Oenghus swore under his breath as he heaved another stone onto a wall. Rocks were the only natural resource on the Isle. It made farming a nightmare. It was a good thing he wasn't a farmer, because he would have made a piss poor one.
Gungnir and Sleipnir raised their heads, gazing at a distant point across the fields. Oenghus turned to see what had caught their attention. A familiar form walked through the high grass.
Grunting, he set another stone in place. He'd spent enough time with Marsais to know when the man was agitated. His long stride tore through the grass, and when he arrived, he paced on the other side of the wall.
"That bad?" Oenghus spared his friend a sidelong glance. It looked like Isek had attacked Marsais with scissors and a razor, because he was clean shaven, except for his braided goatee. The vagabond had been transformed into a respectable Archlord.
"By the gods, don't even ask," Marsais growled. "I should've never come back."
"The throne suits you—when you're in the mood."
"Which is never," Marsais snapped, plucking irritably at his high collar. "Though occasionally, ruling has its benefits. The matter involving a certain nymph and the attempted murder of a dog has been cleared up."
Oenghus nodded in gratitude. "Whatever you had to do, I'm indebted to you."
"Oh, come now." Marsais dismissed the debt with a wave of his hand. "You'll always be indebted to me, old friend, and I to you, so stop counting. Besides, I'd miss her terribly. Fortunately, that dog is disliked by everyone. Most were amused by the whole affair. And since no one could explain how she'd orchestrated the bizarre chain of events, there wasn't any proof that it was intentional."
"What about Thira?" Oenghus spat her name from his lips. "She's not one to let things drop."
"Thira's one redeeming quality has always been her cold-hearted logic. I simply reasoned that since nymphs aren't human, bringing charges against a nymph for attacking a dog would demand that we hold a trial for every wolf who's ever killed a rabbit. Thira argued that a nymph shouldn't be here in the first place. I pointed out that if Isiilde was not allowed in the tower, then neither should Crumpet. She had no further comment on the matter."
Oenghus' eyes flashed with appreciation.
A gust of wind swept over the fields from the ocean, bending the tall grass with its restless touch. "You'd think winter was already here," Marsais said with a shiver.
"If you're bloody cold, then give me a hand."
"Hmm, as tempting as that is, I think I'll suffer through."
"Dandy," Oenghus muttered, grabbing a toppled stone from the earth. He heaved it back to its place on the wall.
"Is Carrothead still trying to get at the mare across the way?"
Oenghus ground his teeth together. Isiilde had renamed the horses. "It's Gungnir, and yes, he won't admit he's gelded." He suspected the beast would kick at the fences, even if there weren't a mare on the other side.
He continued his work, waiting for his friend to start venting. It didn't take long.
"Do you know what those fools in the Circle did?" Marsais asked.
Oenghus knew; he held a seat on the council. But Marsais answered his own question, before he could point that out. "The Nine sent another scouting party into the Dracken Wood."
"I voted against it—not that it mattered."
"Good scouts don't come easily. This will make fifteen whom we've lost to that cursed wood. One might think they'd get it through their thick skulls that some things are better left alone," Marsais said, rubbing at his chest.
Oenghus eyed Marsais. "Do you know what's in the wood?" he asked slowly.
A shadow flickered across his eyes.
Oenghus jabbed a finger at the man. "Look here, Scarecrow, if you bloody well know, why don't you just tell them and be done with it?"
"There are terrors in these realms that would make a god weep with fear. I pray every day that they remain shrouded in the shadows where they dwell. Some things are best left unknown." His voice was low and uneasy.
There were few things in the realms that terrified Marsais. And Oenghus knew enough to leave it alone. When the Scarecrow got that look in his eyes, it usually meant trouble of the worst kind.
"Hmm, speaking of which, Aislinn is petitioning to send a scouting party to the Isle of Blight. She's even volunteered to lead the expedition herself."
"Aislinn proposed the expedition last month and Isek flat out refused," Oenghus said, amused. The woman couldn't even travel to Drivel without an armed escort.
"And that's exactly the issue. All the requests and complaints that Isek has handled over the past six months are being brought up again in hopes that I will rule differently. I'll be sitting on that cursed throne for the next month."
"If I have to hear you complain about that bloody chair one more time, I'm going to have Isek put a frilly cushion on it for your bony arse."
"Hmm, I already tried. He claimed a cushion wasn't befitting an Archlord."
Oenghus threw his head back and laughed, startling the horses. "He grooms you, dresses you, brings you your bloody meals, and orders you around like he's your Oathbound. You'd be better off just finding a good woman. At least you'd be warm at night."
"You know I barely sleep," Marsais muttered, gazing at the ocean.
"Aye, well maybe that's the problem." Oenghus leaned against the stone wall with a sigh and fished his pipe out of his pouch.
Marsais had always been a recluse. It wasn't easy having friends when you were a seer.
"You didn't shake the Keening, did you?"
Marsais' silence was answer enough.
"Tell you what. We'll go back to Drivel, and take Maira up on her offer. We'll find you a few busty lasses and get you drunk out of your wits."
