The Night Terrors: Part the Second (1/5 Slash)
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Navigation: This is Part the Second of a three-part novel. Part the Second is posted in five sections. The other sections are here: 2, 3, 4, 5

For summary, warnings etc, please see Part the First

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Just as James had proclaimed, the turning of the year was a new start for them all.

As if Nature knew they needed respite, the winter snows which set in a few days after the solstice were short-lived, the temperatures mild throughout the rest of the slowly lengthening days. In the town most of the rebuilding had been done, and now rebuilding of a different kind – of lives at long last given hope for the future – commenced in earnest. It really was as though the darkness was behind them for good, replaced by a pervading sense of optimism and moving forward.

The deep link which had formed between James and Blair was strong and unbreakable. Blair often found himself cast up on the shore of the moment, flailing in dazed surprise at his own good fortune. He truly had been given everything he’d ever wanted – a home, a family, and a sentinel who loved him and who he adored in turn. It seemed almost too good to be true – yet at every turn he was faced with the amazing reality of it all.

The business of each day went on much as it had before they had paired. Blair spent most of his time tutoring Grace, while James sat as usual in council in his hall. But at frequent intervals they came together, both to reconnect and for Blair to ensure that James’ senses were functioning at their best. Blair derived great pleasure from seeing both James and Grace blossom under his guidance, their senses honed and optimised by his tutelage and care. For someone who had worked towards being the best guide he could be for most of his life, there was no greater reward.

During the daylight hours and when not otherwise engaged, Blair and James would often walk outside together in the woods and fields, Blair’s natural guide gifts and the fresh air soothing the sentinel’s senses. And there was more time for play now, too, since the crisis was past. Time spent riding and engaging in other leisurely pursuits, as well as James resuming his much-loved daily exercises in the yard with his men.

Despite never having been much of an athlete or a fighter, Blair often found himself drawn into those games too. It was a relief, in any case, after the various incapacities he’d suffered, to be able to stretch his body beyond its normal limits. So Blair spent time learning swordplay from James, as well as Megan’s weaponless southern fighting style. With regard to the latter, he felt intense satisfaction one day when he managed to floor James as they wrestled, to the delighted whoops of Megan and their other observers; although the sentinel had accused him of fighting dirty to do so. “I’m certain,” James said with a grimace as Blair helped him up, “that you did not learn that move from Megan!”

Blair shrugged. “You use what you can. You may have noticed I’m not exactly in your league when it comes to stature. Yet, living in the capital, I had to know how to defend myself effectively.”

“You’re full of surprises,” James said, grinning and pulling him close, pointedly ignoring the suggestive catcalls of the guardsmen ringing the yard as he did so. “And all of them good!”

Their evenings were often spent together with their wider ‘family’ – the newly handfasted Megan and Rafe; as well as Grace, of course, and often Simon. Those times were treasured idylls of peace for all of them.

Upon retiring to the privacy of their chamber each night, Blair and James spent hour after hour engaged in learning and enjoyment of each other. Blair gradually rediscovered, in James’ gentle, safe hands, the joy of giving and receiving pleasure, unmarred by painful memory. Their lovemaking was breathtakingly tender, infused always with the depth of feeling which could only be known through a deep link.

It was everything Blair had ever wished for and more. A perfect, flawless happy ending.

Yet no matter how much he tried to suppress it, Blair’s contentment was constantly marred by the ominous words of a hedge-guide, and a formless dark shadow far away to the north.

***

Seeing Blair like this always made James feel as powerful as if he was one of the kings of old; master of the entire landscape from horizon to horizon – which at the moment comprised Blair’s heaving chest, squirming body and passion-flushed face. Knowing exactly the right moment to do so, James adjusted his grip and speed, and he watched with immense satisfaction when Blair came apart beneath him. Experiencing Blair’s reaction as if it was his own, thanks to the gift of his heightened senses and their emotional connection, James followed almost immediately after, their combined ecstasy almost robbing him of his senses.

Then in the aftermath, just as had been the case ever since the solstice, James watched with disappointment as the sated contentment on Blair’s face was gradually supplanted by something darker. Blue eyes made drowsy with satisfaction drifted to gaze towards the shuttered window, and shadow marred the edges of their passion-softened ease.

James had hoped, ever since they first consummated their pairing, that his gentle loving of Blair would have banished his demons by now. During their coupling itself Blair always seemed every bit as involved as James – he would have known otherwise, because their empathy for each other was so strong at those intimate times. Attuned to Blair as he was, James took pains not to push him too fast or take him to places he was not yet ready to go and, so far, Blair had expressed nothing but pleasure at their mutual touches. Yet afterwards, instead of basking together in the glow as James always hoped they might, Blair often closed himself off, his attention caught by something apparently altogether more troubling.

James had refrained so far from broaching the topic with his partner, because he respected Blair’s need, as a man, to have privacy to deal with whatever preyed on his mind. They were sentinel and guide, their emotions forever opened to each other. But that did not mean they had a right to every corner of each other’s thoughts all of the time. Their commitment was a precious gift, which must remain unmarred by obligation except where it was freely given. Yet James nevertheless found himself unable, after holding his peace for so long, not to say something. “Blair, I… I’m so sorry you’re still troubled by what happened to you. If you need to sleep in your own room, I’ll understand. I don’t want you to feel obliged to lie with me.”

