Tir Alainn - The House Of Gaian - Tir Alainn - The House of Gaian Part 80
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Tir Alainn - The House of Gaian Part 80

But it squeezed her heart to see how many names were missing. Clay had lost an eye but had managed to get back to the village on his own. But Rory was missing. Squire Thurston had lost his right leg below the knee and was being nursed in his own home. But no one remembered the last time they'd seen Donovan. Varden had come through the battle unharmed, but Sheridan was missing.

And no one had seen Falco. Or Aiden.

She tensed when she heard the door open, then forced herself to relax. There were no enemies here. She didn't have to guard her back.

Morphia stepped up beside her. "I wish they hadn't made the fog."

"It was needed," Ashk said quietly.

"I know, but..." Morphia wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. "I

didn't tell you everything about the dream I had last night. I couldn't. I still can't."

"Why not?"

"I told you something terrible was coming, and it is. I know it. I can feel the echo of it from the dream. But I can't tell you what it is because my mind won't let me see it."

A fist of dread settled in Ashk's stomach. "Is there anything you can tell me?"

"Only that it will come among us shrouded by fog. And it hunts."

"It was a damned fool thing to do," Donovan said in a low voice roughened

by exhaustion and pain.

"You've mentioned that already," Aiden replied, keeping his own voice low in the hopes the sound wouldn't carry.

"But I'm grateful. Have I mentioned that, too?"

"Several times."

"Will you write a song about it? The Bard's Rescue of the Baron?"

Aiden snorted softly. "That'll be good for two verses and a chorus, if that."

Donovan was quiet for a moment. "They were close. I could hear them

moving around in the fog, searching for survivors. For prisoners, they said.

If you hadn't found me, I'd be in the hands of the Black Coats now."

"I didn't find you, I tripped over you. If I hadn't, I would have walked right into them. So we both have reason to be grateful." He would never forget those tense minutes when he lay sprawled in the road next to Donovan, who was desperately trying to stifle moans of pain, realizing they both might have the misfortune of meeting the Master Inquisitor. And he would always be grateful for Minstrel's uncanny sense of direction. Twice the horse had balked when he'd tried to turn him, so he'd finally given Minstrel his head and let the horse choose where they were going. What Minstrel couldn't see, he could smell and hear, and he seemed to know if the sounds or smells belonged to friend or foe.

He had been a damned fool to go out once the fog started rolling in. He'd gone anyway to help lead the wounded back to Squire Thurston's estate or the village proper. And he'd been a twice-damned fool for going out again when he couldn't see the road or the land around him beyond his stretched hand. He'd gone out anyway because there were two people he knew who had been fighting on that part of the battlefield. He'd found one. He hadn't found the other.

"Aiden-"

"Hush," Aiden said at the same time Minstrel snorted. "I think I see lights up ahead."

He felt a lightness in Minstrel's stride, an eagerness that gave him hope. As

they got closer, the horse bugled.

Dark shapes moved in the fog, and a hard voice said, "Who's there?"

Aiden drew back on the reins enough to slow Minstrel to a walk. "Aiden, the

Bard, and Baron Donovan."

Excited voices now. Relieved voices.

"Donovan's hurt," Aiden said.

"Here, sir." A man moved toward him, holding up an oil lamp. "You just

follow me to the house. It'll relieve the Squire's mind that Baron Donovan's

been found."

Aiden followed the man up to the front door of the house. When he dismounted, he got a good look at Donovan's side- and wished he hadn't.

Donovan gave Aiden a pained smile. "I couldn't leave Gwenny. That's

reason enough to fight to live-and keep on fighting. You'll send her a message in the morning, won't you, Aiden?"

"I will."

Donovan closed his eyes and slumped in the saddle. Men caught him and carried him into the house while Aiden, leading Minstrel, followed the man with the oil lamp back to the stables.

"We'll take good care of him, Bard," one of the men said. "That we will.

You'd best go back to the house before your legs give out on you."

Pausing long enough to promise Minstrel an extra song in the morning, Aiden left the stables. But he didn't go back to the house. Instead he walked toward the pasture fence-or where it should have been if he could see it. He wasn't ready to enter a house full of wounded. There would be pain there and loss there, and some of those men wouldn't see the sun rise. He hoped with all his heart Donovan wasn't one of them.

The fog parted suddenly, giving him a clear view of the pasture fence-and

the hawk perched on the top rail.

Aiden moved quickly, before the fog obscured his vision again. His hand touched the fence. He stopped, worried now because the bird hadn't even turned its head to look at him when he approached. "Falco?"

The fog veiled the world. Keeping one hand on the rail to guide him, Aiden

moved closer. "Falco? It's Aiden."

The hawk didn't move when he touched it gingerly, fearing a mortal wound was the explanation for its lack of response. It didn't move when he lifted it off the pasture rail and set it on the ground.

"Falco. Please."

The hawk shuddered. Aiden took one step back. A few moments later, Falco stood before him in human form, still shuddering.

"Falco?" Aiden stepped forward and cautiously put one hand on Falco's

shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

"Lost a couple of tail feathers," Falco murmured.

"They'll grow back." Aiden kept his voice soothing as worry lanced through

him. Something was wrong with Falco, but he didn't know what to say or do to help him.

"I've-" Falco swallowed hard. "I've never seen men fight like that. I've never seen men die like that."

"None of us have."

"It was bad, Aiden. It was bad."

And Falco, who had been a brash young Lord last summer, put his head on

Aiden's shoulder and wept.

Chapter 49.

waning moon Morag rode through swirls of fog, her heart pounding, her body clenched.

Had she come too late? Had the Black Coats won? Were all the witches gone? Would the human world be swallowed by mist just as the pieces of Tir Alainn had been swallowed when the magic that had anchored them died?

"Odd time of the year for fog," one of her escorts murmured.And that is why I fear it, Morag thought.Then she rode out of the trees and saw slivers of light coming from shuttered windows not too far ahead of her, heard the sleepy stirring of animals.