“Eira!” The abbot set down his quill. “What a pleasant surprise. I was just finishing up my correspondence with Rome.”
Eira offered him a thin smile. “I hope you have good tidings to share.”
“Tidings fair enough for now.” Greed filled his eyes. “I was pleased with my agreeable parting from Tearmunn. I assume you’ve come here to ensure our good relations continue.”
She didn’t answer, glancing at Bosque. Why were they here?
The abbot rose and came around the table to face them. His eyes narrowed as he looked over Eira’s companion. Bosque returned the abbot’s gaze steadily. He stood a full two heads taller than the squat clergyman.
“And who is your companion?” Abbot Crichton frowned. “A guest from one of Conatus’s outposts abroad? An emissary from the Holy Land?”
“I’ve traveled far greater distance than that to be here,” Bosque murmured.
Abbot Crichton’s mouth turned down sourly, but he lifted his hand. “I am the abbot of Tearmunn. Tell me of your origins and perhaps I will grant you the Church’s blessing. You’ll find it worthwhile to be in my favor.”
Bosque eyed the abbot’s proferred hand with disgust. “I need not your blessing.”
The abbot stared at Bosque. His cheeks purpled and he spluttered. “What blasphemy is this? Do you know whom you address?”
“I do.” Bosque smiled. “And I am here to make an offer.”
“What dealings would I have with the likes of you?” Abbot Crichton spat. “You have no authority over me.”
Eira watched the exchange with increasing fascination. The satisfaction of seeing Bosque insult the abbot made her toes curl inside her boots.
“It is not your place to say if you will or will not deal with me,” Bosque answered. “You have caused my friend great pain.”
“Your friend?”
Bosque gestured to Eira. “She makes great sacrifices to protect her world, and yet you dishonor her and her order.”
“How dare you!” The abbot’s eyes bulged. “I’ll see you rot in my dungeon for your insolence.”
“My lady.” Bosque looked at Eira, ignoring the abbot’s strangled protests. “May I show why I led you to this place, and to this man?”
With a shiver of anticipation, Eira nodded.
Bosque smiled and returned his attention to the fuming abbot. “I offer you this choice. Submit to Eira’s will and plague her no longer with your petty quests for wealth and power. You are not worthy of her time or worry.”
“Submit?” Spittle collected in the corners of the abbot’s mouth. “Tearmunn and all within it defer to me.”
“That may have been true,” Bosque answered. “But it shall be so no longer.”
Though he glared at Bosque, the abbot wasn’t foolish enough to advance on a man who projected such pure physical power. Instead he lunged at Eira.
All Bosque did was wave his hand. The abbot flew back, toppling head over heels across the table and onto the floor.
“You would be wise to heed my warnings,” Bosque murmured as the abbot struggled to his feet. His red-faced fury had whitened into shock.
“Who are you?” Abbot Crichton’s voice trembled.
“The one who will change all things.” Bosque lifted his hand, tracing a shape in the air. The path his fingers drew filled with flames in their wake, suspended in the air, blazing but giving off no smoke.
The abbot gave a strangled cry and made the sign of the cross. Eira took several steps back, but was more fascinated than frightened.
The flaming symbol hung before Bosque. It shuddered and pulsed and then burst outward. Where the fiery shape had been something new, something dark and strange loomed. Its substance moved constantly, not unlike the strange appearance of Bosque’s horse. But this thing was no horse. It billowed like a plume of smoke and gave off the scent of burning hair and flesh. Eira swallowed hard so she wouldn’t choke on the stench.
“Behold.” Bosque smiled at Eira. “A soldier of my army.”
“What is it?” Eira whispered.
“A wraith,” he told her. “Capable of wonders you have never witnessed.”
He pointed to Abbot Crichton and the wraith slithered toward the quivering man.
He shrieked, flailing his arms as the creature’s shadow form poured over him. His fearful cries became screams of pain as the wraith snaked around him. The abbot writhed and screamed.
Eira knew she should be horrified, but watching the pompous man’s torment sent a thrill up her spine.
The abbot’s cries drew alarmed servants to the study. Seeing their master twisting on the floor, assailed by some dark force, they called for his guards. Bosque winked at Eira and summoned three more wraiths, which met the guards who stormed into the room. Their swords passed through the wraiths like sticks through water. Within seconds the guards, like the abbot, were on the floor screaming as the wraiths consumed them.
“Can the wraiths be killed?” Eira whispered.
“Not by any weapons known to you,” Bosque told her.
Eira faced him, frowning. “If you have such soldiers, why do you seek my aid?” She shivered, gesturing to the helpless guards. “It would appear you are invincible.”
“My power is limited here,” Bosque said. “I can only give as much as is asked of me. I came at the beckoning of your blood. I remain only at your will.”
“At my will?” Eira gazed at him, reveling in the promise of power held by his words.
“As I’ve said,” Bosque said softly. His hand came up to touch her cheek. “You and I are the same. Let us help each other. This is merely a demonstration. Every nightmare you and your order have fought, every single one enters this world at my bidding. Imagine if they were here to do your bidding in my stead.”
The abbot’s screams became desperate moans. She pulled her eyes away from Bosque’s penetrating gaze. His eyes were silver, full of a brightness that promised endless possibility.
“Eira, please,” Abbot Crichton called to her. “Have mercy!”
Eira regarded the squirming abbot calmly. As he crawled toward her with the wraith still wrapped around him, her nose wrinkled, reacting not only to the shadow creature’s scent but also repelled by the pungent odor of the abbot having soiled himself.