Chapter Four
London, England
“Something must be done about Onwar. He’s drawing too much attention to himself.” Druan picked up his goblet of wine which was mixed with a few drops of human blood and took a sip. He caught sight of himself in the mirror over the fireplace and admired his natural form, so much nicer than the human shell he was forced to wear in public. Soon, if his plan worked, it wouldn’t be necessary to hide at all. His father’s plague would be nothing compared to this creation. The world would fall at his feet. The Underworld would witness his power, and then he would be the Dark One’s favorite, not that damned Tristol. “If Onwar isn’t stopped, he’ll empty every insane asylum in Europe.”
“What’s he doing?” Malek asked. “Raising an army of lunatics?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Voltar turned his dark gaze from the contents of his wine glass—straight human blood—and he gave Druan and Malek a hard stare. “We could kill him.”
“And risk the Dark One’s wrath,” Malek said, touching the white streak in his hair as he studied the blazing fire in the hearth.
“It’s not as if he’s one of the League,” Druan said, both proud that he’d been selected for the Dark One’s special group and irritated that the others were always in his way. The Dark One had handpicked Druan, Malek, Voltar, and Tristol from all his ancient demons to handle his most prized projects. Each of them had lived nearly a millennium, but if they weren’t granted immortality soon, they would expire. It caused a good amount of contention and jealousy, with each trying to outdo the others to please the master, hoping that he would grant them eternal life. They put on a front of unity for the Dark One, who expected them to work together in the battle against humans, but in reality, the League barely tolerated each other. “Perhaps the Dark One won’t miss Onwar.”
Malek shook his head. “He’s too powerful. The master will know if he’s missing.”
“If something isn’t done, his actions will put our plans at risk. Even the humans are starting to notice Onwar’s activities.” Other than Onwar, the Underworld was quiet, preparing for the Dark One’s American war. Druan wasn’t worried about that conflict. He didn’t want anything to interfere with his own secret project, a virus—something humans didn’t even understand—that would destroy all humanity. He and his sorcerer had been working on it for nearly a century. The others didn’t know. Neither did the Dark One. And they wouldn’t, until he was sure the virus would work. But it was hard to create anything secret when the League was always underfoot.
Malek looked grim. “Onwar is too close to us. If the master is forced to destroy him, I fear we will all suffer. Remember what happened to the vampires. Destroyed, all of them.”
“We must do something,” Druan muttered.
“We won’t have too,” a voice said from the doorway.
Druan’s fingers clenched his goblet. Tristol. He had appeared out of nowhere as usual. How did he move so quietly?
Still in his human form, Tristol pulled off his top hat and coat, shook off the rain, and tossed the items onto a table. In spite of the cold, rainy weather, he didn’t stand near the fire, but moved in that smooth, flowing way of his to a chair he always seemed to favor. He sat, crossed his legs, and studied the other demons with a pleased look on his handsome face.
He looked like a damned king, Druan thought, taking another sip of his blood-laced wine.
“The warriors will take care of Onwar,” Tristol said.
“And you know this how?” Voltar asked, his voice deeper than normal. He showed the least deference to Tristol. They all were wary of the Dark One’s favorite demon. His position with the master was envied by demons of all orders. A word whispered in the Dark One’s ear could have dire consequences. The others might grumble behind Tristol’s back, but to his face, they smiled. Voltar didn’t bother. But then Voltar never smiled.
“I have my methods,” Tristol said, the expression on his face hardening into something that made Druan’s heart thump with fear. Tristol stared into the flames in silence until Druan wondered if he’d hypnotized himself. Then he looked up, wearing the suave, confident smile again, the one made Druan feel weak inside. “Don’t worry. Onwar is as good as dead.”
***
“I don’t think he even stopped to take a piss,” Ian said, wiping the rain from his brow.
