Beneath the Stones

Two days later, amidst the Drathmoor Lowland

It was humid, the air warm on the lungs—as it often was in the lowlands during the height of summer. Mira spied the pockmarked farms amid the emerald stretches, a sure sign of home’s proximity. A few days more and they would be in the highlands proper.

She rode alongside Lothar, scouting ahead—having traded places with her brother, who was all too keen to be nearer Kaethe. And Kaethe to him.

But Lothar made for uneasy company. His eyes scrutinized everything—every rock, every tree. Mira began to worry.

“You’re not yourself,” she remarked, laying a caring hand upon his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“I have the strangest feeling,” he answered. “As if we’re being watched.”

She had to admit something felt off. Their journey had been relatively uneventful, aside from that bloody bear—not that she was looking for trouble, of course.

“Perhaps the gods are favoring us.”

“Maybe,” Lothar said thoughtfully. “The sooner we get back home, the better. I’ll breathe easier knowing Father will be alright.”

A moment of silence passed between them before Lothar asked a question she did not expect.

“Do you still paint?”

Mira looked to him. That he would remember something he had glimpsed only once, long ago, struck her to the core. Dedicated as she was to the martial path, it was the brush and quill that were her true passion. She fancied that one day—when her days as a warrior were done, when she was married and had children—she might become an artist. A way to whittle away time until she had none to spare.

For now, it remained deeply personal. A thing few knew of.

Except Lothar.

“I do,” she admitted. “Not often—but I do.”

“Maybe we can come back here sometime,” Lothar suggested. “I’d love to see you paint again, like you did when we were children.”

The sincerity in his eyes brought color rushing to her cheeks.

“I would like that.”

They shared a lingering look, words unspoken—and perhaps destined to remain so. The times were too tumultuous, their feelings too uncertain. Were they mistaking long friendship for something more? A curiosity of the flesh, not a pining of the heart? Was it worth the heartache to name something so fragile it might shatter at a whisper?

Mira did not know.

Eventually, Lothar looked away, downcast, as if the same questions troubled him. Should he become chieftain, matters would only grow more complicated—politics, not passion, would dictate his future.

And then there were the eyes she could feel upon him from farther back in the column. Rascha’s. She had taken a clear interest—one among many who felt worthy of his heart. How Lothar would answer remained to be seen.

They traveled until the sun dipped toward the horizon, then made camp—tired, uneasy, but determined.

***

Meanwhile, in Leoham

“She’s certain of this?” Osric asked as he stood outside the barracks beside the keep.

Odotho shrugged. “As I said—no. But I share her suspicions. It connects too cleanly.”

“Speaking of Allowin,” Osric said, nodding toward a woman approaching them. “Is that not his wife?”

Odotho turned to look. “Aye, it is.”

“Saedra,” Osric greeted as she stopped before them, then noted the worry etched across her face. “What’s the matter?”

“Osric,” she said, voice tight, “I know my husband and you were not on the best of terms, but I must ask—have you seen him recently?”

Osric drew back in surprise. “No. I have not. Truly.”

Her eyes shone as though tears threatened. “Then where is he?”

Odotho frowned. “Has he not been with you?”

She shook her head.

Osric and Odotho exchanged a glance, then looked back to her.

“Do you know where he was last?” Osric asked.

“He went out but did not say where,” she replied. “I called on Adda, thinking he might have been with Eumer—but she hasn’t seen him either.”

Brithun arrived then, soaked with sweat from training in the yard.

“Osric. Odotho. And… Saedra?” He frowned. “What brings you here?”

“I’ll explain later,” Osric said, turning to Odotho. “Can you bring her home?”

“Of course.”

Odotho took Saedra’s arm as she looked back to Osric, hope flickering in her eyes.

“We’ll find him,” Osric promised.

She thanked him and departed with Odotho.

Osric explained the situation to Brithun as they made their way toward Eumer’s estate, its bulk looming ahead. The walls were timber and stone, framed with dark oak beams banded in iron. As they approached, the huscarls posted as sentries regarded them with open hostility.

“Thegn Osric,” one said. “What is your business here?”

“I would speak with Eumer.”

“He is not in.”

Osric bristled at the blunt reply.

“Allowin’s absence has been noticed—especially by his wife,” Osric said evenly. “Has he been here?”

A twitch—slight, involuntary—but enough. More telling was how the guard suddenly became accommodating.

“No, my thegn,” he said quickly. “He has not been here in some time. If you hear aught, please inform our lord Eumer. He has been worried.”

Osric offered a thin smile. “Of course.”

Once out of sight, Osric pulled Brithun aside.

“They’re lying.”

Brithun blinked. “How do you know?”

“The way he reacted when I asked about Allowin.”

Brithun nodded toward something beyond Osric’s shoulder. “You’re right. There’s Eumer now.”

They ducked into a nearby alley as Eumer emerged with half a dozen warriors and departed the estate.

“Where are they going?” Brithun asked.

“I don’t know,” Osric replied. “But let’s have a look around.”

They circled the perimeter, scanning the second-story windows for any sign of activity. At the rear of the grounds stood a fenced enclosure housing Eumer’s private stables. They climbed the fence and dropped down.

Carefully searching the yard revealed nothing—until they reached a brick-lined patch of ground that might once have been a well. One of the bricks trembled.

Osric and Brithun knelt, watching as it shifted again.

Finally, Brithun reached out and pulled it free.

Fingers clawed up from the darkness below.

“Gods!”