James was expecting perhaps acceptance and gratitude for his understanding; not appalled shock. “What?” Blair said, obviously fully back in the moment. “Is that what you think?” Shock gave way to misery. “Is this your way of telling me you want to sleep alone?”

“No!” Emphasising his refutation of that suggestion forcefully, James grabbed Blair by both shoulders and leaned over him, making it hard for Blair to look anywhere but at his face. “No, that’s not what I meant, Blair! I love you. I want you in my bed – our bed - more than anything.”

“Then why would you say such a thing?”

It seemed they were going to have this discussion anyway, despite James’ sincere intention to simply give Blair the space he needed. “You’ve been ill-used in the past,” he said, feeling an intense pain in his gut at the memory of what Blair had gone through when he first arrived at the castle. “It’s understandable that what we do in bed reminds you. I just want you to know, we can take this more slowly, if you wish. I’m just saying I understand. That’s all.”

Blair blinked. “You’ve got it all wrong,” he said emphatically. “Nothing about you, or the way you touch me, reminds me of what they did. Nothing. All right, yes,” he admitted, “there are some things I’m not ready for – I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. But that is beside the point. I’m not afraid of you, James. I love you, and I love what we do here together.”

The truth of Blair’s assertion was plain to James’ senses. “Then what,” he asked, confused by Blair’s response, “is wrong?”

Blair sighed and shifted, and James pulled away to give him room to sit up. The shadow was back in Blair’s eyes, and James watched as, once again, Blair’s gaze shifted to the shuttered window, before coming back to James’ face. “I can’t explain it,” he said. “I feel… something. Something strange. As though something bad is going to happen. It’s not to do with you and I – it’s something out there.”

With a flash of insight – he was from a long line of sentinels and guides, after all – James asked, “Do you have the Sight?”

“My mother used to say I did.” Blair shrugged. “That was a long time ago. It’s not a skill that the Academy approve of or encourage. They see it as a hedge-guide trait, and therefore unworthy of a true Master Guide. We’re taught from an early age to suppress it. Eventually it goes away.”

“And yet,” James pointed out, “you feel something is wrong, nevertheless.” He smiled, trying to reassure. “That sounds like the Sight to me.”

Blair didn’t seem comforted. “If this strange feeling is the Sight, and all it is telling me is that something bad will happen but not what it is, then it is not altogether much use. At least in that respect, the Academy was correct.”

“Can you describe what you see?” James prompted.

“No.” Blair shook his head, struggling with the words. “It’s just… a feeling. Someone – a hedge-guide in the town – described it as a storm. It feels like a black cloud in the north. It could destroy us all, she said.”

James shivered at the prophetic words. If another guide had sensed it too – and James had the utmost respect for hedge-guides as well as for Blair - then there was perhaps cause for concern. “Would you like me to see if I can detect it?” he said. “If you anchor me here, I will send out my senses, and see if there is anything that should not be there.”

“You’d do that?”

Blair’s obvious relief fortified James’ determination to do so. “Of course I will,” he said. He put out a hand and stroked Blair’s cheek. “I want to help you any way I can,” he said. “But also I have faith in your intuition. If you feel there may be a threat, then I must investigate.”

Blair looked a little sheepish. “I should have asked you before,” he said. “I would have done so, except I didn’t want to trouble you with something which might be nothing more than my imagination.”

James leaned forward and kissed Blair softly on the lips. “Even if it is,” he said, gazing at Blair tenderly, “I would do anything for you. You only have to ask.”

Over the next few minutes, Blair led James through a breathing exercise to ready him for what he was about to do. Then, secure in the knowledge that his guide was there to tether and protect him, James allowed his senses to fly out into the darkness.

Far he flew; through darkness and over trickling streams, his nostrils filled with the scent of bog and the damp promise of rain. The air was colder the higher he travelled, snow tickling his nose with its ice crystals when he turned his attention to the peaks. Night creatures scurried and flew in the wild places; great owls soaring over scrabbling prey far below in the heather. Still James’ senses travelled, further and further, following the north star like a lodestone.

At last, reaching the limits of his awareness, he listened; seeking that which should not be there. But he heard nothing, smelled nothing, sensed nothing.

And he realised, to his dismay, that the answer was deep within the nothingness itself.

Relaxing all control James allowed his guide to reel him back in, arriving back into his body and their bedchamber with a rush, to find Blair looking at him; his expression a mixture of dread and hope.

At the question in his eyes, James said hoarsely, “It’s there. The dark cloud.” He shivered, feeling again the sense of barrenness and threat. “Its breath is like a warm wind in the far north. It is surrounded by emptiness – there is not one single living creature within leagues of where it lies.”

James heard Blair’s heart jump and speed up but, guide-like, he maintained his composure. “What is it?” he asked.

James shook his head. “I don’t know for certain,” he admitted, intense despair filling him. “But I think I can guess.”