London had welcomed them in familiar fashion; opening her gray skies to anoint them with a steady drizzle that soaked through their kilts, right to the bone. Tavis studied the outline of the city through the misting rain. This wasn’t his first visit, but each time he hoped it would be his last. He didn’t like it here. Too many buildings and people. Too many demons. It was hard to breathe in a place like this. “He’s here somewhere. We just have to find him.”
“We should have brought a Seeker,” Ian said, skirting another murky puddle of water. “The Council wouldn’t have liked it, but to hell with the Council. Faelan’s life might be at stake.”
Kieran brushed back his dripping hair. “We’ll go to the Morgan clan, clean up a bit, then start looking for him. He’ll have checked in with them.”
Michael had clans throughout the world, each with the same purpose, protecting humans from demons. Any warrior could expect hospitality from a local clan while on the hunt for a demon.
“A warm meal and a bed wouldn’t come amiss,” Ian said.
“You and your belly.” But they were all hungry and tired. They’d traveled for two nights, sleeping on the ground, eating what was left of their rations. There was a secret house the clan sometimes used, but it was in the opposite direction, on the outskirts of the city. Tavis nudged his horse and they moved on. On the outside, the warriors who lived in London looked far different from highlanders, even from members of their own clan who lived in the countryside. But underneath the refined clothing, warriors were all the same. Tough, strong, and dedicated.
The Morgan clan received them gladly. One of the warriors remembered hearing another warrior say he thought he’d seen Faelan.
“Where was he?” Tavis asked.
“Outside an insane asylum,” a warrior named Benjamin told them.
“Why would he be outside an asylum?” Ian asked.
“There are strange things happening at this asylum. A dozen people have gone missing in the past fortnight.”
Kieran frowned. “Kidnapped or escaped?”
“We don’t know,” Benjamin said. “No one sees anything. And it’s not the only place it’s happening. Demented people are disappearing all over the city. Everyone’s starting to talk. Some of them are relieved, some are afraid. One of our warriors went to check into the matter yesterday.”
“Did he find anything?” Ian asked.
“We don’t know. He hasn’t returned. We were planning to send another warrior, but we don’t have many available. Several were sent to a town outside London where there have been several vicious attacks.”
“Could be these vanished inmates doing the attacking,” Tavis said. “Are they violent?”
“Some are,” Benjamin said.
“Onwar is one of the most unstable demons there is,” Kieran said. “I bet his filthy hands are involved in the disappearances and the attacks.”
Faelan would have come to the same conclusion, Tavis thought. After cleaning up, filling their bellies with food and drink, and borrowing a change of clothes—nothing fancy, they wanted to blend in—they headed out to search for Faelan. Benjamin took them by carriage, passing through the more affluent sections of London before reaching the poverty-stricken area where the asylum was located. They stopped a few streets away, not wanting to draw attention to their carriage, which would have been conspicuous. They left their swords inside the carriage, but each had dirks and knives hidden in boots and under clothing.
The rain had stopped, but daylight was fading and the sky was still gray and threatening. Like an omen. They stood on a street corner, trying to determine the exact location of the asylum.
“Benjamin said it was on a side street,” Tavis said.
“The whole place makes a man feel like slitting his own throat,” Ian said.
Tavis turned to Kieran. “Sorry we dragged you into this mess.” Kieran was planning to retire by year’s end. He was only thirty and nine and had never taken a mate, but after spending most of his life as a warrior, he’d finally decided to leave demon-hunting behind and try his hand at farming.
“Och, what’s one more battle?” he said, shrugging. “I couldn’t let Faelan go after Onwar alone.” He frowned. “He takes too much responsibility. Always has.”
“Not always,” Tavis said quietly. “He used to be different. Mischievous. Reckless.”
Kieran nodded. “Before your brother died? Aye, he told me about him once. A demon killed him, he said.”
“Now he thinks he has to solve the whole world’s problems,” Ian said. “Like this. Damn fool thing, going off to fight an ancient demon without anyone’s help.”
“It’s a good thing he has brothers like you to watch his back.”
