Chapter 36
The Hunt Begins
Flora
D
aybreak approaches too fast after the delay with the soldiers at the picket and the arrival of the other Riders.
There’s a ruined Domhnall castle on the coast that I’d planned for us to use as shelter, but there’s a long stretch between the end of Loch Seil and Castle Tchirum that won’t be safe to cross in daylight.
If we can’t make it the whole way before dawn, it will cost us another night that we do not have.
Dropping any pretence of stealth, we rely on magic to get us past the camp. Daire touches a number of the runes along his jaw and throat, and magic shimmers across my skin.
“What is that?” I ask.
“He’s using a rune to create a bubble of silence and darkness around us, and another to keep us from being noticed,” Chyr says. “You can speak normally as long as we stay close to him.”
Daire winks as though I should be impressed, but based on what was said back at the cavern, I imagine the runes are his sister’s magic and not his own.
I’m impressed, but not with Daire, so I only shrug. We set the horses into a canter and pass beneath the camp without any problems. The second picket is a bit more complicated.
The six human soldiers are spread along the track, and the Grey that accompanies them has climbed a few yards up the slope.
The terrain around him is strewn with scree and boulders, and Daire shakes his head, gesturing for us to skirt the soldiers on the right, between the loch and the drovers’ track.
All the Riders veer off in that direction, but the gleam of moonlight catches on thin seams of dark water between hags of peat.
“Stop!” I shout, too loudly.
The Riders rein in, unconcerned—at least not about the noise.
“There’s no firm footing there for a horse.” I point to where the ground is treacherous. “I can make it stable, but you’ll need to ride single file behind me.”
Chyr nods, and I reach into the bog. Power rushes up to meet me.
The peat is mostly solid, but deep water-filled troughs lie between hard banks, and the empty space goes deep.
I push the banks together and use my magic to sense the areas that look solid even though they aren’t.
The squelch beneath Eira’s hooves goes quiet, and the ground holds, creating a narrow bridge for us to pass.
We’re almost clear when Daire’s mare gives a ragged scream as an edge of the peat bank gives way. She drops to her hock in water and twists, and Daire falls with a splash, his head plunging under.
Lorcan shouts and dives off his horse, rushing back to help him. I push magic around Daire and pull him to the bridge.
“Heads up. Company’s coming, and Daire’s runes have failed,” says the blond who wears his hair cropped short. Niall, I think.
He and Cathal, the one with runes etched into the shaved scalp above his ears, both touch various runes on their own bodies. The runes glow brighter, and their magic ripples around us again.
The damage is done already, though. There’s shouting, and the soldiers are running.
The Grey in the trees jumps down onto the drovers’ track and gestures to the loch.
A wave of water rises and builds, sweeping towards us.
Lorcan pushes both hands at it, and the wave breaks in sections instead of sweeping over us all at once.
And on the ridge above the camp, the signal beacon flares.
I search for another way to smother it, but it’s too late.
Another beacon answers farther down the ridge, and then another, and another, and another, an endless line of signals burning hill to hill, warning all of Ehrugael that the rebel king and the Riders have come.
The line of beacons flares too quickly for us to hope to reach the end of Loch Seil before Vheara’s patrols know to be on high alert—before we risk being caught in a trap. Now every second counts.
Lorcan pulls Daire up, and they throw themselves into their saddles. We drive the horses hard, staying off the track as much as we are able. There’s no sound of pursuit behind us, but the loch narrows ahead, with too many possible choke points.
Emotions swirl in my chest, a sour brew of guilt and too many other things to name. My heart tries to keep pace with the staccato beat of the horses running until fear exhausts itself.
Until we stop to rest the horses, none of us tries to speak. Then Sean throws himself off his black gelding before I’ve even managed to rein Eira in.
“What the fuck was that?” He stalks to my stirrup, stopping with his face red and twisted and close enough that I could kick him if I had a death wish.
I swing down beside him, feet splashing in the mud. “Back away and do not shout. Are you asking why Daire fell—or do you have a better question?”
“Why should anyone trust your magic?”
“My magic didn’t fail.”
