A Way with Magic (The Draakonor Chronicles Book 1)

by David E. Barber

  “Be that as it may,” Sir Ardunn said. “We can only fight one enemy at a time, and there is one at our walls now who requires our full attention.”

  Loth opened his mouth to speak, but Finn touched him on the sleeve. “You might as well save your breath,” he whispered. “I’ve known Sir Ardunn and Sir Eris for most of my life, and they are stubborn men—Sir Eris in particular. Once their minds are set, there is no changing them.”

  “If Ashendraugnir rises again, they will all rue this day.” Loth’s mouth was tight and his gray eyes serious.

  “For what it’s worth, I agree with you, but you will not convince them.”

  “Fortunately, I don’t have to.”

  “My lords,” Loth said, addressing the knights, “I will not plague you any further. I leave you to your deliberations while I must go and visit my sister and brother. I and my companions will certainly do our best to support Nachtwald in the coming strife.”

  Loth turned his back to them, his emerald cloak swirling about him as he strode purposefully to the door. Finn watched him go, his mind already sifting through the details and difficulties of his own plans, and the preparations he must make.

  * * *

  Ander found her on the gate tower at dusk, standing alone and gazing off to the west as the sun sank beneath the hills. He walked slowly toward her, admiring the curve of her hips and the square set of her shoulders. At the sound of his approach, she turned, her face registering surprise.

  “Oh, hello, Ander,” Portia said. “I thought you might be Finn, coming to tell me... coming to...” she hesitated, doubt clouding her eyes.

  “Coming to tell you what?”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing.” She turned away from him and resumed staring off into the distance, the light of the fading day painting the world in hues of red and gold.

  He moved forward to stand beside her, placing his hands on the stone, feeling the roughness beneath his fingers.

  “Beautiful country...” He grimaced, unsure of what to say to her.

  “Yes, it is beautiful, and remote, and filled with enemies. I never thought it so, until now. I’ve walked in those woods a thousand times and never felt I was in danger, but I’m afraid those days are gone forever.”

  “There are good reasons why men surround themselves with stone walls.” Ander wanted to tell her that everything would be fine, that they would survive this night and all the nights that followed. He wanted to say that these enemies would be vanquished and Nachtwald made safe again, but it wasn’t true. Odds were good they would both be dead in the next day or two. But he saw no reason to say it.

  “He told me where to find you.”

  “Who did?”

  “Finn. Your brother.” The words were like treacle on his tongue. Why did he feel like such a fool? It wasn’t like he had never talked to a woman before, this woman even. She disoriented him. Her presence filled his mind and drove all other thoughts from his head. It was maddening.

  “Did he indeed?” She half turned to look at him, her eyes amused, as if she guessed his thoughts.

  “He said you liked to come up here sometimes, when you wanted to be alone.” He felt the heat rising in his face and a sudden urge to retreat and hide in some dark corner.

  “Well, I’m not alone now,” she said, her voice teasing.

  “I’m sorry,” Ander whispered, certain he had made a mistake. “I’m disturbing you. I should go.”

  “No, please.” Portia moved forward and put a hand on his arm. “Stay. I want you to stay.” He felt his heart leap in his chest at her touch and the fear and anxiety he was feeling, only a moment ago, began to recede. Her hand was soft and warm against his skin, and the nearness of her made the blood quicken in his veins.

  “I never thanked you,” Ander said, remembering at last why he had come, apart from the burning desire to see her again, of course.

  “For what?” Portia looked genuinely puzzled.

  “For saving my wretched life. That troll was about to pound me into the ground. If you hadn’t—”

  “Stop it. It was nothing. Well, it was... something. You were very brave. If I remember correctly you were in the process of risking life and limb to defend Finn and I, not to mention the rest of Nachtwald.”

  “It’s what I do.” Ander couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed, but he was also enjoying her praise. “At least on my good days.”

