Fenelon leered but argued no more. He gated them first to the village of Fallonscroft which sat half a league from Fallon’s Tower. Fenelon made his reasons clear. Tane would likely have far reaching wards. Better to find out if the locals knew anything first.
So they found themselves in a tavern called the Grey Man on the main road Fallonscroft. Actually the only road, Etienne grimly noted. Fallonscroft was rather small, not much more than two dozen cottages and a few outlying farms. Not even a palisade surrounded the place. Sheep and cattle roamed freely in the fields and the streets.
Fenelon did not act the least bit disturbed by all this. He set about making friends with the tavern’s lone customer, a smith who gave his name as MacLear. Everyone else had already gone out to work the forest or the fields.
“The ruins?” MacLear said when asked. He shrugged his great shoulders. Etienne smelled the burned scent of his plaidie mingled with sweat. “No one goes up tae the ruins, laddie. They be haunted.”
Fenelon thanked the man, gently pulling Etienne and Shona from their chairs.
“Worth checking,” he told them and borrowed horses so they could cover the distance without magic.
All well and good in Etienne’s opinion. The terrain proved rocky. Fallon’s Tower sat atop a broch whose old road had long ago disappeared from existence. They tied the horses just out of view, and Etienne sent mage senses cautiously scrying the ruins of the old rath. She felt nothing past the outer walls, as though the world within them possessed no hint of life. The touch left her uneasy.
“I don’t think he’s here,” she said.
“Better to be sure than not,” Fenelon said. He drew the sword he had brought and picked his way up the rise. Etienne followed. She was glad she had chosen a split skirt and sturdy boots. Shona held the rear guard, looking undisturbed to be forced into such a strenuous climb, but then, she was highland born and had likely done this most of her early life.
“Fenelon reached the first wall and motioned for the women to stay behind him as he crept along its moss-draped edge. He stopped at the old gate, peered around the edge then moved again. Ravens called from the rath. Etienne heard the skittering of field mice in the grass and saw evidence of a rabbit warren when several coney burst from the sedge and fled for holes.
The building before them looked more ancient than most. Parts of its walls had fallen out. Holes gaped in others. Wind picked its way through those openings and moaned.
So much for spirits, she thought wryly.
Fenelon reached the open remains of the door and paused. Etienne quietly joined him, peering around his shoulder.
There was nothing inside but a great hole where the floor once sat. Evidence of some monstrous blast could be found in the arrangement of stones around the hole and in the blackened patches not worn away by time. The holes depth yielded no call of magic that she could feel.
“As I said before, I don’t think he’s here,” Etienne said.
“I think you’re right,” Fenelon said. He picked up a bit of stone from the litter of many at his feet. It had been turned to glass by some great force. “But I would like to know what caused this. You know, it would be interesting to go down there and…”
“Later,” Etienne said and tugged his arm.
He tossed the shard into the hole. She heard it clatter after a long silence. With a sigh, Fenelon followed her back to where the horses waited.
One down, she thought. Three more to go.
~
Tane was gentle once Alaric ceased to throw up walls of defense. The bloodmage’s intrusion into Alaric’s mind that morning was little more than a leisurely stroll. Only when Alaric fought back did he experience pain enough to make him ill.
He hated it. Hated the blithe way the bloodmage pushed and pulled the memories of Alaric’s past, like a discerning customer picking at a merchant’s wares. That Tane sought specific memories became clear. He wanted songs, and not just any song. Each time he found a memory of Ronan, Tane pounced on it like a cat. But as soon as it proved something he had no use for, Tane moved on to other places. Alaric could do no more than watch.
At length, Tane stopped. He looked weary both inside Alaric’s mind and in person. Such a lengthy exploration of Alaric’s mind exhausted the bloodmage. Alaric was just relieved to have the bloodmage withdraw his own essence from Alaric’s mind, for bits and pieces of Tane’s own life surfaced in the sharing. Cruelties and abominations abound. The presence of blood taint made Alaric ill. But wearing the scolds bridle forced him to fight the sensation. A hint of bile burned in his throat. He so wished they would take the damn thing off…let him have a drink of water.
