22 DO WHAT YOU MUST

CAILEAN GAZED UP at Cannich’s heavily defended walls, warmth suffusing his chest.

Returning here was a homecoming of sorts. Despite that he’d spent most of the last decade based at Duncrag, he’d often traveled to the northern capital. The overking could be trying, yet even he couldn’t ruin the fort for him.

He was an Uplander by birth, after all.

Cailean knew Cannich’s labyrinthine wynds well and appreciated its remote setting, perched upon the large flat summit of a rock cliff, ringed by high stone walls. The fort resembled a solid grey crown upon a giant’s weatherbeaten head.

However, even from this distance, he marked the pikes thrusting up like hedgehog spines against the darkening sky. The Whistle, which blew in from the northwest on this late afternoon, carried with it the scent of woodsmoke blended with the tang of iron.

The capital of The Uplands was preparing itself for war.

Cailean’s mouth compressed as he considered what lay ahead for Albia. There had been no great battle in his lifetime, but that was about to change. In the turns of the moon ahead, many Marav would likely die for their High King. And to what end? So that Talorc mac Brude could say the score had been settled.

Would the man ever find the vindication he craved?

Would he ? Cailean pulled himself up sharply then, uneasiness stirring in his gut. That was the first time he’d ever compared himself to the High King—a man so driven by his need for vengeance it had become a sickness. No, he wasn’t like him.

Once he took Eilig’s life, he’d leave the past behind him.

Weariness pressed down upon him then, heavy hands upon his shoulders. Aye, he needed the blood-letting. His body ached this afternoon, and he felt overly warm—a sign he needed earth magic.

“You’d better make yourself scarce, lass.” He glanced down at where Skaal loped beside his stallion. It felt odd, knowing she understood him, and he didn’t like leaving the fae hound behind every time he entered a fort. However, she drew far too much attention. “This shouldn’t take longer than a couple of days.”

Skaal cast him a glance, her golden eyes glinting in the lowering sun, before she shifted her attention to Bree. It was clear they’d just touched minds. The fae hound then veered off the road and disappeared into the trees.

“What did she say?” he asked.

“She told me to look out for you.”

He gave a soft snort. “Overprotective beast.”

They approached Cannich on the East Road, one of the three highways that cut through a carpet of ancient woodland; twisted oak, elm, and pine covered the rolling valley beneath the fort. Ahead, a high wall circled the base of the massive chunk of rock, where ten-foot-tall iron gates blocked the way through.

“You can tell it’s Gateway,” Bree noted then. “There’s a watchfulness in the air.”

Cailean frowned. Indeed, the darkening sky already held an ominous look. “Aye, The Slew are waking up.”

A shiver rippled down his spine then. There was a fate worse than being sent to the Underworld after death, and that was to join the ranks of the ‘unforgiven’. The spirits of the damned were caught between the Otherworld and the Underworld and left in Albia to feast on the spirits of mortals.

Ahead, the guards were starting to draw the gates closed. Cailean urged his stallion into a fast canter, calling out to the men to wait.

They did, their gazes tracking him as he approached.

“You’re shutting up early?” Cailean greeted the warriors.

“Aye, we always do at Gateway.” One of the guards, a lanky man with an eyepatch, flashed him a smile. “It’s been a while, mac Brochan.”

Cailean grunted, even as his lips lifted at the corners. Aye, he’d have preferred not to be recognized, but this man’s robust welcome made him feel as if he’d just stepped back into his old life for a moment. He’d always enjoyed the camaraderie, the banter, he shared with the warriors here. Uplanders were tough and more plain-spoken than Southerners, yet he’d always admired their grit. “I’ve been busy,” he replied.

“Where’s your hound?” The second guard asked, even as his gaze flicked to where Bree sat silently behind Cailean. His eyes were bright with curiosity.

“Hunting, most likely.”

“Shall we send word ahead, to let King Ailean know you’re here?” the warrior with the eyepatch asked.

“No need … my wife and I will find lodgings elsewhere tonight,” Cailean replied firmly. “I’ll see him in the morning.”

The guards nodded, heeding him.

“Aye, well … make sure you’re indoors by nightfall,” the one-eyed warrior warned, stepping back to let them pass.

Cailean offered the man a grunt of thanks and urged Feannag through the gap.

In the lower ward beyond, they rode along a path, past a row of barracks, where warriors clad in leather and fur cooked their suppers over hearths outdoors. It looked as if the entire lower ward—the narrow space between the walls and the base of the rock—was crammed with Cannich’s garrison.

Bree’s arms, which looped around his waist, tightened then, warning him that the proximity of iron—for steam billowed from the entrance to a forge they now passed—was bothering her.

Reaching up, he wrapped a steadying hand around her wrist. He wanted her to know he understood, and that he’d help, where he could. His throat tightened then. What had happened to him? For years, he’d told himself life was easier when you didn’t let others in. Wasn’t he happier on his own? He’d tried hardening his heart, to send his wife away, yet Bree’s sorrow had torn through his defenses. He couldn’t keep lying to himself. He cared for her. Deeply. There was no denying it now.

