Shadows and Light

Ari.
    When she left the Inquisitors at the Shadowed Veil, she said, “May you find the Fiery Pit you Black Coats seem so fond of,” then galloped back down the road. She let the dark horse set the pace when they were once more following the forest trails, but didn’t breathe easy until they cantered into daylight.
    Death called her.
    She turned away from the cottage and followed the summons to the old farmer’s barn. She didn’t go inside, didn’t intrude on the grief she felt there. She simply gathered him gently and went back up the road to the Shadowed Veil. The Inquisitors were gone, and she was glad. The old man didn’t need to see them.
    He raised a hand in farewell before he stepped through the Shadowed Veil to follow the path to the Summerland.
    “Merry meet, and merry part, and merry meet again,” Morag whispered.
    She was exhausted by the time she returned to the cottage. Even her dark horse was stumbling with fatigue. Glenn took her horse. Morphia heated enough water so that she could take a sponge bath. She wasn’t as clean as she wanted, but it was the best she could do.
    While she ate a bowl of soup, Morphia told her that Neall and Ari had woken up long enough to eat; then, after being reassured that the animals had been cared for and there was nothing that needed to be done, they’d returned to bed.
    Glenn insisted on sleeping in the stables. The Fae Lords insisted that she bolt the doors. She didn’t argue with them. She didn’t argue when Morphia led her upstairs to her room and settled in beside her. She listened while Morphia told her what happened at the farm, but, somehow, fell asleep before her sister got around to explaining the feather that had gotten stuck in the lacings.

Chapter Eighteen
    Impatient and uneasy, Ubel followed country lanes and crossed open land until he reached a place where he would appear to be riding up from the south toward Breton. None of his men had returned to the meeting place, and he needed to find out why. He’d been firm about the need to move swiftly and slip away again. They were too far away from home, too far away from the united strength the Inquisitors could wield.
    It should have been simple. Kill the witch living in the Old Place. Use the farmer and his family to kill Ashk if she was at the “Clan house.” If she returned to the manor house with the baron’s children, he and the Inquisitor with him were waiting close by to eliminate all of them.
    But the four men he’d sent to the Old Place and the farmer’s cottage hadn’t returned, and when he’d heard that strange horn—the sound of it had made him shiver—he’d ordered the other Inquisitor to go to the village and listen for whatever news could be gleaned while buying supplies.
    He’d waited as long as he could for the man to return, but the shadows in the woods behind the manor house had become too dark, too deep, and it was no longer safe to stay there. Besides, after that horn had sounded, people started stirring all around the manor like hornets whose nest had been disturbed.
    He’d been careful. He’d thought through his plans. His men simply had recognized the difficulty of meeting him near the manor house and had already ridden south to the crossroads posting house, which was their destination after they finished their work in Breton. He’d meet up with the Inquisitor he’d sent to the village, and the two of them would ride south and meet up with the others. Then he’d decide if they should continue traveling overland or take the road to the coast and go back to Durham by sea.
    As he approached a small farm, Ubel saw a man and boy walking beside a pasture’s stone fence. The man looked at Ubel riding toward him, then gave the boy a push on the shoulder. The boy ran to the cottage.
    Ubel reined in. The man stopped walking and shifted the ax he carried so that he held it with both hands.
    “Good day to you,” Ubel said. “Can you tell me how much farther it is to the road that leads to the seaport town?” It pleased him to think of asking for another town so that no one would think Breton was his destination.
    “You passed it a few miles back,” the man said gruffly.
    Giving the man a puzzled smile, Ubel shook his head. “I was told there’s one just north of here.”
    “Next seaport town is two, maybe three days’ ride from here.”
    “Ah.” Ubel paused as if considering that information. “Breton is just ahead, isn’t it? Perhaps I should find lodging