Tane merely opened his eyes, smiled and gently patted Alaric’s cheek where tears mingled with sweat. The bloodmage banished his circle and slipped away.
“I shall rest now,” Tane said. “Vagner will keep watch.”
Vagner narrowed angry eyes at Tane. The demon child sat off in one corner, making short work of a foolish rat. “I need to feed,” the demon said. “I’m famished.”
“You need only what I tell you that you need,” Tane said. “And you had a whole sheep yesterday. Just where did you put it?”
“This body may not have demon powers or size, but it still has demon needs,” Vagner said, dropping the rat and lurching upright. “What good am I to you in this form? What use will I be if I starve to death? I want my old form and I want to…”
Alaric could feel Tane’s abrupt draw of power. So could the demon. Too late, alas. Vagner made a feeble attempt to throw the child’s body aside. Though Tane’s lightning spell was mild compared to some Alaric had seen, it fulfilled its purpose. The bolt struck Vagner in the side. The demon’s shriek was that of an injured child as the creature was thrown against the wall and dropped to the floor.
“Stop it,” Alaric screamed as best he could, but the words came out as little more than foolish gibbering, which Tane ignored. The bloodmage crossed the chamber to tower over the trembling demon.
“Keep that up and you will be of no use to me in any form,” Tane said. “In fact, once I am a god, you will be of no use to me at all. Now, don’t tempt me to anger again, monster. Stay here as you were told and keep an eye on him while I sleep.”
Tane turned and stalked from the room. The bandits followed at a slower pace and closed the door.
Slowly, Vagner pushed the child form off the floor, using the wall as a support. The blackened shift was hanging unnaturally, and a patch of burn skin showed. The demon’s pain made itself obvious in the way Vagner moaned and whimpered and clutched the injured side. Angry eyes turned towards Alaric.
“This is your fault,” the demons hissed and hobbled across the room towards the narrow table.
“My fault?” Alaric murmured around the tongue depressing his own. “How?”
A hint of amusement twitched the demon’s face, but the eyes never lost their rage.
“Just give him what he wants,” Vagner said. “Maybe then he’ll let us both go free.”
“I can’t give him what I can’t remember,” Alaric said, and new tears streamed down his cheeks; tears of regret, remorse and frustration.
The demon merely crawled only the table, lying there curled in a small ball of misery and looked away.
~
Noon sun cut holes through the layers of grey clouds and set aglow patches of verdant heather and the ruins of Greenwall Temple. A village once stood here, Etienne thought. And a temple of Diancecht. But the histories showed that a mere generation ago, a lone Haxon raiding party made it across Tamnagh and Elenthorn via the river ways to reach this point. Here, they had pillaged and burned and killed every man walking while taking every woman and child hostage. An army of Keltorans aided by one of the mageborn, swept in and drove the few Haxons they did not manage to kill back into their mountainous homeland. Those women and children who managed to survive the ordeal saw no reason to remain. So the village and its temple were abandoned.
As befor
e, Fenelon led the way. They approached the ruins with caution, stretching mage senses in search of any hint of blood essence. But as before, they found nothing outside of the void.
This void seemed more purposeful in Etienne’s opinion. And she and Shona followed Fenelon through the ruins Etienne was struck by the regularity of this void’s parameters. The boundaries were straight and even, rectangular and just below ground level. Stairs to the back of the temple nave led into its dark depths. Fenelon lit torches with flint and steel. Magic fire and mage lights were useless here. Even mage senses would be helpless. Etienne motioned for Shona to stay on the upper level and keep watch, then followed Fenelon down into those eerie depths.
The stairs turned back upon themselves to form a descending square and stopped in a rather large room. Broken cots and tables and pieces of wooden partitions were scattered. Remnants of bandages rotted on the floor. The chamber felt cool and lifeless. A hospice, she thought. The healers had obviously used this as a sick ward.
She and Fenelon spent the better part of an hour searching each chamber that ran off this one. But they found nothing. No sign of Alaric, or any other form of life, save a number of eight-legged arachnids.