  “I see that your wounds have been healed.” Portia moved her hand up his arm and ran her fingers over the place where the troll had raked him with its claws. Ander felt a surge of desire travel through his body. It was a pleasant sensation.

  “Loth’s doing. He’s quite the magician when he puts his mind to it.”

  “You know that spells and enchantments are illegal in Nachtwald,” she said.

  Ander laughed. “I can’t help but notice, m’lady, that you are among the chief offenders when it comes to breaking that particular law. A good thing, too, or else I might not be standing here.”

  “I’ve never been very good at following the rules,” Portia said. “What about Loth’s brother and sister? Do they use magic as well?”

  “What? Rayzer and Blayde? No. They don’t use magic, not the way you and Loth do. They have their own kind of magic, I suppose. The way I understand it, they draw power from the earth, from nature. It gives them strength and endurance, speed, faster healing, that sort of thing, but there are no spells involved. I don’t even think they’re aware of it most of the time.”

  “That would certainly come in handy.”

  “Aye, that it does. The two of them are nearly unstoppable when it comes to a fight, but please, don’t ever let on that I said so.”

  “I won’t.” Portia slipped her arm around his and pulled him close. “But you must tell me how a man of the north came to be traveling with three elves anyway. That must be some tale.”

  “Epic, but long in the telling. If I recited the whole story, a week would pass and we would still be standing here.”

  “I would be okay with that.” Her voice was like the soft purr of a cat.

  “So would I.” Ander paused to smile at her. “Suffice it to say that when I first met Loth he was in a dungeon and more than a little in need of a friend. We have been through much since then, and I owe him my life many times over.”

  “And Rayzer and Blayde?”

  “They came along later. Actually, Loth didn’t even know of their existence at first. He was searching for his mother, the Rindaya, but he never stopped to consider that she might have more children out there in the wide world.”

  “Makes me wonder if there aren’t any more of them.” Portia said.

  “It does indeed. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to run across one or two more lost siblings before we’re done. Elves live very long lives. Plenty of time to get into mischief.”

  “And,” Portia said, drawing the word out, “what about you? Do you ever get into mischief? For instance, you and Blayde, you haven’t...” She arched an eyebrow at him.

  Ander frowned, not quite comprehending, but then it struck him like a blow to the back of his head. “Onar and Iden preserve me!” He took a step back and held his hands out in front of him. “Gods no. Never. I love Blayde as a sister. Well, sometimes I do, but she is also one of the most terrifying creatures I’ve ever met. I’d rather lie down next to a troll. It would be less dangerous.”

  Portia laughed, appearing to relax a little. Ander laughed too, feeling a bit shaky from the surge of emotions, ranging from blind fear to overpowering attraction, that kept running through him. In his 19 years of life, Ander had known his fair share of women, but never had he felt anything like this before. There was something about her, something more than just physical attraction. She was beautiful, certainly, but also kind, intelligent, strong, and a little dangerous. But it was more than that. There was something that drew him to her, and she to him if he wasn’t completely wrong. It was as if they had known each other for years instead
of days.

  Ander took her hands in his, examining her long, slender fingers, marveling at them. They were soft and warm against his palms. “What is it about a woman’s hands that is so attractive?”

  Portia looked up at him, her eyes large and round. Her fingers moved gently over his skin, sending a thrill up his arm.

  “Most men don’t bother to look at my hands. They seem more interested in other aspects of my anatomy.”

  “A pity,” Ander said. “But then, most men are fools. One should always begin with the hands.” He raised her palm to his cheek.

  “Portia, I—”

  “Shut up,” she said as she reached up with her other hand and grasped the back of his head, pulling him down, her lips finding his.

  The scent of her hair filled his nose. The soft caress of her hands and the sensuous taste of her lips overwhelmed his senses, driving away all other thoughts. Ander pulled her to him, his arms encircling her body and crushing her to him. The sun dipped below the horizon and darkness settled over them, but neither of them appeared to notice.

