The House Of Gaian by Anne Bishop

“they’re a pair.” And he wasn’t sure he’d sleep easy tonight if he started thinking about the journey he was about to make with two women who embraced Death, each in her own, but equally deadly, way. He gave himself a mental shake. They were exactly what Sylvalan needed for the fight ahead.
    “Well, then,” Murtagh said.
    Aiden shifted his foot and nudged Taihg’s boot. The other bard jerked, stared at him blankly for a moment, then jumped to his feet.
    “My Clan would be pleased to have you guest with us tonight,” Taihg said.
    Murtagh smiled and shook his head. “You just want another target available in case either of those two become annoyed about something.”
    ‘True,“ Aiden said, pitching his voice over Taihg’s stammered protest. ”But if you decide to stay, I can promise you’ll hear a new song or two.“
    Murtagh laughed. “You set a mean bargain, Bard, but it’s not one I’ll refuse.”
    Good , Aiden thought, picking up his harp. Of course, he fully intended to hear a few of the songs Murtagh knew, since he suspected many of those “old” songs had never been heard beyond Selkie Island, but there was no reason to mention that.

    It hunted. Vicious. Almost mindless. Hungry. It hunted.
    She raced through the trees at Bretonwood, desperate to find It before ...
    The rattle of a pony cart’s wheels on a forest trail. A baby wailing in fear. She saw Ari looking back, terror turning the young witch’s face into an almost unrecognizable mask.
    Flesh. Blood. Souls. Food. It hunted.
    She ran. Ran and ran and ran.. . and still couldn’t find the enemy. How could she get between It and the ponycart if she couldn’t find It?
    Closer. Closer. It could hear the female’s raspy breathing, even over the baby’s cries.
    She ran faster. The enemy was too close to those she loved. Too close.
    A stag hidden among the trees leaped out, landing in the center of the forest trail.
    For a moment, she thought he was the old stag, thought this was the memory of that terrible leap that had saved a boy from the nighthunters. But this stag was younger, blue-eyed, the build not yet as mature and powerful as it would one day be, the rack of antlers smaller than the one she remembered.
    Food!
    The stag charged, fought with antlers and hooves. Screamed in pain as claws sank into shoulder muscles, ripping, tearing. Screamed as sharp teeth pierced the throat, and It gulped the blood gushing from the wound. More. More. It wanted more. Its insatiable hunger always wanted more.
    First the blood. Then It would devour the soul.
    No!
    She stood on the forest trail. She couldn’t see the enemy. All she could see was the stag crumpled in front of her, dying. She watched as the stag changed back into a man. As the blue eyes dimmed, Neall gasped one word: “Morag.”
    Gasping for air, Morag flung herself out of bed and stumbled to the window, clawing at the shutters to get them open. She sank to her knees, clinging to the windowsill as she worked to steady her breathing. Her heart pounded in her chest, racing ahead of the fear that threatened to consume her.
    It was the third time she’d had this dream. The first time had been the night before she left Bretonwood with Ashk. She’d lain awake the rest of that night, too frightened of what might be waiting for her if she fell asleep again.
    The next morning, as they were getting ready to leave Bretonwood, she’d almost asked Morphia if she had sent the dream.
    But the Sleep Sister wouldn’t have shaped a dream like that and sent it to someone she cared about, and certainly not to her own sister.
     
    Unless it was a true dream, a warning of danger.
    But how could she protect Neall and Ari when she didn’t know what the enemy looked like? How could she recognize what she couldn’t see?
    Feeling brittle, Morag pushed herself to her feet, then staggered over to the wash basin. She poured water into the basin, dipped her hands into the soothing coolness, and splashed her face.