Blair’s voice broke. “I thought they’d gone,” he said, “like the fae did in the old tales. Back to their home far away, never to return.”

“I think they’re just biding their time,” James admitted, his self-recrimination almost too much to bear. How could he have been so wrong? “Sleeping, like rodents in the winter. I’m sorry, Blair.”

Wordlessly, Blair gathered him in. And, tense and fitful, they clung together throughout the rest of the night, their intermittent dreams filled with the flap of wings and scrabble of claws.

***

James agonised for most of that long, interminable night how best to deal with the threat. Clearly word would have to be spread throughout the other baronies. Precautions would need to be taken to protect people from the night terrors, in readiness for the time they might fly south once more. Better and more effective ways of keeping the creatures out would need to be devised, and houses suitably reinforced. And he would need to ensure that people were armed and ready to fight.

Rising in the clear light of morning to air filled with the promise of spring, and the hopeful faces of a populace who had lived through a nightmare they now thought gone forever, he found himself paralysed into inaction. How could he tell them that their new-found optimism and hope for the future was based on a false premise?

Yet, of course, he must. He was Baron – it was his duty.

But as the morning advanced, with Blair constantly hovering equally devastated and white-faced at his elbow, James began to see another solution.

The creatures, if he’d sensed it right, were sleeping. Whiling away the winter months in hibernation, just like any common creature.

Maybe it was time to turn the tables, and show them what it was like to be slaughtered while lying vulnerable and unaware – just as they had done to so many of James’ people, who they’d mercilessly devoured in their beds.

Finally, knowing what he must do, James called a meeting with Simon to tell him what they’d discovered, and to plan their next move.

***

Even as James set the wheels in motion to deal with the night terrors once and for all, Blair was plagued by a constant, nagging sense of doubt. Something about this whole scenario did not add up, his odd prescience notwithstanding. Why, when they had never done so in living memory, had the creatures gone to ground this winter? What was different about this year than any other? Previously the night terrors had revelled in the longer hours of darkness which came about at this time of year, and the cold had not seemed to affect them at all.

While the seneschal and the baron sequestered themselves in the baron’s private apartment to take counsel, Blair found himself in Simon’s library, seeking in the ancient books he kept there the tales they had all grown up hearing – that the night terrors, just like the fae of ancient times, would one day flee north, and go from the land forever back to the magical place from whence they came. Poring over huge, dusty volumes, he found several allusions to the mythical tales, none of which helped at all.

Frustrated, Blair closed the latest book he’d been perusing with an irritated sigh. They’d all been so certain that the night terrors were gone. The old legends of the fae and the very real night terrors had become so entwined in their collective consciousness that, when the beasts had left, everyone had remembered the old stories and assumed the night terrors had gone the way of the fae. Yet it seemed they were merely beasts after all, and not at all magical like the faery creatures of old – they merely slept like any other animal, conserving their energy and warmth through the winter; biding their time before they came back to attack again.

Yet the two scenarios – the fae of legend and the night terrors – shared enough common characteristics that doubt remained. So much so that, when James emerged grim-faced from his meeting with Simon, Blair begged him not to act on their discovery just yet. “People will panic,” he pointed out, “and we can’t be certain that the night terrors will definitely return. Perhaps they are just biding their time before they continue their journey homeward.”

“Blair,” James protested wearily, “we have to act now. I can’t take the chance that they will wake and come back to kill us all. If they are insensible, I can take an army north to slaughter them while they still sleep. We can’t afford to miss this opportunity.”

Feeling deep unease, yet understanding nevertheless that James had a duty to act, Blair decided to ask for a little more time. “Give me a little longer, James. Please. Just one day to look into this further. You said it yourself,” he pointed out. “You have great respect for the teachings of your ancestors. I am certain that the old legends of the fae can tell us something – I just need time to find the right information. And James,” he said pleadingly, “what if you’re wrong? What if they’re not sleeping? How can you be sure that you’d not simply be leading your army to their deaths?”

James’ face was hard. “A soldier can never be certain of such things,” he said. “I am no stranger to making tough decisions, and taking responsibility for my actions.”

Another might have quailed at James’ icy demeanour, but not Blair – he knew his sentinel well enough to perceive the fear and doubt under the surface. “One day, James,” he reiterated softly. “That’s all I ask.”

James didn’t answer but, after a moment, nodded stiffly before turning away.

After he’d gone, Blair got dressed for the outdoors and headed out towards the town. The books had told him nothing he didn’t already know. It was time to get information from a different – and altogether more unsettling - source.

***

It wasn’t hard to locate the home of the old woman - the very first person Blair stopped to ask apparently knew the hedge-guide well. “You mean old Rowena? You’ll find her three streets down and to the left. Her house is at the far end of the row. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” Blair said politely and, following the directions, shortly found himself standing before a red-painted door. Inside a commotion of children’s voices could be heard, and Blair remembered that, when the old woman had been among those seeking shelter at the castle, she’d been surrounded by children. At the time he’d been so unnerved by her – as well as disoriented by the onset of fever – that he’d not paid the company she was with any more heed than that.

