The Drinnglennin Chronicles Omnibus

by K. C. Julius

  “Gorval de morde!” she screamed. “Morde ebynd!” And the two most lethal spells a mage could cast came barreling at Morgan.

  Morgan brandished his staff, the magic flooding through him as it had in days of old, magic that had lain dormant all these long years, now alight once more in his blood. “Cael ti wedi mynd!” he roared, and golden fire consumed Celaidra’s first spell. “Agus dhuis cuideachld!” The second exploded in a shower of fiery sparks, mere inches from Morgan’s chest.

  Slowly, Celaidra rose, her disbelieving gaze never leaving Morgan’s face. Her features blurred, her fair skin wrinkling and her black hair fading to grey. The fine weave of her robe began to writhe around her, sprouting membranes and ebony feathers in its place.

  “Dewch cun mo ngalairm feanncháin a gwrgraid fy nghean!” she screamed as she rose in the air, her transformation into the Cailleach complete. “Now your magic cannot touch me,” she cackled. “And I will cast you all into a dream from which you will never wake!”

  * * *

  As the Cailleach swirled above them, Whit’s heart sank. He’d been so flabbergasted by Master Morgan’s regaining of his powers that he’d merely stood by as the old wizard countered not one, but two killing curses in rapid succession—a feat of magic Whit himself could only dream of one day accomplishing.

  And now, to his horror, Whit glimpsed a flash of gray sky through the smoke rolling over the burning bookshelf. A vision was coming over him at the worst possible time, and he knew there was no stopping it.

  But when it came, it was not at all what he expected.

  Suddenly, everything fell into place. All his nightmares and visions had been leading him here, to the Alithineum.

  From far away, he heard the Cailleach cry out, as if in two voices—hers and Celaidra’s at once. “You think you have defeated us, but you are wrong! Lazdac entrusted us—and only us—with all his secrets. We shall hunt down the dragons now unbound once more and make them ours! We have our lord’s greatest treasure in our keeping, and she will help us!” She let loose a bone-chilling cackle. “But we will not use her as he would have—for we have bound her to us. She shall be raised as our own and learn from us the darkest of arts. We will give unto her the mysteries of wild magic, so that she may weave terror into the dreams of mortals and elves alike. Our blood, combined with the natural magic of dragons that runs through her veins, will give her powers untold!”

  This terrible pronouncement shook Whit from his dream-state, and he felt his blood tingling at the memory of Encertesa’s attempt to bind him to her.

  With infinite care, so as not to draw the Cailleach’s attention, he enacted what he’d seen in his vision. He reached into his cloak pocket to draw out the single black feather he’d tucked into it the last time the dreamwitch had come to him. He lifted the feather high and cried out, his voice rolling like thunder across the wide chamber.

  “Treigkar pre’feannbran mo duhahaigh! Threig an Cailleach min dod thogan!”

  A churning funnel of smoke launched itself upward with a cacophony of flapping wings and raucous cawing. Droves of crows streamed out of the dark cloud and seethed down onto the Cailleach in a spinning hurricane of ebony, their sharp beaks and talons tearing at her clothes and skin.

  The dreamwitch screamed and writhed under their relentless assault, and only after her transformation back to Celaidra had been completed did the crows lift off of her and heave up en masse to alight on the shelves.

  The defeated sorceress knelt before them. Shorn of her cloak of living crows, she was left garbed in only a torn, filthy shift. A single crow circled above her, then with a caw, it wheeled and came to rest on Whit’s shoulder.

  “Treacherous creature,” cried Selka, claiming Celaidra’s staff. “The Cailleach has surrendered her living cape, and with it, all the power of her dreamspells. Only in memory will she live on. Now you will pay the ultimate price for your folly in bringing her into the waking world, and for abetting Lazdac Strigori. In the name of the Code, I hereby strip you of your pow—”

  “Wait!” Celaidra cried. “I have the right to speak.” She lifted her lustrous eyes, now trembling with tears, to Master Morgan. “I… I was wrong to choose Lazdac. But I only did it to punish you, Mortimer, for the long years of pain and heartache you caused me. You know I’ve always loved you, and only you. As you have me.” She stretched out a hand beseechingly. “Don’t let Selka take from us what we can finally share again. My magic and you are all I have to live for.”

