Soren got up and walked to the window, holding up the parchment and pretending to examine it.
“Is this tale a special one? In these types of fanciful stories?”
“Oh, nay. Every one of the ancient cultures and even our Bible, God’s true word amongst us, tells of the final battle that will rage between good and evil at the end of days. This version has Taranis and other gods like”—Ander peered at the writing once more— “Sucellus and Belenus and Epona and Cernunnos and . . . Nantosuelta.”
Ander closed the book and returned it to the shelf from whence it came. He was watching Soren too closely as though he suspected something more. “Strange that it does not mention the evil god they battle.”
Just as a name had been scratched over on the other drawings. As though it was too frightening or dangerous to even give name to this evil.
“So, friend, now that I have revealed all that I discovered, will you share the other secrets you carry next to your heart?”
“Ah, I would, Ander, but I have left them home.” Although he tried to say it in a jesting manner, Ander was obviously not amused. Not even a bit.
“I am not happy with this turn of events, Soren. In good faith, I completed the task you set me to, only to discover that you will not keep your end of the bargain.”
“I am not reneging on mytacitagreement, Ander. I simply left the othertwodocuments at home,” Soren began, knowing that Ander’s curiosity at the thought of getting two more peculiar documents into his hands would ease whatever anger existed. “I will bring them to you in the morning?”
“Very well,” Ander nodded. “I will wait in good faith to see what you have.”
Soren left quickly after folding the document carefully and placing it inside his tunic. In the morning, he would send word of a delay and wait until he’d met with Ran before showing the others to Ander. There was every possibility that he would share the documents with her, if the letters she’d given him gave any information or knowledge from his grandfather.
Part of him—the part that had suffered greatly over the last two years to regain a semblance of normality back in his life—hoped it was a fruitless search and he could go his own way without Ran. But the other part— the one that loved her and wanted her for himself—took it as a challenge. That part relished the idea of her tearing away the calm and sanity in his life and returning to the ever-explosive passion they’d had before.
Soren had no doubt that he would discover the outcome very soon.
Eight
NORTHWESTERN SCOTLAND
William de Brus,now called Warblood, gathered the leaders of his company of warriors to discuss the final arrangements for transport north. He’d delayed their departure by several days to integrate those who now followed but had little or no battle experience amongst his more skilled fighters.
The battle would be between those who carried the bloodlines of the gods and humans would not be part of that. But his human fighters were not easily detected by those they fought, so they were valuable for other uses and positions. Like the spies they’d sent out. And the searchers they’d sent on ahead. Everyone who pledged to him and their quest had a purpose in their battle against the evil one.
The priests used the time to strengthen the bond of their spirits that kept them connected to one another. This recent bonding had not been tested yet and so Marcus and Aislinn continued to offer prayers and sacrifices to their gods in preparation of the next battle.
His own life and world had been torn asunder and rebuilt into something very different in just the last month. From king’s bastard son and a sworn man to a warrior made to protect humankind, William was completely altered from the man he had been. Now, the berserker Warblood walked within him, waiting to be called forth.
“Do you think de Gifford knows the location yet?” Roger de Bardem asked. Roger now led the human army and had always been William’s closest friend.
“Nay,” Will replied. “When he boarded those boats, he was heard asking the one who captained it where there were ancient stones in Orkney. The last we knew, they were heading north of the mainland to some of the other isles where older ruins lay.”
“And we do not?” Roger asked.
“Aislinn believes we should sail directly to the mainland. Even though some circles are known and most likely not the ones we search for, she says it’s there.”
The men all nodded in agreement. After seeing what the young priestess could do and her courage in the face of an enemy onslaught, no one would question her beliefs or pronouncements.
“So, we will leave in the morning. Prepare your supplies and organize those assigned to you.”
Will nodded to Roger to remain as the others walked off to carry out their duties. Roger stood at his side and tilted his head in the direction of a lone warrior sitting at the edge of their encampment.
“And do we trust him?” Roger asked.
Brisbois de Gifford was born twin to their dark enemy but became his brother’s torturer and assassin when Hugh inherited all of the power in their bloodline and the titles and wealth and lands of the firstborn. Only in the last moments of the battle at the stone circle in Loanhead did he protect his niece and swear to her service.
“My wife says aye,” Will said. “Brisbois is now her man.”
Roger grumbled under his breath and Will understood his feelings. Brisbois had tortured one of the priests to gain information for his former lord. Corann had been rescued but had still not recovered from his injuries and could do little even for himself yet. The priests did not speak to or even look at Brisbois and the others trusted him little. But Brienne’s word was good enough, and more so, for Will, so he did not allow the others to refuse Brisbois a place.
