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Copyright © 2019 by Morgan Rice. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright Dm_Cherry used under license from Shutterstock.com.
CHAPTER ONE
Royce led the way across the heathlands, riding for the coast with the speed of a sent arrow, his hazel eyes fixed on his destination. His blond hair whipped around him while he rode, broad shoulders set with determination.
A quartet of figures rode with him, because more would have attracted too much attention. Mark rode next to him, his friend looking far stronger than he had at any point since Royce had found him, dark hair kept in place under a steel helmet, partial armor of one of the warriors of the Red Isle shining in the sun.
Matilde and Neave rode side by side, the former villager and the Picti girl occasionally glancing across to one another, looking very different. Matilde was red-haired and could have passed for angelic if she weren’t so fierce, while Neave had braided dark hair, and slightly darker skin tattooed in blue. Once Matilde had declared that she was going, Neave’s decision had been instant.
The one surprise came in the solid form of Sir Bolis, riding along in cobalt-edged armor that shone where its plates caught the sun and that proclaimed his wealth as much as his fighting skill. He was a year or two older than Royce, and Royce was certain that he only liked Royce a little better now than he had when Royce had first arrived at Earl Undine’s home. Royce couldn’t work out why he had come on this journey, but he couldn’t turn down the help.
Above him, his hawk, Ember, wheeled above the heather, and through her eyes Royce saw the route ahead laid out clearly, safe and flat all the way to the harbor at Ablaver. Once they got there, Royce was sure they would be able to find a ship that would take them to the Seven Isles, where the witch Lori had said that the Mirror of Wisdom was hidden.
There, they would be able to find his father.
That was a prospect that filled Royce with both anticipation and dread. Anticipation, because he wanted to find his father more than anything right then; needed to find him if he was going to bring him back to lead the fight against the nobles. The dread was because of the place they would have to visit to find him.
“You’re certain that we have to go to the Seven Isles?” Sir Bolis said.
Royce shrugged. “That’s what Lori said.”
Above him, the hawk shrieked in confirmation. Earl Undine had been able to tell Royce that his father had gone looking for the mirror, while the witch had been able to give Royce a location for it.
“And you’re going to set off across the sea on the word of a witch?” Sir Bolis demanded.
“You can always stay behind if you like,” Mark suggested, in a tone that said he obviously didn’t trust the knight.
“And trust something this important to criminals and Picti?” Sir Bolis demanded. Royce found himself wondering how someone so young could still manage to sound so pompous.
“You have a problem with my people, interloper?” Neave demanded, reaching for a knife.
“That’s enough,” Royce said. “This is going to be difficult enough as it is. We need to work together.”
Almost to his surprise, the others stopped their bickering.
“They trust you,” Mark said, as the others rode clear of one another a little. “When you lead, people follow.”
“Is that why you’re coming with me?” Royce asked.
Mark shook his head. “You know it isn’t.”
“Even though you think the Seven Isles are dangerous?”
“They are dangerous,” Mark insisted. “There are creatures there that… they’re not even close to human. There are troll things and the wights of the dead, and worse. Are you sure this is where we have to go?”
How could Royce explain it? How could he explain what he’d seen with Lori, the old woman becoming young again and seeing so much? She’d told him where his father was, and Royce had to look, no matter how difficult it was.
“I’m sure,” he said instead.
“Well, you’ve saved my life often enough,” Mark said. “Where you go, I’ll follow.”
Royce couldn’t say how grateful he was to hear that. With everything that lay in front of them… except that it wasn’t what lay in front of him that worried him most. It was what he’d left behind. He’d only just become engaged to Olivia, and his thoughts kept drifting back to Earl Undine’s daughter, wishing that they’d had more time together before he’d had to leave… and if her face sometimes shifted in his mind’s eye, becoming closer to Genevieve’s… well, he was at least able to push those thoughts from his mind.
Royce pressed on, focusing on the ride ahead so he wouldn’t have to think about Genevieve, or the way she’d pushed him aside, or the speed with which everything with Olivia had happened.
He was still thinking about it when Ember swooped down, her claws digging into Royce’s shoulder as she landed. She called out, but the voice Royce heard was Lori’s, the witch’s words coming through clearly into his mind.
“Follow the bird, Royce. She will lead you to someone you need to meet.”
Ember took off, and Royce found himself following the hawk with his eyes, wondering just how much control of her the witch had, and just what Lori’s intentions were. She’d already told him that she saw violence and death in his future, already blamed him in part for the things that had happened in the village. There was no reason for Royce to think that she wanted to help him.
Except she did seem to be helping, and since she knew where his father was, all Royce could do was trust her. Royce followed the hawk, riding as Ember flew out across the heather toward a spot where a single turf-topped longhouse stood, smoke pouring from a spot in front of it.
There was a fire there, and it looked as though everything from furniture to clothing had been burned in it, the remains still smoking as it burned lower. Two bodies lay next to the fire, clad in the remains of what looked like soldiers’ uniforms. They were so blood-soaked that it was hard to see which side they had been on. Royce couldn’t see anyone around, though.
“Hello?” he called, dismounting. “Is there anybody there?”
He kept his hand on the hilt of the crystal sword by his side, not sure if there would be bandits here, or some other enemy. Clearly someone else had been here to kill the men, and not long ago, but now the house looked empty, the door hanging open as though it had been kicked in.
Then he heard growling from the open doorway, and turned to see a creature standing there, yellow-eyed and snarling.
“Wolf!” Matilde called out as her horse reared.
It wasn’t quite a wolf, though. This creature was larger, and there was something almost as foxlike as lupine about it. Its teeth were just as long, though, and its claws looked sharp. It was covered in blood, and it seemed obvious that it was the blood of the men there.
“Not a wolf,” Neave said. “A bhargir, a magical thing.”
“Just