“And friends,” Tavis added, remembering that Kieran had saved Faelan at least once. A large raven landed on a leaning lamppost at the intersection of two streets. The bird’s head turned and its black eyes looked right at Tavis. He felt a shiver move up his spine. The raven continued to watch him, as if it was waiting. Voices sounded from the small street behind the lamppost. Laughter, but not normal. More like a high-pitched wailing.
“This way,” Tavis said. The streets were nearly empty now. They followed the sounds, walking past several dirty, run-down buildings. Tavis could have sworn he saw the raven again. Then something larger moved between two buildings.
Kieran pulled a dirk from his boot and hid it under the waistband of the trousers he wore. “I’ll go this way. You follow the voices.”
They found the asylum a few streets away in a bleak building surrounded by more bleak buildings. A round face peered out from the second story window as they approached. Tavis rang the bell and a man answered. He looked frightened, but after they explained that they were inquiring about the disappearances, the man seemed to assume that they were with the police. There was little to tell, he said. People were disappearing from their beds in the middle of the night. Most often men, a few women. He started to say more, but stopped, only continuing when Tavis prompted him. One of the inmates, a woman, claimed she had woken at night and seen the devil himself carrying one of the others away.
Onwar.
They inspected the rooms, but didn’t see anything that might tell them who had been there. Any demon smell would have faded by now. They thanked the man and went back out on the street where they ran into Kieran. He was holding a skinny man by the arm. The man had greasy hair, and his torn clothes indicated that he hadn’t come willingly. “One of Onwar’s halflings. I found him trying to sneak away. He knows where Onwar is. He’s agreed to take us there.”
“Agreed?” The halfling sneered, trying to pull away. Kieran gripped his arm harder and made some terrible threats, and the halfling calmed.
“He has a castle outside London,” Kieran said.
“After this dreary place, a demon’s castle would be welcome,” Ian said. “What does Onwar want with the inmates?”
“He’s turning them into minions,” the halfling said.
“For what reason?” Tavis asked.
“He’s going to turn them loose on London so they can destroy the city.”
“We’d better find Faelan,” Ian said.
They led the halfling back through the streets of London to where Benjamin waited with the carriage. “Onwar must be behind the attacks our warriors are investigating,” Benjamin said after they explained the situation to him.
“He must be turning the minions loose already,” Kieran said.
Following the halfling’s instructions, they left London. Twice, Tavis spotted a raven, and he felt that cold chill along his back. He warned the others to watch out for traps. Demons didn’t often take on animal forms, since they couldn’t do as much damage as they could disguised as a human. But something about the raven didn’t feel natural.
The weather immediately improved as they found open land and fresh air. The sinking sun painted a pink glow along the tops of the trees, a definite improvement from the gray drizzle. Tavis hoped it was a good omen. He wanted to find his brother, help him get rid of this demon so they could all go home. He was still tired from his last assignment. The others must be too. But his tingling battle marks didn’t inspire hope. They took turns resting inside the carriage while one kept an eye on the halfling and the other rode up top with Benjamin.
The carriage followed a winding road, and true to the halfling’s word, Tavis spotted a castle far off, nearly hidden in the trees. Black horses appeared like ghosts, spilling out of the castle gates. From the distant cries and lifted swords, Tavis doubted it was a welcoming party. He banged on the side of the carriage as Benjamin pulled the team of horses to a stop.
Ian stuck his head out the door. “What’s the racket?”
“We’re under attack.”
Kieran appeared, and the warriors jumped down, assessing the threat. “We’ll never outrun them in a carriage,” Kieran said. “We’ll split up, go around and flank them. Don’t use a talisman until we know if we’re dealing with inmates or demons.”
Talismans worked by using a deadly light that destroyed anything in its path. But the talisman’s power was linked to the warrior’s own strength. If a demon was too strong, using a talisman against him could weaken the warrior, even kill him. If Onwar was hiding among his demons, the warriors would die. And they didn’t know where Faelan was. He could be captured.
