“And what about us?” Etienne said.
“You’ll have to get your own armor, love,” Fenelon teased, but when Etienne fixed him with a morbid scowl, he shrugged. “All right, I’ll help you get some armor too.”
Etienne rolled her eyes. “Not if it smells like that, you won’t…”
“Shhhhh, someone’s coming,” Shona hissed.
Simultaneously, Etienne and Fenelon headed for the tree where Shona kept watch. Mage sight revealed two figures moving across the landscape. One carried a crossbow at the ready. The other had a sword out. Both looked around them in the manner of men who were nervous, twitching at every little sound.
“Are you sure you heard Arn call out?” asked the one with the sword in a whisper only mage ears could hear.
“Aye, I heard him,” the crossbow’s owner replied. “He said, who’s there, and by the time I got around to his post, he was gone.”
“Gone? Like vanished?”
“Aye.”
“Bet it was the Shadow Hag,” sword said, visibly trembling as he picked his way closer.”
“Yer daft. That’s just a story…isn’t it?” crossbow insisted, though he sounded none too sure in Etienne’s opinion. That could be to their advantage. She looked at Fenelon, and he back at her, and his smile was too full of mischief for her liking. Etienne sighed as he motioned her and Shona closer.
“My granny saw the Shadow Hag in these woods when she was a lass,” sword said.
“Your granny was never a lass.”
“My granny says the Shadow Hag is still looking for the man who betrayed her so she was hanged from the gallows tree atop the tower. My granny says…”
“Shhhhhh!” crossbow hissed and motioned sword to stillness and silence. He scanned the dark.
“What?” sword whispered.
“I heard something. Out there…”
Fortunately, he was pointing in another direction, away from where the three hid. But Etienne’s eyes were drawn there all the same, and widened when she perceived a shape that moved among the trees. She touched Fenelon’s arm, and he looked as well, and his bemusement went away with startling speed.
Darkling! Horns, she thought. What was one doing in a forest this far from the swamps of Mallow? Like a small black fog, the creature drifted and moved among the trees. It headed straight towards the two men. Sword panicked and backed away only to trip over a root. Crossbow took aim for all the good it would do. Darklings had no solid form until they attacked or fed.
But suddenly, there was a flash of brilliance, and mage light filled the air, creating a wall. The darkling shrieked and backed off, twisting and seeking another route. Again light flashed, and the creature raged in anger and pain. Pacing back and forth, the darkling took on feline form. Etienne reached out with mage senses and realized the barrier was around the entire keep, one tuned to keep this creature of the night at bay.
At least we are inside the barrier. Etienne froze and glanced towards where they had left the guard. Oh, Blessed Lady of the Silver Wheel. Their prisoner was outside the barrier. She turned her attention towards the darkling. It paused from pacing and sniffed the air. Then, with sudden resolution, it gave up its solid form and raced towards the thicket where they had left the guard.
“No!” Etienne cried and started towards him.
“Hey!” crossbow shouted and raised his weapon to fire. “Get back!”
It occurred to Etienne that the gruff guard was actually doing her a kindness by calling to her, but for the moment only one thing mattered. To save the life of the man tied helpless to the tree. All thoughts of caution and safety went away. The darkling was swifter than she. Its shadow form rolled at the man, then reared up like a black blanket on end. Etienne saw the maw open, and it looked so dreadfully large.
Too close for a fire spell. “Solus!” she shouted and sent a wide spray of magelight filling the woods.
The darkling screamed and fled, seeking sanctuary in the shadows of the forest. Etienne rushed to her prisoner’s side. Frightened eyes met her gaze.
“Are you all right?” she said.
He nodded, puzzlement claiming his brow. Behind her, Etienne sensed the swell of Fenelon’s spells. The air crackled with the static of his essence as he shouted, “Put down your weapons, lads, and no one will get hurt.”
A second scream of essence suddenly filled the air not far from where Etienne knelt. A spell gate suddenly tore open, and there was no mistaking the underlying anger in the caster’s aura. Etienne surged to her feet, reaching for the essence she would need to feed her own defensive spell. Before she could gather enough, the gate spell gouted a stream of flames that rushed at her with such pin point precision, she could not help but be amazed.
