The archbishop himself read the Mass.
The cathedral was crowded on this morn, for most had heard the tale of Niall’s pending mission in the three weeks since Viviane had vanished before his own eyes. If naught else, they were curious to see the knight who had been fooled by a witch.
’Twas not a reminder the man in question appreciated. Niall’s ears burned when he stepped into the cathedral and the whispering began.
Niall’s patron—waiting serenely ahead—was a lean man, though his formidable will tinged the air even from this distance. The archbishop of Cantlecroft had an air of command that drew every eye to him, even when he sat back behind the altar as he did now. Indeed, the hair rose on the back of one’s neck beneath the weight of his regard.
As Niall’s did when he stepped into the central aisle. Oh, he had failed his patron in the worst way and no one was more aware of that than Niall of Malloy.
He had failed his overlord, questioned the man’s wisdom, and broken his oath of fealty. The archbishop owed him naught.
But the man, in his grace, had shown Niall marked compassion. He had showered Niall with gifts once the knight declared his intent to set matters to rights. Niall’s new chemise and chausses were wrought of the finest wool, his trusty blade endowed with a fine new scabbard heavy with jewels. A stallion of untold magnificence awaited him outside the church, that steed festooned in ribbons and caparisons befitting the glory of his intent.
And indicative of the archbishop’s endorsement. It took a great man to be gracious when his command had been specifically denied. The archbishop even deigned to bless Niall’s mission with his own hand.
’Twas humbling, and Niall was suitably humbled.
He was also sorely irked with the witch in question. Viviane had tricked him and that was no small matter. At least now, there could be no doubt of her guilt, for to disappear at will was no mortal feat.
Aye, Niall would fetch her back to face her rightful fate or die trying. He strode forward with purpose and knelt before the altar, savoring in a strange way, this unexpected return to the life he had once called his own.
Niall’s knee complained mightily when he knelt, but he ignored its fleeting groan and kept his features impassive. The air was thick with clouds of incense that would carry the assembly’s entreaties to the very ear of God. A bevy of monks brought purely to incur the Lord’s favor sang like angels all around him.
The archbishop intoned the ancient words of the mass. Niall answered in kind, then the man laid the Eucharist upon the knight’s own tongue. The chalice was cupped in the older man’s hands and lifted to Niall’s lips. Niall closed his eyes, bristling with impatience to be done with ceremony, as the chorus swelled to its final triumph.
The archbishop raised his hands, and the entire assembly fell silent of one accord.
“On this day, we gather to offer our prayers to Sir Niall of Malloy, a trusted knight in the service of this estate, and one bold enough to venture into the unknown. He pursues a witch of great wickedness and cunning, a thorn in the side of righteousness, but one of a vast number whose plague spreads across the land and darkens the sun.”
The archbishop laid a cool hand upon Niall’s brow. “This man knows not what he shall encounter, what challenge shall be cast before him, what obstacles he must surmount, yet he goes nonetheless. ’Tis no small thing for a heart to be as valiant as his, for a man to know what is right and pledge to do it, regardless of what the cost might be to himself.”
Niall straightened, well aware of the weight of every eye upon him. In a corner of his heart, Niall dared to hope he might be elevated beyond sentry of the prison if he succeeded in fetching the witch.
When he succeeded.
The archbishop smiled down at Niall, looking like a benevolent father. ’Twas as though he could discern the knight’s heart hammering in anticipation. “This knight may well walk in the valley of darkness before his quest is complete—he has the full measure of my prayers behind his quest.”
The older man cast a glance over the assembly, his expression turning stern. “And so, we dispatch this knight, surrounded by all our prayers and goodwill, that he might be protected by the grace of God wherever his path may lead.”
The archbishop dipped his thumb into the holy water brought immediately to his side. “And so I say to you, Niall of Malloy, go with the grace of God”—he traced a cross on Niall’s brow, leaving a damp trail—“and do His will in His creation. Render justice and defy the darkness of false idols. Return triumphant to us, Niall of Malloy, as our own Savior did return triumphant even from the clutch of death. Go forth, knowing that your heavenly reward is assured.”
