Anne Bishop - The Pillars of the World

“And I’ve heard that you’re a fine young man who rides a dark horse,” Morag added, looking at the mare. “So it wasn’t difficult to figure out.”

Ahern opened the paddock gate wider. “Take care of the mare,” he said gruffly.

The abrupt dismissal surprised Neall. Ahern could be blunt to the point of rudeness, but, somehow, while the bluntness had been directed at him, the rudeness had been aimed at the woman.

He doesn’t want me around her , Neall realized as he led the mare to the stable. No. He doesn’t want her around me. Why ?

He stopped just inside the stable, where he wouldn’t be easily seen. As he turned to study the two Fae, he heard Ahern say, “Now what brings the Gatherer to Brightwood?”

“Horses,” Morag said. Before she could say anything more, Neall and the dark mare burst out of the stables, galloping toward Brightwood. “Is something wrong?”

“I imagine he’s going to see if his heart is still at Brightwood,” Ahern replied. “Is she?”

“Ari? I imagine so. I haven’t seen her since early this morning, so where else—” Morag’s heart leaped. She clutched the paddock railing for balance. “She wouldn’t go into the village by herself, would she? She wouldn’t go alone.”

Ahern’s frown turned to puzzlement. “She might. She’s been doing just that since her mother died. Although lately—”

“She mustn’t go by herself,” Morag said urgently. “She mustn’t .” She told Ahern everything she knew about the witches dying at the Inquisitors’ hands. She told him about the nighthunters and about her escape down a shining road just before it closed. She felt a keen satisfaction in the brutal grimness that filled Ahern’s face.

“You think they’re coming here,” Ahern said. “To Brightwood.”

Morag closed her eyes. “I’m not sure, but. . . Death is whispering. Death is coming here. Soon.”

Ahern nodded. “Ari wants to wait to bring in the harvest so that they can take it with them. But that won’t be for another few weeks—and that’s too long, isn’t it?”

“If the Inquisitors come here, even a day may be too long,” Morag said wearily. “It doesn’t take much time for someone to die a hard death, Ahern. It doesn’t take much time at all. It was hard enough with the others, but I didn’t know them. I’ve talked with Ari, eaten with her, come to know her a little. I don’t want to show her the road to the Shadowed Veil. Not now. Not because of them .”

“Then we’ll have to convince her to leave without the harvest.”

“ Can you convince her?”

“Between us, Neall and I will convince her,” Ahern said. “And if we can’t, we’ll tie her to the horse so that he can take her away.” He shook himself, as if he could shake off the grimness for the time being. “Now what’s this about horses?”

It will be all right , Morag thought a short while later as she and Ahern rode to Brightwood to look at the sun stallion and the mares. She’d been startled by his fierce determination to, as he’d phrased it, “put the whole of Sylvalan between Ari and the Inquisitors,” but she’d welcomed that determination. He, too, was Fae. He knew as well as any of them what Ari’s leaving would mean to the Clan who used the shining road anchored to Brightwood. He still wanted her to go, wanted her to be safe. Knowing he would do everything he could to make sure Ari and Neall were on their way to their new home heartened her—and made it easier to think about tomorrow morning, when she would go back to Tir Alainn and tell the Huntress her decision about Neall.

Stepping out of his carriage, Adolfo noticed the way the baron’s smile faltered as the man took note of the other two Inquisitors and the guards who rode behind the carriage.

“Baron Felston?” he said, taking a step forward to reclaim the man’s attention. “I am Adolfo, the Master Inquisitor, the Witch’s Hammer.”

“I’m pleased—grateful—that you could put aside your other duties and attend to my little problem so quickly,” Felston said.

And you will express your gratitude with more than words , Adolfo thought. In advance. Or you will find yourself bargaining for more than the witch you wish to be rid of .

Felston flicked an uneasy glance at the other Inquisitors. He leaned toward Adolfo. “Are all these men really necessary?” he asked in a low voice. “There’s only one witch at the Old Place, and she’s not very powerful.”

Adolfo stared at the baron in a way that had wilted stronger-willed men, “Many of your associates have also assured me that the witches who are plaguing their people weren’t all that powerful. So I sent fully trained Inquisitors to deal with the creatures. In the few weeks I have been in Sylvalan using my skills to help the people here rid themselves of the Evil One’s foul servants, I have lost more Inquisitors than I’ve lost in years in Arktos and Wolfram.” He shook his head. “Do not tell me my business, Baron Felston. I know far better than you what kind of creature lives outside the village of Ridgeley, and I know what is required to deal with her. Besides,” he added when Felston seemed about to argue again, “there is evidence that the Fae are also nearby. They, too, can be dangerous.”

Bright spots of color appeared on Felston’s cheeks, making Adolfo wonder if the man had already had an encounter with the Fair Folk.

“Come, Master Adolfo,” Felston said after a moment, gesturing toward the front door of his house. “Let’s get you and your men settled in. Then I think you should have a talk with my daughter, Odella.” Adolfo replied gravely, “If she has had the misfortune to have any dealings with the witch, I think that would be wise.”

“Ari? Ari!” Neall vaulted out of the saddle, his heart pounding wildly when he didn’t immediately see her. “ Ari !”

A golden stallion galloped toward him, cutting him off from the cottage before he could take a step toward the half-open kitchen door.

Neall took a step forward. The stallion laid his ears back.

The dark mare nipped his sleeve and pulled him back.

Wondering how the warding spells would react if he tried to climb in through a window—and wondering if he could get in fast enough to avoid the stallion’s hooves coming down on his back, Neall cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Ari!”

An upstairs window opened. Ari leaned out. A delighted smile lit her face when she saw him. “Neall! Wait there. I’ll be right down.”

“Doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere,” Neall muttered, eyeing the stallion. He felt a flicker of amusement when Ari reached the kitchen door and found herself peering around a golden rump.

“Move,” Ari said, giving that golden rump a timid smack.

The stallion kicked the bottom half of the door in response.

Ari disappeared. A few moments later, she appeared from around the side of the cottage. Before the stallion could charge toward her, she pointed a finger at him, and said sternly, “No matter what you seem to think, I am not one of your mares. I’m his mare.” She frowned. “I didn’t say that right, but you know what I mean.”

Neall grinned, the relief of seeing her safe and well making him a little silly. “I think you said it just fine. And I promise you I have more finesse in certain areas than he does.”

The stallion snorted.

Ari dashed over to Neall. “I was taking a look through the linen cupboard upstairs to see what we could use, and—” The light went out of her face when she noticed the dark mare. “What happened to Darcy? Is he hurt?”

Neall put his arm around her, needing the contact. “No, he’s fine. He’s probably mad at me for leaving him, but I wanted—” No, that wasn’t why he’d come. He’d ridden the mare because she was already saddled and handy. But he’d have to take care how he said other things if he didn’t want to end up battering at Ari’s stubborn streak. “I wanted you to see her.”