Moving quickly, they unhitched the horses, grabbed their swords, and mounted up.
“What about him?” Ian asked, looking at the frightened halfling who was paralyzed from the shackles. Only his eyes moved.
“Leave him here with the carriage.”
The demons were closing in, so the warriors separated. Kieran and Benjamin rode around to the left and Tavis and Ian took the right. “Let’s get these bastards,” Tavis said, and dug his heels into his horse.
***
Faelan hid near the edge of the woods, studying the castle. Smoke poured from one of the towers, and the smell of death and burning flesh assaulted his nose. There was a door on the outside of the tower at ground level. He would wait until dark and sneak in. He wasn’t certain of Onwar’s location, but Faelan had tracked the halflings and demons here from the asylum in London. He didn’t know why the ancient demon was kidnapping inmates, but his reason couldn’t be good. His only hope was to get Onwar alone. Without the help of other warriors, he couldn’t fight the ancient demon and his horde together, but he wouldn’t risk other warriors’ lives on an assignment that made no sense. Faelan had gone over it in his head a thousand times, wondering if he had made a mistake about the order. Maybe he imagined Michael’s visit. Or maybe this was his punishment for failing Liam.
A raven called out from the treetops, spooking Nandor. Faelan reached down and patted the horse’s shoulder. Nandor wasn’t normally skittish, not of birds. The stallion was still uneasy and a moment later, Faelan knew why. He heard men shouting and he nudged Nandor deeper into the trees. Another sound caught his ear, this one behind him. He turned and saw a building he hadn’t noticed before. Like the castle, it was made of stone and had bars on the windows. Soft whimpers turned to screeching. A woman appeared at one of the windows. Her hair was untidy and her face unwashed. These must be the inmates. For the love of God, what was Onwar up to? Faelan dismounted and crept along the edge of the building, trying to stay out of sight. He leaned out to check the window again and the woman’s vacant eyes met his.
If she alerted Onwar or his demons, Faelan was dead. He tried smiling gently at the woman, in spite of his stiff lips. She gave him a small, awkward smile in return. Feeling reassured, he put his fingers to his lips and mouthed, “Shhh.”
She nodded and then opened her mouth and let out a scream so piercing it felt as if his skin had been peeled from his bones. A cry of alarm went up behind the castle. The woman gave him an evil smile and disappeared.
Faelan ran toward Nandor and had just swung onto his back when the earth began to shake. Dozens of riders on black horses came barreling around the side of the castle. Two riders spotted him and entered the woods. They looked human. On the battlefield, most demons preferred their natural form. They didn’t have as much power hiding behind a human shell. These must be minions. Faelan hated killing anything human, even minions, but they were usually so brainwashed they were beyond help. And if he didn’t kill them, they would kill him. He pulled out his sword and pierced the first one through the heart. The minion screamed and fell from his horse. The second one fell just as easily.
A large number of horses and riders moved past him, heading toward the road. He moved closer to the clearing to see where they were going. A horse-less carriage sat on the road, and four riders on horseback were racing around to circle the demons. The demons were after the carriage, not him. He was just in the way.
He didn’t have time to think about the carriage further. Another horse entered the woods. Faelan didn’t need to assess whether this rider was human or demon. His grotesque countenance revealed his parentage. This was a full demon, or a really hideous halfling. But he wasn’t Onwar. Warriors learned early on what the ancient ones looked like so they could steer clear of them. The demon advanced with his sword drawn, his horse pawing the ground, his eyes wide. Horses hated demons. The only way demons could make use of them was by putting a spell on them. Oftentimes, it made the horse as wild as the demon, as it did now. The horse reared on its hind legs, hooves striking at him and Nandor.
Attuned to Faelan’s thoughts, Nandor quickly moved aside and circled around behind the demon before the creature could turn. Faelan swung his sword, severing the demon’s head. The entire body disappeared, and the horse bolted away, as if relieved to be rid of its hellish rider.
