The Pillars Of The World

know about the witches is what is being sung or told in stories.”
    “And none of that is good,” Aiden said.
    “I recall that you found those songs so offensive you used your gift as the Bard to strip away the musical skills of anyone who played them.”
    Aiden glared at her but kept silent.
    “I agree that the witches might have a kind of magic that could close a road through the Veil, and they may be the reason Tir Alainn is in danger.” Dianna sat on the bench beside Lyrra, but kept her eyes on Aiden. “We’ve lost more Clans since the Summer Moon, and we’re no closer to finding out why. Now we have a chance to get some answers.”
    “From a witch?” Lyrra asked, sounding skeptical.

    “Yes, from a witch,” Dianna replied, ignoring Aiden’s succinct comments. “She’s alone and she’s young .
    . . and I think she’s lonely. If we were to befriend her, she would have no reason to harm us, and might even be willing to help us.”
    “If we befriend her and then discover she is a danger to Tir Alainn, what do we do then, Huntress?”
    Aiden said.
    Dianna felt her throat tighten. She knew what Aiden expected her to say. She knew what she had to say, what she would have said without a second thought even a day ago . . . before she had been told she was called the Queen of the Witches and was considered their protector.
    It makes no difference. It can’t.
    “If she is a danger to us,” Dianna said quietly, “then the Huntress will take care of it—and she won’t be a danger anymore.”
     

 

     
     

Chapter Fourteen

 

     
     

     
    Adolfo tied his weary horse securely to a tree before moving a little deeper into the Old Place. It would have been better if he could have hobbled the horse and let it graze in the meadow bordering the Old Place, but his nephew’s ghost kept beckoning to him from the other side of the meadow. He was certain the ghost couldn’t leave the meadow since the body was buried there, but he wasn’t certain about how much of the meadow the ghost could walk—and he wasn’t certain how much power Konrad’s ghost might have. So the animal would have to wait until he was done with what he had come to do.
    The witch who had lived here was dead—Konrad had achieved that much—and Adolfo could feel the magic bleeding out of the Old Place. But power still thrummed in the land, in the trees, in the very air of this place. It grated against his bones even as it filled him with exultation.
    As he walked, he brushed his fingers against the trees until he touched one and felt a dryad’s shriek of anger as a tingling in his fingertips. He smiled. Before she could gather her small magic to strike at him, he pressed his hand against the tree and poured his own power into it, binding her inside the trunk. Taking a step away from the tree, he sank to his knees. Placing his hands firmly on the ground, he used the witch magic that was his mother’s legacy to make the connection between himself and the Old Place. Then he began drawing the power out of the land, filling himself with it until his heart pounded and his body ached with the effort to contain it. And still he took in more and more, all the while murmuring the words that would change benign power into something malicious.
    When he felt full to bursting, he released it all, letting it flood out of him as twisted ropes of magic that flew toward the village and nearby farms.
    He heard the dryad scream as one of those twisted ropes struck her tree and consumed her.
    He felt the land shudder as he took in more of its magic and released it, changed.
    Finally unable to do any more, he broke his connection with the Old Place and slumped to the ground, trembling with exhaustion.

    Power no longer thrummed in the land. It was still there. Nothing could destroy it completely in an Old Place. But it was a pale shadow of what it had been an hour before, and it would never again be more than a pale shadow—unless another witch came to live in the Old Place. Or the Fae. But that would never happen. The Fae only amused themselves in this world before returning to their precious Fair Land, and by the time he was done, no female would be able to set foot on this land without being condemned as a witch, whether she had any magic or not.
    “And no man shall suffer a witch to live,” Adolfo whispered, rolling onto his back. “No man shall be at the mercy of any kind of female magic. We shall be the masters, the rulers, and what little