“ATTACK!” Byrne bellowed, standing up so fast his heavy chair tumbled backwards. In no more than two seconds he had a longsword in his hand. But he was slow compared to Old Jock, who was halfway down the table with a massive battle-axe cocked at high port.
For a long moment nothing happened as fighter after fighter armed themselves and arrayed before the rippling silver mirror. Then there was a distortion and…
A very tall, and very beautiful, brunette female wearing a full body suit made of almost entirely transparent silk stepped into the room and immediately threw her arms around herself.
“It’s freezing in here!” she snapped, looking around at the swords. “I really don’t think you’re going to need those,” she added as she stepped to the side for another woman.
And another. And another. And another. All of them wearing halfway to nothing.
“Hullo there,” Young Jock said to the brunette, lowering his sword so the point touched the ground. “I think we could be friends.”
“Not unless you learn what the meaning of bath is,” the brunette snapped.
“What the bloody hell is this?” Laird McClure asked in utter confusion as another woman stepped through, this one carrying an infant.
There was a gasp and a slap followed by a scream and a small woman launched herself across the gap to impact on Hugh Telford, who had wrapped his arms around a petite blonde. In a second, no more, Telford was on the ground, choking, from a blow that had appeared out of nowhere.
“You really don’t want to do this,” the brunette said as two of the men closed in on the smaller woman. She snap-kicked one in the knee and he tumbled over groaning, but Godfrey picked her up from behind and blocked her attempt to turn him into a soprano. “You really don’t want to do this!”
“I want to know what the hell is happening!” Jock bellowed as the silver mirror rippled one more time and then collapsed leaving a good-looking, medium-height brunette, wearing nothing but a bikini, standing arms akimbo in the doorway to the kitchen.
“I’m what’s happening,” the girl said, pointing her hand and sending a lance of power that drove Godfrey into the wall. “My name is Megan Travante. I am a Key-holder. I just killed Paul Bowman to get his Key. And the next man who puts his hand on a woman in my presence will be sent to a very special and private version of Hell.”
The women of the castle had been summoned and the girls and their children had been bundled off to warmer quarters. After that Megan and Jock McClure had retreated to his office, a much smaller room in the upper floors of the keep. He built up the fire as she wrapped a fur around herself.
“Mother told me you were in contact with the Freedom Coalition,” Megan said.
“Aye,” Jock replied, poking the fire to life and throwing on another billet of wood.
“I need to contact them and get us extracted,” Megan said.
“Aye,” Jock said, again.
“Is that all you’re going to say?” Megan asked.
“It’s a bit of a shock, lassie,” McClure admitted. “We were expecting some of their Changed monsters to come through the portal, not a cluster of odalisques.”
“Oda-whats?” Megan chuckled.
“Odalisques,” McClure repeated. “Harem girls. So Paul had a harem?”
“He considered it a breeding group,” Megan replied, sharply.
“And of course it had to be live cover,” McClure said, taking a seat across from her. “I’ll heat some mead if you’d like.”
“I’d prefer tea,” Megan said.
“Well, that we don’t be havin’,” McClure sighed. “Or clothes fer yuh for that matter. We might be able to scare up some blankets, but we don’t be havin’ the power looms that the UFS does; we’ve been fightin’ too hard to make any. Can’t you ken it, then?”
“I don’t want to use the power,” Megan admitted. “Laird McClure…”
“Call me Jock,” McClure interjected. “People only call me ‘Laird’ when they’re about to go to war with me.”
“Jock, then,” Megan said with a grin. “We won’t tax you any longer than necessary. I’ll contact Sheida and try to get her to let me teleport us out. We won’t be here long.”
“Might be longer than you think,” Jock said. “The block they have is tight; it has to be. I’m not sure Sheida will drop it even for you.”
“We… I can’t stay here long. The rest of the Destiny councilors will be hunting me. If they throw their full weight against you…”
“Ack, they’ve been tryin’ hard enough as it is,” Jock said with a shrug. “They send their forces up into the highlands and we kill them. Or they land on the coast and we kill them. Or they sneak into a glen and set up a portal. And we kill them.”
“You’re not going to just be killing them,” Megan replied.
“No,” Jock said with a nod. “I had three sons. I’ve one now, lassie. I didn’t say it was easy. I said we did it.”
“If Chansa had the full backing of the Council he could have taken you at any time,” Megan replied with a shrug. “If they know I’m here, they’ll come for you. In force.”
“Be a bit hard with most of their troops at sea,” Jock noted. “Of course, we’re by the sea, here. But I don’t see them turning around their fleet just when it’s on its way to Norau. And doing well, from what I hear.”
“You hear a lot,” Megan said with a frown.
“I’ve got big ears,” McClure chuckled. “But I’ll admit I hadn’t heard of this harem. There’s another girl here waiting for transport; your friends will be meeting her. She was in a brothel. Carried some important message apparently. Selkies picked it up then told her to come here. I’m liable to cause the Finn to rethink his bargain if this keeps up.”
“What do you think I should do?” Megan asked.
“Ah, now it’s questions is it?” McClure answered, nodding his head. “Not so much ‘we must do this, we must do that.’ I think you should be having a quiet chat with Sheida, lassie. And then getting your pretty little butt to someplace safer than Dun McClure. But until then, we’ll fight for ye. They’ll nigh pass us until the last McClure is dead and gone. Hang on a bit.”
He stood up and went to the door, leaning out into the corridor.
“Get that heathen Baradur up here!” he bellowed into the hall.
“Baradur’s one of the wee folk,” he explained, walking back over to the fire and warming his hands. “I captured him in a battle with one of their clans. He’s just been hanging around and eating my food ever since. I think I’ll foist him on you.”
The door opened shortly after and a small, heavily muscled young man entered the room. He was dressed in skins and furs and had a sallow, yellowish complexion, a bullet head with a topknot of black, lanky hair dangling from one side and a flat face with bright eyes half-hidden by epicanthic folds. Instead of the straight swords of the Gael he was armed with a long, back-curved sword on his left hip and a similar knife nearly the size of a sword on his right. He bowed to the laird and Megan, standing silently.
“Baradur, you’ve been eating my bread and salt for the last year,” McClure growled. “And I’ll have no more of it. I’m giving you over to the Key-holder for a servant. Serve her well or you’ll have me to face!”
“Yes, Laird McClure,” was all the man said. He had a strange accent, light on the ears.
“The wee folk are strange in their ways,” McClure said, turning to Megan. “But they’re bloody loyal. If he takes your bread and salt he’ll die rather than let harm come to you.”
“I have neither bread nor salt,” Megan said, dryly.
“You can owe me,” Baradur replied. He suddenly grinned showing a mouth full of bright, white teeth. “Although I’ll also want silver, mistress.”