Aldreth paced in front of the large wall-spanning hearth, stepping through the dancing light and shadow the fire cast across the floor. Damnu Toren Limont. Damn the entire Limont clan. Foolish, foolish pawns the Fae manipulated like pieces on a board.
Protectors of the balance of magic and mankind. Bah. A lie. Magic needed no balance.
Whirling, she faced the fire and froze, transfixed by the lapping spikes and flow that cradled birth and death in powerful heaving flames. Of all the elements, fire enslaved her. She rarely looked straight into the sparks as the blazing heat sifted away all thought and purpose, drawing her to its hypnotic spell like a hapless moth.
Her chest rose, cinching on a tight painful breath as images stirred within the tumultuous surge and ebbs, coalescing into phantom forms within the smoke curling away from bright conflagrations—sinewy wraiths of the past set loose.
As always, her grandsire stared back at her through the hungry flickers, his blue eyes hard and penetrating as though he could see her, though she knew he could not. He was not real, no longer alive. Death claimed him centuries ago. He and his magic with him. Aldreth flinched back even knowing 'twas nothing more than a spectral memory emblazoned upon her soul. A magical conjuring of an event every time she looked into flame, a lingering curse of the despicable Fae, that all in her bloodline forever forced to remember the shame of Burnes Alduein.
In the fire, the apparition of her grandsire, Burnes, turned away. Chains of resplendent gold trapped his wrists, clinking along the crackle and hiss inside the large hearth. Slender ethereal Fae stood around him, light robes whipping about willowy frames in a harsh breeze. Whipping about within a riot of flames, sending sparks flying about the room.
One of the Fae dipped his staff toward Burnes.
"Ye have broken your trust."
The High Sorcerer lifted his head. "You dare speak of trust." Defiance curled the corner of his lip.
The oldest of the Fae leaned forward. An ancient being, though he looked a tender boy of untested loins. The long slender hand coiled tightly around his staff in constrained fury. "Ye were the buffer between our realm and yours, endowed with gifts beyond all other mortals, yet you willfully violated your oaths. Had ye succeeded, our realm would be overrun with darkness."
"Dark magic that rightfully belongs to the Shadowrood. 'Twas trickery of the Fae these many centuries ago. Ye first thrust the darkness from your realm to the world of mortals, binding my clan as little more than a cork in the passage."
"Enough." The Fae slammed his staff upon the ground.
Burnes continued on. “Gifting an entire clan of magic to forge a bond strong enough between them to be the one bright hope of keeping the darkness at bay. The darkness that ye brought into our world. Ye have manipulated, tricked, and lied to us.”
The Fae moved closer, the hem of his robe trailing behind like the spill of milk. “I said enough.” Light hair flew upward, pulling back from his wide forehead. Aldreth gasped, helpless to look away though she'd witnessed this moment a thousand times before.
"Death." The end of another of the Faes staff lowered to the ground.
"Banishment of the entire bloodline." Another staff tilted downward.
"The balance must be maintained else darkness return."
"A new bloodline will be established."
"One that holds true." The fifth staff lowered toward Burnes Alduein.
"One that holds true."
“One that holds true.”
On a cry, Aldreth spun around and through force of will tore her gaze away, closing out the final scream of her grandsire as energy poured from the staffs to melt the High Sorcerer of Alduein in a crackling concussion of searing light.
They'd been wronged, she and her entire clan, forced to live as outcasts among mankind and the magically gifted. But the magic inside Aldreth had been strong. She did not let it die out, but instead sought wielders of dark magic and learned the ways to enhance what was innately hers. She had made pacts with demons, discovered their secrets. She had become the most powerful witch this realm had ever known and with the darkness her life had been extended. Three hundred years she explored the earth and honed her craft, while the embers of retribution burned hot within her bosom. Her course was right and just. The Fae had wronged Burnes Alduein. They had wronged her and her people.
She was the rightful heir, the last of Clan Alduein, bred to maintain the balance of magic in this world. Not the Limonts. The task should never have fallen to them. ‘Twas her burden, her right by birth alone.