Above the door a faded sign could be seen: Madam Rowena, it proclaimed. And another sign beside the door indicated what manner of business could be found within:



Shaking his head disapprovingly – such superstitious practices were abhorred by the Academy – Blair lifted his hand to knock.

Abruptly, even before his hand made contact, the door opened; and Blair stepped back as several small boys ran out and pushed past him. “Hey there, mind your manners!” A woman’s voice called after them; and, in the next moment, she appeared at the door. It wasn’t the hedge-guide, but rather a much younger version of her – the same long-lashed deep-brown eyes, and wispy curls escaping the knot at the back of her head; although her hair was chestnut while the old lady’s had been mostly white.

The woman did not seem surprised to see Blair there. “Lord Blair,” she greeted, and Blair blinked at the unaccustomed honorific. “Mam said you’d come.” When he made no answer, stunned to silence, she took his arm and steered him inside. “Well, come in!” she urged. “You’re very welcome. Though I imagine you’re used to finer accommodations than our humble house.”

There had been an edge of humour in the woman’s voice, and something told Blair that her self-effacing remark was more reflective of her dry wit than an indication of the plainness of her abode. And indeed, although this woman was clearly not wealthy, her house was warm and homely, furnished tastefully and clean and neat.

Once inside the lady steered Blair into her kitchen. The hedge-guide he’d come to see was sitting at the kitchen table, a pile of winter greens spread over the surface in front of her as she wielded a knife to prepare them for the pot.

Madam Rowena looked up as they entered, and fixed a measuring stare on Blair. “I thought you’d come sooner,” she greeted bluntly, expressing no surprise as Blair, urged by her daughter do so, took a seat at the table. “Worked it out, have you?”

Blair had a feeling that courtly manners would be lost on this woman. “The night terrors haven’t gone,” he said, answering bluntness with bluntness. “Though if you’d told me that when we met on the road at solstice, instead of giving me vague hints, perhaps it would have given us more time to deal with them. Winter,” he pointed out, a little testily, “is almost over.”

“They won’t be back, child,” Rowena said, ignoring his rebuke. “Leastways not soon.” She shifted her attention to her daughter. “Some tea for our guest, eh, Gwen?”

“The kettle’s already on, Mam,” Gwen replied, her back to the room as she gathered cups from the dresser.

That business dealt with, Rowena fixed her direct gaze back on Blair. “Most of the time with the Sight, vague hints is all you get, especially when what you see is something far in the future. But having had that beaten out of you at the Academy, I’m not surprised you don’t know it.”

Blair bristled at her tone. “No one ‘beat’ me at the Academy,” he asserted. “They treated me with nothing but kindness.”

“They took you from your family and forced you to subdue your natural gifts, boy,” Rowena said belligerently. “Which is as good as having it beat out of you. I should know; they did it to me, too.”

Blair’s antagonism towards this strange woman withered in the face of his surprise. “You trained at the Academy?”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” Rowena said. “Many of us who have the gifts went there for training – whether we wanted to or not. Not all of us got as far as you; that’s all. When it was clear that I’d never be the ‘Master’ they wanted me to be, they washed their hands of me. Just as they did with you.”

“And you know that about me, how?” Blair demanded. “Because of the Sight?”

Rowena threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, that’s a good one,” she chuckled. “No, young man. I know that because you are the Baron’s guide, and very little that goes on up at the big house is a secret. Gossip is rife in places like this; though, being raised as a city boy, I guess you didn’t realise it. Half the women in town pine after the romantic hero they believe you to be, and the rest want to comfort you at their motherly breasts.”

A little discomforted by the picture Rowena was painting, Blair nevertheless asked, “And how do you see me?”

“You’re a fool,” Rowena said bluntly. “You think your Academy training is all you need to be a guide. You have no idea, child.”

Stung by yet another hit at his professional ability, and from a charlatan, no less, Blair stood, fully intending to leave. He’d thought this woman could give him answers, but clearly he’d been mistaken.

Before he could take one step towards the door, however, Gwen appeared at his side. “Mam, don’t be so rude!” she chided the old woman. Then to Blair, she added, “She does this all the time. She thinks being an obnoxious old sow will make people respect her. It’s all an act, my lord, which she uses to impress her clients. Pay her no heed. And as for you,” she looked back at her mother, “this is the baron’s guide, not some poor lovestruck fool come in off the street to hear you tell their fortune. Stop it!”

Blair looked back at Rowena, who was glaring at her daughter. “I know,” she said icily, “exactly who it is.” Then she fixed her attention back on Blair. “Sit down, lad. You’ve dealt with worse than me in your time.”

More than a little discomforted, Blair did as she asked, but he watched the hedge-guide warily as he did so. They sat in silence, Rowena’s attention back on the vegetables she was preparing; until Gwen placed steaming cups of tea before them all on the table, and took a seat beside Blair. “So,” the younger woman asked. “What brings you to our house, my lord?”

Feeling uncomfortably out of his depth in the lair of these women, Blair pointed out, “I am not noble born, Madam, so there’s no need to address me as ‘my lord’. My name is Blair.”

