Page 18 of Darro

He saw the way she glanced at him. “Never I’ve wished to wed.”

“You guard your heart as you serve your brother.” Doon shaped the kneaded dough into a loaf, covered it and placed it on a board before she emptied a second basin. “Love, ’tisnae like fire, you ken. ’Tis surely heat of a different kind, passion.” A soft smile played on her lips. “I reckon ’tis the loveliest manner in which to burn.”

The sound of a watcher’s horn made Darro rise and bow to her quickly before he hurried out into the gardens. There he drew his sword and scanned the bailey, and saw Benedict ushering Elspeth back into the stronghold. Hunter Ulf came to him with a handful of spears retrieved from a nearby cache, and handed him one before eyeing the men running along the inner wall.

Tasgall joined them. “The MacBren’s no’ due to attack us until late autumn,” he muttered.

“This cycle, ’tis gone amiss from the very beginning,” Ulf told him.

“Aye,” Darro said, nodding toward the stronghold. “I saw an old man through the barrier not an hour past.”

Although Ulf glanced at him, Tasgall pointed at two interior guards who’d just rushed into the gardens. “You there,” he called out. “Get the vassals to safety.” He turned back to Darro and glanced at the spears he and Ulf carried. “We must speak later. Take those weapons to the battlements while I make safe the keepe.”

As Tasgall rushed to the stronghold, Darro and Ulf ran to the stairs. At the top, they joined the watchers.

“Shall I bring more men and weapons, Chieftain?” Ulf asked.

“Aye, fetch both from the garrison hall, and then rouse Rory if he’s abed and bid him open the armory.” He took the spears from him and glanced back at the stronghold. “I must stay and aid Alec, for he’s yet night deaf. Would you bid Elspeth and Doon take our ladies down to the dungeons as well?”

Ulf nodded and ran back down the stairs, leaving Darro to look for Alec, who came from the far end of the wall toward him. Once they met, the watch captain joined them, his expression troubled.

“’Tis men gathering outside the outer curtain wall, Chieftain.” He pointed in the direction of the gates. “We cannae count exact as to how many, for the darkness of the forest illusion, ’tis helping conceal them.” He gave the war master a pained look. “Forgive me, I should speak more slowly.”

“I understand you. My lady wife and I practice mouth reading.” Alec regarded Darro. “The MacBren didnae siege Dun Talamh from the front. ’Tis another event come too soon. Since Lady MacBren came to plead with the laird earlier, what should come next?”

That the war master had to ask puzzled Darro.

“You ken ’tis...” He stopped and rubbed his temple, for he couldn’t remember what would follow the lady’s visit. He eyed the captain. “Do you recall what ’tis the next?”

The watcher shook his head. “I’ve asked my men. None do.”

“If we all forget the sequence, then ’tis another alteration—that of memory.” To the captain he said, “Go and report such to the laird. Beg him see if anyone in the stronghold may recollect the men outside the wall.” He then repeated everything slowly so Alec could read his lip movements.

As he did that Darro couldn’t help looking over at the window of the guest chamber, where he saw a slight, dark figure silhouetted in the flickering light from within. He wished nothing more than to go to the lady and explain all to her, and assure her all would be well, but he could not leave Alec to deal with the situation alone. A part of him also quaked at the thought of going to her.

“Shall we walk down to the gates?” he suggested to the war master, gesturing below. “We may see more of what’s outside there.”

The war master nodded, and accompanied him down the stairs and across the outer bailey to the gates in the first curtain wall. Men lined the battlements with their spears and long bows held ready, and he could see the glint of arrowheads inside the murder holes in the walls of the gate house and the portcullis. The outer wall watch captain and two of the archers came to meet them, and all three men appeared confused.

“Chieftain, War Master.” He bowed and then faced Alec as he spoke slowly for his benefit. “’Tis a large party assembling some distance outside the gates in the forest illusion. We’ve counted ten men and twice as many shadows. They’ve yet to approach or attack.”

As Alec issued orders on how to better position the defenders, Darro walked up to peer through the heavy iron slats of the gate. The night had begun to thin with the coming dawn, and while they had no sun or moon here, the sky would soon lighten enough to illuminate the blurry forest illusion that crowded around the curtain wall. The MacBren’s men would not have come to launch an attack by their own volition; they would either be accompanied by their laird or they did not belong to him. None of their direct attacks had ever before occurred after first light.

Was this yet another alteration to the cycle of events?

Something whizzed through the air past Darro’s face, compelling him to step behind the protection of the wall. He watched an arrow bury itself at the base of the inner wall, and looked up to see the clan’s archers now firing upon the forest illusion. Seizing the rope that raised the portcullis from the top of the wall, he cut it free and held on as it coiled up, taking him up in a few moments. He swung off the rope and darted behind one of the battlements, glancing around it before he turned and threw his spear toward the shadow of a man in one of the trees.

The weapon impaled the attacker before he could dodge it, and he fell to the ground, rolling toward the outside of the gates.

More men fell from the trees as the McKeran archers fired on the forest illusion. Darro peered over the side and saw the attacker had no face, only a smooth oval of skin, and his garments and tartan were solid black. The dead man then sank into a layer of black liquid that abruptly vanished into the ground illusion.

“Stay low.” Alec came to crouch beside him. “Every one of them we hit falls, melts like thin pitch and then disappears.” He pulled a kerchief out and began tying it around his bleeding hand. “Their weapons, they’re real enough.”

“The dawn comes now.” Darro pointed to the sky, which was turning from black to the light green color it was during the day, which triggered the reset of everything inside the spell trap.

Countless tiny white lights drifted from the walls of the castle to alight on plants and objects that had been used during the day and restored them to how they had been when the clan had first been cursed. The gardens bloomed with flowers, berries and veg; the empty grain sacks left outside the kitchens plumped up as they were refilled. Wood that had been chopped into splits and carried off to feed the stronghold’s hearths stacked itself by the axes embedded in the cutting stumps. Every torch that had burned all day became as new wood; every wilted blade of grass bent under passing feet sprang up bright and green. Any injuries suffered by the clan or the mortals in Dun Talamh would now heal entirely.

Darro half-hoped the renewal of dawn would take away the emotions that warred inside him, but his desire for and fear of Esme Martinez remained like an open, bleeding wound that no one else could see.

“Fack me. I wish I had any other mortal weakness.” The war master removed the bloody handkerchief as the lights flitted across his hand, erasing the wound and leaving a thin pink scar. “My hearing, ’tis returned. Do you see any more of them in the trees?”

Darro glanced around the stone, but the shadows of the attackers had vanished. “None.” Cautiously he stood and looked over the wall, but saw none of the fallen bodies. “Those you saw, had they faces?”

“No, just skin, like birth cauls.” Alec waved a hand over his face. “And all wore dark garments and solid black tartans, if ’tis such a weave.”

“More illusions, I reckon.” He knew he would have to report right away to the laird, but he was reluctant to leave the wall until they were certain the attack was over. “Shall we send a runner to inform our lord of what’s happened?”

“Aye.” Alec gestured toward the men trotting across both baileys. “I shall advise the chieftain of the watch and the senior men. Go to the garrison hall and speak to our captains. Bid them increase the patrols as well.”

Darro touched his shoulder before he went downstairs. He couldn’t help returning to the gates and taking one last look at the place on the ground where his faceless enemy had fallen. Some white lights now occupied the spot, forming a man-shaped silhouette of light. For a moment he thought they turned red, but then they, too, faded from sight. The faintest smell of burnt meat came to his nose.

How may we fight an enemy that appears and disappears as the enchantment chooses?