Sean darts a glance at the long line of beacons burning behind us and ahead, then locks his eyes on mine. “If it wasn’t your magic, it was your judgement. Either way, your trail was too narrow.”
“That’s hardly fair.” Ronan comes to stand beside me.
Sean gives a humourless bark of laughter. “Adopting another wild thing, are you, Ronan?”
“Enough!” Chyr commands. “We’ll lead the horses on foot until they’re rested, but the stars are fading. We’re wasting time. Flora, do you sense anyone nearby?”
“Not yet, but we should cross to the other side of the loch. There’s an island a short way ahead. We can use it to break the distance the horses have to swim.”
Chyr is silent as he digests that. “Can we still make it to Castle Tchirum?”
My throat is dry as I shake my head. “We would need at least two more hours of darkness to have any chance of reaching it,” I admit. “We have to look for shelter somewhere closer. This puts us another day behind.”
The stink of smoke grows stronger as we ride south.
We swim the loch and find a narrow burn that flows into a deep wood of willows and birches on the other side of Loch Seil.
We splash through water stained as dark as tea, the horses slipping on mossy stones and tree roots, but walking the horses in the burn eliminates our tracks.
I can sense soldiers now, many of them, along with the Greys whose presence makes my magic crawl whenever my senses brush across them.
Chyr sends me small smiles as if to remind me not to take it to heart. Ronan and Fergal grin at me a few times, too, and I wish I had the energy to pretend that I’m fine.
I’m not.
My hands won’t stop shaking, and as much as I hate to admit it, Sean was right. It’s not only my magic that can fail—it’s me. I’m the one who doesn’t know how to control it or use it to help us. I should have made the bridge wider, and now any chance of getting to Muilean unchallenged is gone.
Deep in the woods, Chyr gestures to our left. “We should fan out here and see if we can find somewhere to get a few hours of sleep.”
“We’ll need more than a few hours.” Sean spurs his gelding up beside Chyr. “Or are you planning to let the witch drive us directly into the Butcher’s arms?”
“We might have made better progress if you’d spent less time arguing,” I retort.
Sean glares at me and opens his mouth to spew more venom, but Chyr sends him a hard look, and Sean reins his gelding back.
Lorcan may come in a close second, but Sean is the worst of the Riders.
Even if I hadn’t read General Mora’s letter accusing Sean of betraying the king, I doubt I would trust him.
I can’t quite see Lorcan as a traitor. Not to Chyr, at least. But Sean?
There’s something between him and Chyr that pulls my eyes to Sean at every opportunity.
Ignoring Sean would be like trying to ignore an adder that’s coiled and full of venom.
“Chyr’s right,” I say. “There’s a storm coming, so any sort of cover from the elements would help.”
A couple of the Riders look to the sky, and I can feel their doubt. The stars are nearly gone, but it’s light enough now to see that the clouds are still thin and scattered. I feel the storm, but that’s not something I want to say. Not in front of Sean and Lorcan.
Chyr scowls at Sean, and the big, blond snake drops back as the Riders leave the burn. The horses scramble up the gravel shelf and a steeper, bent grass-covered bank to where a deer trail leaves an opening in the vegetation.
The wet earth swallows sound. Dew clings to brush and low-hanging leaves, depositing cold drops into our hair and shoulders with every accidental brush.
I spot a potential shelter before we even separate to search.
A fallen oak rests on its root plate and the bare branches of its crown, leaving a narrow tunnel underneath that could be draped in plaids to form a tent.
Multi-stem clusters of hazel trunks form a living screen of stems and leaves behind it, with several more hazel clusters along the front.
Reining Eira in, I signal for everyone to stop. “That’s as good as anything we can find,” I say, gesturing towards it.
Chyr scans the area, then gestures for everyone to dismount.
Rua, who has been draped like a scarf across Ronan’s shoulders, raises her head, looks around, and launches herself to the ground.
Feet silent on the moss and rotting leaves, she vanishes into the undergrowth.
Shade and Shadow glance at me, tilting their heads as though asking for permission.
“Go on,” I say. “Have fun.”
They take off after Rua at a sprint.