  Morgan shook his head, and his eyes held no warmth for her. “It’s too late, Celaidra.”

  Her expression hardened. “If you take my powers, you will never find the child.”

  “You may recall,” said Whit, “that the Hud Twyll details a variety of means for extracting information—none of them pleasant.”

  Celaidra rose, her cold beauty blazing. “You will never find the child!” she hissed, and she lunged for her staff. Before Selka could wrench it from her grasp, the elven sorceress cried, “Morde es mo chuid fein!”

  She cast her last, terrible, killing spell—to take her own life.

  And as Morgan caught the dying woman in his arms, Halla’s scream pierced every heart.

  * * *

  When Borne and Maura burst into the Alithineum, three bodies were laid out on the ash-strewn floor. Borne heaved a sigh of relief when he saw who they were. But none of the survivors looked happy with the outcome of the battle that had taken place here. Halla was sobbing against Whit’s chest, and Morgan, who, with a murmured word, had just caused the ropes to fall from Fynn’s wrists, looked grief-stricken.

  “You have your magic back, master!” Maura said.

  The old man raised his bushy brows as if he’d only just become aware that she and Borne had joined them, then gave her a small smile. “It appears I do. Thank the gods you’re both all right. What happened to Roth?”

  “Reddened by tooth and nail,” Maura said, quoting from a classic poem, then tapped the little dagger at her waist. “A very sharp nail. But what…” She dropped her voice. “Why is Halla crying?”

  Morgan glanced over at Selka, who was covering Celaidra’s lifeless body with a cloak. “Celaidra hid Halla’s baby, and before anyone could find out where, she took her own life.”

  Uttering a soft cry, Maura ran to Halla.

  “I’ll go at once to look for the child,” said Borne, “if you have any idea where she might be.”

  Master Morgan shook his head, and Borne thought he had never seen the old wizard look so weary. “Celaidra was as cunning as they come. She will have put Alegre somewhere we would never think to look for her.”

  “You might not.” Leif stood on the threshold, and four young dragons the size of Magnus swooped past him into the Alithineum, where they circled in the air. “I brought Naga, Franir, Diona, and Lada back with me to help deal with Lazdac,” he said, ducking with an affectionate smile as Diona skimmed over his head, “but it appears we missed all the fun. Still, it’s a good thing I did. Naga darted off down the corridor to where that treasure room is—you remember it, Maura—and refused to come along until I let her in to investigate. She’s the most curious of my hatchlings,” he added fondly, reaching up to stroke the goldenwing’s scales as she darted past. “The door to the storeroom was locked this time, but between us, we got it down.” He cast a sidelong glance at Fynn. “That passageway’s going to need a little attention, I’m afraid, Your Majesty. But…”

  He took a step back out of the chamber, disappeared behind one of the doors, then reappeared with a bundled baby in his arms. “Look at the treasure we found!”

  * * *

  After all the tears were dried, including those of a very hungry baby, Borne learned how Whit, Lady Selka, and Master Morgan had defeated Lazdac and Celaidra.

  “But why didn’t the magic work between Whit and Lazdac?” he asked the old wizard.


  Master Morgan turned to Whit. “It seems Lazdac had some hold on you, and you on him—and it’s a good thing for us all that he did. Otherwise we’d all be on the other side of the Abyss. I have some ideas about this—do you?”

  Whit nodded. “I think it must have something to do with that… business with the High Priestess in Altipa.”

  Morgan’s brow furrowed. “I thought as much. I recall Audric once mentioning a sister in passing. I sensed he wished he hadn’t, so I never inquired further about her.”

  The wizard turned to Selka. “In the end, your choice to join us proved crucial, my lady.”

  The sorceress shook her head, her unaccustomed smile transforming her austere face. “You and Lord Cardenstowe won this day. Indeed, that was the most amazing display of magic I’ve ever witnessed. Disarming two killing spells in practically one blow—quite the feat, Morgan.” She turned to Whit. “And when Celaidra changed into the Cailleach, I thought we had lost. She knew our spells would have no effect on her in her dreamwitch form, the Cailleach being not of this world. Wherever did you learn that spell to bind the crows to you and steal the witch’s power?”