“So sad,” Etienne said softly. “To think this was once a place of healing.”
“Now a nest for spiders,” Fenelon said as he pulled another web from his sword which he had used to hack through them. “Did you notice those stone pillars in the main corners? The ones with the runes?”
“Yes,” she said. “They vaguely resemble warding glyphs.”
“Exactly,” Fenelon said. “A rather neat little mystery to ponder. This place was built well before the healers set up their temple. Makes you wonder what the Old Ones used it for. It’s too large and open to have been a prison.
Etienne shrugged. “There looks to have been a gallery on the upper half that was filled in to support the temple walls,”
“I noticed that too,” Fenelon said. “Fascinating. Wish we had more time.”
“Well we don’t,” Etienne said. “We’d better go on to the next place on the list.”
“Morrigan’s Tower,” Fenelon said. “That will take some effort to get to. I’ve never been there. Closest I can get us is the village of Spaewood a couple of leagues to the south.”
“What about Dun Ferlie’s Tower?” she said.
“It’s the other way from here,” Fenelon said. “Morrigan’s Tower is close enough to the borders of Mallow to appeal to someone trafficking in demons.”
“True enough,” Etienne agreed. Like all mageborn, she knew Mallow’s swampy heart had a rift that opened into the demon realms. “Morrigan’s Tower, then.”
They headed back up, fetching Shona and opening a gate to Spaewood. Fenelon knew a croft where they could borrow horses to ride north to the tower.
~
The pain kept Vagner from sleeping. The demon wanted to go into the cells and fetch the ointment for its own wounds. But Tane’s word was law, and by True Name, Vagner was forced to remain here and watch the young bard who had fallen asleep. Head drooped forward, his blond hair hid his face. Only his regular breathing gave the demon a clue.
Slowly, Vagner unwound from the knotted position he had held for what seemed like an eternity and crept across the room. Crouching, the demon looked up into the pale face, wanting some distraction…any.
“Why must you fight him,” the demon whispered.
Alaric’s eyes flickered under the lids from the rapid motion of one dreaming. He stirred and grew still, a bare ripple of human reaction. The demon wished his power were still free. It would have been interesting to see what the young bard dreamed.
But Tane had taken that. Taken all the demon cared for. Oh that Vagner had never fallen for that sweet musical bait, though now as Vagner thought back on it, the bait had been no where near as sweet as this young man’s voice and songs.
You are a thing of beauty. You have an immortal gift that I can do naught but envy. Vagner shook the child’s head. What a shame it would be to see this youth die. Oh, Tane would not keep his word, not now. Why should he? Once the bloodmage had achieved his goals, he would have no use for the demon or this bard…not even for the bandits. Yet Vagner had a feeling they would be allowed to live and go about their unlawful business.
Vagner did not care about the bandits or their fate. They were base, callow men. Most unworthy of pity in any form.
This bard, however—this mageborn youth—he was another matter in the demon’s eyes. Vagner might not know love, but he knew joy and pleasure.
To destroy this bard would be to destroy joy and pleasure and a multitude of old songs. To save this bard, though, would just as likely lead to Vagner’s demise.
If I had my old form…
The demon frowned and looked up at the youthful face.
There must be a way we can live.
Cautiously, Vagner rose. The demon gently pushed a hand through Alaric’s hair, then retreated to a dark corner to squat and wait.
There had to be a way.
THIRTY FIVE
I do believe Morrigan’s Tower is occupied, Etienne thought. This fact became evident as the trio reached the edge of the heavy forest that protected this tower from the world. Tangled vines encrusted the weathered stones, turning the tower into a green monolith with a tree growing from the very top. Etienne couldn’t help but wonder who had planted the tree there and why.
Evidence someone had tracked through the growth recently before them lay about. Signs of a horse’s passing were everywhere. Hoof prints and other less pleasant spoor decorated the ground. Even Shona’s keen eyes found small broken branches and other items that escaped Etienne’s attention.
And, of course, the dim flicker of firelight visible in the gloaming gave it all credibility.