Across the table Rowena snorted.

“And I am no lady,” Gwen said, casting a disapproving glance at her mother. “So addressing me as ‘Madam’ is unnecessary – it’s Mam who likes such fripperies. Just call me Gwen,” she said. She raised an eyebrow. “Well, Blair? Why have you come to see us?”

“He came to see me, girl. Don’t flatter yourself,” Rowena put in. “Blair and I have had words before. He’s here now because it seems he’s finally learned to use the gifts he was born with.”

Deciding a direct approach would be the only way he’d get anywhere with Rowena, Blair pointed out, “When we met before, you seemed to take delight in being mysterious. Was that part of your act, too?”

“I meant every word I said to you,” Rowena said, her task forgotten and her disturbingly direct stare once again full on Blair’s face. “Every bit of it was the truth.”

“You said there was a storm coming, but you never told me it was the night terrors. Why be so vague, when it is such a serious matter?”

She shrugged, seemingly unconcerned by the criticism. “I didn’t know that it was the night terrors then. I only know it now because you’ve just told me.”

Blair frowned. “Then what do you know?” he asked. “It could kill us all, you said. What did you mean by that?”

“What did you feel, when I pointed you in the right direction?” Rowena countered.

Blair cast his mind back, and shuddered. “A sense of threat far away. Something huge and dangerous.” He swallowed, analysing more of the strange feeling. “It has its sights set on us,” he said, knowing it to be true.

“How do you know it is the night terrors?” the old woman prompted. “Have you seen them? I don’t mean with your eyes, now. I mean with your gift.”

Blair shook his head. “My sentinel cast his senses out - it was he who determined what it is. They’re sleeping, he believes. Biding their time for the winter, until they’re ready to return.”

“And what,” she asked, “do you feel now?” She softened her voice, her tone hypnotic. “Forget what your sentinel told you. Forget your fears and your dread, and the way you’ve been taught. Look for the storm on the horizon, and tell me what you see.”

Blair did as she asked, closing his eyes and, instead, turning his thoughts inward to open that strange inner eye, dormant since childhood and which he’d only recently become aware that he was still able to use. He turned his gaze toward the north, focusing on the dark cloud at the edge of his vision.

Something had changed.

“Tell me what you see.” Rowena’s voice brought Blair abruptly back.

He frowned. “The cloud has diminished. It is as if holes have been worn through it, somehow.” He opened his eyes and looked across at the old woman. “It’s dying,” he said with certainty.

“And the threat?” she prompted.

Blair struggled to make sense of what were, at best, amorphous feelings. “Still there. But… different.” He shook his head. “Yesterday I could clearly sense it – it’s been like that ever since solstice. But now… something still feels wrong to me. Dangerous. It is as if it is there, but invisible.”

“I see the same thing,” Rowena told him. “I thought the dark cloud – the night terrors - was the threat. But now I think it is something else entirely. Something my Sight cannot perceive.”

Deeply disturbed, Blair asked, “What is it?”

“I have no idea.” She shrugged, and went back to her vegetables. “Whatever it is,” she said, “it is a long way off. When those of us with the Sight are granted visions yet they remain unclear, as this one does, it is usually an indication of events to come in the far future. If the gods of our ancestors wish it, more will be revealed when the time is closer. In the meantime, it’s done us a service. The creatures – if your sentinel is right and the dark cloud is, indeed, them – are dying. It’s over.”

“Are you saying there is no current threat from the night terrors?” Blair asked.

“How you interpret what you see is up to you,” she said. Outer leaves were discarded, inner ones chopped and added to the pot. “There is, however, one thing I can see which you cannot.” She dropped her knife on the table, and turned toward Blair. Taking his hand in her gnarled one, she looked deep into his eyes, and he resisted a sudden urge to flee. It felt as if she was looking deep inside, finding places even his sentinel could not touch.

Holding Blair motionless with the force of her gaze and the claw-like grasp of her hand, Rowena told him, “I saw, long ago, that you and our Baron would be paired. I saw the darkness in your past which you were afraid to face. Now, I tell you this. Stay loyal to him, whatever happens. Trust yourself and be strong. And when your eyes are the only ones open to the truth, use every resource at your command to open the eyes of others - because the lives of our children and our children’s children depend on it.”

“What do you mean?” Blair whispered.

Rowena turned away once more and, released, Blair snatched his hand back and cradled it to his chest. “If I knew any more I’d tell you, child,” she said a little testily. Clearly dismissing him, she went back to her task.

As if nothing of any significance had happened, Gwen pushed his cup nearer. “Don’t let your tea get cold, Blair,” she said. “Would you like some cake?”

Stunned, Blair accepted her hospitality by rote; his thoughts emphatically elsewhere.

***

Back at the castle, Blair headed once again for the library. Simon was there when he arrived. “Feel free to look around,” he told Blair, a quill in his hand and a frown on his brow. “But I’d appreciate it if you did so quietly. I need to finish writing out these messages to the other baronies so they can be sent at first light.”