“No!” Fenelon shouted.
His concentration changed. Etienne sought to raise a wall of hardened air in her own defense, but while she sought to include their prisoner, Fenelon focused his spell to a narrower space, for which Etienne was grateful. She watched the grand display of fire splattering around her, leaving her unharmed.
At that moment, Fenelon charged, and an individual exited the gate. Etienne saw a woman of advanced years robed in greens. The newcomer stood nearly as tall as Fenelon, and possessed hair of the same coppery hue that seemed to run strong through the Greenfyn line. She cast an angry glower upon the part at hand as she clutched her staff like a weapon.
“Just what in the name of Cernunnos is going on here?” she demanded in a wintry voice.
Much to Etienne’s surprise, Fenelon froze and even blanched. He went from fierce rescuer to guilty toddler in an instant. “Uh…Auntie Katrina,” he said.
“Fenelon?” the tall woman said. Her pose relaxed, and the heel of her staff thumped the ground. The wild battle aura that had swirled around her faded, though not the expression of anger. “I might have known. What are you doing here, boy?”
Fenelon’s discomfort was apparent. He made no effort to correct the woman’s assumption that he was a child, which amused Etienne just a little.
“I was looking for a friend who’s being held prisoner in a void,” he said, then sighed as though gathering his wits. “Just what are you doing here?”
“Watching you undo nearly a fortnight of planning and work,” Katrina said sourly.
Etienne noted that the guards traded uneasy glances, but showed no intention of fleeing. Katrina’s hard gaze fixed on them. “Well, don’t just stand there, you two. Go untie Arn. Now!”
Crossbow and sword rushed to their companion’s side and struggled with the tricky affair of knots Fenelon had used.
“These are your men?” Fenelon said.
“Hardly,” Katrina said. “They are locals who volunteered to come here and assist me.”
“To do what?” Etienne ventured.
Green eyes flicked in her direction as though measuring her. “And you are?”
“Etienne Savala,” Etienne said.
Katrina raised her brows just a hair. “Ah, yes. Turlough speaks of you with pride. I would think you were much too wise to be found in the company of my errant nephew.”
“Sometimes I wonder about that myself,” Etienne said, and enjoyed the sight of Fenelon wincing in dismay. “And this is my student, Shona.”
Shona managed a proper curtsey, though it was barely acknowledged.
“Now kindly explain to me why the three of you were attacking these poor men?” Katrina said.
“We had no intention of hurting them,” Fenelon protested. “We thought Tane Doran might be hiding here, and that they were his henchmen.”
“Why here?” Katrina asked.
“There’s a void here,” Fenelon said. “Wherever Tane went, there’s a void hiding him and Alaric. And Turlough said this place was one of the most likely voids to be useful to Tane.”
“Yes there is a void here, but the only person who has been in and out of this place over the last fortnight is me, and I think I would know if that wretched bloodmage was here. If you wan
t Tane, I suggest you look around Dun Ferlie. Last time I sensed one of his ilk, they were flitting in and out of that dun.”
Dun Ferlie. Eitenne sighed. The fourth Void. The last place they had planned to search.
“But before you chase after Tane, I think you owe me an apology,” Katrina said.
“For what?” Fenelon said.
“For ruining my trap. I’ve been trying to capture that darkling for three nights now. This was the closest we’ve gotten it to our trap.”
“Why would you want to capture a darkling?” Etienne asked.
“It is Turlough’s wish that we obtain a specimen. He wants to study its nature, and since this one was here terrorizing the locals for the last three months, we thought to take it and do them a favor. Now, it’s likely to go elsewhere to feed, and I shall have to track it all over. So if you will excuse me.”
Katrina gestured to the men who hurried over to join her. All save Arn. He cast a surly glance at Fenelon.
“Can I have my armor?” Arn asked.