  Chapter 16

  Loth stood at his sister’s bedside, watching helplessly as Blayde twitched and muttered in her sleep, moving restlessly. Her brow was feverish and her skin luminous with sweat. To Loth it seemed as if she was trapped in a dream, lost in some other place that only she could find her way out of. In one hand she still grasped the sword she had taken from the knight’s tomb. It lay on the bed next to her prone body, the steel gleaming in the candlelight, and she clung to it as if her very life depended on it.

  Rayzer was beside her, seated on a small chair Father Moram had brought up from the kitchen. Rayzer held Blayde’s free hand in his, leaning forward across her body, vigilant for any sign of her return. His long hair hung down around his face, but Loth could see the worry and agitation in his eyes. Loth had never seen his brother in such a state.

  “I won’t leave her,” Rayzer said, his voice raw. He had neither eaten nor slept since bringing Blayde up from the tomb. “I left her once, and I won’t do it again.”

  “But we need you.” Loth knew even as he said it that his words would do no good. “There is nothing you can do here. She is traveling and no effort of yours, or mine for that matter, will bring her back.”

  “I don’t care!” Rayzer snarled, half turning and showing his teeth. “I don’t care if the city burns and everything around us is reduced to ruin. I will not leave.”

  Loth sighed and took a step back. It was no use trying to reason with him. Rayzer was as inflexible as an oak board. He would not bend nor turn aside from his chosen course and there was nothing in the world that mattered to him more than his sister. The two of them were as one person and Rayzer could not leave Blayde anymore than he could leave behind an arm or a leg.

  “As you wish,” Loth said. “I will say a prayer to Tirrambar and Issondenarion for her safe return.”

  “Take your prayers with you,” Rayzer hissed. “They do no better than that endless pattering of Aedon’s priests. The gods, if they exist at all, do not care what becomes of us.”

  Loth said nothing. There was nothing more to say. He had no choice but to leave them behind. He stood in the doorway for a long time watching his younger siblings. The fate of his brother and sister was now entwined with the fate of Nachtwald, and there was nothing Loth could do to change it.

  He considered the many adventures he had been through since leaving Ellyldan and beginning his long quest to find the Rindaya. In truth his search for his mother was not so much a passion as it was an excuse to escape the drudgery and endless plotting of the elven court. Loth had always chafed at the ritual of court, the slow, almost imperceptible progress of ideas, and the constant haggling for power. His father was much better at the game than he was, and Loth was doomed to stand forever in the elder elf’s shadow, eclipsed by Giltharthian Aquillean’s great accomplishments. In his darker moments it sometimes felt as if the only favor Loth ever won at court, or with King Idhrenion, came from being the son of the brilliant general.

  In his youth, Loth spent what moderate wealth he possessed on high fashion and social entertainment, on music and poetry, and the attentions of beautiful courtesans. But his greatest love was sailing the Sunset Ocean that surrounded Ellyldan, plying the sails and riding the wind across leagues of endless blue water.

  Like most young elves, Loth had made his fair share of mistakes. Fortunately, he had been able to hide most of those from his father. He was wise enough not to fall into debt, but his dwindling resources had eventually enticed him to seek his fortunes elsewhere. It seemed likely that he had inherited some of his mother’s wanderlust, as well as her gray eyes. Little wonder that he had turned away from the wonders of Ellyldan and, like so many before him, sought passage on a merchant vessel bound for the shores of the continent.

  He had not expected to be gone so long, or to find a brother and sister waiting for him in the forests of the Rowanin. The fates were fickle mistresses. It often felt as if the Moriadin, the Apportioners as men called them, played with the lives of human and elf alike, as if it were all a game. He had grown fond of his siblings and took comfort in knowing there were others of the same blood and lineage that moved through the world, who, like him, the Rindaya had left behind.

  At last he turned away, retreating from the cloying little room, and made his way down the stairs and out into the night.

