Page 77 of The Queen and the Half-blood
Finally, the chief-seer shattered the heavy silence. “I had no idea that fire-wielders had seer abilities,” Ruari murmured.
Gil shrugged. “Knowledge gets buried … lost with time … unless there are those who take care of it. In Sheehallion, there’s an entire guild of archivists. Their purpose is to preserve and guard knowledge. Here, you let your past rot behind you.” He held the brittle manuscript aloft. “It’s all written down … although many of the scrolls I took from that hidden vault are ruined.”
Lara frowned at this news. She didn’t like the thought of so much history being lost. She too valued knowledge, which was why she’d made Gil her archivist.
Nonetheless, his words reminded her that the rulers of Albia had made many poor choices over the centuries. And as a result, they continued to make the same mistakes, for history had a way of repeating itself.
“Do the manuscripts say anything else about myseerabilities?” she asked, her throat suddenly dry.
“Aye.” Gil’s attention flicked to her. “This one specifies that a fire-wielder doesn’t ‘see’ like a druid. You can’t read the bones or walk amongst the spirit world like Ruari can … nor can you probe the emotions of others … but your dreams have the power to bring secrets into the light.”
Secrets into the light.
“Seven crows sitting on a yew tree,” she murmured. “It’s always the same.”
This made everyone at the table, except Ruari and Alar, sit up a little straighter, gazes narrowing and jaws tightening. They all knew what that dream signified.
Bree’s gaze narrowed. She wouldn’t have forgotten it from four years earlier either. All the same, it was strange. Lara didn’t understand why the same dream kept visiting her.
Silence settled in the hall once more. Lara let it lie while she reached for her goblet of wine and took a fortifying gulp. It was sloe, and strong. She welcomed its burn. “My ability could prove a useful weapon against the Shee,” she said finally. Maybe if she changed focus, her druids and captain would stop seeing her as a threat.
“Maybe,” Cailean rumbled. “If you learned to control it.”
“There’s no time,” Bree answered. “We’re about to go on campaign soon, remember?”
The chief-enforcer pulled a face, acknowledging that his wife had a point.
“I’ll have to learn ‘on the road’ then,” Lara replied briskly.
Gil picked up another of the scrolls and unfurled it. “There is little written down about the ‘training’ of fire-wielders,” he said, passing the parchment to Lara. “Although this manuscript speaks of the use of a cairn stone … a lump of smoky quartz that can help a fire-wielder quiet the mind and detach from emotions.”
She nodded, taking the document. “I shall source one.”
“Seers learn to control their breathing, pulse, and thoughts,” Cailean pointed out. “Ruari could teach our queen some techniques.”
All gazes cut to the chief-seer. The young man grimaced, earning a scowl from the chief-enforcer, before he bowed his head. “I could.”
They heard the brawl before they even reached the ale-hall. A dull roar.
Cailean breathed a curse and increased his stride. Alar followed suit. Neither of them commented on the din, yet it sounded like the brawlers were mauling each other.
Skaal bounded alongside them, her powerful limbs covering the ground in easy strides. Her amber eyes glowed like two hot coals in the dim light.
A short while earlier, word had reached the broch that a fight had broken out between Marav and wulvers in an ale-hall on Duncrag’s second level. Alar had been outdoors at the time. He’d just finished training, but instead of retiring had lingered up on the walls for a while. He’d been watching the home firesof Duncrag flicker in the darkness, deep in thought, when a lad sprinted into the yard below, bringing word with him.
Gasping for breath, the youth had told them that a fight had broken out. The second level’s headman—who was in charge of overseeing order in that part of the fort—had tried to break it up but now lay insensible on the floor of the ale-hall.
When Cailean and his enforcers stormed from the yard, Alar had joined them.
The chief-enforcer’s lips had thinned when Alar appeared at his side, but he hadn’t tried to send him away. Alar wouldn’t have gone, anyway. If wulvers were part of this brawl, they were his responsibility.
Heart pounding and chest heaving from his sprint down The Thoroughfare, he spied the thatched roof of the ale-hall up ahead. The building—windowless, rectangular, and low-slung—sat just inside the wall to the level above. It was after dark, and so braziers burned on either side of the ale-hall, sending deep shadows into the narrow wynds flanking the building.
And as they approached it, the wattle door crashed open and a wulver hurtled outside. He sprawled upon the hard-packed dirt, rolling onto his back just in time as a rawboned man with a florid face charged out of the building and leaped on him.
Cailean and two of his enforcers were on them an instant later, pulling the two struggling, snarling figures apart.
“Mother humpers!” the man yelled, flailing in their grip. “Get your fucking hands off me!”
