Heart of the Dove

by Tina St. John

  He still held the dagger in his other hand. Rand gripped it tightly, ready to plunge it into the shifter's back while they fought on the ground. But had no chance. With a roar, the man rolled off of him and sprang to his feet. His sword came out of its sheath with a metallic hiss.

  "Come on," he jeered. His elongated teeth were bloodied, and he motioned Rand forward with one huge, black-taloned hand. "Let us finish it, human."

  They began to circle, each daring the other to make the first move. De Mortaine's guard gave an arrogant jab at the air, taunting him with the advantageous reach of the broadsword. Rand hardly flinched at the overture, but behind him some distance, he heard Serena's sharp indrawn breath.

  In the moment his attention faltered, the shifter made his move.

  He swung his blade down hard, and it was all Rand could do to avoid the killing strike. He twisted around and came up with the dagger, slashing it across the man's thick forearm. The shifter hissed and brought his sword down again. Another narrow miss of his flesh, but this time the blade knocked Rand's dagger out of his hand.

  "Now this will be amusing," the shifter said, stepping on the dagger that lay out of Rand's reach.

  Their fight began in earnest, unfairly matched as it was. Rand could only dodge strikes and wait for opportunity, all the while dreading what might happen to Serena and her mother if he failed here. The shifter took great delight in his upper hand. Each swing of his sword was meant to kill, and as Rand continued to elude him, his fury began to show in his wolfish features.

  Rand worked to draw the beast away from the dagger. It was his only chance, save wrestling the sword away from the hulking mercenary. He ducked another furious strike, then found his opening. With the butt of his shoulder leading, Rand plowed into the shifter's girth, sending him in a backward sprawl into the thicket.

  His eyes followed the shifter's sword. The beast's arm was thrown up, the blade crashing through a patch of flowering white hemlock. With a battle cry seething on his lips, Rand smashed his fist into the shifter's face. He reached for the sword, hauling it out of the shifter's dazed grasp. He rose up, blade deadly vertical, clenched in both hands.

  "To hell with you and the rest of your kind," he growled, then plunged the sword straight through the shifter's heart.

  The beast spasmed under the punishing blade. Its hideous face shimmered darkly, fading from wolf to man to something that was neither. Its yellow eyes filled with black, the pupils widening as death swiftly dragged it down. It hissed a final breath, at last going still.

  Rand backed off with a curse, rising to his feet. With one booted foot on the shifter's body, he pulled the sword free.

  "Rand," Serena gasped from behind him. "Oh, God. Rand...I've never been so afraid!"

  She ran to him at once, wrapping her arms around his waist. Rand was too tense to enjoy her embrace. It was enough that she was unhurt. He might have lost her so easily today; the thought made him shake with anger and not a little fear.

  Idly he noted moisture on his face, itching and sticky. He wiped it with impatience. His fingers came away stained crimson with the shifter's blood. He stared at his hands, then let his gaze trail over the carnage he had wrought in his storm of fury.

  "This," he said finally, miserable as he brought the sword up before him, "is what I am. Do you understand now? It is what I must do, until every last one of these beasts--and the man who commands them--is purged from existence."

  She did not reply, but there was a bleak acknowledgment in her upturned gaze. "You're bleeding," she said, reaching up to wipe at a burning cut at his shoulder. "Come, Rand. Let me take care of you now."

  Chapter 22

  "You're all right?" Rand asked, his own bleeding wholly ignored, while Serena prepared a cleansing bowl and cloths with which to tend his fresh injuries. "When I think of that animal's hands on you--"

  "I am fine," Serena assured him for the third time since they had settled in at the cottage. "I'll admit I am still shaken, but that is all. You are the one in need of care. Now, sit."

  He obeyed her, dropping onto the stool she had placed near the hearth. Serena put her hands into the bowl of warm, herbed water and wrung out a strip of clean linen. Gingerly, she swabbed at the lacerations that raked his arm. They bore the same look as the ones Rand carried when he washed ashore in the storm: four lines bleeding from the strike of thick, wolflike talons. Those older wounds had been more than these and worse, but they were healed now; these new ones cut Serena deeper, for Rand had willingly taken them in the act of saving her life.