Horns, we should not be out in the forest at evening. Not with faint hints of magic traceable in the air. Old magic, by the feel of it. The sensation reminded Etienne of the catacombs beneath the King’s palace in Caer Keltora, a secret place once believed to have been an underground city built by the Old Ones. A number of these were to be found under the main cities of Ard-Taebh. But where those catacombs had a haunting beauty, this felt cold.
Morrigan, according to the tales Etienne heard, had been one of the three Morrigu, the battle sisters of ancient times. While Babh and Memhain were still believed to be the goddesses of war who came to the battlefields as ravens that came to flock and feed on the dead and wounded and the frenzy that drove men to berserker madness, Morrigan was said to have turned to darkness. The Phantom Queen had betrayed Cernunnos, deceived him into fathering her child. She had given birth to a treacherous son and ended her days imprisoned in a place where magic could not be found.
Etienne looked at the tower and could not supress a shiver. Blessed Lady of the Silver Wheel, I do hope Alaric is not in here. She hated to think of him being held and likely tormented in such a dreadful feeling place.
Fenelon suddenly took her hand. She met his blue eyes and felt the rush of his excitement filling her with his essence. “Can you feel that?” he said and wrinkled his nose. “Pure Old One…”
“Feels more like Dark Ones,” she thought back. Or Dokkalfar. Her own great grandmother once told stories about the dark kin who lived in the old realms to the north before the ice came. “Morrigan wasn’t one of the Shadow Lords, was she?”
“I don’t think so,” Fenelon quipped. “But she did use dark magic to deceive Cernunnos into fathering Morhred. That’s why she was imprisoned in a Void…to keep her from using magic ever again.”
“And Morhred? Could he still be around?”
“Oh, no. If I remember the story right, Morhred was killed by Cernunnos…cut off his head with some all-powerful sword. Then Arawn stole Morhred’s head from the pike at the gate to the Summerland, and some say he used it to create the Cauldron of Doom.”
“Oh,” she thought and sighed. “Then we only have to worry about an angry trapped goddess
and not her treacherous son?”
“I don’t think this is the place where she is being held,” he said. “She’s supposed to be buried for all time in a cave beneath some mountain in Carn Dubh.”
“Then why does this place feel so dark?”
“That’s what I intend to find out,” Fenelon said. “Come on.”
He released her hand. The horses were secured away from the track and downwind from the tower and the trail to keep other horses from detecting them. Then the three of them, using scattered boulders and scrub trees as cover, crept cautiously towards the tower. They were but a few meters away from the outer moat that ringed the tor on which the tower sat when Fenelon froze and motioned for Etienne and Shona to hide. They flitted into the shadow of a boulder, and not a moment too soon. Someone was climbed out of the rock and vine filled depths of the moat. A scruffy-looking man in ill-kept armor adjusted his lacings and looked around.
A guard! Etienne let out a controlled breath and waited for Fenelon to decide what course they should take.
Fenelon carefully groped the ground and picked up a small stone. Staying low, he pitched it so it clattered among the shrubs to their far left. The guard turned that way. He seized up the small axe dangling from his belt and looked puzzled at first. “Who’s there?” he called. When no answer came, he frowned and started towards the sound. Fenelon slid around the opposite side of his natural barrier so he came up behind the guard. Fenelon’s cat-like stealth impressed Etienne. The guard never knew what hit him before Fenelon made use of his pommel. The guard dropped without a cry. Fenelon swiftly dragged his victim into the brush, and Shona and Etienne bolted out to lend a hand. Within moments, they had the man stripped of his armor and trussed to a tree and gagged.
“One down and no telling how many to go,” Fenelon whispered as he pulled on the bits of armor. Etienne wrinkled her nose. Some of the leather stank of old sweat. She didn’t understand how Fenelon could bear it.
“Just what are you doing?” she asked.
“It will be easier for me to get in if they think I’m one of them,” he said. “With all this dark magic floating around, it might not be safe to use our own until we’re inside. Tane’s likely to have traps tuned to magic…”
Dragon's Tongue: Book One of the Demon-Bound Page 28
