Page 13 of Luthias

“Tell me truly, then,” the war master said, and gestured toward the upper floors. “How may that little wench save the clan? She’s a quick tongue and a good head on her shoulders, I’ll warrant, but look at her. She’d fit inside one of my boots.”

“I dinnae ken,” he admitted. “Nor she of the sain.”

“The lass, she’s got spine, aye, and heart,” Darach pointed out. “Ever did you ken a female not to scream and beg mercy when first gazing upon me?” He gestured at his marked eye. “Yet she reckoned me hurt and then asked my pardon when she saw ’twasnae a wound.”

Luthias realized then just how much Emery had endeared herself to his chieftain by showing concern and compassion for his appearance, and felt a twinge of envy. He wanted her to rely on him, not Darach, although with the apparent threat he would have scant time to spend with her. He thought of the love charm Emery had given him, which she had been carrying in her pocket. If it still contained some magic, might it have swayed his chieftain?

Forget the charm and the lass. The clan must come first.

“The lady came from a time with wonders we can but imagine.” He held up the lettered miniature as an example of that. “Mayhap she may do something that we cannae.”

“Did you tell her all?” Taveon asked.

Luthias shook his head. “I recounted the legend, and named Prince Ross as the founder of the clan. To reveal the rest after so much a shock didnae seem wise.” His gaze shifted to a trio of sages who stood in the arch. “I must speak with Duine and his brethren about the lass. See to the new measures.”

After Darach and Taveon left the hall Luthias sat down with Duine and the two wright sages that had accompanied him. Together with the master sage they managed the entire enclave that served the MacRoss, and from the seriousness of their expressions they had already been informed about the Fire Sword returning with Emery.

“My lord, we wouldnae wish to plague you at such a trying time,” Duine said as he used his handkerchief to mop the sweat from his brow and upper lip. “Yet the brothers and I would make ourselves useful. How may we serve?”

“You’ve scribes to copy the history scrolls written by the first enclave?” When the master sage nodded Luthias said, “Ask them to seek any passage naming the Fire Sword as a clan sain, and make note of such for me.” He regarded the wrights. “Speak with your master on what elixirs and tinctures we need to treat battle wounds among the clan and the household, and bid your brethren to prepare an ample quantity.”

An image of the master sage standing in his laboratorium and looking outside flitted through Luthias’s thoughts. Through the window the tree leaves had turned yellow and red, as if autumn had arrived months early.

“What more troubles you, my lord?” Duine asked.

Luthias thought of the surge of magic he’d felt when he’d taken the Fire Sword from Emery. He wanted to say nothing, but the master sage had more knowledge of the legend than anyone in the stronghold.

“I felt something when I took the Fire Sword from the lass in the armory,” he admitted. “I’m certain ’twas Fae magic, but I dinnae ken the cause, or what ’tis done to me.”

“The prince enchanted the sain to do more than bring someone to save the clan,” Duine said. “The blade grants a particular boon to a protector among the clan. Havenae you felt a change in yourself, my lord? Did you gain some ability after you touched the sword?”

“No’ as yet.” Luthias disliked lying to the sage, but he suspected revealing his new ability would only cause the timid Duine more worry. He also didn’t know how to summon the foresight he’d apparently been granted, so he couldn’t be sure the power was yet his. “Did you happen to leave a love charm in my chamber?”

Duine blinked before he chuckled and shook his head. “I admire you greatly, my lord, but I’m a bachelor sworn. Mayhap ’twas left by a smitten maid.”

“Our lasses ken I dinnae dally within these walls.” He rubbed his brow. “Assure that none have strayed into your relics room.”

Taveon came striding back into the hall, eyeing the sages before he jerked his head toward the gallery.

“My thanks for your help,” Luthias said, and went to the war master. “What now?”

“I thought to speak to Camdyn, but found the forge empty.” He put a hand on his arm to stop him from bolting up the stairs. “I went from there to your chamber, but the lass, she’s gone as well.”

Emery had definitely landed in the highlands, she thought as Camdyn MacRoss marched her through the woods. The enormous stone castle behind them had been built on a huge hill of rock, and had four towers, two curtain walls and several enormous barns and storage houses. Although Luthias had said it was June, the temperature during the day seemed to be about the same as it was in New Hampshire at night. The air felt damper and sharper, too, probably due to the higher elevation. It was a shame she’d worn such a light suit for her first day at work, as it wasn’t doing anything to block the wind, which was light but chilling.

She saw plenty of people around the castle. Tartan-draped warriors carrying bows on their shoulders manned the battlements on both walls, and even bigger guys stood with spears guarding the gates. Other people dressed in medieval peasant garments were busy working in a huge garden just beyond the second wall.

No one seemed to have noticed Camdyn kidnapping Emery, although she hadn’t made a fuss about it. She didn’t want to tempt the archers standing watch on the wall to shoot her while trying to stop him.

Thinking about how fascinating everything seemed kept her from dwelling on how soon she was going to get a beating. The big man abducting her looked totally serious about that, and had even said he didn’t care that she was a girl. Maybe he was all bluff. Still, as they got further away from the castle she knew she’d better try to talk her way out of this, and fast.

“I don’t think you should beat me up,” Emery said to Camdyn as he took her down a narrow, sloping trail through the woods. “Neuroscience in my time has proven that inflicting pain and suffering is a terrible method for obtaining the truth from an adversary. I’ll get completely stressed out and end up just saying whatever you want me to in order to stop you from hurting me. We could just, you know, discuss your concerns.”

The armorer didn’t pay any attention to her; he just kept his hand on her neck and pushed her along the path––not hard enough to hurt, but his grip told her he wouldn’t let her go until he wanted to.

“Should I use smaller words?” she asked him. “Sorry, I keep forgetting about the language and educational barriers. Hurting me won’t work. You’re probably going to get into a lot trouble for taking me out of the castle, too. If we go back right now I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

The man just grunted. That seemed to be his go-to response for everything.