Shadows and Light

love with him. The Bard would never leave the romance out of passion—which suited the Muse perfectly.

Chapter Eleven
    Liam shifted in his chair as another eastern baron droned on about how about his county’s prosperity had increased since he’d destroyed the vile creatures in the Old Places who had caused his people so much harm and how important it was for all the barons to take strong action to protect the people in Sylvalan’s towns and villages from the Evil One’s lures.
    None of them actually came right out and said they’d hired men called Inquisitors to murder women who had a gift of magic and owned vast tracts of land that the barons couldn’t touch. None of them actually said it was the women in their communities who were suddenly too weak-willed and weak-minded to avoid this evil that most of the barons beyond the eastern part of Sylvalan had never heard of except in these chambers. But that’s what was being said under what was actually spoken.
    Liam shifted again. Ignored the sour look from the old baron sitting in the chair on his right. The man reeked of cologne, adding another stink to the body odor and brandy that had been generously imbibed during the midday break. If this was all the barons’ council did, why make the effort of the journey?

    Because you and the people who matter to you have to live with whatever decrees are made here.
    Why else would the western barons travel so far twice a year?
    Gritting his teeth, he sat up straight and forced himself to pay attention. Not that he hadn’t been hearing the same thing all day yesterday as well as this morning. Kill the witches, acquire the Old Places for your own profit, strip all the other women in your county of the right to be anything but a man’s property, and the men in your county will prosper. And since they were all men here, they had everything to gain and nothing to lose.
    Nothing except their honor, their sense of what was right and wrong, and the trust of the women who were a part of their lives.
    The baron finished his speech and returned to his seat in the council chamber. A smattering of applause came from the part of the chamber where the eastern barons sat. There was nothing but stony silence from the rest of the room.
    Liam raised his hand, as he’d done over and over again yesterday afternoon and this morning, indicating he wanted a chance to speak.
    The Baron of Durham, who presided over the council meetings, looked straight at him before calling on Baron Hirstun to speak.
    Another eastern baron. More verbal puke about the dangers of the Evil One and the need to exterminate all the witches in Sylvalan so that the people who look to the barons to keep them safe will not fall prey to the cruel magic these terrible females spawn.
    “I am pleased to report that all paintings and books that have been deemed unsuitable have been properly destroyed so that they no longer create unhealthy thoughts in those whose minds are too delicate to shoulder the burdens of keeping our counties—and our country—prosperous,” Hirstun said. “
    I am also pleased to report that the procedure the esteemed physicians in our communities have learned recently to curb female hysteria has been entirely successful.”
    Procedure? Liam wondered, noticing how many of the eastern barons were nodding their heads in agreement. What procedure? If the eastern barons were going to try to push through a decree that all the barons would be expected to follow, they could damn well be more specific about what they were ordering done—and why. They’d spent the past day and a half filling the room with words and saying nothing. When a vote was finally called, how was anyone supposed to know what he was agreeing to?
    Straining to hold his temper, he tugged at his collar, felt a trickle of sweat roll down his neck. Mother’s tits! Why did they have to make the chamber room so warm?
    When Baron Hirstun finished and returned to his seat, Liam wasn’t the only one to raise his hand to speak. He noticed several of the barons from the north and midlands now wanted a chance to take the floor—and not all of them were younger men.
    The Baron of Durham didn’t give any of them so much as the courtesy of looking their way before calling on another eastern baron.
    Heat flooded through Liam, the kind of heat that usually presaged a spectacular loss of temper. Unable to remain seated, he leaped to his feet, pushed past the two other barons who were on his