Anne Bishop - The Pillars of the World

What had surprised her was how close Lucian had come to accepting her bargain. Perhaps he had cared more deeply than she’d suspected. But still not enough, may the Mother be thanked. If he had accepted the bargain, she would have fulfilled her part of it. She would have gone after Ari and brought the girl back to Brightwood, no matter what Neall thought or said. Now they were both safe, and, hopefully, no word of them would ever reach Lucian or Dianna.

“Blessings of the day to you,” a male voice said softly.

Morag turned toward the voice, not sure what to think when Aiden stepped inside the stables. “Blessings of the day to you.”

“Dianna’s very upset,” Aiden said, slowly walking toward her. “And Lucian as well. Understandably so.” He hesitated. “Was there nothing you could have done, Morag? Did we have to lose another Daughter from the House of Gaian?”

Morag studied him. He was a clever man with words, and that made her wary.

“Did you tell Dianna and Lucian about the Pillars of the World?”

Aiden nodded.

“If they had known before now who the witches were—and are—do you think they still would have expected Ari to oblige them, living a sterile life for their convenience and pleasure?”

He didn’t answer for a long time. “They would have expected that whatever they offered would be enough, regardless of whether or not it truly was. And they would have resented her as much as they would have needed her to maintain Tir Alainn once she was old enough to no longer bend to their wishes.”

Morag finished filling the grain sack and tied the opening securely. “Then things have worked out for the best.”

“Not for Ari.”

She heard the grief in his voice—and realized he wasn’t grieving for a lost piece of Tir Alainn. But he was a clever man with words. “She’s gone, Aiden.”

“So you told Dianna. And the young man, the one who loved her, is gone, too.”

“Yes.”

Aiden rubbed the back of his neck. “You took them to the Shadowed Veil yourself?”

“Yesterday I took a man and a woman to the Shadowed Veil. I saw them cross through it and go on to the Summerland. Together.”

He started to nod, then he frowned. “What happened to Ahern’s spirit? You didn’t leave him here, did you?”

She didn’t ask how he’d heard about Ahern. The Bard was sometimes capable of hearing far too many things. “I took him and Astra to the Shadowed Veil.”

“Astra? Who is—” He stopped. “You took Ahern and Astra to the Shadowed Veil.”

“Yes.”

“And Ari . . .”

“Is gone.”

Aiden sifted through the words. Morag knew the moment when he understood what she was saying.

“The bargain you asked Lucian to make wasn’t a fair one, Morag,” he said, looking extremely uncomfortable. “No man would have agreed to it while you were standing in front of him.”

“One man did.” She paused, and then added, “I didn’t need to take what was willingly offered, but it was offered, Aiden, not asked for.”

His eyes widened. Then he said, more to himself than to her, “So she did go with a man who could give her love’s jewels.”

Morag frowned at him. He just smiled and shook his head.

As he turned to leave, Morag said, “What will you tell Lucian and Dianna?”

“What can I tell them that is different from what you’ve already said? Ari is gone.” He raised his hand in farewell. “May you find firm roads and soft beds on your travels. And may the House of Gaian prosper,” he added softly, “wherever it may be.”

By the time Morag left the stables with the grain sacks, Aiden was already gone. Morphia was outside, trying to find the best way to tie food sacks to the saddles.

She looked at Morag, then shrugged. “They look clumsy now, but they’ll empty quick enough.” She fiddled with the saddle, not actually doing anything to it. “If you don’t mind, I’ll ride with you for a while.”

“What about your Lord of the Woods? Isn’t he waiting for you to return?”

A long pause. Then Morphia said, “I’ll ride with you for a while.”

Morag didn’t ask any more questions. She walked back into the stables, opened one of the stall doors, and picked up Merle. “Come on, little one. It’s time to go.”

She mounted her dark horse and adjusted the pup so that she could hold on to him comfortably. When she and Morphia rode away from Ahern’s farm—and Brightwood—she didn’t look back.

They were gone, Adolfo thought numbly as he packed his meager belongings in a cloth traveling bag. During the slow journey back to Rivercross, he’d kept telling himself that his messages had gone astray, that that was the reason he’d had no replies, that his men would meet him here as intended. But they weren’t going to meet him here. They were gone. All the fine men, all the Inquisitors he had brought with him a few months before to rid this land of the stench of magic were gone. He hadn’t been able to find out what happened to them. Every time he asked about his men, he got the same response: The person would spit on the ground and make a sign against evil.

He’d like to meet the man who wrote that song about the Inquisitors, calling them the Black Coats, magicians of dark magic who were the Evil One’s servants, accusing them of creating the nighthunters that were plaguing several villages where Inquisitors had been.

The Inquisitors were the warriors against evil, the Evil One’s foe . And everyone was supposed to believe the witches had created the nighthunters to harm the good villagers. The creatures had been a necessary weapon in the fight to free the world of the foul stink of magic.

But the song haunted, and it had spread like fire from village to village along the border of Sylvalan.

Yes, he’d like to meet the man who wrote that song. He’d like the chance to cleanse that man’s spirit of the Evil One’s influence.

But first he would go home and rest. Rest and gather his strength and his other Inquisitors. Then, over the winter months, he would decide what to do.

Adolfo straightened his coat, picked up the traveling bag, and left the inn. The ferry that took people and goods across the river that separated Sylvalan from Wolfram would be leaving soon, and he didn’t want to miss it.

As he walked to the ferry station, he drew in a deep breath—and exhaled quickly, wrinkling his nose. The air smelled of dirty water, but underneath that was the first touch of autumn.

He would be glad to leave this hateful land and return to his home country where there was order and men were the masters. He would be glad to return to a place that treated Inquisitors with the respect and deference due them.

As he turned the corner of the short, cobblestoned street that led to the ferry station, he saw the black-haired woman on a dark horse blocking the way to the dock.

He trembled, but he forced himself to walk toward her.

“Get out of my way,” he said in a commanding voice that, nonetheless, shook a little.

“I have a message for you,” she said.

“Then deliver it and be gone.”

She looked at him a long time. “The Fae are returning to the Old Places. We are reclaiming the land that has always been ours. As long as we are left in peace, the humans have no reason to fear us. If we are not left in peace . . .”

The warning hung in the air between them.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Adolfo said, his breathing becoming harsh, ragged. “ You killed my men.”

“It was the only way to stop them from doing more harm,” she said quietly.

“Harm!” Adolfo stared at her. “ Harm ! We came here to free men from the chains of magic that keep them servants instead of the rightful masters of their world. We did no harm .”