  His skin was warm in her open palm, and as she touched him, the Knowing seethed with the echoes of his fury, still thrumming from the shifter attack. Serena soothed him with light strokes of the cloth, and a rain of grateful kisses to the strong hands that spared her that day. Rand lifted her chin on the edge of his fist.

  "If I should live a hundred years, I will never understand what I did to deserve such tender care, my lady."

  Serena sat up, smoothing her fingers over his creased brow. She brushed aside the thick chestnut waves that hung into his hazel eyes. "You came here, that is all you did. You came here, I touched you, and I fell in love."

  "Love?" He slowly pulled from her loose grasp. He drew back slightly, an unreadable look in his gaze. But then he glanced down at once, shaking his head. "Serena, you give me too much. I am honored, but..."

  Her heart gave a sudden lurch. She held her hands in her lap, fearful to touch him again, now, after she had so heedlessly confessed her feelings. But she was unaccustomed to holding back what she felt, perhaps all the more now that Rand had awakened her to so many wondrous feelings. "I only tell you because 'tis true. I am not looking for you to say you feel likewise."

  But she yearned to hear the words, despite the strength she tried to project.

  "Sweetest heart," he said, so gently she closed her eyes in fear of what was to come. "I do care for you, deeply. More than I should."

  "But you are leaving."

  "Yes." The word was softly spoken, final. "I will leave tomorrow, at first light."

  Serena nodded. She had needed no telling touch to know that she was losing him for certes this time. She had been awaiting this very eventuality since they had returned from Egremont, anticipating it with a keen dread that was nothing compared to the actuality of hearing him say it now.

  "Serena," he said, "these past days--all the time I've spent with you here in the grove--have been unlike any I have known. But this thing I must do will not just go away because I will it to. Silas de Mortaine will not just go away. He grows stronger, and after what occurred today, it won't be long before he knows about you."

  "That shifter who attacked me today wanted to know where you had hidden the piece of the Chalice you carried with you the night you washed ashore. I told him it was lost, but he didn't believe me. That's when he came at me."

  "Jesu. You see, this why I must finish this, before I put you and your mother in any greater danger."

  Finally, she looked up at him. "What will you do?"

  "Go to Scotland. Search for Serasaar, the last piece of the Chalice. I will have to face de Mortaine, with or without it."

  Serena could hardly bear to think of that day. She knew naught of the man, but she had seen his evil through the Knowing, and now, today, through the dark magic by which his shifter guards served him. "You must survive," she told him, stern in her desperation. "You must, so that you can come back to me when this is over."

  "I would not ask you to wait, Serena."

  "I know," she said, smiling sadly up at him. "You would not ask it of me, but I will wait...for as long as it takes. So you must not fail, Rand. You cannot leave me waiting forever."

  As he beheld her, his gaze darkened in the scant glow of the hearthfire. He came forward, splaying his fingers through the hair at her nape and bringing her close for his kiss. Serena lost herself to the sensual heat of his lips, craving him so deeply she ached with need. She could not bear the
idea of parting--not now, and not tomorrow morn.

  "Oh, Rand," she breathed against his neck as he held her in the circle of his arms. "I don't want to let you go."

  He squeezed her tighter, and the Knowing pulsed with a storm of misery and desire. At the faint sound of footsteps outside the cottage, Rand's every muscle tensed. "Someone comes," he whispered, already preparing for further battle.

  But it was only Calandra. The door creaked open as she entered, her sullen presence halting their intimate conversation at once.

  "What has happened?" Calandra asked, looking to the basin and ointments in Serena's lap. "Has there been trouble?"

  "There was," Serena answered gently. "Someone came here today--a bad man. Rand protected me. He saved my life."

  If possible, Calandra's skin blanched to a whiter shade. "What is this about? What bad man do you speak of? Where is he now?"