Niall hoped it did not come to such a dire circumstance.
The monks sang an exultant chorus as the sun pierced the stained glass high above the altar. A beam of sunlight fell on the archbishop’s bent head and seemingly enclosed him in a halo of the Lord’s own favor. For all his skepticism of the unseen, Niall swore he could feel the heat of God’s own will running over his flesh.
Aye, he had underestimated his patron’s understanding of great mysteries once before and would not be so foolish again.
The archbishop spoke to the assembly again, lifting his hands in supplication. “I entreat you all to share in the victory over the shadows, to aid this noble knight in his mission. Raise your voices, join me now in the prayer Christ taught to those who followed him.”
The assembly rose to chant the Lord’s Prayer in unison, the censers swung with new vigor as the archbishop stepped back. A white tabard was passed over Niall’s shoulders, its front emblazoned with a fiery red cross like those of the crusaders.
He rose at the archbishop’s behest, his knee creaking loudly at the move though the music veiled the sound. The archbishop kissed Niall’s sword, which had been lying upon the altar, and returned it to the knight with a flourish. As the chant rose to a crescendo, the archbishop led Niall down the aisle of the cathedral. They stepped out into sunlight together, the glint of the archbishop’s fine garments enough to blind a man.
The crowd spilled down the steps behind them and cheered, clearly in a festive mood. The last of the incense rose to mingle with the few clouds scattered overhead. Niall’s belly rumbled, discontent at its emptiness after three days fast in preparation.
Niall accepted the aid of a servant and mounted the chestnut destrier he was now to call his own. The beast tossed its head proudly and pranced with an impatience not unlike Niall’s own. He rode the beast to the steps of the church, pulling the reins up short so the archbishop’s volley of holy water fell over him.
“Go then!” the archbishop cried. “Go forth, Niall of Malloy, and may you return with all good haste!”
The crowd roared approval as Niall gave the steed his spurs and rode through the throngs clustered along the street. He waved once, as regally as he thought appropriate, then looked to the road ahead, letting himself grin outright as the town fell behind him.
It had been three long years since he had ridden a destrier, three years since his knightly oath had seemed to have anything to do with his days and nights. Niall stifled an urge to simply ride forever, reminding himself that he had accepted a quest, and was pledged to clear his own name.
Aye, fulfilling the vow and resolving Viviane’s mysterious disappearance would do much to retrieve what he had lost. Niall did not intend to let her influence his ability to fulfill his duty yet again.
Sooner begun, sooner finished, as his father used to say.
Outside the gates and well beyond the shadow of the village walls, Niall pulled his steed to a halt. He dismounted and gave the beast a pat, for with fortune, he would have no need of it on his journey. Indeed, his need mattered little—he doubted he had the means to take the beast with him. He took a deep breath and reached into his purse to retrieve the moonstone pendant Viviane dropped.
Aye, there was something wicked about the stone, of that a man could have no doubt. The sunlight was swallowed by its milky depths, the glint of light turned to fey silver. It felt alien in his hand, unwelcome and foul, as though its unnatural beauty was naught but a deception.
Niall wondered now why he had not shown the gem to the archbishop. That man would have been better able to assess it, but in the hue and cry after Viviane’s disappearance, Niall had forgotten about the token stuffed into his tabard. Indeed, the archbishop might have been able to explain matters better, had he known the truth of it.
Niall turned the stone thoughtfully. ’Twas as though the gem itself did not want to face such goodness, as though it toyed with his thoughts and made him forget to reveal its presence.
There was a troubling possibility.
Niall fingered the stone, then slipped its chain around his neck. ’Twould not do to lose it, as Viviane had done. Aye, if ’twere to escape his grip, he would never be able to return from the netherworld to which she had escaped.
