Meadow,” Ironfist said, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. “Found your horse, but no sign of you.”
“Aleyn said you told him you’d be back soon.” Tam’s mouth twisted. “Soon? What does that mean? Especially in Faerie. Everyone knows time runs differently there. Soon could be years .”
“Clever of Aleyn,” Hugh said, his voice dispassionate.
“Very.” Tam’s mouth twisted again. “I was setting out to fetch Hazel, when she arrived. I asked her to find you—and she couldn’t. You were nowhere on this earth, Hugh. Nowhere . She couldn’t find you alive or dead. We took it to mean you truly were in Faerie.” Tam paused, swallowed, and continued: “When Hazel told us about the roebuck . . . I didn’t know whether to hope it was you or not. Dapple Bend’s so far from Dapple Meadow, it seemed unlikely, but . . .”
Ironfist’s rough-hewn brow furrowed in a frown. “How did you get here, Hugh? It’s all of thirty miles.”
“I ran. I think.” Hugh grimaced. “It’s not very clear in my head . . . but I do remember running.”
“He was exhausted when we found him,” Ivy said. “Close to collapse.”
There was silence for a moment. Tam’s face was bleak, Ironfist’s grim. Their rage was palpable. Ivy could almost taste it on her tongue, acrid.
“What I want to know is how Aleyn did it,” Ironfist said harshly. “And how to reverse it.”
“I hope Larkspur can tell us,” Ivy said. “She’ll be here soon. I know you’re both angry, but please try to calm yourselves.”
Ironfist gave a flat laugh. “Angry? Yes.” He unclenched his huge fists and blew out a breath. “What shall we discuss instead?”
----
THE ANGER HAD almost dissipated by the time Hazel and Larkspur arrived, the hounds crowding on their heels. The small room shrank even further.
Ivy stood and anxiously examined Larkspur’s face. Are you all right, love?
Larkspur gave a faint nod.
“Crowded in here,” Hazel said. “Bess, Bartlemay—out!”
They sat around the trestle table, elbow to elbow. Ironfist, at the far end, loomed like a giant. His back was to the fire, casting his face in shadow. He looked like an outcrop of rock, not a man.
Ivy clasped Larkspur’s cool, slender fingers. “What can you tell us, love?”
“Aleyn did it, and it’s not just a spell, it’s a . . . a bargain .”
Tam’s eyebrows arrowed together in a sharp frown. “A bargain with whom? Or what?”
Larkspur shivered. “Something evil. It’s not fully alive.”
“Not alive?”
“It has no body.”
“Is it in a barrow?” Ironfist asked, leaning forward.
Larkspur shook her head. “Not a barrow; a cavern, deep in the forest. There’s an altar there, with blood on it.”
All three men recoiled. “Dréor,” Tam spat. “He made a bargain with the dréor!”
Ivy saw open-mouthed horror on Hugh’s face.
“What’s the dréor?” Hazel asked.
“A creature that was expelled from Faerie thousands of years ago,” Tam said flatly. “In the old days, men would offer up sacrifices to it in exchange for power. The early Warders couldn’t kill it—it’s a creature of spirit, not flesh—but they managed to bind it. Its cavern became its prison.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Ivy said, disturbed. She’d always thought Glade Forest was safe.
“Knowledge of the dréor is forbidden. Only the Warder and his most trusted men know where the cavern lies, and they’re under strict orders never to venture there.”
“Aleyn was entrusted with this knowledge?” Ivy asked.
Hugh and Tam exchanged a glance. “I thought not,” Hugh said.
“He had access to the old Warders’ journals. I saw him reading the scrolls often enough,” Ironfist said.
Hugh rubbed a hand over his face. “Yes, he did, didn’t he? The past few months, particularly.” He grimaced, and shook his head. The look on his face—bleak, weary—made Ivy’s heart turn over in her chest. The urge to reach out and touch
“Aleyn said you told him you’d be back soon.” Tam’s mouth twisted. “Soon? What does that mean? Especially in Faerie. Everyone knows time runs differently there. Soon could be years .”
“Clever of Aleyn,” Hugh said, his voice dispassionate.
“Very.” Tam’s mouth twisted again. “I was setting out to fetch Hazel, when she arrived. I asked her to find you—and she couldn’t. You were nowhere on this earth, Hugh. Nowhere . She couldn’t find you alive or dead. We took it to mean you truly were in Faerie.” Tam paused, swallowed, and continued: “When Hazel told us about the roebuck . . . I didn’t know whether to hope it was you or not. Dapple Bend’s so far from Dapple Meadow, it seemed unlikely, but . . .”
Ironfist’s rough-hewn brow furrowed in a frown. “How did you get here, Hugh? It’s all of thirty miles.”
“I ran. I think.” Hugh grimaced. “It’s not very clear in my head . . . but I do remember running.”
“He was exhausted when we found him,” Ivy said. “Close to collapse.”
There was silence for a moment. Tam’s face was bleak, Ironfist’s grim. Their rage was palpable. Ivy could almost taste it on her tongue, acrid.
“What I want to know is how Aleyn did it,” Ironfist said harshly. “And how to reverse it.”
“I hope Larkspur can tell us,” Ivy said. “She’ll be here soon. I know you’re both angry, but please try to calm yourselves.”
Ironfist gave a flat laugh. “Angry? Yes.” He unclenched his huge fists and blew out a breath. “What shall we discuss instead?”
----
THE ANGER HAD almost dissipated by the time Hazel and Larkspur arrived, the hounds crowding on their heels. The small room shrank even further.
Ivy stood and anxiously examined Larkspur’s face. Are you all right, love?
Larkspur gave a faint nod.
“Crowded in here,” Hazel said. “Bess, Bartlemay—out!”
They sat around the trestle table, elbow to elbow. Ironfist, at the far end, loomed like a giant. His back was to the fire, casting his face in shadow. He looked like an outcrop of rock, not a man.
Ivy clasped Larkspur’s cool, slender fingers. “What can you tell us, love?”
“Aleyn did it, and it’s not just a spell, it’s a . . . a bargain .”
Tam’s eyebrows arrowed together in a sharp frown. “A bargain with whom? Or what?”
Larkspur shivered. “Something evil. It’s not fully alive.”
“Not alive?”
“It has no body.”
“Is it in a barrow?” Ironfist asked, leaning forward.
Larkspur shook her head. “Not a barrow; a cavern, deep in the forest. There’s an altar there, with blood on it.”
All three men recoiled. “Dréor,” Tam spat. “He made a bargain with the dréor!”
Ivy saw open-mouthed horror on Hugh’s face.
“What’s the dréor?” Hazel asked.
“A creature that was expelled from Faerie thousands of years ago,” Tam said flatly. “In the old days, men would offer up sacrifices to it in exchange for power. The early Warders couldn’t kill it—it’s a creature of spirit, not flesh—but they managed to bind it. Its cavern became its prison.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Ivy said, disturbed. She’d always thought Glade Forest was safe.
“Knowledge of the dréor is forbidden. Only the Warder and his most trusted men know where the cavern lies, and they’re under strict orders never to venture there.”
“Aleyn was entrusted with this knowledge?” Ivy asked.
Hugh and Tam exchanged a glance. “I thought not,” Hugh said.
“He had access to the old Warders’ journals. I saw him reading the scrolls often enough,” Ironfist said.
Hugh rubbed a hand over his face. “Yes, he did, didn’t he? The past few months, particularly.” He grimaced, and shook his head. The look on his face—bleak, weary—made Ivy’s heart turn over in her chest. The urge to reach out and touch
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