Taking pains not to disturb the busy seneschal, Blair one again attacked the books. He needed to know what was strong enough to slaughter night terrors as they slept. Another, more fearsome creature, perhaps? Disease? Perhaps some unknown tribe of humans, who lived in the cold, far north? And more to the point – having killed the night terrors, was this same, mysterious thing the threat to them that Blair, deep in his heart, feared?

But the books, once again, did not help, despite the fact that the library James’ seneschal kept was one of the most extensive and comprehensive that Blair had ever seen. Little had ever been documented about the night terrors, it seemed, despite the fact that the two species – humans and the monsters – had lived side-by-side for generations. And muddying the whole issue was the tendency of histories and legends to conflate the night terrors with the fae; those ethereal, delicate creatures who their ancestors had believed to be visitors from a magical twilight world, the entrance to which was hidden deep in the ancient barrows and stone circles scattered all over the baronies.

It made no sense to Blair that the two were so confused. They were nothing alike – the night terrors were fearsome, man-sized beasts of terrifying aspect, while the fae were portrayed as beautiful, tiny beings, conveying good luck on all who showed them respect. And in the end, absent any kind of insight from the books he perused, Blair ceased his research with a frustrated sigh, and went to tell James what had transpired.

***

The news that Blair delivered to James – that in all likelihood the night terrors were no longer a threat - did not affect what he must do. While he had the greatest respect for those who possessed the Sight in general, as well as his own guide in particular, James could not afford to take chances with the lives of his people. Not after they’d all suffered so much already.

It didn’t help that Blair himself did not trust either his own visions or those of the old hedge-guide he’d gone to see. “This is why,” he told James, “the Academy discourages use of and belief in the Sight. It is an imperfect and unpredictable source of information – nothing like a Sentinel’s abilities at all. It just gets in the way of clarity. I can tell you nothing, except that I feel that the creatures are dying. Yet I know not why or how, or even if the thing killing them will likewise be a danger to us. Part of me feels that it will – yet Madam Rowena seems to believe that the danger is far in our future, and not current at all.”

James was far more inclined to believe what Blair had told him – that something unnamed was already in the process of decimating the sleeping night terrors – than Blair himself. Nevertheless, he could not rely on that faith; and he knew that Blair did not expect that of him either. And whatever was happening he needed to witness it for himself up close, rather than through the long-distance perception his senses lent him.

First thing the next morning, after yet another night of fretful sleep for him and his guide, James took decisive action. Couriers were sent out at dawn carrying the missives that Simon had written, to urge the citizens of the other baronies to take steps to protect themselves. Shortly afterwards the castle was roused, and James rode down into the town, with the majority of his household and men-at-arms following close on his heels. Down in the town, criers were sent out ahead to proclaim his coming.

Once all were assembled, James stood high on a makeshift podium in the public square and addressed the people. “The night terrors have gone to ground,” he said, his voice carrying strongly over the shuffling of feet and the hastily-silenced cries of children. “They are sleeping, and we must ensure they never wake to come back and do us harm. What happened last summer must never be permitted to happen again.”

Blair watched with a heavy heart, as the hopeful faces of the crowd, so recently having rediscovered safety in the darkness and the joy of survival, turned to shock and dismay at the baron’s words. And then he watched as James, having delivered the blow, followed up with stirring words of conquest and hope. A true leader of men, Blair’s sentinel. “Who is with me?” James asked at last, his face lit with the fervour of battle.

The cheers of the crowd were deafening, even to Blair’s non-sentinel ears.

***

The rest of the day was spent in preparation. James intended to leave at dawn the next day with his hastily assembled army. Weapons which had been forged in the summer - now hanging over fireplaces, destined to become heirlooms in memory of that time - were taken down and made ready once again. Those who would remain behind – mothers and children, the old and infirm - made their way up to the castle to take refuge there for the duration, in case the army failed and the night terrors were wakened prematurely, hungry after their long sleep. A handful of armed men would remain there to protect them.

Blair wondered aloud, as the day moved on into darkness and the castle smithy worked noisily on, why James wouldn’t wait for men from the other baronies to join him in the fight. “With greater numbers, surely there would be a greater chance of success?”

“We’ve already waited too long,” James told him. “I can’t risk even one more day – the creatures could wake at any time. We have to hit them now.”

And James had a further blow to deliver. “Blair, I need you to stay behind.”

“No!” Blair could not believe what he was hearing. “You can’t ask that of me. How can you say that?”

But James was implacable. “I need you here, Blair. If we fail-“

“No!” Blair turned his back, even the suggestion of James not coming back filling him with terror. “I won’t hear this. Don’t do this to me.” He swung around and channelled it into anger. “I’m coming with you, James. I’m your guide. You need me at your side.”

“I need you to stay with Grace.” The words, delivered in such a quiet, measured voice, punctured Blair’s arguments immediately, his breath escaping in a rush. James pushed on into the agonising emptiness that followed. “Before we leave, I plan to publicly acknowledge Grace as my heir and, in the event of my death, assign you as Warden of the barony until she comes of age. If I don’t return she will need you to guide her to mastery of her senses, and help her grow into wisdom. There is only one man I trust with such a grave responsibility, Blair. And that man is you.”

