Only the Destined. Морган Райс

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СКАЧАТЬ She called out, but the voice Royce heard was Lori’s, the witch’s words coming through clearly into his mind.

      “Follow the bird, Royce. She will lead you to someone you need to meet.”

      Ember took off, and Royce found himself following the hawk with his eyes, wondering just how much control of her the witch had, and just what Lori’s intentions were. She’d already told him that she saw violence and death in his future, already blamed him in part for the things that had happened in the village. There was no reason for Royce to think that she wanted to help him.

      Except she did seem to be helping, and since she knew where his father was, all Royce could do was trust her. Royce followed the hawk, riding as Ember flew out across the heather toward a spot where a single turf-topped longhouse stood, smoke pouring from a spot in front of it.

      There was a fire there, and it looked as though everything from furniture to clothing had been burned in it, the remains still smoking as it burned lower. Two bodies lay next to the fire, clad in the remains of what looked like soldiers’ uniforms. They were so blood-soaked that it was hard to see which side they had been on. Royce couldn’t see anyone around, though.

      “Hello?” he called, dismounting. “Is there anybody there?”

      He kept his hand on the hilt of the crystal sword by his side, not sure if there would be bandits here, or some other enemy. Clearly someone else had been here to kill the men, and not long ago, but now the house looked empty, the door hanging open as though it had been kicked in.

      Then he heard growling from the open doorway, and turned to see a creature standing there, yellow-eyed and snarling.

      “Wolf!” Matilde called out as her horse reared.

      It wasn’t quite a wolf, though. This creature was larger, and there was something almost as foxlike as lupine about it. Its teeth were just as long, though, and its claws looked sharp. It was covered in blood, and it seemed obvious that it was the blood of the men there.

      “Not a wolf,” Neave said. “A bhargir, a magical thing.”

      “Just a big wolf,” Sir Bolis said, dismounting and drawing his sword.

      “Not a wolf,” Neave insisted. “My people have stories about these things. Some say that they’re created by evil magicians, others say they’re the souls of the dead, or men who wear the skins of stitched together beasts and become something more.”

      Whatever the creature was, it looked angry. It growled, pacing forward, and Royce found those great yellow eyes fixed on him. For a moment, Royce thought that maybe the creature would leap at him. Then Ember landed on his shoulder again.

      “His name is Gwylim.”

      “Who?” Royce asked. “What’s happening here, Lori?”

      But the bird took flight again, and Royce suspected he wouldn’t have gotten any answers even if she hadn’t. He looked back to see Sir Bolis moving forward, sword raised as if to strike down the beast.

      “It’s all right,” he said. “I’ll deal with it.”

      The knight started to swing his blade, and almost without thinking, Royce leapt in the way, catching hold of the young knight’s arm.

      “Wait,” he said. “Wait, Bolis.”

      He felt the knight back down in the face of that, but Bolis still kept his blade at the ready.

      “That thing has killed two men, and it’s threatening us,” Bolis said. “We should kill it so it doesn’t hurt anyone else!”

      “Not yet,” Royce said. He looked over to the… what was it Neave had called it? A bhargir? He could see now that not all of the blood on it was the men’s. There was a wound on its side, running the length of its flank. No wonder the creature was snarling.

      “Gwylim?” Royce asked.

      Almost as soon as he said it, the growling stopped and the bhargir cocked its head to one side, regarding him with far more intelligence than a wolf had a right to.

      “You can understand some of what I’m saying, can’t you?” Royce guessed. “The witch Lori sent me. If she knows your name, maybe you know her?”

      The creature clearly had no way of replying, but even so, it seemed to settle down, moving over to Royce and lying at his feet. As the bhargir did so, Royce noticed something that seemed impossible: the wound on its side was starting to close, knitting together with almost impossible speed. There was definitely nothing normal about this creature.

      Royce wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Lori had obviously directed him to this creature for a reason, but what reason? He looked in the house, trying to work it out, but the house seemed bare of everything, its contents clearly forming a part of the fire in front of it. Why would raiders like the two dead men do something like that?

      Unsure of an answer, Royce moved back to his horse. He found the bhargir watching him, sitting behind the fire, close enough that its eyes glowed in the heat of it.

      “I don’t know what to do with you,” he said. “But I guess you might be clever enough to decide that for yourself. Do you want to come with us?”

      In answer to that, the wolf-like beast padded forward to sit beside Royce’s horse. Somehow, Royce suspected that it would have no problem in keeping up.

      “We’re taking monsters with us now?” Sir Bolis asked.

      “It’s no stranger than the rest of us,” Matilde said.

      “It’s a lot more dangerous,” Neave said, her expression serious. “This is not a good idea.”

      Good idea or not, Royce was sure that it was the thing he was meant to do. He pushed his horse forward, heading in the direction of Ablaver, with Ember above, leading the way. If the bird held any clue as to why he’d been brought to find the bhargir that followed now, it didn’t offer any answers.

***

      The town of Ablaver hit Royce with its smell before he saw it, the scent of fish mixed in with the sea in a way that proclaimed what happened there. It was a smell that made him want to turn away and head back, but he kept going.

      The sight of it wasn’t much of an improvement, made ugly by the whaling stations to one side, where something about the sight of such large, beautiful creatures being gutted made Royce want to retch. He didn’t, but it was an effort.

      “We can’t tell people who we are,” he warned the others.

      “Because a group with both Picti and knights could be anyone,” Mark pointed out.

      “If people ask, we’re mercenaries leaving the war, looking for our next engagement,” Royce said. “People will probably assume that we’re deserters, or bandits, or something like that.”

      “I don’t want people thinking that I’m a bandit,” Bolis said. “I’m a loyal warrior of Earl Undine!”

      “And right now the best way you can be loyal is to pretend to be something else,” Royce said. The knight seemed to get the message. He even smeared mud on his shield, muttering all the while, so that no one would see the heraldry there. “Everyone keep your hoods up. Especially you, Neave.”

      Royce СКАЧАТЬ