The House Of Gaian

as soon as I return home. We can’t afford to have our plans fall into the hands of the Black Coats, so I’ll feel easier about handing the letter over to a rider once I’m back in the midlands.”
    “I’ll write the letter this evening,” Liam said.
    Donovan started tracing circles on the table with his forefinger. “There’s nothing we can do about harbors like Wellingsford unless some of the southern barons side with us.” He shook his head. “There’s not a lot we can do about a good many things. We don’t have enough fighting men. That’s what it comes down to. If it was just the eastern barons, I think we’d win. But if the barons in Arktos and Wolfram send men to swell the eastern army ... I envy Padrick’s ability to ask the Fae for help.”
    From the comments Falco had made to him, Liam didn’t think help from the Fae was something they could hope for. And if they asked for help from the House of Gaian ... He could tell by Donovan’s carefully neutral expression the other man was thinking the same thing. If they asked for help, and got it, would the price be more than they would want to pay? One storm created by one witch had made the roads impassable for days, which was why the barons were still staying with him at Willowsbrook. If one witch could do that much, what could a hundred witches do? A thousand? Could fear of a thousand witches change to hatred of a single witch? Would a village kill one witch or a family of witches to avoid having to live near that kind of power? Was that how it started in Arktos and Wolfram? Had the Inquisitors started out as protectors and defenders, only to become the next power to be feared?
    He thought of Breanna and Gwenn and Fiona. Temper and laughter. Passion and compassion. And power balanced by a creed they’d been taught from the cradle.
    “Liam?”
    He smiled ruefully at Donovan. “Sorry. My mind wandered.” He was about to suggest that they adjourn from the dining room to let the servants set the table for the midday meal when Sloane opened the door after a brief knock.
    “A messenger, Baron Liam,” Sloane said. “From Old Willowsbrook.”
    The announcement was swiftly followed by one of Donovan’s guards, who had a firm grip on a flushed, excited boy.
    “There’s men in the woods!” the boy said. “Armed men. On horses. Clay sent me to warn you.”
    Liam leaped to his feet. His mother and little sister were still living at the Old Place with Breanna and her kin. And Donovan’s wife, Gwenn, was there as well, visiting.

    “How many men?” Donovan demanded.
    “Lots!” the boy replied.
    That doesn‘t help much , Liam thought, as he ran to the stables, shouting for the grooms to get the horses saddled. Donovan ran with him, followed by the other barons.
    “Liam,” one of the barons said, puffing. “We”—he gestured to the other four barons—“aren’t fighters, but our guards are good men, skilled with weapons. They’ll go with you.”
    Before Liam could agree, Donovan said, “Two from each of you would be welcome.” He turned to Liam. “You can’t leave this place completely undefended.”
    In case those men weren’t heading for the manor house in the Old Place but were coming to deal with the upstart young baron who had spoiled the eastern barons’ chance to get the votes they needed for the decrees they wanted passed. And he couldn’t leave four barons who now carried the weight of being leaders in the coming fight for Sylvalan’s survival to the mercy of whoever might be out there.
    “Agreed,” he said, swinging into his gelding’s saddle. He wished Oakdancer was there, then decided the stallion was better at the Old Place. The horse could carry two riders. If it came to that, he could toss Breanna and his little sister Brooke onto Oakdancer’s back and tell the horse to run to the Mother’s Hills
    —and the stallion would run until it killed him if that’s what it took. “Send someone to Squire Thurston’s estate. He’ll rouse the villagers and the farms.”
    He put his heels into the gelding, sending the animal bolting out of the stableyard and up the lane that would lead to the stone bridge. A few moments later, Donovan caught up to him, the guards strung out behind them as each man finished saddling his mount and followed.
    They slowed when they reached the bridge. Pointless to damage a horse going over the stones carelessly
    —and he remembered the other reason why it was prudent to approach slowly