  "He is gone, Mother. Thanks to Rand. I will tell you all in a moment."

  "I should go back out," Rand interjected, speaking to Serena in a low tone. He stood up, a warrior once more and already on the move. "The body should not be left as it is, and another check of the woods would be prudent. I suspect the one today came alone, but I want no surprises." He picked up the shifter's sword and strapped it to his waist. "At least I have this now."

  Serena gave Rand a regretful look as she inspected her work on his fresh wounds one last time. "Be careful."

  "Always," he said, cupping her face in his palm.

  On impulse, she rose up and embraced him, tilting her lips near his ear. "The woodland chapel," she whispered in a rush. "Meet me there tonight. I know you must leave tomorrow, and I won't try to hold you back. But I cannot say farewell to you like this. The chapel," she said again. "Let me have one more night."

  Although he said nothing, the look in his eyes was certain. Serena nodded to him, and slowly backed out of his arms.

  "Tonight," she mouthed silently, already missing him as she watched him turn and stride out the cottage door.

  * * *

  Calandra appeared so frail. Even against the fall of her long silver-white hair, her skin held meager color. Her blue eyes held little of their usual luster, and her smooth oval face was drawn down with tension. She had only feigned at eating her afternoon sup, and now she sat before the fire in her favorite chair, staring into the embers in a disturbingly prolonged silence.

  No doubt the shock of what Serena had told her of that morning's events had taken something of a toll, although Calandra had not reacted as Serena might have imagined. There were no hysterics. No panicked fretting, though if ever she had cause to be anxious about dangers from outside the cottage grove, surely the real and horrific news of what had transpired that morning was enough. But Calandra had accepted the report of the shapeshifter with an almost resigned calm once she was assured that Serena had not been harmed. Not that Serena was completely surprised at her apparent acceptance.

  The existence of magic was something Calandra had never tried to dispute. The gift of Knowing ran deep in Serena's kin; her mother embraced what simpler folk might condemn as cursed witchery. What Serena saw that day was dark magic indeed. And despite Calandra's schooled reaction, Serena worried for her.

  Calandra had not been herself for some time, in truth, since that first night Rand had commandeered their cottage. She had expected the worst then, calling him a dangerous man who would only bring them harm. Today Serena saw true danger, and survived it only due to Rand. She shuddered just to think on the changeling beast who might have slain them all just a few hours ago. She prayed they would not see the like again. She dared not imagine how vile and deadly Silas de Mortaine must be to hold power over the shifters who were at his command. To order the deaths of so many for the want of a mythical prize, he would need be black-hearted evil through and through, himself a monster.

  His name chased through Serena's mind like a wraith...Silas de Mortaine.

  Something about it troubled her. She knew not why, but ever since Rand spoke the name of his enemy, Serena had known a certain niggling familiarity. She had tried to excuse it, but each day that passed seemed to embed it deeper.

  Serena glanced to Calandra's weary form near the fire. She poured her a cup of warm sage tea and brought it over. "Take this, Mother. You seem so...tired. I am concerned about you."

  "You needn't be," Calandra answered, her voice strangely distant. "I am hale as ever, I promise you. I'll not be perishing anytime soon, my dear."

  She accepted the tea with a wan smile, then sat back and sipped it in silence.

  Serena watched for a while, then gazed into the fire as well, her own thoughts drifting. "Rand is leaving tomorrow," she said. Her voice sounded small, even in the quiet of the cottage. "I'm afraid for him, Mother. This man he intends to meet...he is evil. I think he will kill Rand."

  "Men are always seeking to kill one another," Calandra replied coolly. "It is simply their nature to make war on one another. And if you look closely, you will see that there is evil in all of them."

  "Not like this. This man--Silas de Mortaine--can have no soul to do what he has done, to Rand and to others who dare to cross him. He has murdered innocents, women and children. He is mad, I think. Worse than that, if these changeling beasts are his to command. Rand says he seeks an ancient treasure...the Dragon Chalice."