Indeed, Niall wondered now whether she lured him with the token to some heinous fate, whether she would toy with him when he was securely within her clutches. He had never believed in matters he could not see, but he had seen Viviane disappear, right before his eyes. The truth of that could not be denied.
However it had been contrived. Niall frowned at the stone, instinctively disliking that its abilities defied reasonable explanation.
Would it work for him?
Niall was so focused he barely noted the sound of footsteps. Then his name was called and he looked up, his frown melting to astonishment.
For a woman trailed by a brood of children ran closer, waving madly. “Niall!” she cried again. “Wait!”
Majella? ’Twas remarkable to see her here, for she lived in a village still within Cantlecroft’s domain, but a good ten miles from the main town.
Surely she had not walked this far?
In a heartbeat, she had latched onto his arm. “My baby brother!” she cried, landing a wet kiss on Niall’s cheek before he could duck her embrace.
Niall noticed immediately that his sister was as beauteous as ever, though there was markedly more of her than before. Her hair was yet the same ruddy gold, her eyes sparkled, her breasts nigh spilled from her bodice.
And she was quite decidedly with child.
Just as her letter confessed. Niall’s heart twisted at this evidence of yet greater financial burden.
“Oh, I am so very glad that we managed to find you in time!” Majella breathed, taking a trio of quick breaths. She pressed a fist between her ample breasts and inhaled quickly. “We were too late for the ceremony and they said you had ridden this way, but without a horse, well, I had no certainty at all that we would find you in time.”
We? ’Twas then Niall realized all seven of his nieces and nephews surrounded him. A handsome brood of children, they smiled up at him with mingled admiration and exhaustion.
“You have all come, all this way?” Niall demanded, horrified at the cost. “What seized your wits, Majella? You have no coin for such a journey!”
And he should know the truth of that.
“Of course! How glad I am that we are in time to see you off on such a journey as this!” Majella pinched Niall’s cheek as though he were but five summers of age. “The children have not seen you of late, after all, Niall. A man cannot depart on such a quest without a fair sendoff from his own blood. And besides all of that, I have brought you provisions…”
She began to rummage in her bag.
“Majella, there was no need for you to do this,” Niall began sternly. “You should not have traveled so far…” As his sister’s eyes clouded with tears, Niall felt his annoyance with her weaken dangerously.
Oh, women were a fair bit of trouble!
“How could we not come?” she cried. “You depart on a dangerous mission, one from which you may never return.”
“I but right an omission,” Niall said firmly. “’Twill be done quickly enough and there was no need…”
“No need! And you did not even write to tell me of it!” Majella wailed. “My only brother hastens to fight a wicked and Godless foe, yet does not trouble himself to say farewell! I had to learn the truth of it from a leatherworker in the marketplace, who had it from the shoemaker, who heard from the alewife, who…who…”
With that, Majella began to weep in a most noisy fashion. Niall shuffled his feet, hating that she did this and hating even more how much it troubled him.
Majella knew he could not bear to see her weep.
“I did not wish to trouble you,” he began in a cajoling tone.
“Trouble me?” she cried. “When you are about to die?”
“I do not mean to die, Majella.” Niall used his most reasonable voice, to no visible effect. “I have but a mission to fulfill…”
“To retrieve a witch who has already enchanted you! Oh, Niall, we shall never see you again.” Before Niall could think of a suitably reassuring comment, Majella fell on his shoulder and sobbed as though her heart was breaking. “The entire realm is talking of naught else than how brave, and how doomed, you are! You will be lost to us forever! How could I not come to see you one last time?”
Niall patted her shoulder awkwardly, scowled, and knew not what to say.
Curse women and their displays!
“Majella, compose yourself.”
To Niall’s enormous relief, Majella abruptly straightened and took a deep breath, her face still streaked with tears. “Aye, you speak aright. This is no time for tears.” She sniffled and wiped her nose. “Niall, I brought you vittles for breaking your fast, though you may never indeed have the opportunity to savor them.”