"Ah, the answer to every Nuthaanian's ailment. I sincerely doubt I'll find a good woman in a whorehouse, although you seem to find an ample supply."
"You might be right, probably wouldn't work for you with your tastes. Why'd you come back, then?"
Six months was a short time for Marsais to be away. It wasn't surprising to discover he hadn't shaken the tempting whisper of Death's embrace.
"The farther I went, the worse it became," Marsais answered, scratching at his chest. "My visions followed me with a vengeance."
"They've been bad?"
"When are they not?"
Oenghus had learned long ago not to ask for details. He didn't want to know what tomorrow would bring.
"Is Isiilde still sleeping?" Marsais squinted through the mist, over the fields, and towards the cottage. "I have another audience this afternoon, but I thought she might be in the mood for a lesson."
"She'll be in a foul mood, is what she'll be."
"I certainly hope I'm not the cause," Marsais said.
Oenghus tugged on his beard.
"What'd you do now?"
"I told her to stay away from Helwick's apprentice."
"I swear, I only turned my back on her for a few minutes, and the next thing I know some young man was kissing her hand. For what it's worth, he seemed respectful."
"That's the bloody problem." Oenghus sighed and sat on top of the stone wall. "He's a good lad, with more of a head on his shoulders than I ever had. I'd be thrilled if one of my other daughters had sense enough to find someone like him. By the gods, Scarecrow, you should've met some of the louts my daughters have dragged home."
"She's an unawakened nymph—too innocent for the idea to even occur to her, which is why you did what you had to."
"Aye, but I can't stop thinkin' that she's never going to be with a man she loves, or wants for that matter." He blew out a puff of smoke. "You remember what you were doing at seventeen?"
"Hmm, you're asking a man who forgot his own name for centuries. But I can guess what you were up to. Fighting, carousing, and—Oenghus!" His grey eyes widened with horror.
Oenghus followed his gaze to the source of his distress.
The two men reacted in the same instant, racing towards the cottage, which was being consumed by a dark cloud of billowing black smoke. They were halfway across the field when the fire surged, ripping through the roof. Timber groaned, splintered, and the cottage crumbled.
"Isiilde!" Oenghus bellowed, outdistancing Marsais.
Fire curled along the ground and shot up into the air with an unnatural ferocity that could only come from his daughter.
The barn was ablaze; the flames would find his distillery.
Oenghus vaulted over the garden fence, and the combustible compounds in the barn ignited. The shock wave caught him in midair and, like a child's doll, slammed him to the ground. He shook off the blast and surged to his feet, ignoring the wooden shards embedded in his flesh.
Oenghus reached the cottage door as Marsais' chanting voice filled the air. A blink later, a storm swirled to life, beating back the flames. He kicked in the door, and flames roared out. He twisted to the side.
Marsais thrust his hands towards the cottage and a gust of woven hail pelted the blaze. Oenghus followed on the storm's heels, wading through the flaming wreckage, searching for his daughter.
"Isiilde!" he coughed, squinting through the smoke. He fought his way into her room, or rather, what was left of it. The summoned storm had doused the blaze, leaving a smoldering maze of timber and stone. He searched through the wreckage in desperation.
A shock of red hair poked up from the rubble.
"Marsais, get in here!" Oenghus heaved the timber and debris to the side, revealing more of his daughter with every shifting piece. The timbers were still hot, burning his hands as he frantically worked to free her.
Marsais scrambled over the timbers to crouch beside her, pressing his fingers against her neck. "She's alive—for now, but she's pinned."
Oenghus grunted, dragging another heavy piece of timber off the pile and tossing it aside. He surveyed the remaining rubble, and then got into position, gripping a thick beam beneath the tangle of wood.
"Ready?"
Marsais nodded.
Oenghus lifted the timber with a surge of power, and Marsais dragged her out. When she was clear, Oenghus released his burden. It fell with a thud.
Marsais gathered Isiilde in his arms and carried her outside, where he laid her on a dry patch of earth near the garden wall.
Oenghus knelt by her side. Her clothes had been burned off, yet her flesh was unharmed by the fire's touch. A jagged piece of wood protruded from her chest. Blood seeped from the wound, carving paths through the ash that had settled on her skin. It was far too close to her lung for his liking.
The stake would have to stay for now; he'd have to wait until she was stronger. Once he pulled it out, the wound would need cleaning before it could mend. He finished his assessment in a blink of an eye, resting one massive hand on her forehead and the other on her stomach, linking spirit and body to his own. The Lore sprang to his lips as he directed the Gift into his daughter, mending her broken ribs and bolstering her strength.
It was all he could do for her now.
Oenghus returned to the present. Grim and silent, he stood to summon the horses. Marsais gently wrapped Isiilde in his cloak, taking care not to jostle her. He stood with her in his arms, and waited for Oenghus to swing onto a horse's bare back. After he'd passed her up, he vaulted atop the other horse.
Together, they spurred their mounts towards the castle. And Oenghus muttered a silent prayer to the Sylph, wondering what in all the realms he was going to do with his combustible daughter.