So she'd gone to Crunfathy, disguised as a beggar woman, those many years ago. 'Twas a small task to unravel the spell of their defenses and coat the High Sorcerer's and his beloved wife's lips in poison. Took naught but one kiss between them. To this day, none knew she was the cause of their overlong illness and demise. She would have led the four young children to the same fate, yet…
When her gaze set upon the oldest child Toren, a sober lad, tall and gangly. With such pure untapped power. She felt the strength within him, she knew fate would see them rule together. He was destined to become one of the most powerful sorcerers the world had ever known. She felt the power within him, craved it. He was preordained to be hers. So she had slipped quietly from the village to bide her time, to let him grow into a man, to allow his magic to mature. He had the blessing of the Fae. She came from the true bloodline.
Yet his stubbornness to even consider the possibility of a blending between them was maddening. He acted like a lapdog, too loyal and obedient to question his masters though the Fae kept the leash too short for Toren to see beyond to the limitlessness of how powerful their magic could be together. She had made a dreadful mistake. She should have taken him when he was but a child and molded him to her course. But the time was gone and passed for that now. She would have to make him understand. Albeit through harsher means. ‘Twould be a match like no other.
His capture had been easy, almost disappointing. But with the aid of a demon, even a sorcerer as strong as he did not have a whisper of a chance.
She let her senses drift to Toren, deep in her dungeon constructed solely for him and smiled. He would soon be broken, pliant beneath her ruling. She'd thought of him under her heels for years, savored this time she had of breaking him. She would be patient and enjoy it until she owned him, magic, body and soul. In every way, he would be hers. A delicious shiver passed through her.
She felt him breathing on the cold stone floor far below her in the dank dungeons. It wouldn't be long before he welcomed the softness of her bed, yearning for the difference. Yearning for her. She felt him drifting off to sleep so she let her essence follow the glowing lines of his dream to trail him to where his mind might escape to in slumber. She smiled at his tenacity. He'd thought to thwart her by finding a healer by traveling through time and now it appeared he meant to find comfort and solace in the dreamworld. Clever, clever, stubborn sorcerer. She would have to work on that as well. Soon he would come to understand that there was nowhere, through time or dreams that she couldn't find him.
Aldreth weaved her own spell to see the lines and angles of the trail he'd taken into the dreamworld. Brilliant azures and greens too bright and rich to look into for very long hummed around her. His magic was so vibrant and full. Powerful. Heady. She followed him into the realm of sleeping.
He wandered his moor, tall and hale, a figure cut of the strength of the mountains attired in his snowy white shirt and plaids.
She coveted his power, aye. As High Sorcerer of Limont, Toren was the linchpin that held the magical balance of an entire clan, which in turn, held the balance of magic which flowed through the earth.
All that power, his for the taking if he would only reach forth and pluck it from his people. His people, Aldreth scowled, the pain of exclusion burrowing through her. His people adored Toren. He merely need crook his finger and they'd fling every ounce of magic they had unspoiled into him. He was a magnificent vessel capable of holding
the magic of hundreds of gifted.
There wasn't another sorcerer on earth who could take the balance of the world on his shoulders like Toren Limont. She'd waited for his ilk for a long time, for that strength of magic that should be hers.
So aye, she coveted the sorcerer's power, but she also desired the man.
He was hers.
A rustle echoed upon the air.
Aldreth looked to the side and her heart turned brittle. A young maid dashed across the moor, trailing mist behind her like gossamer threads.
The lines around Toren's mouth smoothed. Something indefinable darkened the hue of Toren's light eyes as he caught the maiden's hands within his. For that look alone, Aldreth wanted to plunge a dagger into the woman's heart.
So this was her?
His Healer Enchantress.
The one who had dared to heal him and given him added hope and endurance to withstand her.
Toren kissed the tips of the maid's fingers and Aldreth's blood burned.
She could extinguish the lass where she stood.
Except…
The maiden could prove useful. Aldreth cared naught for the look of adoration upon Toren's handsome face, but she could use it against him. She did not desire his love nor adoration. She wanted to own him. Threatening his siblings had proved useful up to a point, but it had also reinforced Toren’s determination to hold out against her with the foolish belief they could somehow escape her given enough time. Yet she hadn’t gotten what she truly desired, his obedience and fear and if his pining for this insignificant woman led him to that point…
Her heart sang, recognizing another pawn upon the board. Allowing him to have the lass and then taking her from him 'twould be one more reminder of how she ruled every aspect of his existence. There was not anything or anyone she could not take from him.
With a growing smile, Aldreth sank back into the shadows and watched.
~~~
Highland Sorcerer Page 6
