He shrugged. Sometimes his wordlessness frustrated her. She thought about what she’d seen just now.
“Will you be my executioner?” she asked with a boldness she did not quite feel.
“When the time comes, aye.” The man’s piercing gaze did not move from hers. “I will make it a quick one, girl.” She turned back to Corann when he spoke again. “As I hope you would make mine if the chance came.”
Stunned by his admission, she could not speak. Then, remembering James’s death, she thought that their tacit agreement might be a good thing.
Will did not believein failure. The warblood who lived within him now did not either. Even so, he took no chances, reviewing their plan over and over as they crossed the miles north into the countryside outside Aberdeen.
In Edinburgh, he’d sent a group of his men and some of the priests ahead by horse overland. The seas were untrustworthy and could send a ship miles and weeks off their course. He could not chance that. The king’s gold paid the way north. Landing south of Aberdeen, he knew she was near.
He did not need to dreamwalk as the seer did—the warblood’s connection to his fireblood was strong and clear. Apparently, the love they felt for each other bonded them in some elemental way he did not yet understand. But he knew that all he had to do was unleash his desire or need for her and the warblood would seek his mate.
Marcus informed him that more of his priests would join them at the circle, even though only one was needed to complete the ritual. Aislinn said little or nothing now, spending most of her time in between dreams and spell-weaving.
Insulted when Roger said the priests were worthless, worse, a burden to protect, Marcus cast a spell that took away his voice. And, he promised, there would be other spells, more powerful ones, to hide them from their enemy and to aid them in sealing the gateway forever.
One thing did give him pause—he discovered that none of them knew the actual ritual—they needed to be ready to read the signs at the circle. But it involved spilling the blood of the two on the altar stone. More than that, blank expressions were the only answers he got from them.
Part of him could still not understand this strange new world in which he now existed. The human warrior in him liked solid ground and strategic plans. That part of him liked knowing that his superior fighting skills would tip the balance of any battle. But this new world with beings of great powers and unknown abilities threatened to undermine his confidence and that of his men.
With every mile closer—to the circle, to the goddess, and to Brienne—William felt his own power growing and strengthening. When they stopped to rest the horses or to eat or take their ease, he practiced his, letting the power rise in his blood until his body changed. Pushing it further and stronger each time, until he became the weapon himself. At his command, at his will. When they stopped for the night south of Inverurie, a village of some size, and gathered for one more time to finish their plans, Roger—with his voice restored— and Marcus came to him with a plan of their own.
“You say you can sense them—Lord Hugh and Brienne?” Roger asked. At Will’s nod, he continued. “So they can tell you’re coming closer?” Roger looked at Marcus. “And the priests? The same?” Marcus nodded.
Aislinn joined the group then with word that the other group of soldiers sent by land had arrived and that the priests of Far Island were not too long off. And that Lord Hugh and Brienne were only a mile or so from the circle. She looked exhausted from seeking so much knowledge in visions. Haunted and pale. She accepted a cup of ale from him and sat by his side.
“Then it must be us who get Brienne out of there.And it must be before they reach it.”
“Us?” Will asked.
“Us, men—humans only,” Roger said. “He can’t sense us coming the way he seems to sense you. . . ”
“But he will know. He will expect such an attack.”
Any good commander would, and from what Will had witnessed, Eudes had much experience and skill.
“Aye.” Roger nodded. “So Marcus and his lads will . . . ?” He waved his hand, waiting for Marcus to fill in the correct word.
“Cast,” Marcus filled in.
“Cast one of his fog spells to cover our movements. One group goes straight in, and the other goes for the girl.”
“And Corann,” Aislinn added. “He is so weak that he prays for death so he will not betray his duty to us and to the gods.”
“Marcus? Will it work?” he asked.
“Only the gods know that, William, and they have not told me yet.” Will smiled at his attempt to lighten such a grave topic. “I think that it could. Lord Hugh will be experiencing the same thing you and Brienne and we are—a sudden change to the powers we have. So if you approach, it could draw his attention away from their”—he nodded to Roger—“attack.”
“This is something we must do soon,” Will told them. “The longer we are here, the more time he has to prepare for us. We do not know how many more he has called to his side to face us.”
They added details, each one using their own skills, talents, and experience to perfect the plan until they all agreed. They would travel the last few miles toward the circle before dawn and make their rescue at daybreak.
Something in the pit of his gut made him call his men together to outline their alternate plan if anything went wrong in the rescue. Then he walked the perimeter of their camp, watching as some of the priests set spells to keep out intruders and others prepared for the morning.
As he lay on his blankets, he tried to reach Brienne on his own, not using Aislinn’s power. He could not see her, but he sent his thoughts out to her. By this time on the morrow, their quest would reach its conclusion and, just as they’d done with the priests, the gods had not deigned to tell him if they would succeed.
Or if evil would be unleashed on an unsuspecting world.
