Free Rising Fire by Terri Brisbin Page B

Northeast Scotland
    H ugh strode across the rolling countryside . . . again. Each time he did, each time he circled the standing stones, his men drew farther and farther away. Each failure to locate and read the signs told those he controlled that someone would pay for his failure.
    The stones had been fashioned centuries ago to mark the positions of the sun and the moon, the passing of the seasons, and to aid in the worship of the old gods here on this plain. Though the forests encroached, the view of the sky to the south was unimpeded. This must be the place for which he’d searched.
    His first quandary was that there were two circles of stones, one lower on the hill and this one, farther up. But examination had revealed no symbols or signs or enchantments of any kind on the lower circle. And no altar stone. Which led him back here to this one.
    â€œWell?” he called out to the man who dared to stand closest to him.
    With the power to sense spells, Paulin was a druid’s son whom Hugh’s father had raised to this purpose. The man’s own father had left some godsforsaken island where the priests and scryers yet studied and had somehow found his way to Brittany, another Celtic region. When the truth of his origins was discovered and the man would not reveal the island’s location, Hugh’s father executed him in front of his family, teaching young Paulin that obedience and service were the only correct answers.
    â€œStill nothing, my lord,” he replied, bowing.
    â€œYou said the changes in the moon would reveal the markings.”
    â€œI hoped it would, my lord,” Paulin said. “I do not sense any trace of power here in the stones. Even the altar stone bears no sign of . . .”
    â€œSacrifice? Worship?” Hugh finished. Human blood left its own memory on sacred altar stones, and there were those like Paulin who could see and smell it decades and centuries later. Paulin nodded and watched him with the same wariness that everyone did.
    Hugh’s patience snapped like a worn thread, for they had been here for more than a sennight, watching the phases of the moon and waiting for the signs. He knew that those of the blood were waking, their powers stretching and opening. Soon they would be drawn to the stone circles. Hugh could not allow them to find the symbols and close the gateways, trapping his goddess for eons to come.
    Hugh grabbed Paulin by the throat and held him off his feet. Shaking him, he watched as the man’s face changed from red to purple.
    â€œI cannot fail in this endeavor,” he warned, shaking him once more. “So you cannot fail me,” he repeated. “Where are the symbols? Where are they?”
    â€œMy lord.”
    Paulin’s eyes bulged, and he gurgled as his throat closed under Hugh’s grip. “You do not have much time. Where are they?”
    â€œMy lord!” The man who led his human troops called to Hugh, so he turned his gaze away from the seer clawing at his fist. “He is the last one, my lord.”
    Eudes’s words gave him pause. As much as he wanted to kill the seer who could not see, he did need him. Hugh screamed his displeasure as he threw Paulin to the ground. Gasping and trying to suck in the air he’d been denied, Paulin struggled on the ground.
    â€œSee to him, Eudes. Two more days and we return to Yester.”
    â€œAye, my lord.” Hugh’s half brother bowed and then helped Paulin to his feet and away.
    How had the symbols—that must be here—been hidden from his sight and that of this druid? Walking to the nearest stone, Hugh placed his hands on it, feeling the heat that radiated from within. That was not magical, for some stones simply absorbed the warmth of the sun and held it, releasing it slowly over hours. They must be here. They must be—
    The pain struck him quickly and took his breath. His fire raged within him, answering the call of another.