Five more riders descended on him. Demons and halflings. Fighting from horseback, he destroyed them quickly. He was feeling confident about the fight when something slammed into him from behind, knocking him off Nandor. He rolled to his feet and saw several demons advancing. None of them were Onwar, but judging by their stench and ugly faces they were full demons. His sword lay on the ground, out of reach. He would have to use his talisman and hope it didn’t drain his strength, leaving him helpless against Onwar.
Before he could remove it from his shirt, the ancient demon appeared at the back of the group. His thick head and pale hair were easily recognizable. He had brought at least two dozen demons with him.
Onwar turned to one of his brood. “Tell the others to kill the warrior’s brothers. I’ll destroy this one.” He sneered. “The Mighty Faelan, indeed.”
Faelan spared a glance at the road where the four riders from the carriage had moved in closer and were fighting the demons that had ridden past him. With a sinking heart, Faelan recognized Tavis, Ian, and Kieran. Bloody fools, they’d followed him. He had to get Onwar away from his demons and destroy him before his brothers and Kieran arrived.
Another quick glance told him that there were only three warriors fighting now. One must have fallen. He didn’t have time to wonder which, because he saw the fourth rider had broken through the demons and was riding straight for him. It was Kieran. There was a moment of relief followed by horror. There wasn’t much time.
Faelan ran straight into the middle of the demons, catching them off guard. He scooped up his sword and headed for the tower door. As Faelan had hoped, the demons hissed and followed. The door was open, saving a few precious moments. Inside was a set of circular steps. Faelan took them three at a time, calling out taunts to the demons to keep them moving.
When he got to the top, he would use the talisman and destroy the demons in range of the light and hope that Onwar stayed far enough back that the talisman’s light wouldn’t hit him. But as luck would have it, Onwar was at the front of the pack, closing in. Bollocks. He had to push him back. Faelan grabbed his dirk and threw it at the demon, but he didn’t fall. Onwar yanked the dirk from his thick, gray skin, threw his demons aside, and came after Faelan with a roar.
Faelan kept going until he reached the roof of the tower. Smoke and the stench of rotting, burning flesh made it hard to breathe. Several dead bodies had been tossed onto a large fire that burned in the corner. He backed up to the battlements, wondering how he could get out of this. He considered going over the side, until he glanced over the edge. He would never survive a jump from that height.
Onwar had reached the roof as well. “What are you doing here, warrior?”
Faelan nodded toward the burning bodies. “I came to see why you’re collecting lunatics.”
“Giving them their freedom. Those weren’t very agreeable. I ate a few, burned the rest. You, I think I’ll eat. Kill him!” Onwar roared.
Faelan raised his sword and met the attack. The fight was fierce, and as the demons he destroyed disappeared, Faelan held some hope that he might destroy the others by sword and save the talisman for Onwar. But there must have been some powerful demons in Onwar’s ranks. The smell of sulfur was sickening, and Faelan felt himself weakening even from using the sword. He would have to use the talisman. He’d always heard that a man’s life flashed before his eyes before he died, and he thought it must be true. He saw Kieran, and behind him, his brothers, then realized with dread that they had also reached the roof and stood behind the demons.
“Get out of here,” Faelan shouted.
But Kieran and his brothers didn’t leave. “Bloody bastards,” Kieran yelled, drawing some of the demons who were attacking Faelan toward him. To Faelan’s surprise, his brothers and Kieran fought the demons nearest the steps, as Faelan tried to keep himself between them and Onwar, who up to that moment, appeared to be intrigued by the battle. After many of his demons had been destroyed, Faelan saw his face change and knew the ancient demon had had enough.
“Out of my way!” Onwar roared. Moving quickly, he stalked toward the steps.
Faelan reached for his talisman. He would have to use it now and hope he was strong enough. “Get out!” he yelled to his brothers and Kieran. He couldn’t use it with all three of them there. They would get caught in the light.
Kieran looked up at Onwar and his face set. He dropped his sword and pulled his talisman from his shirt.