She wiped determinedly at her tears, then opened the satchel again, proceeding to empty its contents into Niall’s arms. “There is pastry filled with sausage, I know how you like that, for you always did say that I made them as mother did.”
“Aye,” Niall conceded.
Majella sighed and half-smiled in reminiscence. “Do you remember how we used to steal them when Mother was not heeding us? You always took mine and feigned to eat it yourself, though I knew you would return it to me.”
She granted him a smile so affectionate Niall flushed before she turned back to her satchel. “I had little enough time and the children did consume some of them on the journey, but there are a good half dozen of them left to you.”
She gave Niall a handkerchief knotted around lumpy contents. The scent of meat escaped the bundle and tempted Niall’s empty belly to roar anew.
“And bread from the bakery, his last three loaves this morning.”
As those plump loaves were added to Niall’s burden, Majella met his gaze with concern. “How long will you be gone? Is three loaves enough? I cannot imagine that there is a good bakery to be found in the realms of darkness.”
“I would not know,” Niall admitted.
Majella bit her lip, clearly concerned. “Well. There are apples, though they are from the last harvest, you can cut around the bruises and they eat well enough. If you are hungry, you will scarce note that they have shrunken…”
A dozen apples were piled haphazardly onto the goods Niall already held. Two escaped and rolled in opposite directions, yet when Niall bent to retrieve them, all but one of the others also leaped to the ground.
The children scattered to retrieve them, two of the younger boys making a game of kicking one apple down the road and back.
“I found some wine,” Majella continued, evidently unaware of the boys’ doings. She pulled a bulging wineskin from the bag, but Niall raised a hand.
“Majella, you should not have troubled yourself.” In truth, Niall was much concerned by how much coin she had expended. “I shall manage well enough while I am gone.”
“Oh! Now, you do not even need me!” Majella’s tears welled again and her shoulders shook. “No wonder ’tis that you never told me of your departure!” she wailed. “You do not care for us at all!” Her tears began to flow with renewed vigor, while the children eyed Niall as though he were the worst criminal alive.
’Twas a most unreasonable charge she made, considering what healthy measure of his earnings went to support his nieces and nephews, but Niall knew Majella would not take well to sensible argument. He had tried oft afore to reason with her. Instead, Niall patted his sister’s shoulder awkwardly, then held her close as she wept with abandon.
He could not help but wonder whether other knights departed on noble quests under such odd circumstance.
It seemed most unlikely.
“There, there, Majella,” he said gruffly. “’Tis not that I do not appreciate all you have done.”
His sister sniffled and fired an accusing glance his way. ’Twas progress of a kind.
“And I shall miss you all, of course.” Niall forced a smile. “’Tis only that I expect to return with all haste—I did not wish for you to worry overmuch.”
To his astonishment, this confession did little to reassure his sister.
“Oh, Niall! Of course, I will worry overmuch! In all honesty, you are such a man sometimes!” Majella poked him in the chest with evident dissatisfaction.
Niall was not at all certain what else he should be.
“I will miss you, Uncle Niall,” declared Matthew, the eldest child at ten summers.
’Twas a most timely interruption and Niall turned to the child with pleasure. Matthew fingered Niall’s new scabbard with awe. “Am I big enough yet to learn to handle a blade? Will you teach me when you return?”
“And what of me?” crowed Mark, a year and a half his junior. The boys had grown markedly since Niall had last seen them, towheaded troublemakers both. “I can do anything Matthew can do!”
The children, boys and girls, immediately broke into a chorus of “me, too!” that coaxed Niall to smile. He ruffled Matthew’s hair, but before he could speak, Majella did.
“Your uncle may never come back!” she cried. “Say your farewells, children, and remember the courageous knight that your own blood uncle proves himself to be.”
Niall frowned. “Majella, there is no need to upset the children with such whimsy.”
