False Covenant

“With spider hands and webs for hair,

A black and never-blinking stare,

A scarecrow's form, a dancer's walk,

There's no mistaking Iruoch.”

It didn't seem that Robin could have stopped, now, even if she'd wanted to. With every word, her cadence grew ever more singsong; her voice grew higher, as though she were physically reverting back to the girl she'd been when first she'd heard the words. She shook beneath the weight of a childhood nightmare made very, very real, and Widdershins could do nothing but try to hold her.

“No means to fight, nowhere to run,

Your dreams are ash, your days are done.

No point to scream, to cry, to talk;

Your words mean naught to Iruoch.”

Even Julien and Renard were captivated, reaching out to Robin as though to comfort her, even as they clearly had trouble believing that she could possibly need comfort, not from something as simple, as silly, as a rhyme. And Widdershins-Widdershins, who now remembered it as clearly as when she herself was a little girl, could only recite the last stanza along with her friend.

“No mortals, magics, blades, or flames,

He only fears the Sacred Names.

Only a faith as stout as rock

Might save your hide from Iruoch.”

Robin inhaled once, deeply, as though only now able to breathe, buried her head in Widdershins's chest, and sobbed. Unsure of what else she should do, Widdershins held her tight, casting a worried glance over Robin's head-a glance returned by the other occupants of the room.

“Uh…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Robin, that's not, well, not exactly how he looked. His hair wasn't…” She tried to shrug, and succeeded only in jostling the other girl's head. “I don't think we've got enough reason to believe that-”

“It's him,” Robin insisted, sniffling, and raised her head. “Iruoch's come to Davillon.”

“It's nonsense,” Julien insisted. “It's just a folktale. A child's rhyme.”

“Pure silliness, dear girl,” Renard agreed.

Widdershins nodded. “See, Robin? Besides, there haven't been any fairies in Galice in hundreds of years.”

“Like there haven't been any demons, Shins?”

The thief actually felt herself wilt. “Olgun?” she asked, scarcely vocalizing. “It's not Iruoch, right?”

Olgun's silence was worse than any confirmation he might have offered.

“Oh.” Then, somewhat more loudly, “Uh, guys? I don't know if Robin's right about who or what this thing is, but we know it's real, and it's magic, and it's really, really not friendly. Does it honestly matter what his name is?”

When nobody offered her any reply more intelligible than a grunt of agreement, she continued. “Jul-uh, Bouniard, can you increase the patrols?”

Julien grinned. “Widdershins asking for a greater Guard presence on the street? Are we certain the world's not ending?”

“Keep talking, Bouniard, and you'll wish it was.”

The major's grin only widened, and Widdershins had to bite her lip to keep from matching the expression. Trying to force herself to remain on topic, she said, “I don't actually think any of your people could take on Iruoch-or whoever he is-but maybe he won't attack groups.”

“My people couldn't…? You have an awfully high opinion of your own fighting skills, I see.” Then, his grin fading, “We already reinforced the patrols when this whole mess started. We really don't have more constables to spare. But I'll talk to command about trying to concentrate them further.”

“All right. Renard?”

“Yes, General Widdershins?”

“Stop that. I need you to arrange a meeting for me with the Shrouded Lord. Or at least with Remy.”

Renard's mustache twisted as he frowned. “I can report back everything you've-”

“No. There's…” She forced herself not to glance at Julien as she spoke. “There's other stuff I need to talk to them about.”

If the Guardsman recognized that Widdershins had all but admitted she was keeping some of the details secret from him, it didn't show on his face.

“Ah. All right, I'll see what I can do.”

“And you,” Julien said, straightening, “are going to get some sleep.”

“But I-”

“No. You're still recovering. And frankly, Widdershins, this doesn't involve you. I'm sorry you had to face Ir- whatever this thing is, but you're not a Guard.”

“And you have other problems,” Robin reminded her softly.

Evrard! Gods, she'd actually forgotten! Mortified, she initially wanted to blame Olgun, to accuse him of tricking her into focusing on other issues, but she knew she'd just gotten caught up in it all.

“I want to know what's going on, what this thing is,” she admitted. And why Finders were masquerading as a supernatural thug before the real supernatural thug showed up! “But that's all. I'll try to gather information, but beyond that, I'll stay out of it. Promise.”

She swore she could actually feel the mattress buckling beneath the weight of their combined disbelief, but nobody challenged her outright.

“I'll stay with you,” Robin offered.

Widdershins shook her head. “I need you to manage the Witch, sweetie.”

“But-”

“Please, Robin.”

Robin stared down at the floor for a moment, then rose. “All right.” She leaned down and gave her friend a kiss on the cheek. “You get better quick, though, or I might just take the whole tavern somewhere safer.”

“I'll remember that.” Widdershins smiled-a smile that swiftly faded as, for just an instant, Robin turned an angry glare on Julien Bouniard. But before Widdershins could be sure she'd even seen it, and certainly before Julien himself might have noticed, the girl left the room. Renard offered another low bow, tossed his hat onto his head with a jaunty flip of the wrist, and followed.

When the door drifted shut, and Widdershins realized that she was alone with Julien-Olgun's constant presence notwithstanding-she caught herself preparing to scream for Robin to come back.

This is so stupid! I've been alone with Julien before! I-

He scooted one of the chairs away from the desk, and rotated it so he could sit facing her. The worry he felt for her was so clear in his eyes, it practically obscured their color.

Oh, figs…

CHAPTER EIGHT

Renard Lambert felt his back growing tense, his tunic bunching up as his shoulders rose to his ears (or so it felt, anyway). Each step he took was a struggle, and he wondered which would overcome him first: the urge to