  * * *

  Getting into Nachtwald castle, even in the middle of the night, was not difficult. At this point Loth knew many of the guardsmen, even if he did not quite know all their names and, when he had to, he had powerful means of persuasion he could call upon. While he found the idle use of magic an insult to gods and nature, he did not eschew it when necessary. He used the same calming spell to placate the guards on the main gate and gain entry. From there he was able to traverse the castle grounds with only a few encounters. By now Loth’s face was known to the soldiers who guarded Nachtwald’s walls and none challenged him.

  He found Ander waiting in the place they had agreed upon, seated on a bench at the edge of the practice field. As Loth approached the big Northman rose to his feet, looking furtively about. He had replaced his ring mail shirt with a hauberk of chain mail and donned a dark cloak and hood. His broadsword, as usual, hung from his hip.

  “I assume he’s not coming,” Ander said softly.

  “No, but I had to make the effort and to see Blayde one last time. I only hope that they will be safe behind these walls.”

  “None of us are safe until this is over. I just hope Blayde doesn’t sleep through the whole thing. I can’t imagine she’d be too happy about that.” Ander scratched at his beard and grinned. “Well, old friend, it looks like it’s just you and me again. Are you ready to do this?”

  Loth arched an eyebrow. “Have you ever known me not to be?”

  The two retreated to the middle ward. Guards walked the walls above and were posted outside the gatehouses, but there were none on the door to the prison tower, and that was fortunate. Loth had no desire to harm anyone if he could avoid it, but their mission was too important to allow interference. Time was running out and he wanted to be clear of the city by dawn.

  Loth eased the door open and he and Ander slipped inside the tower, unnoticed. The storage room beneath the tower was likewise unoccupied. The two crouched beside the trap door, listening for some time. They could hear voices coming up from the room beneath them. Two of the voices were most certainly the goblins, petulant and full of complaint as before. But the other voice they could not quite make out. It was low and quiet, barely a whisper. Ander eased the trap door open and Loth leapt down the stairs to the floor below, prepared to take on the jailer and any guards that might be there, but none confronted him.

  Loth looked around the dungeon, searching the darkness. The first thing he noticed was a small table set in the center of the room upon which a single candle burned, the flame bright and steady. The jailer and his two turnkeys sat a
round the table, all three of them slumped forward with their faces pressed against the wooden surface, snoring softly. Nodd’s arm dangled at his side and on the floor next to his open hand was an empty wine bottle.

  “I’m afraid they may have had too much to drink,” said a voice off to his right. Loth turned as a small figure, dressed all in black, emerged from the shadows. Finn’s dark eyes found Loth’s, and the boy’s lips quirked in a half smile.

  “I come down here sometimes to play dice with Nodd.” He inclined his head toward the sleeping jailer. “He hates me, of course, because I always win. However, he does love his wine, and I know where father keeps the best bottles.”

  Ander came down the stairs behind Loth, stopping short when he saw Finn.

  “What’s going on?” the big Northman growled. He was ready for a fight, but there was none to be had. He seemed mildly disappointed. “What’s happened here?” He motioned to the jailer and his two drooling assistants.

  “Apparently,” Loth said, nodding to Finn, “he did.”

  “Lies. Filthy humans tricked us!” whined the shaman from behind the bars of his cell. His hands were still bound, his wrists rubbed raw by the ropes. He scrambled to his feet and began pacing the small space, shaking his head and muttering.

  “I’ve been having a little chat with our friends here,” Finn turned back toward the goblins.

  “Have you?” Loth eyed the young lord of Nachtwald with suspicion and a certain grudging respect. There was something about Finn that was both familiar to him and alien at the same time. The boy was something of an enigma, a lord’s son who acted more like a commoner, who did not seem to crave power, and who wandered the night like a thief. Loth was not quite sure what to make of him.

  “I knew you’d be along sooner or later,” Finn said. “After our conversation this afternoon, I was certain you’d come, and I didn’t want to miss the party.”