“Whimsy!” Majella’s eyes flashed and her tears disappeared. She gave his mail-covered shoulder a smack that likely hurt her hand more than it wounded Niall. “’Tis whimsy now, to show concern for the last of one’s own family? ’Tis whimsy to endure hardship for a last glimpse of a loved one? Wasteful of coin to show such sentiment?”
As always, her rapid change of manner surprised her brother. He would never understand women and their emotional flights, he was certain of it.
He was even more certain that he did not want to.
“’Twas good of you to come, of that there can be no doubt,” Niall said as soothingly as he could. “But the expectation of my demise is overstated.”
“Uncle Niall can best any witch!” Matthew insisted loyally. The children cheered assent, though their endorsement did not dismiss the shadows from their mother’s eyes.
Majella sobered and Niall now saw the fear that fed her emotional response. “Truly you will return?” she whispered, her fingers falling of their own accord to the curve of her belly.
And there was the crux of the matter. She was reliant upon him, Niall needed no reminder of the obligation.
Just as he knew that asking after the father of this one would win him naught but more tears. Joseph, Majella’s second spouse, had been dead four years. The youngest child and this one on the way could not be wrought of his seed. As for the eldest, well, Niall did not want to count overly closely on his fingers.
The last thing he needed was more tears.
And the last thing his sister needed was more worries.
Niall looked Majella dead in the eye and smiled for her. “Aye, Majella,” he said with soft determination. “You may rely upon me, as always you have.” He squeezed her hand. “Never doubt that I shall return.”
His sister managed to give him a tremulous smile. “As always,” she echoed softly and touched her fingertips to his cheek. “Oh Niall, why have you never found a woman to appreciate you?”
She had the look about her of a woman about to land a kiss upon him, which could only lead to more copious tears, and Niall knew better than to encourage her.
He squatted down amongst the children to deflect his sister’s intentions, noting how this one had grown, and that one cut a tooth. He spoke to each, knowing all too well they too were reliant upon him.
Even though they might not understand the truth of it yet.
“What is that?” three-year-old Elizabeth demanded, her chubby fingers reaching for the moonstone pendant. She would want it for her own if she deemed it pretty, this one.
Niall quickly snatched it away from her grasp and covered it with his hand. “’Tis a token abandoned by the witch and one that she used to make her disappearance.”
“A charm!” Mark breathed, his eyes wide.
“Aye, and one of great potency,” Niall slipped it inside his tabard that the children might not be further tempted to touch it. Who knew what evil a mere brush of the fingertips might spawn in these innocents?
“Is that how you shall find her again?” Matthew demanded.
“Aye.” Niall nodded at the boy’s quick wits. “’Tis my hope that ’twill take me directly to her side, then back here with all haste.”
Matthew frowned. “But Uncle Niall, ’tis said that witches are most cunning.”
“That they are,” Niall agreed. “And this one already has tricked me once, so I am doubly wary.”
The children’s eyes rounded in awe, likely as much at this confession as the fact he had been in the presence of a witch.
Majella had doubtless filled their ears with too many outlandish tales. Niall frowned. They had need of a father in their lives, a man whose good sense would counter Majella’s whimsy.
He thought no further before Matthew tugged on his sleeve. “In all the tales, a knight must match wits with the foe he faces.”
“Aye, ’tis true enough.”
“And in the tales, the knight must choose his words carefully, lest his foe turn his own words against him. ’Tis said that witches are doubly deceptive in this.”
Niall smiled for the clever boy who was oft too serious. “That is uncommon wisdom, Matthew. I shall keep your good counsel in my thoughts.”
But his nephew was not yet reassured. “And you must speak in a rhyme, Uncle Niall, when you use her charm. The old tales say ’tis so.”
Niall did not think it fitting to observe that the witch had departed without any such rhyme to her benefit.
“’Tis sage advice you grant, and I shall heed it well.” He ruffled the boy’s hair and hoped with all his heart they would fare well while he was gone. “And you, young Matthew, would do well to listen less to tales and tend more to your labor. Have you found an apprenticeship as yet?”