  Calandra had gone quite still. She pivoted her head to look at Serena. "That's impossible."

  "I told Rand the same thing when he first mentioned it to me in Egremont. That the Dragon Chalice is merely a myth. He knew the tale as well, Mother. He says the Chalice is real."

  "And you believe him?"

  Serena thought about it for a moment, then nodded her head. "Yes. I do believe him. Especially after what I've seen today. Rand says that this man, Silas de Mortaine, has already claimed one piece of the four--the one bearing the jewel Avosaar, Stone of Prosperity. The cup Rand lost in the storm bore two others, Calasaar and Vorimasaar."

  "Light and Faith," Calandra murmured, naming the fabled Chalice stones.

  Serena remembered them, too, for the tale of the Dragon Chalice had long been one of her favorites when she was a girl. "Only one cup remains hidden now. The one bearing Serasaar, Stone of Peace. Rand is certain he'll find it in a chapel in Scotland, but only if he arrives before de Mortaine can seize it first. If he does not thwart this evil man..." She could hardly finish the thought, let alone speak it. "Either way, I am terrified that I shall never see Rand again."

  Calandra turned a strangely sad look on her. "You have known him but a short while. Can you love him so much, Serena?"

  "Aye. Mother, I do. I think I fell in love with him the moment I saw him."

  Calandra closed her eyes, as if accepting this proved too much for her.

  "I know you won't understand," Serena went on, "but he means all to me. I would do anything for him."

  Calandra drew back, turning her face away from Serena to stare into the dwindling fire. She sighed heavily. It was a broken sound, as though choked by tears. "I need rest, child. Please, speak to me no more of these things. I don't want to think on them anymore."

  Quietly, Serena got up and took the cooled cup of tea from her mother's weak grasp. She pulled the coverlet up around Calandra's shoulders, then busied herself with tidying the cottage.

  Once her mother was asleep, Serena went to the clothing chest beside her pallet bed. She opened the coffer and searched through the folded garments until her fingers brushed airy silk and tiny pearl beads.

  Tonight, forbidden or nay, she would wear the gown.

  She wanted to feel beautiful for Rand--like a woman he might meet in an elegant castle court, not the plain-garbed girl from the cottage in the grove. Tonight she would show him that she could fit into his world, and that her world was his. She wanted him to see that they could have the splendor of both, if he would only return to be with her.

  And when he left her in the morning to pursue his dangerous quest, she wanted him t
o go with her touch still warm on his skin, the passion of their lovemaking still roaring in his heart, as it would be in hers until the day he came back to her.

  Chapter 23

  How little the place had changed. Silas de Mortaine could not recall the last time he had been to Egremont--decades, at least. Perhaps longer than that; it was hard to recall precisely. To think he had been born not far from this northern berg, which had at one time seemed so significant and vast. A jest, when he thought of all the places he had been in the years since. All the things he had seen, all the pleasures he had tasted.

  To be here now seemed a circle coming to completion. Ironic, he mused, for he was hardly the prodigal returning for acceptance, or, even more laughably, redemption. Everyone he knew in his brash youth was gone. There were none here to remember the ambitious knight who came from naught but who knew, without a moment's doubt, that he was destined for great things. No one had believed him then.

  How wrong they were, he thought with dark satisfaction.

  From atop the strutting white steed that bore him into Egremont's square, Silas de Mortaine had never felt more deserving of worship and awe. With his retinue of shapeshifter guards at his sides and the golden Avosaar cup lying cushioned in a latched box secured to his mount, he had never felt more powerful. But soon, he would.

  The Dragon Chalice was his by rights. He would have the treasure in whole, if he had to raze every building and slay every last man, woman, and child to get it.

  He glanced around in contempt at the busy town center, which seemed full to bursting with all manner of folk. It held an almost festival appearance, with fine-dressed nobles mingling among the commoners, and gaudy streamers decorating much of the square.

  Silas motioned to Draec les Nantres, who himself seemed to sit his mount in knowing arrogance, a look of mild disdain in his unsettling green eyes.