The night before had changed everything, and he was still reeling from it.

“King Ailean has been busy,” Cailean noted, reining in the sensations that scared him a little. He guided Feannag toward the road that wound its way up to the summit of the rock. “None of this was here when I visited in the summer.”

“He’s clearly eager to please his High King,” Bree replied.

Cailean snorted. “King Ailean is rarely ‘eager to please’ … it’s fear of mac Brude’s wrath that keeps him in line, little else.”

The road up to the fort was narrow and perilous, just wide enough to travel up single-file, and with a few passing places dug into the rock. However, the views were spectacular, and Cailean couldn’t help but cast looks out across the blanket of wintry woodland—skeleton trees interspersed with dark-green conifers—where Skaal and Tivesheh would be waiting.

Reaching the top of the rock, they passed through another set of iron gates, with high stone walls rearing up either side, and into the fort proper.

The roar of cheering voices reached them then, and Cailean’s attention cut to a space ringed by spiked wooden palings. A banner hung over the entrance, showing two half-naked fighters locked in mortal combat.

A moment later, another roar went up, and then voices started to chant as if urging someone on.

Cailean drew Feannag to a halt. His pulse quickened as he listened to the fight taking place just yards away.

Bree’s hold around his waist tightened. “That’s the band of fighters you’re looking for, isn’t it?”

“Aye.” His belly clenched then, violence igniting in his veins. He couldn’t believe it. Finally, Eilig was just a few yards away. “I should deal with him now.” Gods, he itched to ram his blade through the fight master’s throat.

“Cailean.” Bree put a hand over his, drawing him out of murderous thoughts. “You need the blood-letting first, remember?”

Tension rippled through him.

Curse it, he hated being so reliant on earth magic for his strength. This was the price he’d willingly paid to become an enforcer. But there were times when he resented it. Now was one such occasion.

“Aye,” he ground out, leashing the urge to leap off Feannag, draw his sword, and wade into that enclosure. “I do.”

Eilig would have to wait, as planned, until tomorrow. He’d be ready then.

Dragging his gaze from the entrance to the enclosure, he urged Feannag across the wide space, the stallion’s hooves clip-clopping over dirt and stones. There was an ale-hall nearby where they’d find lodgings for the night.

The wynds—narrow lanes—of the fort were emptying out as daylight faded. Wisely, the inhabitants of Cannich had hurried indoors. They’d be sprinkling salt around the hearths and across thresholds tonight and donning iron protection charms, to keep the dead at bay. Already, the locals were setting up braziers and lamps outside doorways—for firelight warded off malevolent spirits—and women laid out trays of freshly baked cakes and pies as offerings.

As hoped, the ale-hall had space for them. It had two wings out back connected by a yard, where the proprietor hired out accommodation. It was expensive, for Cailean had to pay to have his horse stabled as well, and he handed over the three silver pennies to the proprietor’s daughter with gritted teeth. His coin reserves were seriously dwindling these days, especially after the items he’d bought for Bree in Morae.

Impatience thrummed through him then. The day was waning. He had to seek out a sacrificer before nightfall. He needed to refill the well, so he could focus on dealing with Eilig.

Pocketing the coins, the lass watched him with interest, ignoring Bree, who waited behind him. Pretending not to notice the flirtatious smile she gave him, Cailean met her eye. “I require a favor.”

“Oh, aye?” she replied, inclining her head.

Bree made a warning sound in the back of her throat.

Resisting the urge to look his wife’s way—maybe he should have warned her he’d need to do this first—Cailean nodded. “A partner for blood-letting.”

The ale-hall keeper’s daughter’s eyes widened before she tossed her long walnut-colored hair over her shoulder. Of course, it was an honor for any woman to be asked to partner with an enforcer for the ceremony. “This evening?” she breathed.

“Aye … now.”

Casting Bree a veiled look—her gaze full of questions—the young woman nodded. “Let me fetch my cloak.”

Outside in the yard, between the accommodation wings, while they waited, Cailean turned to his wife. Her expression was veiled, yet the hurt look in her eyes made his chest tighten. “You know why I couldn’t ask you, Bree,” he reminded her softly. “I can’t delay this.”

Indeed, as if sensing the rising of the full moon, his entire body had started to ache. He was also sweating now, despite that it was a cool evening.

She nodded, a muscle in her jaw feathering. “Of course. Do what you must.”

Cailean sighed. That wasn’t the response he’d hoped for, and he was about to reply, to attempt to reassure her, when a thin shriek cut through the air. Skin prickling, he glanced up at the sky, where the last rays of light were fading. Dark clouds boiled overhead. The Whistle gusted across the fort, making the flames of the brazier that burned a few yards away gutter.

But that noise wasn’t the wind. It sounded as if The Slew had already taken wing.

The lass emerged from the ale-hall then, wrapped in a fur-lined cloak, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

Stepping back from him, Bree murmured an oath under her breath. She then gestured to the ominous sky. “Go on. And I’d hurry before the night is crawling with things you won’t wish to meet.”