Faelan’s eyes widened as realization dawned. “No!”
Kieran’s gaze was resolute, sad. “Get behind that wall, Faelan and close your eyes.”
“No! Kieran. I can—”
“You have family. I don’t. Close your eyes, my friend.” Kieran didn’t give him time to react. He started to chant.
No! He pushed through the deformed bodies, shoving aside claws and swords as he tried to reach Kieran. He felt the air churn, and knew it was too late. He dove behind a stone wall and squeezed his eyes shut. There were screams and the clatter of falling swords. He opened his eyes, and saw that the demons were destroyed, vanished, except for Onwar. The ancient demon was bleeding and his skin looked burnt. Faelan roared out a cry of agony and rage and sprang at Onwar. With one swing of his sword, he took the weakened demon’s head.
In the dead silence that followed, he forced himself to turn and face the lifeless body of his friend. Heart aching, Faelan fell to his knees. Shouts sounded below, along with the sound of men running up the steps. Tavis and Ian raised their swords and prepared for another attack, but it was only Benjamin and a group of warriors from his clan. They had tracked the inmates and demons to the castle.
The Morgan Clan disposed of the minions’ bodies and weapons, which was the only mess there was to clean up. Demons disappeared when they were destroyed. They were erased, as if they’d never existed, along with the weapons they’d manifested.
Numb with grief, Faelan and his brothers helped the Morgan clan round up the inmates to return to London. The clan planned to leave several warriors at the castle to make sure more of Onwar’s demons didn’t show up.
***
Faelan and his brothers took Kieran’s body home to Connor Castle. Kieran had no family, other than the warriors. Faelan dug the grave himself, beside the cottage where Kieran often stayed. It was a good place. There was a small burn nearby. He and Kieran had sometimes fished there. Sometimes they just sat and talked.
Kieran had said that when his time came, he didn’t want to be buried in a graveyard. Didn’t want any fuss. He got his first wish, but not his second. The entire clan, and visiting clans who were still there awaiting news about Faelan and Onwar, followed behind Kieran’s coffin on his final journey from the castle to the waiting grave. There were songs, stories of Kieran’s bravery from warriors who had fought alongside him, and the haunting sound of bagpipes as his body was lowered into the ground. When it was over, and everyone had left, even his brothers who’d been shadowing him all day, Faelan sat next to Kieran’s grave and cried. And then he went out and got drunk.
***
“Are you sure you want another?” the owner of the tavern asked. He looked nervous. The villagers didn’t know they were warriors, but the Connors carried a reputation nonetheless.
“Aye.” Faelan slammed his whisky glass on the bar. He blinked his eyes and looked at the two tavern girls hovering nearby. “Forget the drink,” he said, his voice slurred. “I’ll take them instead.”
The tavern owner looked at the girls, surprised. Faelan and his brothers sometimes came in for a whisky, but they never used the girls. “Maybe I’d best call for your brothers instead.”
“No.” Faelan struggled to his feet and walked toward the girls. Both were young. Bonny. Even though neither one had dark hair and green eyes.
One of them licked her red lips. He’d seen her in here before. The other—he didn’t recognize her—looked ready to faint. He took them both upstairs. Something he’d never done before. Two women at once. Bollocks. He’d only had a couple of women in all. The Council didn’t want the warriors consorting, as they called it. It was against the rules. The warriors needed to focus on destroying demons instead. He was tired of demons, and he was tired of rules.
The boldest lass showed him to a room. “I don’t think I can do this, Maggie,” the timid girl said, staring at Faelan with wide eyes.
“Are ye daft? Do ye know who this is?” she asked, as if he couldn’t hear. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll do just what he wants.” She put a hand underneath his kilt, running her fingers along his thigh. She smiled. “And we might even have a bit of fun.” Maggie pulled him toward the bed. He tripped and fell back, his head as unsteady as his feet. Maggie lifted his kilt. “You see that, Jocelyn? We’re gonna have a fine time.”