  Whit grinned. “Believe it or not, in an old grimoire I recently found at Cardenstowe… the first I ever possessed. I read the crow-binding spell as a boy, but dismissed it as a bit of silly superstition.” He looked sidelong at the crow still perched on his shoulder, then cautiously ran a finger over its glossy feathers. “I certainly never imagined a scenario that would require me to use it.”

  Morgan leaned over Audric’s body and closed his sightless eyes. “Well,” he sighed, straightening, “it’s lucky for us you came across it again.” He straightened, inclining his head. “We have more company approaching.”

  Grinner charged through the doors and threw himself at Fynn. “Thank th’ sweet bloomin’ stars!” he cried, crushing the High King in his arms. “When I seen ye were gone from th’ hall, I feared…” A sobbed hiccup burst from his lungs. “I feared ye were…”

  Fynn laughed and gently extracted himself from his friend’s embrace. “I’m fine, Grinner. You too?”

  Grinner nodded, fisting away the tears streaming down his cheeks. “Woke up wit’ me face in me puddin’, but better that than a hot stew!” He turned to Elvinor, who had entered the library behind him. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Yer Majesty, fer burstin’ on ahead o’ ye like that…”

  Elvinor waved away the å Livåri’s apology as he made his way to Halla, who held her daughter in her arms. “So this is the special child we’ve heard tell of. May I?”

  Halla lifted the folds of Alegre’s blanket so the elven king could admire her, and Borne caught his breath at the baby’s crystalline green eyes. Tendrils of flame-red curls framed her cherubic face. Her little wrist was bound with a ribbon, which was stained with a dark splotch of blood.

  Halla followed Borne’s gaze, then turned to Master Morgan. “What will become of Alegre as a result of Celaidra’s blood-binding?”

  The old wizard gave a small shake of his head. “There’s no way to tell—we shall have to wait and see what the future reveals.” He laid a reassuring hand on Halla’s shoulder. “But I shouldn’t worry too much. As Celaidra said, Alegre has natural magic running through her veins. It’s likely this will counter any malice the sorceress may have meant to instill.”

  “Lazdac laced my food with his drakdaemon dust while I was captive in the Lost Lands, too.” Halla released a long breath and kissed her baby’s cheek. “I have to believe it did her no harm.”

  Grinner surveyed the bodies around the room. “Thanks t’ the lot o’ ye mages,” he declared, “it would seem the dastards are down th’ Abyss at last. I’d say it’s occasion fer som’ fearsome revelin’!”

  “No truer words were ever spoken,” agreed Fynn. “But let’s revel nearer to a hearth, shall we?” He rubbed his hands together and blew on them. “It’s nearly as cold as a Helgrinian night in here.”

  As the young king led the way back to the Great Hall, Whit offered his arm to Halla.

  “I’m sure Alegre will be fine,” he said as he led her down the corridor.

  “Thanks.” She seemed to recover her steady spirit as she ran her eyes over his ruined tunic. “A pity about that fine shirt, cousin.”

  Borne and Maura fell into step behind them, exchanging grins when Halla added, “Looks like all your incessant book-learning paid off after all, Cardenstowe. Why don’t we see if I can teach you something else of value? Like how to hold your ale.”

  “Are you planning on instructing my youngest cousin in how to drink me under the table as well?” Whit countered, then received a sharp elbow in the ribs in reply.

  Along the way, the procession passed a half dozen men carrying a prone figure between them. Princess Grindasa trotted alongside, harrying them in a shrill, imperious voice. “You can’t take him to the dungeons! Mi cuiero, don’t worry! A physiker has been called!”

  As they swept past with Roth’s body, Borne muttered, “I hope that’s the last we ever see of them.” He bent closer to whisper in Maura’s ear. “Are you sure you’re feeling up to the celebrations, my love?”

  Before she could answer, Leif appeared at Maura’s elbow. “Just between you and me,” he said, in a confiding tone, “I think you should stick close to this fellow Braxton. He’s not a bad sort, you know.” He inclined his head to the departing Nelvors. “And he’s certainly an improvement on your last beau!”

  Chapter 61

  “Close your eyes,” Halla commanded.