“What about Simon?” The words were empty ones, Blair knew – Simon was not a guide, and so unable to take on that aspect of Blair’s responsibilities; yet Blair was not going to accept this without a fight. “He knows this barony better than anyone. He’d make a far more suitable warden than I ever could.”

“Simon will travel with me,” James said. “He and I fought together for several years on the border. He is a fine soldier, and I will need him at my back. Joel will act as Seneschal in his stead.”

Blair’s dismay lay heavy, like a stone in his gut. “You’ve got to come back,” he said, hating how his need made him sound as petulant as a child. “I can’t…” he took a breath, steadying his voice by effort of will, visualising his greatest fear – that his sentinel might never return, killed far away from the protection and succour of his guide, and that Blair himself would live on alone, deprived of the man he loved more than his own life. “I don’t want to do this without you,” Blair concluded; uncertain, at this moment, which of them he was more afraid for.

James smiled sadly, acknowledging with gentle eyes the words unspoken. “Then let us hope your vision and that of the hedge-guide was right. That the night terrors are already dead, and we will all return unscathed.”

“James-” Blair began, but ran out of words. The baron, it seemed, had this all worked out. Closing his eyes, his hands clenched into fists, Blair was paralysed by the pain and terror which consumed him.

Arms came around him and held on. And as he was crushed against his sentinel’s hard chest, Blair could feel that James’ grief at their parting matched his own.

***

Blair found, to his surprise, that he didn’t have much time to brood after James led his makeshift army up into the mountains. Being thrust into the position of de-facto Warden of the barony, at a time when the castle was full each night of frightened people hiding from the possible return of the night terrors, kept him fully occupied right round the clock.

He was also not the only person desperately worried about a loved one who had gone into danger, and the need to give comfort to those souls similarly afflicted helped to keep his mind off his own problems. One such was Megan, whose beloved Rafe had accompanied the baron on the trip north. At least half of her frustration was rooted in being unable to fight by his side – it chafed her greatly to remain behind, skilled as she was in such matters. But even she recognised the fact that her daughter needed her here.

Blair found himself spending hours in the hall each night, soothing as many of those in similar straits as he could with his presence and encouraging words. Even worse was that many of those who sought shelter in the hall each night were already recently bereaved; so many of their family and friends having been taken during the desperate days of summer. There was an all-pervading sense of grief and dread in the castle and its locality, despite the fact that, night after night, the night terrors still failed to come.

It was only late at night, when the hall was quiet and Blair lay awake in the bed he and James usually shared, that the magnitude of his fear for his sentinel came to the fore. At those times Blair tried desperately to utilise his inner vision, in an effort to find out how James and the others fared. But it was all in vain – try as he might, he could sense nothing. Once again, he cursed the gift of Sight with all his might. What use to anyone could something so uncontrollable be, especially at critical times like this? The Academy had been entirely correct, he now believed, in teaching him to suppress it.

During each day Blair did his best to fill the shoes that James left behind, although he knew that, in comparison with the worldly-wise baron, he was a pretty poor substitute. He’d spent many months observing how James conducted himself during his daily court, and had engaged in much discussion with James about the way he deliberated the cases which came before him. So now Blair tried his hardest to emulate the baron’s approach, hearing each case without prejudice. And with reference to legal precedent, thanks to Joel’s presence, he did his best to deal fairly with all comers.

To Blair’s relief, most matters were less weighty than some of the daily issues the baron dealt with, so many of the townsfolk who might otherwise have added to his load having accompanied James on his quest to slaughter the night terrors. For the most part, Blair found himself dealing with people simply needing reassurance at the turn of events, as well as various matters of petty larceny and dispute, most of which were easily enough dealt with by reference to Joel’s knowledge of the law. Blair dreaded the day, however, that someone might commit rape or murder and come before him – those crimes were capital offences in the barony, and Blair hated to think that he might be called upon to enforce such a sentence. If he was not already having trouble sleeping at night, his worry about that issue would have caused him no end of nightmares.

Despite his already heavy load Blair took time out each day to spend with Grace, taking his responsibility to mentor the little sentinel and fledgling baroness very seriously indeed. It seemed the change in her status as the baron’s new heir had had little effect on her demeanour, as she remained the precocious, affectionate child she’d always been, soaking up knowledge like a sponge. The hours Blair spent with her were the single bright spot in each long, arduous day.

Days passed, then a week. The trek into the mountains was likely to be a hard one, and none of them knew how far James’ expedition would have to travel before they found the lair of the night terrors; therefore Blair had no idea how soon it might be before the army would return. Assuming, that was, they did return. And contemplating the possibility that James might suffer and die far away, and that Blair might never see him again, was something which filled Blair with constant, mind-numbing terror.

But dwelling on his ever present fear and need for James did not get the job done. Consequently Blair’s full attention was on the dispute he was adjudicating on the morning, almost three weeks later, when James and the army finally returned.

***

James could hear Blair’s voice even before the castle came in sight - his senses had automatically roamed out when they’d reached the fork in the road, unerringly seeking his guide.

