Chapter 10 #2
Osgan waited for over an hour before giving up and leaving the meeting place to walk through the village.
He had grown out of sorts with himself since stepping into his new identity, especially as his tàladh had been failing to properly enthrall his lovers.
He’d also lost all his desire, which he blamed on the ailment that now plagued him.
He needed to alter his scheme, first to seek healing for his condition, and secondly to punish the one who had deceived him.
He’d taken care of the latter by directing one of his lovers to attend to that matter, and craft it to serve their plans.
Now he needed to return to his place of rebirth so he could hide and rid himself of the mysterious sickness.
The gems on the bronze cuff he wore suddenly glowed with a dark amber light that showed through the fabric of his tunic sleeve, alerting him to the presence of magic somewhere close.
He ducked into the blacksmith’s stone-walled forge, and positioned himself so he could watch the green from the shadows.
A group of thin, filthy-looking woodsmen came trudging through the center of the village, each carrying their tools on the shoulders or hung from their belts.
They looked unkempt, their hair hanging in knots over their eyes and shoulders.
Their eyes too seemed strange, almost like holes in their faces, until he realized why: none of them were blinking.
They filed into the small tavern, and almost immediately came back out to gather around the village common well.
“They work day and night of late.” The blacksmith came to stand beside him and nodded after the woodsmen. “Their wives come and plead with them, but they dinnae return to their homes for food or rest. They shall drink their fill and return to their labors.”
Whoever had enchanted them knew the men would die of thirst long before they succumbed to starvation, Osgan thought, and then glanced down as the blacksmith’s big, work-scarred hand stroked his thigh.
“I’ve no more work for the day,” the big man said, smiling. “Come and drink with me.”
If the blacksmith traveled back and forth to the MacRune’s island he might have seduced him to serve as one of his spies, but his cuff still glowed, and whatever had bespelled the woodsmen remained in the village tavern.
“Do you possess a cart?” When the big man nodded he took hold of his hand. “We’ll go to where I live.” He told him the location, and added, “’Tis quieter, and you may stay the night if you wish, but you must hide me as we leave so that the other men dinnae grow jealous of you.”
Just as all Osgan’s other lovers did, the blacksmith agreed, and after securing the front of the forge led him out through the back to a cart piled with boxes of tools and farm implements.
They made it easy to conceal his presence, and when the big man drove out of the village he watched the glowing gems on his cuff fade to darkness.
“Hold, Kemp,” a low, flat voice called out, and the cart came to a stop. “Why do you drive away from the farms?”
“I go to first visit a friend,” the blacksmith said. “Need I your permission?”
“Our master desires to ken all who dwell in the forest here,” the challenger said. “Give me the name of your friend.”
“You dinnae ken him. Now get out of my way, woodsman, or I shall run you–” The big man’s voice stopped with a liquid gurgle.
Osgan reached into his satchel and took out a heavy pouch.
Pouring the glittering contents into his fist, he listened and then braced himself for an attack.
Blinding the bespelled woodsmen would prevent them from capturing him, but it would also confirm to their master his presence in the highlands.
The cart rocked back and forth, and then suddenly the horse bolted.
Osgan held onto the box beside him as he was heaved up and down by the runaway’s frantic pace.
Peeking out, he saw the dead body of the blacksmith sprawled on the driver’s bench, a small axe protruding from the side of his neck.
With another glance behind him, which showed only a cloud of dirt and debris, he climbed up onto the bench, prying the reins from the dead man’s grip and yanking on them to slow the horse.
“’Tis over, you fearful nag.” As the cart stopped just before a cliff Osgan jumped down, leading the animal to the edge before releasing the tugs to free it from the cart. “Hold.”
After tethering the reins to a stout tree branch he shoved the dead blacksmith and the cart over the cliff, and then climbed onto the horse’s broad back and patted its neck. “Now I shall take us both to safety, my new friend.”
The sweaty horse shuddered a few times as it slowly made its way through the forest, but by the time it reached their destination it had settled down.
He released it before walking up the ridge to a scarred patch of ground where he had long ago faced the immortal dark Fae assassin sent by the queen to murder him.
The sight of the place still made bile rise in his throat, but he endured it, for only a short distance away lay the one place where no one could touch him.
I shall rest and heal for a time, and permit my lovers do their best and worst.