He turned and drew his sword. Toshach followed as Barrow crept with silent steps through the trees. When Barrow paused, she peered around the horse’s long neck.
The body of the striga caught her attention first. Of course it would still be nearby, though she barely remembered crawling away from it in the dark. The sight of the thing in daylight was more awful than her first glimpses the night before. Devoid of life, it had a desiccated, hollow appearance and its mouth lay open, fixed in a final death cry—like something with a hunger that could never be sated. The crooning sound came again, drawing Ember’s eyes to the right.
A figure was hunched over the striga’s corpse. The head lifted and Ember saw it was an old man. He stood up, revealing a bony, thin body covered by tattered robes. His white hair hung in long, greasy strands around his face. When he looked at Barrow, he appeared neither surprised by nor afraid of the approach of a sword-bearing knight.
Instead he looked down at the body again and sighed. “You didn’t have to kill her.”
To his credit, Barrow took the strange comment in stride as well as the surprising fact that he’d spoken in English. “I’ll have to disagree with you there.”
“She only tried to lead you to me,” the old man told him. “As she was bidden.”
“And the others?” Barrow kept his sword at the ready. “Were they hoping to lead us somewhere else as well? If so, your beasts conveyed such an intention poorly.”
A rasping cackle escaped the old man’s throat. “My servants must eat. I cannot forbid them sustenance. I only needed one or two of you to find me.”
Ember watched Barrow’s grip tighten around the hilt of his saber. “I see.”
“And the others you fought?” the man asked with a pained expression. “Are they dead as well?”
Barrow nodded. “How is it that you’ve come to this forest?” he asked. “Give me your name.”
“My name does not matter.” The man showed Barrow a toothless smile. “It has meant nothing to me or to the world for many years.”
“Why is that?” Barrow asked.
The old man’s smile vanished. Squinting, he tilted his head and peered at Barrow for a long while without speaking.
“You are not the one,” he said.
When his eyes rested on Ember, she clung to Toshach’s neck, pressing herself into the horse. The old man’s eyes were much younger than his body and filled with a cold fire that made Ember shudder.
“Neither is she,” he said.
“How is it that you summoned so many striga?” Barrow took a threatening step toward the man.
The old man’s mouth twisted in disdain. “You are not the one.”
“That’s hardly important to me,” Barrow told him, advancing another step.
“Kill me if you will, knight.” The stranger’s odd grin was back. “My corpse will answer you no sooner than I in this moment.”
Barrow didn’t respond, but Ember noted the quivering tension in his shoulders. The old man’s eyes rolled up in his skull.
“Your friends approach.”
The words were barely off his lips when rapid pounding hoofbeats sounded nearby. A moment later Lukasz, Sorcha, Kael, and Alistair were upon them. Caber was tied by a lead rope to Alistair’s mount.
When the knights saw Barrow, sword drawn, facing the old man, they quickly formed a half circle behind the stranger, cutting off any path of escape—not that he’d shown any inclination to flee.
The man turned around slowly, looking at each of the warriors in turn. He shook his head with a weary sigh.
“Not here, not here,” he muttered, and began shuffling anxiously in place. He continued speaking under his breath, carrying on some mad conversation with no one but himself.
While the others kept watch over the stranger, Lukasz guided his mount to Barrow.
“We’ve been searching for you all night,” he said. “Why didn’t you summon us?”
“The horn was lost sometime last night,” Barrow told him. “I had no means to call for your aid.”
Lukasz frowned but turned his gaze on Ember. “And, Lady Morrow, are you badly injured?”
Ember managed to straighten on Toshach’s back though her own back flared with renewed pain. “I’m not sure.”
“Are you in pain?” the commander asked her.
“Yes,” she said, deciding there was no courage in a lie.
“I did what I could,” said Barrow. “But my bandages are no substitute for the art of a healer.”
“We’ll soon return to the keep,” Lukasz assured Ember. “And your wounds will be tended.”
Ember smiled her relief and allowed herself to lean forward against Toshach’s neck.
With Barrow at his side, the commander walked to the old man, who’d ignored their exchange in favor of turning in a circle while wringing his hands.
Lukasz’s booming voice broke through the stranger’s quiet ranting. “Are you the sorcerer who brought this evil upon us?”
The stranger’s nod was bizarre, almost eager.
The commander’s face grew troubled. “All of the night flyers we faced last night were summoned by your will alone?”
“Mine. Yes. Mine. Mine.” The old man gave a few jerking hops, as if dancing in some twisted celebration.
“Bind him,” Lukasz told Barrow. “His power is much greater than any we’ve encountered before. He must be brought before the Circle.”
The stranger offered no resistance when Barrow tied his hands and feet. He made no sound nor did he struggle when Lukasz and Barrow slung him belly down over Caber’s empty saddle, securing him to the horse in a way that would prevent him from putting the horse to his own uses. Caber pinned his ears and pranced, nostrils flaring at the strange scent of the old man bound to him. The chestnut stallion craned his neck and whinnied, turning his head in Ember’s direction.
“I think he misses you,” Barrow said, passing her and continuing into the forest.
He returned a few minutes later with Toshach’s saddle. Lukasz stayed at Ember’s side while Barrow saddled the stallion. They both helped her mount and Barrow climbed into the saddle behind her.
“Pardon my company, Ember,” he said.
“I’m sorry to be such a burden.” Ember fought the urge to lean against him. The memory of waking in his arms was close and startlingly vivid. She could too easily slip back into sleep, letting the security of his presence carry her away from the pain that held her body in its grip.