Fenelon frowned as he shucked out of the bits of mismatched leather. He thrust them into Arn’s outstretched hands. The guard turned and marched away to join his companions. They followed Katrina through her spell gate.
“Lets get out of here before she decides to recruit us into her mad plan,” Fenelon muttered and began a gate spell that would take them back to where the horses waited. “Damn, Turlough. He knew she was here. He could have told us…”
Etienne smiled. “And why haven’t you mentioned your Auntie Katrina before?”
“You have to ask?” Fenelon said tersely as the world split open to let them step out of the forest and back into the copse where the horses were tugging nervously at their tethers.
“Well, yes,” Etienne said.
“Then remind me to tell you about her another time when I’m in a better mood,” Fenelon growled. “She’s not exactly one of my favorite relatives. She’s Turlough’s youngest sister, and she’s too much like him in a lot of ways…”
Etienne sighed and seized her mount’s reins. This was going to be a long, dull ride. Horses were not fond of gate spells.
At least we now know there is only one more place to look, she thought.
She just hoped Alaric really was there. And after all this time, he was still alive.
THIRTY SIX
Alaric was dreaming of the tower at Gordslea Hold. He climbed its stone stairs, bathed in a strange bluish pallor as the strains of music floated down from above. Alaric followed the sound, reveling in its cheerful nature, eager to find the source. He reached the top step, pushed open the door and slipped into the chamber.
Firelight turned azure in the strange world of his dream, flickering behind two familiar figures seated there. Marda was leaning back in her chair, looking so much younger than Alaric remembered. Before her, seated on Alaric’s stool was Ronan Tey. The bard was bent over his small harp, pulling sweet notes from the strings. But he stopped and turned, and his eyes flashed a mixture of sorrow and joy.
“Alaric,” he said, his voice softly ringing like the harp he had stilled with his long fingers. “I’m so sorry…”
Alaric felt tears in his own eyes. “Why?” he whispered. “Look at the trouble you have caused me with this curse…look at what has happened to me. I…I…” His throat grew thick. “I loved both of you like a family, and you both betrayed me…”
He wiped a sleeve across his eyes as moisture flowed. Ronan’s expression became one of deep pain as he set his harp aside and rose from the stool to flow across the room like a spirit. “Alaric. Lark,” Ronan said. “Do not be afraid.” He pulled arms around Alaric’s shoulders and drew the youth close, kissing his forehead. Alaric felt the warmth of another soul embracing his own, sending comfort rolling through him.
“I had no choice,” Ronan said. “I had to keep this hidden. Had to rid myself of the burden before Tane caught up with me. My secret will be safe with you.”
“But Tane will have it now,” Alaric said, pulling away. “He’s trying to break me.”
Ronan nodded. “I know, but you have nothing to fear. I have arranged everything.” He glanced at Marda as he spoke. Alaric saw her face growing wet with tears.
“That’s my fault,” Marda said, and she glided across the expanse to join them. Her face shifted from young to old before Alaric’s bleary eyes. “I should never have…”
“Marda, this is not the time,” Ronan said.
Alaric clutched himself and turned away. “But Tane…He will find the secret now, won’t he?”
“Perhaps,” Ronan said.
“And then he will kill me,” Alaric said and shivered. “He will feed me to that silly demon and…”
“There may yet be a way to stop him,” Ronan said. “But you must trust me, Alaric. You must do exactly what I say.”
Alaric whipped around. “And what price would that trust hold?” he asked. “My life? My soul? How can I trust you after…”
“Silence!” Ronan shouted, and the very commanding presence of his voice took Alaric’s speech away. “You must do what I ask, when I ask, or all will be lost!”
Alaric pulled back, unsure as to why, but he felt as though he was being dragged from the tower and sucked out of the dream by a stinging blow that came from no where.
“Wake up!” a voice called from afar.
“Do as I ask,” Ronan whispered.
“Wake up!” The voice was more persistent, and the burn that warmed Alaric’s face again knocked his head off to one side. With a choking gasp, he opened his eyes.
Tane was there, face set in a frown. “It’s about time you woke up,” the bloodmage said.
