, leaping fallen logs, heedless of the dark.
A shriek split the air above.
The Slew were following.
Her pulse lurched.
Her horse plowed on through the night.
A branch hit Kayla in the face, nearly unseating her. Crying out, she flung herself forward against the horse’s neck. She was going too fast. What little control she’d had over her mount had gone. The beast had the bit between its teeth now.
Her escape might end in a broken neck, but that was preferable to whatever her abductors had in store. She’d take her chances.
The ground dipped suddenly, the horse stumbling as it hit a patch of uneven earth. Kayla lurched forward, nearly pitched from the saddle.
And in that instant, they were on her.
A rider burst from the trees to her left, slamming into her mount. Another seized the trailing rope at her wrists and yanked hard.
The horse screamed, rearing.
Kayla lost her seat. She hit the ground hard, the breath blasting from her lungs as the world spun.
Hands grabbed her and dragged her upright before she could fight.
“Troublesome bitch.” Maol’s face, dark with anger, loomed before her. “Haven’t you learned yet?”
Kayla spat blood at his boots. “Never!”
Above them, the Slew screamed again.
“Salt,” Maol snapped.
His companions moved. They dragged Kayla onto a patch of flattened ground as Seoc reached for the leather pouch at his belt, fingers fumbling in haste now as he tore it open.
White grains scattered, forming a ring as the darkness pressed close and the air filled with the sound of beating wings.
“Inside.” Car shoved Kayla forward.
She stumbled into the circle, catching herself before she fell.
The men followed, forming a cage around her, weapons drawn and faces tight. The dark pressed close. From the undergrowth came the sounds: cackling, hissing, the rustle of things moving just beyond sight.
Kayla lifted her chin, peering into the shadows.
Meanwhile, the Slew circled lower, their cries sharpening. One dipped, leathery wings snapping as it passed close overhead.
All of them, Kayla included, crouched in the darkness. Breathless and waiting.
The restless dead came no closer. Whether it was the salt ringing them, or the trees that pressed close, something kept them at bay.
Time slid by, and still no one spoke. The moon rose higher, casting a silvery glow over the world. Her captors shifted restlessly, eyes scanning the dark, blades ready.
And then came a rustle in the undergrowth behind them.
Kayla’s head snapped toward it, just as a shape burst from a wall of brambles. Small and fast.
“Blades up!” Maol shouted.
Too late. The creature slammed into Gerrad, stone blade flashing. He roared, staggering back as blood sprayed.
More followed.
Kayla swore. Trows.
Vicious wee fuckers, all teeth and claws and wild hair. They came in a pack, shrieking, their stone knives hacking.
Chaos erupted, and the circle broke. The salt didn’t stop them—not tonight.
Shouting followed, and iron rang against stone. As they fought, the tattoos that covered the warriors’ arms, shoulders, and neck glowed an eerie silver.
Kayla jolted at the sight. Only enforcers could channel earth magic when they fought. And these men weren’t warrior druids. She’d known there was something different about them from the first.
Clod-heads. What were they messing with?
There was no time to dwell on her discovery, for a trow lunged for her.
She dropped low and scrambled back. Kicking out, she caught the imp in the chest, and it recoiled with a snarl.
A blade took its head off an instant later.
Maol moved fast, but they were still surrounded.
Gerrad, who’d been injured during the first onslaught, went down with a cry. A trow clung to his back, sawing at his throat with a jagged stone.
“Get it off!” he screamed before his voice severed in a wet gurgle.
Heart punching against her ribs, Kayla looked away.
One down. Five to go.
The others surged, cutting the trows down one by one. Blood soaked the ground, its iron tang filling the air.
The shrieking faded. Eventually, silence fell, broken only by ragged breathing.
Kayla pushed herself upright, muscles tight and ready for another attack.
Gerrad lay spread-eagled on his back, face frosted by moonlight. His mouth gaped, and his eyes stared up at the sky.
Car ground out a curse.
Maol stood over the body, his face grim in the moonlight. “We’ll wait the rest of the night out here,” he rasped. “And move on at first light.”
No one argued with him.
A frosty dawn crept over the land, chasing away the darkness. The sky blushed pink to the east.
Kayla had never been so relieved to see the sun rise.
Rising stiffly to her feet, she meekly let one of her captors lead her over to her horse.
Around her, the others were all mounting up. Silent and stone-faced. It had been a rough, sleepless night. Their gazes were all shadowed this morning.
Gateway had nearly bested them.
They pushed on, leaving Gerrad’s corpse behind without a second glance.
This band was driven by one single-minded purpose.
How Kayla wished she knew what it was. They’d told her little, only that they were taking her into The Uplands.
But after seeing those tattoos burn silver … she understood a little more.
They wanted her skills; she was sure of it.
Something cold hardened in the pit of her belly at the thought.
Shortly after they set off, the trees drew back, and the ground rose ahead into a low, flat-topped hill.
Kayla’s gaze lingered on it. The hillock was too smooth and round to be natural. Her breathing slowed as she studied it.
A knowe.
They’d made their salt circle beside a trow burrow.
By the Five. No wonder a clutch of them had attacked. Gateway had brought the imps out to hunt, but they’d made things easy for them by camping on their doorstep.
The warriors saw it too, and their faces tightened.
Maol growled a curse and spat on the ground as they rode by.