“Okay. Officially now, the only thing worse than several days’ growth of beard is having dried dough caked in the beard. You need a bath. Real bad.”
“Then a bath I shall have, love, as soon as I see to the animals so that the three of you can set about building a fire.”
The stream would be sheer misery with the cold, but it mattered not. He needed this crackling mess off of him. Perhaps, if his luck held, he’d even come back with a fish or small animal to add to their night’s meager bounty.
“WHAT AILS THEM?”
Without dismounting, Torquil reached toward the men in the cart, ignoring the young guard who’d spoken. A sparkle of power bit at his hand, sizzling its way up his arm before he could pull back.
Irritating, to be sure, but harmless. Magic with a flavor he did not recognize.
“Interesting,” he murmured, anxious to test it again.
He rounded the cart, studying the men sitting inside. They appeared to be asleep with their eyes open, frozen in motion and time.
Now that he’d felt the Magic, he judged a response and pushed his hand through the barrier once more, ignoring the sizzle to clasp the nearest man’s shoulder. With a thought, his own power pulsed toward the man, sending a shower of sparks into the air surrounding him when the two Magicks met. The shower spread until it encompassed all six men in the cart and gradually they began to move.
“It’s the witch,” the young guard declared, backing his mount away.
“No,” Torquil corrected. “The witch hasn’t the power for this.” At least not the witch they knew of. Orabilis was far too weak to have had any part in this.
This was different. Completely foreign to him and yet elusively reminiscent of something he’d known in the past. Perhaps something in the collective knowledge passed through his bloodline.
Christiana? Not likely. She hadn’t the intelligence to hide such a power. Magic such as this could not have eluded him for so long. No, the probability lay in its belonging to one of the others.
One he’d need to deal with quickly and permanently.
He studied the ground as his guards tended to the men in the cart. With all their stomping around, any useful signs had been lost.
What he needed was a way to track them. To scent them out and to move with speed.
“You”—he pointed a finger—“come with me.”
His pathetically weak half brother visibly paled at the command. Dermid. The least of the whore’s offspring. With his blond hair and pale skin, he had the look of the gods about him, but Torquil wasn’t fooled. He carried the taint of the Tinkler’s blood as surely as any of the others.
And yet . . . this one had chosen to follow him.
“Ulfr, when Dermid returns from the forest, send three men with him to track the fugitives. You’ll follow with these men as soon as yer able to round up their horses. You may use my mount for one of them. Are you clear on that?”
“Yes, my lord!”
Blind, unquestioning obedience was Ulfr’s best quality and the reason he had become Torquil’s right hand.
“Follow me,” Torquil ordered as he dismounted.
Dermid slid from his saddle and fell into step behind Torquil as they entered the tree line.
“You must not question what you see. Simply obey and follow. I will lead you to those we seek.”
Dermid nodded, an odd, obsequious dipping and bowing of his head.
Torquil moved deeper into the forest, looking for the perfect spot. He had done this only once before and, in truth, it wasn’t his preference, but he was without choice. There was no good place for him to leave his body unattended here in the woods. More important—he glanced back at the dolt following him—there was certainly no attendant he could trust.
No, he’d be forced to a physical transformation rather than a spiritual one.
This place would do.
Torquil unfastened the belt from his waist and laid it on a fallen tree trunk before pulling his shirt off over his head.