Alaric shivered. Ronan? he thought. Why could he still feel Ronan’s presence?
“Let us begin once more,” Tane said. His fingers supported Alaric’s head while his thumbs pressed the young man’s temples and drew circles there. “Relax. Open your mind to me.”
Alaric tried to pull away.
“Do not fight me!” Tane snapped and pushed Alaric’s head hard against the wooden back of the chair.
Alaric froze. Tane took a deep breath and resumed the gentle massage.
“That’s a good lad,” Tane said. “Now, look at me. Relax and let me in…”
Alaric tried to relax. It was hard. Fear seeped into him with the bloodmage’s cold essence. Horns, it was almost like being raped the way Tane’s essence thrust this way and that without any respect, pushing aside the memories he had already seen in search of new ones. This time the bloodmage was not gentle. He forced himself around, battering the slightest resistance with heavy precision. Alaric knew he was resisting in a small way. He couldn’t help it. Tane was too strong and had no qualms about mentally lashing out so his presence would be cold as ice one moment and hot as fire the next.
All through it, Alaric could see the various scenes of his life with Ronan Tey. Of the times they sat up in the apple tree together, tossing fruit down to Marda who caught them to fill the basket. Of singing duets before the family hearth, watching appalled as his sisters continually flirted with Ronan and tried to make Alaric miss a note or two of the song.
Tane examined these things then shoved them aside. “It has to be here…has to be here,” Tane’s voice muttered coldly.
Then he found the stairs and unfathomable dread rose in Alaric’s heart.
“No,” Alaric felt Ronan whisper from afar.
Tane ascended the stairs to the tower, dragging Alaric’s presence of mind in his wake. He broke down the door with a wave of his hands and entered into the room, and then walked straight over to the dreaded wall.
“This has to be it,” Tane said.
Alaric wanted to flee that place, and his dread of the wall rose like bile, but Tane’s strength of will was great, too strong to allow Alaric to break free. The bloodmage’s essence greedily attacked the wall, pushing at its giving surface. That it did not burn Tane amazed Alaric. Tane merely pushed again, and his hand stroked
the amulet of harp wire and bones hanging from around his neck.
Alaric felt Ronan’s presence as though the bard were right at Alric’s side. But Alaric was unable to break off watching Tane to look around and be sure. And besides, Tane was casting his strength against the gelatinous wall. He was burning it away, opening a hole into the other side.
A song began to swell. Words in an ancient tongue flowed through the hole. Tane jerked them out, absorbing them, filling the air with brilliant images. A pair of mountains. A waterfall. A valley encased in ice. A cave. The song spread all these around, and Tane laughed.
“I will be a god!” he cried. “Oh Mother of Shadows, I will set you free, and I will be a god!”
“No!” Alaric cried in vain. “No!”
Stop him. Ronan’s voice vibrated inside Alaric.
“I can’t,” Alaric said.
“Stop him!” Ronan said.
“I don’t know how…I can’t…I…”
“You have the ring,” Ronan said. “Take my hand…”
“Take my hand…”
An image appeared before him. Ronan gathered like a mist, stretching a bony grasp. Alaric wanted to scream as much at the sight of the skeletal apparition as at the shadow the song was giving birth to; a great winged shadow with cold eyes that stretched to cover the land.
“Take my hand. Alaric, open your eyes. Take my hand…”
Alaric opened his eyes. Tane was there. His eyes were closed as he leaned over the youth trapped in the chair.
Take my hand.
Alaric’s arms were pinioned by the shackles to those of the chair. But as Tane leaned and chanted in a strained voice, the bone amulet dangled close.
Take my hand.
Alaric struggled to shift…to reach.
Take my hand…
Alaric’s head thundered. Tane was shredding the wall to take the rest. Alaric stretched fingers and hit the bones. He started them swinging towards the hand on which he wore the silver ring Marda had left him. Her treasure. Her prize…a gift from Ronan Tey.
Dragon's Tongue: Book One of the Demon-Bound Page 29
