Page 45 of Shaw

A short time later Speal walked with Mace toward the old inn in town. Here and there she saw doors kicked in and torches that had been dropped to burn out in the dirt. One of the taverns sported scorch marks around its windows, suggesting it had been put to flame. It was only when she saw some gaping heads dangling from the second-level windows by their fair hair, their severed necks still dripping, did she realize what had happened in their absence.

“Ah, the fat fishwife and her sullen servant arrive to admire my new ornaments,” a voice said, slurring the words a little.

Speal looked over at the open door of the inn, where the enchantress stood naked. Blood and gore streaked her magnificent body, dried and caked enough to suggest she had been in this state for some hours. She staggered toward them, nearly tripping over the too-large boots she wore, from which the soles had been burned off. Mace tried not to gape at her, but when Derdrui collapsed directly in front of her she caught her in her arms.

“She’s killed too many, and ’tis pished her,” Speal said, keeping her disgust out of her voice. “Take her upstairs and put her to bed.”

Only after Mace disappeared inside with the enchantress did the other Cait Sith come out of hiding. They looked exhausted and half-starved, but after making their greetings they gathered around Speal and waited.

She kept her thoughts schooled and made several gestures of reassurance before she asked, “How did she find so many mortals? Did they hide themselves somewhere on the island?”

“No, Sister. They’re Norseman, come to raid last night.” The shifter glanced up at the severed heads dangling from the windows. “Six longboats of twenty or more. She set five of their boats aflame and took the heads from the raiders attempting stop her. One longboat hid for the night on the far side of the island. We saw them sail out at dawn. The rest, she hunted like rats.”

“Did any escape her?” When the shifters shook their heads she smiled. “I’m happy you’re alive. After you eat and bathe, take the skiff I left at the dock and ferry provisions for our sisters. We shall set sail as soon as we may for the mainland.”

One of the windows opened, and Mace looked down at them, blood trickling from her newly-split lip. “Speal, our sovereign wishes speak with you on why we returned empty-handed.”

She hurried upstairs to what appeared to be the bed chamber of a murdering princess gone mad. Precious silks shimmered in the sunlight where they hung from various hooks, their blood-soaked ends suggesting they’d been used as bonds. Long ropes of pearls glowed white in pools of various fluids on the floor. Dozens of swords and daggers had been piled atop a table beside a smaller heap of blood-stained braids in every color of golden hair grown by mortals, likely saved as kill tallies. The enchantress always enjoy knowing how many had died at her hands.

So many mortals had been slain in the chamber, the thick stench of their deaths nearly drove Speal back out into the hall, but the sight of their sovereign in such a state gave her pause.

On the box bed lay two fresh, headless corpses. Both bodies bore the wounds of those who had been slain by slow torture, and yet had been bathed and dressed in new garments. Between them reclined the enchantress, as naked and filthy as before, save for her face, which she had wiped clean. Speal could not tell if what danced in her dark eyes could be called glee or insanity.

“Do you like my lads?” Derdrui asked, snuggling the cadavers against her sides like favored pets. “They lasted the longest of them all. I placed their heads on the mantel there, as tribute to their endurance.”

She eyed the gruesome trophies above the hearth. “’Tis all you’ve done, chasing and killing mortals?”

“There were so, so many who came to give themselves to me. They brought their slaves as offerings as well. I have not seen such a proper tribute since my rule over the Therion in Elphyne. Do you know how long it’s been since I could actually bathe in the blood of mortals?” She looked up, and her smile faded. “You’ve been gone for weeks now. I do not understand you, fishwife. You certainly had enough time to find the sons of Mar, and yet you return with nothing for me. I believe once I’ve rested I shall kill you and all your worthless sisters.”

“I found Fiacail, who survived Dearg’s attack. She’s been transformed by an immortal merrow called Duxor. Her new master can locate the clan’s island, so I agreed arrange a meeting between you.” She saw that she had the enchantress’s full attention now, and turned away. “Only you desire more death, so such matters naught.”

The enchantress climbed off the bed. “If you lie to me now, I shall never allow you to die, you fat slut.”

Before they had begun this quest to find the MacMar Clan, Speal never would have stood before Derdrui’s wrath. Like all the other Cait Sith, she would have groveled and begged forgiveness, terrified of what the Therion Princess might do to her. Now seeing their sovereign in such a state, her drunkenness and murderous rage seemed more like one of Dearg’s petulant tantrums. Perhaps that was why when the enchantress reached for her, Speal raised her own hand and slapped Derdrui with all her strength.

“Five of my sisters died in pursuit of the MacMar Clan while you toyed with your Norsemen,” Speal shouted, shoving the stunned Fae back onto the charnal pit of her bed. “The MacMar command a beast of dark magic that cut through us as a dark scythe. ’Twas only by chance the rest of us escaped that thing.”

The enchantress stared at her as if she’d never before beheld her.

Doubtless she would die for what she’d done, if not now then later, but Speal could not bear to scrape and bow before this cruel bitch for another moment. “Once you parlay with Duxor for the location of Caladh, we shall take you there so you may seek your vengeance. That shall fulfill our oath of loyalty to you for all time. Do you understand me now?”

Derdrui smiled as if she’d pleased her. “Yes, perhaps it is time we parted ways. Where shall we meet Fiacail and her merrow savior?”

Shaw caught Julianne as she collapsed in front of him, and tried to wake her as he scanned the strange place around them. The low, long wooden building looked nothing like any dwelling he’d ever beheld. The male standing in the doorless entry and looking out at him had a bald head, golden-brown skin and long, narrow blue-green eyes. While his expression appeared placid, and he had the look of a man in his prime, something about him seemed very old and powerful.

“My lady, please awake,” he muttered, rubbing his lover’s back.

“Your mate shall not stir for some time, honored guest,” the man said in the language of Shaw’s sire. “Using her power too many times in a single day is dangerous for her. Shall you bring her inside so she may rest? We have a room prepared for you both.”

Shaw waited for the beast to demand the man’s head, but it remained still and silent inside him. In Fae he said, “We share no bloodline. Why should I trust you?”

“Forgive me, I shall explain. As my given name may not be spoken by anyone outside our order, you may address me as monk.” The man bowed. “My brothers and I vowed to Prince Mar that we should never harm any of his sons, but help them should they find their way to the Temple of the Eternal Forest here in Nifon.”

Julianne made a whimpering sound, and Shaw lifted her into his arms. “If you lie, monk, I shall make your temple your funeral pyre.”

He nodded and gestured for him to follow as he went inside.

The interior of the temple consisted of bare walls, little furnishings and mats of reeds. The walls, which appeared to be fashioned of thin parchment stretched over squares of black-painted wood, held a few scrolls with Fae writing on them in gold. Shaw recognized some of the spells on the scrolls, which appeared to be mostly benign. Since nearly everything in the place had been fashioned from wood he would have to keep his hands on Julianne to keep from carrying out his threat.