  Whit groaned as light flooded the room, and he pulled the covers over his aching head. Even after two days’ rest, he was still feeling the effects of his magical dueling—his limbs were leaden and a dull ache still pulsed in his head. “My eyes were closed. For gods’ sake, Halla, draw the curtains again!”

  Instead, his cousin attempted to yank the bedclothes out of his hands, but he held them fast. “You have a visitor,” she said.

  A nut-brown face peered down at Whit. “I heard you raised the Shield of Taran, my boy!”

  “Egydd!” Whit cried, struggling up on the pillows.

  The little mage beamed at him, then turned to Halla. “Of course, I gave him his staff of power… which surely played its part.” He clapped his hands together with a delighted cackle. “I always knew the lad would amount to something, once he got over himself.”

  Halla grinned. “He was a bit of ass back in Mithralyn, wasn’t he? What was it that most irked you about his character, master? Personally I find it hard to choo—”

  “I’m right here!” Whit protested.

  Ignoring him, his cousin pulled up a chair for Egydd before plunking down on the bed, forcing Whit to make room for her. “It’s a pleasure, master,” she said sweetly, “to finally make your acquaintance… since I wasn’t able to, the last time this was arranged.”

  Egydd settled himself with a contented sigh, the soles of his soft boots not quite touching the floor, then winked at Whit. “I see the Lorendale side of your family, at least, was raised with courtly manners.”

  Halla leaned toward the mage. “Now about Whit—”

  “If you don’t mind,” Whit cut in, “I’d like to get dressed. Then we can all have a proper conversation.”

  Halla gave an airy wave of her hand. “Please, go right ahead. Master Egydd and I will get to know one another while you select your wardrobe.”

  Whit, who was naked under the covers, blanched.

  “You should see your face, cousin!” With a knowing smirk, Halla rose to her feet and tossed him a robe. “We wouldn’t dream of intruding on this most important decision of your day. Master Egydd, there’s a wonderful garden here you might like to see before you go to council with Master Morgan. Whit’s told me you’re interested in flowers?”

  “Herbs,” Whit corrected, snatching up the robe.

  “I’m afraid we’
ll have to visit the gardens at a later time,” Egydd said as he rose and headed for the doorway. When he turned back to Whit, his expression was solemn. “I’ll see you shortly, young man.”

  Almost as an afterthought, Halla added, “Oh, that’s right. Master Morgan wants a word with you, Whit—in the council chamber.” Then she slipped through the door after Egydd.

  Experiencing a sudden disquiet, Whit hurriedly dressed, then made his way to the room where, for generations uncounted, the Tribus had met with their king.

  He found his own sovereign awaiting him there, along with Master Morgan, Lady Selka, and Egydd. A single chair had been placed across the table from them.

  His gut clenched. This was to be his disciplinary hearing.

  It took him a moment more to realize Grinner was also present, no doubt called as a witness to Whit’s illegal use of lethal magic against Fynn’s attacker.

  Pulling himself together as best he could, Whit paused on the threshold to offer a formal bow to his king, then bowed again to the others in recognition of the graveness of his offense. Straightening his shoulders, he crossed to the chair set out for him and sank into it.

  Master Morgan initiated the proceedings.

  “We are gathered to pass judgment on Lord Whit of Cardenstowe,” the old wizard declared, “for the death, by magical means, of Sir Orvin Talwall of Nelvorboth.” He looked at his fellow judges. “Would anyone care to speak in the accused’s defense?”

  Fynn cleared his throat. “I would. If Whit hadn’t used magic on that occasion, both Grinner and I would be dead. I recommend Lord Cardenstowe be cleared of any wrongdoing.”

  “Hear, hear!” Grinner blurted out, then clapped his hand over his mouth as all eyes turned to him.

  Whit bowed his head in thanks for this support, but he knew that neither Fynn nor Grinner’s opinions held sway in this matter.

  Master Morgan confirmed this with his next words. “Not even the High King can clear a wizard of the charge of magical misconduct, Your Majesty.” The old wizard turned to his peers. “That decision rests ultimately with Lady Selka, Egydd, and myself. Though I believe I speak for all of us when I say we shall take King Fynn’s proposal under careful consideration.”