Upon reaching that familiar landmark, most of their number had taken the path to the right which led to the town, while James and the rest carried on up to the castle. Understanding that his lord’s senses were firmly riveted on their destination, Simon moved in close and took James’ arm to guide his steps, leaving James free to listen to what was happening in the hall without fear of tripping over his own feet.

Blair, so it seemed, was about to pronounce judgement on the matter before him. His voice was measured and calm to James’ ears. “Hedger, you will pay your neighbour six silver pieces, to compensate him for the damage you caused.”

“That’s not good enough!” James recognised the angry voice of Jack the Carter, who had been engaged in a long running boundary dispute with his neighbour, Hedger Willow, for the past several years. The two of them had come up before James many times before, and it seemed that no end to their enmity was in sight. “I want him whipped as well,” Jack was insisting. “What he did ain’t right!”

“I have not finished!” Blair cut in, the unaccustomed steel in his voice startling James, as well (no doubt) as his audience. “Jack the Carter, the damage which Hedger did to your fence – which he will be obliged to pay for – was in retaliation for your own previous act of vandalism. Therefore you will likewise pay him in recompense for that. The amount is six silver pieces.”

“What? You can’t do that-”

“That’s ludicrous!”

Blair overrode the voices decisively. “Be silent!”

Impressed, James found himself riveted to the drama, even as their progress led them closer to their destination.

Now he had their attention, Blair’s voice was quieter but, tuned into it as he was, James had no problem hearing what he said. “This is what, about the tenth time in a year that you two have come to this hall for adjudication? And every time, it has been in relation to petty, ridiculous things like this. So many people have died; so many have been left alone. Yet you continue to squabble about just ten feet of land which divides your property. You should be ashamed of yourselves!”

Blair was correct, of course; and consumed by the crisis of the past year, James had tended to quickly dismiss each man’s complaint against the other with a fine and an admonishment to sort out their problems, before he’d moved onto far more serious and pressing issues. But Blair, it seemed, was determined to deal with this once and for all. James found himself holding his breath, intrigued as to how Blair would handle the matter.

“As of now,” Blair said firmly, “the disputed strip of land is forfeit.”

The outcries of the two men which inevitably resulted were silenced once again by Blair’s voice – the tone of command in it unmistakeable. “If you cannot control yourselves, then you will ejected from the hall! The verdict will not be changed.”

Once peace had resumed, Blair delivered the rest of his decision. “Hedger, under supervision of an appointed bailiff of this court, and at your own expense, you will erect a fence where directed on the boundary of your land. Jack the Carter, you will do the same on your side. The strip which runs down the middle will henceforth come within the purview of the baron and his agents. As a penalty for wasting the time of this court, you will both be obliged to devote a total of one hundred hours each to till the confiscated land and plant seed vegetables there, to tend them while they grow, and to harvest them and deliver them to the houses of families left bereaved by the night terrors.”

The stunned silence which followed was broken, for James, by the rising excitement of the men who accompanied him as they entered the castle gates. His concentration on the events taking place in his hall was broken as he turned to smile at Simon, striding dusty and tired beside him.

They were home.

***

Back in the hall, Blair’s pronouncement had caused chaos. “This is an outrage!” Jack the Carter was insisting. “That land belongs to my family!”

Beside him, Hedger was equally incensed. “His father stole that land from my father! And now you want us to give it to the baron?”

“He thinks he is the baron,” Jack said aside to Hedger; his enmity towards the other man momentarily forgotten in the face of this new, common enemy. “But the real baron,” he sneered at Blair, “would never dare commit such a ridiculous act!”

“The real baron,” came a voice from the doorway at the far end of the hall, “would never have been so clever or imaginative. Or so eminently fair.”

Blair’s heart leapt wildly, his eyes seeking and finding James as he stepped - bearded, dusty and smiling widely - into the hall.

James moved through the hall towards where Blair sat, cutting a swathe through the assembled crowd like wind through the barley. All eyes were upon him as he moved, and Blair could see nothing else. He ached with love and relief: here was his beloved, longed-for sentinel, home at last, safe and sound.

When he reached Blair’s side, James’ eyes twinkled with a mixture of understanding and amusement as he addressed Blair loud enough for everyone to hear. “You made a very fair decision in this case, Lord Warden. I see that I left the barony in good hands.” James’ hand descended on Blair’s shoulder, the touch quickening Blair’s breath with almost unbounded joy.

Then the baron turned to address the hall, his hand remaining in contact with his guide the whole while. “The night terrors,” he proclaimed loudly, “are dead. Every last one of them. We found the bodies of hundreds upon thousands of them, lying in a huge cavern more than a week’s hard journey from here, up in the high peaks. They were already dead when we arrived, their bodies half-eaten by scavengers. We stayed to set fire to the cave, and we burned what was left of them to ashes.” He grinned, the smile wide and happy. “It is truly over,” he declared. “They are gone forever, and every one of us is back safe.”

The hall erupted into cheers. And in the midst of celebration the eyes of sentinel and guide met, the gaze lingering and eloquent and full of long-denied promise.





Continued in 2/5





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