“I am n-not,” Bayr denied, aghast.
“Oh, but you are. You are of the Clan of the Bear. Named for me, your father. Desdemona was a passionate wench . . . and so dramatic. Even in death, I’m sure.”
Dred howled in fury, and Dakin grunted in protest, wrapping his arms around the incensed warrior to save him from taking vengeance upon the man who could have him put to death. The king’s guard leaped forward, protecting the king and dragging Dakin and a thrashing Dred from the chamber. Hod listened, bereft, wanting to gnash his teeth and bellow the injustice alongside them.
“You will leave the mount, Temple Boy,” Banruud ordered. “And take the old man. If you want to live—if you want him to live—you won’t return.”
Hod could not feel his legs. He could not feel his hands or his heartbeat. He felt nothing at all. No sensation. No sadness. No breath. No being.
He could hear the king’s guard circling around Bayr, their swords drawn, but no one dared to engage him. They’d all heard the tales. They’d all seen proof of his power. Yet he stood, hardly breathing, like he’d been carved from stone.
Then someone gasped and something fell, and Bayr turned and strode from the room, his heartbeat fading as his distance from Hod grew.
“He cut off his braid,” someone whispered, and Hod hung his head in shame.
For a moment, the king sat in silence, his breathing harsh, his heart oddly echoing that of the man who’d just exited the room, severing all ties.
“Balfor, make sure my daughter is in her chambers for the rest of the night. Put a guard at her door,” Banruud ordered.
“Yes, Majesty.”
“The rest of you . . . leave me.”
Hod moved to go with the others, but Banruud called him back.
“Hod,” Banruud said. Hod tensed and turned, but the king did not continue until they were the only two left in the room.
“Follow him.”
“Who, Sire?”
“The Temple Boy.”
Hod waited, knowing there was more.
“Follow him. Make sure he leaves the mount. And when he does . . . end him.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“And Hod?”
“Sire?”
“It would be better if he were not found.”
When the warriors of Dolphys came to the temple not long after sundown in search of their chieftain, Ghisla’s alarm continued to build. Dagmar had slipped away to pray, but everyone else was present to hear the warriors relay their account of the king’s council.
“He knows, Master Ivo,” Dred of Dolphys confessed. “I should have told him long ago. But Bayr knows the truth now, and I fear it has broken him.” Dred’s face was streaked with worry and wear, and the warriors around him shifted in distress. Their faces held traces of their own shock and disbelief, as if they too had been seared by the mistreatment of their chieftain. The Highest Keeper did not have to ask of what truth Dred spoke.
“The king has banished him,” Dakin said, grim. “But he is the Dolphys, and our allegiance is to him first. We will not let this stand.”
“What should we do, Highest Keeper?” Dred asked.
“Wait for him near the Temple Wood,” Ivo answered. “He will not go far. His heart is here. His . . . fate . . . is here too.”
When the men from Dolphys left the sanctum, Ghisla followed them. It was a testament to their dazed devastation that they didn’t notice her hovering behind them until they neared the east gate. Those who saw her would simply assume the men were acting as guards, if they took notice of her at all. No one milled around; the east wall overlooked the winding climb above the Temple Wood, darkness had fallen, and the festivities were elsewhere.
“Dred of Dolphys, I would have a word, please,” she said, touching his sleeve.
The men turned as one, startled, and the youngest one stepped on the back of the red-headed warrior’s shoe, causing them both to stumble and the elder one to curse.
They all clutched their braids in confused respect.
“Liis of Leok,” Dred said, bowing.
“Please, I know you are worried about Bayr. But I must know . . . in the council . . . with the king . . . was the blind man there?” she implored.
Dred frowned and cocked his head. His face had aged in the last hour. In the torchlight his hair was that of a silver wolf, but his form was as muscled and hard as a warrior half his age. He was a man who’d spent his life wielding a sword and had never had a woman to make sure he fed more than his hunger for battle.
It was the redheaded warrior who processed her question first. “Aye. He was there. He stood back from it all, behind Banruud’s chair.”
“He is the king’s man,” the warrior they called Dystel added softly.
She dared not dispute that and simply thanked them, turning away. The liquid feeling in her legs became acid in her stomach.
Hod knew what had transpired. He would be aware that Bayr had left the mount.
“Why do you ask, daughter of Leok?” Dred pressed, detaining her with a hand on her arm.
“She is the king’s harlot,” the youngest one blurted. “I’ve heard the tales about her.”
Dred swung on the warrior, knocking him back. “Ye’ll not be speaking that way to a daughter of Saylok, Daniel. The king has abused and abandoned many. I’ve a mind to cut out your tongue.”
Daniel was immediately repentant. “Forgive me, Dred. Forgive me, Daughter.”
She nodded once, caring little for his opinion of her, one way or the other.
“Things are not what they seem,” she whispered. “Bayr is . . . not the only son of Banruud.”
It was the only thing she could think to say to convey the complicated nature of Hod’s involvement. His relation to Banruud would not condemn him with these men. Not when their beloved chieftain had just found himself in the same position.
“What do you mean?” Dred rasped.
“Exactly what I say. The king has abused and abandoned many,” she repeated, raising her eyes to his.
The guard on the east gate peered over at them, curious.
“Do not judge too hastily,” she said. “I beseech you.” She didn’t dare warn them away from the hill. It would only make them want to remain. They needed to do as Master Ivo—and the king—had demanded. They needed to leave the mount, and she would not delay them further.
“Find Bayr . . . and go. There is nothing to be gained by warring with this king. Eventually, he will reap what he has sowed.”
“He warned us as well, Daughter. Mayhaps now . . . I understand,” Dred murmured. He was reeling, and there was no time.
“Go. Please,” she urged. Her sisters would notice her gone, and already two sentries approached. It was not every day that she made two successful escapes.
Dred grabbed his braid, a signal of his respect, and the other men did the same.
Then they left through the east gate, their swords swinging and their strides long.
28
DAUGHTERS
Bayr was moving quickly, almost running. He’d hurtled through the east gate and bounded down the mountainside like a sheepdog, and Hod, for all his skill and ability, was a man of distinct limitations. He could go great distances . . . but he could not go quickly. Within minutes, Bayr was out of range, and Hod could not hear him anymore.