The Gate of Bones by Emily Drake Page B

scoffing sound.
    â€œSure, you defended yourself, I’m not saying that. I’m saying, he probably wanted another captive, if anything. So you foiled that plan.” Gavan regarded her. “But what did he say to you?”
    She shrugged. She’d already recounted most of the conversation. “That I was blooming and made Eleanora look old. Something about being on my dance card.”
    Gavan frowned. Renart coughed and looked at the ground, studying something there he found fascinating. The boys stared at her. Then Jason said, “Well . . . he is right.”
    â€œNah.” Rich shook his head, and traded a glance at Stef. “You think?”
    â€œIt’s Bailey,” Stef protested loudly.
    â€œRight. It’s Bailey.”
    Jason watched her a moment longer before saying, “But Bailey has always been kinda . . .” He muttered something as he kicked his pony in the ribs and trotted off across the terrain.
    â€œWhat did he say? What?” Bailey looked around.
    No one answered. Then Renart gave a little bow and said, “I believe, little miss, he said beautiful. I could be mistaken, though.”
    Bailey tossed her head, ponytail flying, a pleased look on her face as she turned away.
    Gavan twitched in his saddle. He looked over the horizon. “That settles that,” he muttered.
    â€œSettles what?”
    â€œEveryone mount up. I’m going to knock on their door, rather hard, before we leave.” Gavan swung his wolfhead cane out, and tucked it under one arm, like a lance or spear, as he put his heels to his horse’s flanks and the beast galloped forward with a tiny squeal of eagerness.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Rich called out.
    Gavan looked over his shoulder, his cloak flowing about him. “There are times when you have to let a snake know that you know it is a snake.” He caught up with Jason and cried, “Follow me!”
    â€œOh, boy!” grunted Stefan, and thumped his sandals on his sturdy pony’s sides. The horse grunted, too, before breaking into a spine-jolting trot after Gavan. One by one, they wheeled around to follow. They crested the hill in a line, ready to follow Gavan in whatever he planned, but he reined up hard and looked down, then pointed a hand across at Renart.
    â€œAre we at the right spot?”
    The trader had come chugging up the terrain last and reined to a weary halt, his face pale. He blinked at Gavan, unthinking for a moment, then looked down across the valley and shock dawned across his face.
    â€œThey’re gone. It’s . . . it’s empty.”
    An evening wind had arisen, growing autumn cold as it swept over them, and down into the valley, where the broken ruins of an old wooden fort lay abandoned.
    Gavan’s jaw tightened, then he said slowly, “We saw it less than an hour ago. They couldn’t have pulled out in an hour. Even with crystals. That would have been a massive operation, and we’d have felt it, if nothing else.”
    â€œThey can’t be gone.”
    Trent stood in the stirrups of his saddle, as if he could gain a sight the others couldn’t, his gaze sweeping the valley. He said nothing.
    â€œDon’t bother,” Gavan said harshly. “Your Talent is to see Magick where the rest of us cannot. Not to see what isn’t there at all.” He looked at Renart. “Are there other forts in the area? Any at all . . . within a week’s ride, say?”
    Renart thought hard, then nodded slowly. “At least two, I’d say. This is a boundary here, of the Warlord’s old kingdom. There would be ruins of fortifications across its old borders. There was no need to keep the forts, because now we have the Holy Spirit to protect us.”
    Gavan ignored the last of Renart’s information. He made a chopping gesture at the valley. “Then we saw a projection. A trap, far more elaborate than that set for Bailey. It’s a good thing we