Dragon bobbed his head. “As you will,” he acquiesced, already dismounting and hastening toward Buckie’s empty carrier basket.
“The rest of you” — he ignored the attar of roses wafting past his nose and made a great sweeping gesture, taking in the lot of the remaining guardsmen — “gather up Lady Gelis’sshelterwith all speed. As soon as you have, we ride.”
“And yon toppled feasting goods?” Sorley dismounted, his gaze snapping to the tipped-over trestle table.
The fine viands scattered across the grass — up to and including the spit-roasted side of beef, the aroma of which had so tempted Ronan but a short while before.
It, too, lay ruined.
The perfectly done beef knocked clean off its spit and trampled into the ground.
Ronan eyed the chaos, his mind already elsewhere.
“Leave the food.” He spoke the order crisply and reached to swing Gelis into her saddle. “If yon bull returns, he’s welcome to it all. Perhaps with a full belly, he’ll be less inclined to sink his horns where they don’t belong!”
Not that he believed it.
What he suspected was that he could search the width and breadth of the land and would ne’er see the benighted creature again.
Praise all the saints.
About the same time, but back at Dare Castle, a tall, cloaked figure hovered outside the gatehouse. He clutched his robes tighter against the biting wind, resentful that Maldred the Dire’s ancient warding spells still held such power. The strength of it pulsed and vibrated everywhere. Like bile, it rose all around him, poisoning the air and even rippling beneath his feet, creeping up from the ground to seep through the soles of his boots.
The figure’s brows drew together in a frown.
As a Holder — and one vested with more skill than most of his kind — he should stand above his foe’s craft.
Yet the foulness of the place was nigh suffocating him.
Indeed, it was all he could do to keep his back erect and his shoulders straight. The sooner he put distance between himself and the stronghold’s proud, spell-soaked walls, the better.
But he’d be damned — again — if he’d lower himself by hastening away.
Not after such a splendid victory.
So he remained where he was, a few painful paces outside the worst of Maldred’s influence, and watched the castle guards close the massive double gates.
They, too, had been so easily fooled.
The figure’s lips twitched and he had to struggle against the urge to rub his hands together in satisfaction.
It wouldn’t do if such a gesture was seen.
But he’d never dreamed it would be so easy.
Best of all, the old chieftain had proved to be an even greater buffoon than his witless garrison. They’d at least challenged him upon his arrival. Valdar, however, had welcomed him to his table, gustily offering meat and libations, the warmth of his fire. Not once doubting the tale his visitor spun so cleverly.
Never guessing that he was seeing what heexpectedto see and not a carefully spun guise.
The figure relaxed his grip on his cloak, pride warming him more.
Then, at last, the gatehouse’s heavy portcullis creaked downward, clanking loudly into place.
The figure released a relieved breath and turned away.
Gaining strength with each step that carried him farther from those dreaded, hated walls, he shoved back his hood. Now, finally, he could revel in the chill wind tugging at his robes and whipping his long white hair and beard against his ancient face.
Now, the cold no longer touched him.
