Night of the Eye by Mary Kirchoff

hoped for more. Good work, Guerrand.”
    With that, Cormac began to fire orders. First, he told Kirah to get into the keep and dress properly; knowing his tone too well, Kirah scampered away with a pitying glance at Guerrand. Next he instructed several men-at-arms to take the still gagged and squirming bandits into the dungeon, where they would be questioned momentarily.
    Then Cormac’s angry eyes locked on to Guerrand, who swallowed hard under the scrutiny, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’ll speak to you shortly in my study, Guerrand,” his brother said crisply. “I would like to privately discuss just what your unexpected actions mean to me.”

“You made me look like a fool before all my servants, Guerrand.” Cormac’s voice was low, threatening.
    “So
that’s
what made you so angry in the courtyard.” Guerrand still wore his sword, hoping a martial appearance might soften his brother’s fury. He stood, rather than sat, to get the full benefit from the prop.
    “Of course,” said Cormac. “My men and I—seasoned cavaliers, all—have been searching for these bandits for days. You and a string bean of a girl—”
    “That string bean is our sister.”
    “Half sister.” Cormac glowered at Guerrand’s interruption. “You ride into the courtyard with them all trussed up, as if it were as easy as … as … magic.” Cormac’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. “You used magic somehow, didn’t you?”
    Guerrand flinched at the accusation. Not that hehadn’t expected it, but it came sooner than he hoped.
    “You look like you were dressed for battle, but I’ll wager …” Cormac bounded to his feet and prodded Guerrand in the ribs. A look that mixed satisfaction with disgust crossed his face. “You’re not even wearing armor under that tunic, as I suspected. You never had any intention of fighting.”
    Cormac shook his head and paced across the room. “It all makes sense now. The bandit I questioned said you threw dirt at them, and then they fell unconscious.”
    Guerrand was incredulous. “Quinn’s killers have been found, and you’re more concerned about how I did it?” He shook his head in disbelief.
    Cormac drained a goblet of wine in one gulp, then held the glass up to Guerrand in a mock toast. “Congratulations,” he said, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What dark sorcerer’s spell did you use to find and bring them here, Guerrand?”
    “What does it matter?” asked Guerrand. “Isn’t it enough that magic accomplished what ordinary measures could not?”
    “Any good cavalier could have done the same thing! You could have called on those skills, instead of the evil secrets of magic.”
    Guerrand sneered. “We both know I’m not a good cavalier. Besides, you said yourself, well-trained knights already tried to defeat those bandits and failed.
    “I’ve really tried to understand your hatred of magic, Cormac,” he continued softly after a pause, “and now I finally do. It came to me suddenly that you’re no different than me or anyone else. Behind your bluster, you’re afraid of what you don’t understand.”
    “I’m not afraid of anything!”
    Guerrand arched one brow. “You don’t sound fearless.”
    Cormac whirled on him. “How dare you? You know nothing of fear! Have you watched men die on yoursword in battle? Have you struggled to maintain the lifestyle expected of a lord with more debt than income? No, you haven’t.” He thumped his chest. “I have. And because I’ve struggled for this family—for you—your life has been easy.”
    “Maybe I haven’t killed a man, or even tried to understand your struggles,” said Guerrand, “but neither do you know what my life has been like.”
    The young man stood, his face glowing. “Since Father died, I’ve toed the line—” he poked his brother’s beefy shoulder “—
your
line—as best I could for the sake of family honor, because that’s what Father taught me I must do. And I’ve