“Will the Circle meet the abbot’s demands?”
Barrow rubbed his temples. “I don’t know. They’ve been closed up in meetings and I’ve only been in attendance at one. I know little, but from what I’ve heard, they’re split over the issue.”
“Is there a choice other than submitting to Abbot Crichton?” Ember asked.
“Eira seems to think so,” he said with a grimace.
Ember frowned. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure. Eira wants to resist, and I’d be the first to choose that path if I thought it viable . . . but something doesn’t feel right about this.”
“I don’t understand.” Ember didn’t like the way Barrow’s voice had tightened.
“The man we came upon in the woods,” he said, leaning forward so his folded arms rested on his thighs. “He’s imprisoned in the stockade. We’ve been questioning him day after day, but he speaks only madness.”
“He looked mad,” Ember said.
“For all intents and purposes he is mad,” he said. “But he was able to call half a dozen striga into the Black Forest to serve him. Such a thing isn’t possible—at least we didn’t believe it to be.”
“And Eira thinks he could aid us against the abbot?” Ember worried at the deepening strain on Barrow’s face, so his quiet laughter came as a surprise.
“I suppose this is as good a lesson as Herodotus.” He set the book on the foot of her bed. “We fight creatures that are unnatural, beasts that corrupt our world. We’ve learned bits and pieces of the ways they can be summoned and more importantly how to kill them.”
He leaned back in his chair. “The aims of our clerics have been focused on drawing on the elemental magic held by the earth to combat those evils that don’t belong here. The powers we employ in this war against darkness are natural repellants to the creatures we fight.”
Ember lay very still, rapt by the tale.
“But Eira believes our energies misdirected,” he told her. “She wants the clerics to shift their study to our adversary—the supposed master of those wicked beasts that surface from the mysterious dark.”
“That doesn’t seem unreasonable,” Ember said quietly.
“No, it doesn’t.” Barrow drew a long breath. “I can’t explain why I’m troubled by her request. It’s that man we captured. He shows no fear despite being our prisoner. And he should be afraid. Any person we find dabbling in black magic does not see the light of day again. Because he allied with darkness, his life is forfeit.”
“But he’s what Eira wants the clerics to study?” Ember asked as pieces of Barrow’s story fell into place.
“Yes,” he said, frowning. “Eira believes this sorcerer has tapped more deeply into these dark mysteries than any other magician we’ve captured. And she’s right.”
He looked into her eyes. “Tell me if you think me a fool, Ember.”
She opened her mouth to object, but he kept speaking. “Eira thinks our prisoner may have found the source of all that is evil. Every beast we kill. She wants to seek that source out and destroy it.”
Ember held his gaze when he paused, gathering his thoughts.
“It follows that our enemies come from somewhere or something, but for reasons I can’t explain, I don’t want to seek it out, though Eira claims to do so might afford us the only opportunity to rid this world of these evils forever.”
“I could never think you a fool,” Ember whispered. The thought of a source that brought things like the striga and the revenant into being made her shudder. “What will happen now?”
Her mind was split, some of her attention still held captive by the thought that her father would continue to demand her return while the remainder cautiously mused over Eira’s proposal. No matter how frightening the source might be, if these horrors could be banished from the earth, how could Conatus fail to attempt that mission?
Barrow shrugged. “It’s in the hands of the Circle. Tomorrow the Guard returns to Dorusduain. Perhaps we’ll find more answers to guide our steps.”
“You’re riding out tomorrow? I want to be ready,” Ember told him. “I’ve already been lying about for two days.”
She started to sit up but winced as tight skin over her healing wounds objected.
“You’re not going back into the field until you’ve fully recovered. And you’ve already done enough in the fight with the striga.” Barrow was on his feet, his hand on her shoulder as if to press her back into the pillows. “Don’t strain yourself. You’ll be fighting alongside me soon enough.”
Ember lifted her hand, pushing his away as she gritted her teeth and wormed her way up the bed until she was upright. “The healer has told me if I lie here much longer, I could lose all the strength in my arms.”
He nodded slowly. “The healer said you might need help.”
“She did.” Ember frowned. “I don’t know what she meant.”
“I think I might.” His voice trailed off. He took a few steps away from her, looking at the door. For a moment she thought he was about to leave, but he turned around and came to her side.
“Try lifting your arms,” he said.
Without hesitation she raised her arms. Pain made her gasp before they were level with her shoulders.
Barrow leaned over, taking her forearms in his hands and looking her in the eye. “This will hurt.”
Slowly he lifted her arms. Her breath became shallow and she bit her lip, trying to will away the sensation that Barrow was about to tear her arms from their sockets.
“Breathe,” he murmured. He drew her body forward so her chest folded over her thighs, stretching the muscles in her back in addition to those of her shoulders and arms.
Despite all her effort to swallow it, Ember choked out a sob.
“You’re strong, Ember.” Barrow held her, keeping steady tension in her outstretched arms. “Remember that.”
“What are you doing?” The outraged question came from the doorway.
Ember started to lift her body, but Barrow kept a tight grip on her arms. “Sit up very slowly.”
Her body protested as she retracted from the stretch. When her head was upright, she saw Alistair coming across the room. Barrow paid the younger man no heed, easing Ember back against her pillow.