Jocelyn paled and ran from the room.
“Never mind her. It’s her first day. She’s not been with a man yet. Maybe it’s best it’s someone not so...” Maggie chuckled and waved her hand at his groin. “Healthy.” She lifted her skirt and climbed on top of him. “And that means there’s more for me.” Her red lips curved, and then started to change. Demon! Before he could throw her off him, he saw the familiar dark hair and haunting green eyes. Not a demon. Just his dream lass haunting him.
“Leave me alone,” he shouted.
Maggie jumped off him, still holding up her skirts.
“I don’t know you,” he said to the image. “Leave me alone.”
“Why it’s me, Maggie. You asked me to come up.”
Faelan blinked and the ghostly face disappeared. Maggie peered at him as if he were daft. He closed his eyes. “Come here, Maggie. Help me get this ghost out of my head.”
When he woke next, it was to another familiar image. This one dark-haired as well, but the eyes weren’t green. They were dark and angry.
“What the bloody hell have you done?” Tavis jerked the covers back, letting the cold air rush over Faelan’s naked body. “Ma’s sick with worry. The whole clan’s looking for you.”
“I don’t know...” His tongue was too thick for his mouth.
“Get up.”
Faelan tried to get up but his legs weren’t cooperating.
“How much did you drink?”
“I don’t remember.” He stood up and saw his kilt on the floor on top of his shirt. One boot was at the end of the bed. The other was by the door. “Where’s...” What was her name? “Maggie?”
“She’s downstairs.”
“Did I...”
“How should I know? You’re naked aren’t you?”
He looked down at himself, wondering what he’d done. Hoping he hadn’t done anything. “She was here.”
Tavis shoved Faelan’s shirt at him. “Who?”
“Her. The lass.”
“There’s lots of lasses here. I can’t believe you came upstairs with one,” he muttered, slapping Faelan with his kilt.
“The one from my dream. She was here.”
Tavis frowned. “You mean she’s a whore?”
He didn’t know where it came from; frustration, grief, or maybe because his head was still soggy with drink from which he didn’t normally partake. But he swung his fist and caught Tavis in the jaw.
Tavis drew back his own fist, then stopped and rubbed his jaw instead. “What the hell was that for?”
“She’s not a whore.”
“Then what was she doing here?”
“She wasn’t here.”
“You just said she was.”
“I saw her face...” Faelan sat back on the bed, kilt in hand.
“Who is she?”
Faelan shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“You’ve been dreaming of her for years. How can you not know?”
“I’ve never met her. She’s just always there in my head.”
Tavis’ eyebrows rose. “Blimey. Did you dream of her here? Bet Maggie didn’t like that.” He helped Faelan dress and put on his boots. “I know why you’re here, but getting drunk won’t make you forget.”
“I don’t want to forget,” Faelan said.
“It won’t make it hurt less either. Maybe for a few hours, but when you wake, it’ll be staring you in the face again. It was his choice, Faelan, and you can’t change that.”
“He was going to be a farmer.”
“I know. I’m sorry, but he did what you were trying to do. Save him, and us. If Kieran hadn’t done what he did, that would be you buried in the ground instead of him. Come on. Let’s go home.”
It wasn’t easy getting there. He was unsteady and kept slipping, but Nandor shifted to keep his weight balanced. “Where are we going?”
“To the tunnel. There’s still a crowd at the castle.”
“I thought everyone would have left by now.” The visitors had already delayed their departures so they could attend Kieran’s funeral.
“They’ve been looking for you. And unless the Mighty Faelan wants his reputation tarnished, we’d best sneak in.”
The weeks and months moved in a haze, more demons and more battles, but every year, when he was home, on the date of Kieran’s death, Faelan went and sat by his grave. Sometimes his brothers went with him. Sometimes he went alone. He never forgot Kieran’s friendship, his sacrifice, and he never forgot that it was his fault Kieran had died.