Matthew’s face fell and he looked to his mother.
Majella wrung her hands. “Niall, I have not had the chance…”
Niall fixed his sister with a stern look. “He has need of a trade, Majella, need of a way to earn a living with his hands. You owe him no less than to find a suitable apprenticeship, and ’tis time one be found for Mark, as well. You must use good sense in this.”
“But I am going to be a knight like you, Uncle Niall!” Matthew declared.
“Me, too!” Mark cried. “Me, too.”
Majella smiled indulgently. “Their hearts are set upon it, Niall.”
Niall met his sister’s gaze steadily, for he knew well enough the expense of a knight’s training. So would his sister, if she had ever deigned to heed his counsel. “Then you had best wed a far wealthier man than I will ever be. I have neither the coin nor the associations to win this for even one of them.”
His sister looked away, her eyes clouding with tears. Her hand strayed to her ripening belly and Niall sighed. ’Twas neither the time nor the place for their continuing argument.
On his return, he would resolve all of this as well, though the thought alone made him feel as though he carried the weight of the world itself. Indeed, none other would ensure these children had trades, had means of seeing food in their mouths long after Niall was gone.
Well, the sooner he departed on his quest, the sooner he could return. Niall straightened with purpose, smiled at the children, then clasped his sister’s hand.
“Be well, Majella,” he muttered, deliberately avoiding a downward glance as an unwelcome thought crossed his mind.
How many months would his task consume?
Who would ensure Majella’s welfare, the safe birth of her child, the meals in the mouths of these seven, without him here? ’Twas his honor at stake and his duty to fetch the witch Viviane back again, yet all the same, Niall dreaded what would occur in his absence.
He would not consider whether his pledge to return would have any power in whatever place his witch had fled.
“We shall be fine, Niall.” Majella squeezed his hand, as though she divined his thoughts, and landed a wet kiss on his cheek. She took a deep breath and forced a smile, though the shadows lingered in her eyes. “Think only of your welfare. Your victory will not be easily won.”
Niall nodded, for there was naught to be said to that simple truth. He handed her the knotted handkerchief and the bread and smiled, hoping she would not take offense. “The children must be hungry, Majella,” he said gently, “and we both know that they have greater need of sustenance than I.”
She chewed her lip, unshed tears shining anew, and clutched her precious provisions.
“Ride the steed back to town, if he does not come with me, for ’twould be better if you walked less.” Niall kissed her cheek before she could argue with him. “I thank you for your thoughtfulness,” he added gruffly. “Now, eat of his fine fare yourself. Your babe has need of it.”
“Oh, Niall.” Majella’s tears streamed down her cheeks as her mouth worked. Her hair had crept free of her braid and she looked suddenly very much like the young sister whose pastries he had feigned to steal.
The children gathered around her skirts, though, belying that impression of maidenly innocence.
“Go to the archbishop,” Niall urged with sudden inspiration. “You have come this far—go and tell him that you are my responsibility. He will not let you go without.”
“Oh, Niall!”
Matthew clasped his mother’s hand, his eyes solemn, and Niall guessed he was of an age to understand more than the others.
Niall looked his eldest nephew in the eye. “See it done, young Matthew. I place my trust in you in this matter. Ensure the welfare of your mother and siblings in my absence.”
Matthew’s chest puffed up and his eyes brightened. “Aye, sir!”
Before Majella could fall upon him and weep again, Niall gripped the moonstone with one hand. He grasped the hilt of his blade with the other, knowing ’twas past time to depart. He winked at Matthew with a confidence he was not quite feeling, then closed his eyes, tipped his head back and wished aloud.
“By all that is good and holy,
Grant me but one wish fully:
Place me so near witch Viviane
That I might grasp her right hand.”
It has often been said to use caution in what one wishes for—in case the wish is granted. Niall, unfortunately, was unfamiliar with the expression.
Although he did get his wish.