“If we could block them off,” Larkin began, and Moira turned to him in horror.
“There are people inside. People held in cages like animals. Bodies tossed aside without even the decency of burial.”
He covered her hand with his and said nothing.
“We can’t get them out. That’s what he’s not saying to you.” But it had to be said, Blair thought. “Even if a couple of us wanted to try a suicide run, that’s just what it would be. We’d die, they’d die. A rescue isn’t an option. I’m sorry.”
“A spell,” Moira insisted. “Something to blind or bind, just until we free those who’ve been captured.”
“We tried to blind her.” Glenna flicked a glance in the rearview to meet Moira’s eyes
. “We failed. Maybe a transportation spell.” She looked at Hoyt now. “Would it be possible for us to transport humans?”
“I’ve never done it. The risks…”
“They’ll die in there. Many have already.” Moira scooted up in her seat to grip Hoyt’s shoulder. “What greater risk is there than death?”
“We could harm them. To use magicks that may harm—”
“You could save them. What choice do you think they would take? What choice would you?”
“She’s got a point.” If they could do it, Blair thought, if they could save even one, it would be worth it. And it would be a good hard kick in Lilith’s ass. “Is there a chance?”
“You need to see what you move from one place to another,” Hoyt explained. “And it’s more successful if you’re close to the object. This would be through rock, and we’d be all but blinded.”
“Not necessarily,” Glenna countered. “Let’s think about this, let’s talk it through.”
While they talked—argued, discussed—Blair let it all stew around in the back of her mind. Pretty day, she thought absently. The sun shining on all that green. The lovely, long roll of land with cows grazing lazily. Tourists would be out, taking advantage of the weather after yesterday’s storm. Shopping in the towns, or driving out to gawk at the Cliffs of Mohr, getting their snapshots and videos of the dolmen in The Burren.
She’d done the same thing herself, once upon a time.
“So, does Geall look anything like this?”
“Quite a bit really,” Larkin told her. “It’s very like home, except, well, the roads, the cars, most of the buildings. But the land itself, aye, it is. It’s very like home.”
“What do you do back there?”
“About what, exactly?”
“Well, a guy’s got to make a living, right?”
“Oh. We work the land, of course. And we’ve horses, for breeding, selling. Fine horses. I’ve left my father shorthanded. He may not be too pleased with me right at the moment.”
“Odds are he’ll understand if you end up saving the world.” She should have known he worked with his hands, Blair realized. They were strong and hard, and he had the look, she supposed, of a man who spent the bulk of his time outdoors. All those sun-streaks in his hair, the light golden haze on his skin.
Whoa, settle down, hormones. He was just another member of the team she’d been pulled into. It was smart to learn all you could about who was fighting beside you. And stupid to let yourself get little tingles of lust over them.
“So you’re a farmer.”
“At the bottom of it.”
“How does a farmer know how to use a sword the way you do?”
“Ah.” He swiveled around to face her more directly. For a moment, just a short moment, he lost his trend. Her eyes were so deep and blue. “Sure we have tournaments. Games? I like to play in them. I like to win.”
She could see that as well, though it was probably more Hollywood than Geallian. “Yeah, me, too. I like to win.”
“So then, do you play games?”