“Very well. It shall be as you say.”
Baehemon scowled. “My lord, do not trust him!”
“Baehemon, I’ve never trusted him.” He met Bannier’s gaze without a trace of fear. “We have an understanding?”
Bannier returned his predatory smile. “I believe we do.”
Satisfied, he turned and strode away, leaning on his ironshod staff. Again, he’d been less than honest with Tuorel. The spell he had in mind would require a few hours’ preparation and no more. Before he set to work on the enchantment, he intended to visit Caer Duirga and make sure everything was ready. If he knew Gaelin, the prince would show up at the appointed time. The only question was how Bannier could deal with any guards or escorts who followed Gaelin to his doom.
Gaelin, Erin, and Seriene rode until moonrise, accompanied by their guards. They watched for signs of pursuit, but after six hours of picking their way through the darkness, they were certain the Ghoeran skirmishers and scouts had missed their trail. Gaelin called a halt only after one unfortunate trooper fell asleep in his saddle and tumbled off his horse in exhaustion.
It drizzled until dawn, and they were caught in the open with only bedrolls and cold supplies. They did not dare light a fire, and no one was equipped for more than a day in the field – an oversight on Gaelin’s part, since he had expected to be back at Caer Winoene already. Still, they were so tired that most of them found a way to sleep for a few hours despite the rain and the mud.
By morning, the rain diminished into an early morning highland fog that lay thick and cold in the green glens between the hills. They were well into the wilds of Mhoried’s foothills, with knife-edged ridges rising on all sides of them, flanked in fields of heather and draped with white-running streams. They struck across the most desolate territory of Mhoried, a trackless maze of stark hills and high, misty vales.
Over the course of the morning’s ride they passed only a handful of herdsmen’s huts and the occasional turf lodge of a hunter or trapper.
Gaelin found the wildness and the chill, bracing air to be restful. Like a starving man, he drank in the scent and the feel of the rich heather and grass, a green so vivid it seemed more alive than he was. The mist that crowned the peaks around him was a cool touch on his face, and the water that gathered on his cloak and ran down his face tasted sweeter than wine.
He wondered if the others felt it, too, or if his bond to the land gave him a sense they did not share.
When they finally halted at midday to rest the horses and chew on stale rations, Gaelin rode ahead a few hundred yards to be alone with his thoughts. He sat down on a grassy hillside, looking out over a broad gray valley, and listened to the trickle of water splashing downhill in a dozen tiny torrents.
After a time, he became aware of someone’s approach.
“Hello, Erin,” he said quietly.
“Gaelin? May I join you?”
He gestured at a small boulder beside him, and the minstrel sat down, looking out over the fields and the hills. They sat in silence for a time, taking in the view. Erin’s eyes were bright and open, and her breath streamed away from her.
“This is a beautiful spot,” she murmured. “It makes me feel… alive, somehow.”
Gaelin nodded. “I’ve always felt that way about the highlands.”
Erin shifted to look at him. “Do you want me here?”
Sighing, Gaelin stood and shook out his rain-wet hair.
“This is a dangerous business, Erin. You’ve seen how powerful Bannier is. Chances are, I’m leading you all into disaster.”
He raised his eyes to hers, vulnerable and guileless. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“That didn’t stop you from bringing Seriene along.”
“She’s skilled in the magical arts. If anyone can figure out a way to defeat Bannier, she can.” Gaelin picked up a rock and idly tossed it downhill, watching it clatter away. The drizzle was growing heavier, becoming a steady rainfall. “Besides, if nothing else works and I have to deliver myself to Bannier, Seriene’s status may protect her; Bannier may not want to earn Diemed’s hate by harming Vandiel’s daughter.
At the least, he’d consider holding her for ransom. The rest of you don’t have that kind of protection. Bannier may do you harm just to spite me. I couldn’t bear that, Erin.”
Erin stood abruptly and walked away, turning her back to him. “This may be my last chance to see you, Gaelin. I know it’s dangerous, but please don’t send me away.”
He moved over to where she stood, hugging her arms to her body, and gently turned her to face him, resting his hands on her shoulders. The rain streamed down her face and plastered her hair to her skin. It made her look pale, fragile, as if all the barriers she created between herself and the outside world had been washed away. Beneath Erin’s graceful and confident facade, Gaelin caught a glimpse of the frightened girl. His heart ached at her haunted eyes, and without thinking he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. “Swear to me you’ll be careful. That no matter what happens to me, you’ll still be safe.”
She leaned against his chest and rested her head on his shoulder. “Gaelin, I don’t know if I can,” she said.
“It’s the only way you can stay near me. I’ll do what I have to do. Just promise me there’s a reason for me to hope, that somewhere you’re alive and well.”
Erin didn’t reply. They held each other for a long moment, as water ran from their cloaks and ran in icy trickles beneath their clothes, and then it was time to head back and ride on.
Before they left, Gaelin kissed her again, and Erin responded with fire, locking her arms around his broad shoulders for a brief moment that seemed to last forever.
They continued for about fifteen miles more that day, p ressing on until sundown. That night, they camped in the w reckage of an old freehold in the shadow of a steep-sided hill crowned with bare rock. The place had been deserted for decades, but the signs of a bloody fight or raid could still be found – doors kicked off their hinges, stone blackened with soot from a fire, a half-dozen stone cairns marked with goblin runes in the field behind the house. It seemed an ill omen, but no one complained about sleeping with cover over their heads.
After an unappealing dinner of hardtack and a bit of cold rabbit stew, Gaelin and his companions sought their bedrolls.
The day’s hard travel had tired everyone – no one was inclined to sit up around the small fire and make small talk.
Gaelin fought off his drowsiness long enough to pull out a whetstone and sharpen his blade, just in case he might need it soon. The smooth repetition and scrape of stone on steel sometimes steadied his mind and helped him to think. When he finished, he applied a light touch of oil from a flask at his scabbard. He stood, stretched, and stepped outside for a breath of air before seeking his bedroll.
The rain had slackened to a fine mist, and the night was cool and wet on his face. He drew in a deep breath, checking over the position of the sentries. Then he noticed that Seriene and Erin were standing nearby, engaged in a quiet but forceful discussion. Against his better judgment, Gaelin took two quiet steps to draw within earshot.
“Don’t you see what you’re doing to him?” Seriene was saying. “He loves you, and it’s tearing him to pieces.” Her voice seemed to catch in the darkness. “I beg you, Erin. You know that there can’t be anything for you and Gaelin in a long romance.”
“Can I help the way he feels?” Erin answered. “Or the way I feel? I can’t walk away from him, Seriene.”
“Erin, you have to. If you care for him as much as you say you do, you can’t let him wreck Mhoried by falling in love with you.”
Erin’s voice was bitter. “It would certainly be convenient for you if I abandoned the fight.”