Dragon Fury: Highland Fantasy Romance (Dragon Lore Book 5)

by Ann Gimpel

  Between the two, she’d make herself an asset.

  Realization slapped her hard. She double-checked her reality but came up with the same conclusion.

  Desire to be accepted by a pod was driving her. She’d never recognized it before, but maybe Arcadia had opened her eyes to her true nature. Before she could sort it out further, they crossed the threshold and the sounds of battle—swords and armor clashing—battered her ears.

  Chapter 5

  Aegir had been pleased Raene wanted to accompany him. And worried. He could have ordered her to remain behind, but didn’t have the heart. Besides, she wasn’t one of his subjects, and she was likely to ignore his wishes, precisely as she’d done last time. Sincerity shone from her, but he hadn’t doubted her stated desire to go with him. Not after she’d cared enough to look within and seen his unrest. Giving Jonathan to his father had been far harder than Aegir imagined it would be. Not that he didn’t trust Angus to keep the boy safe, but knowing the seer meant to erase the boy’s memories of his years with the Selkies hurt.

  A lot.

  Aegir had hoped—nay, he’d assumed—Jonathan would want to visit. Scarcely an outcome if the boy didn’t remember him or any of the rest of the pod. One of Angus’s ongoing grievances was with the Celts, who’d wiped his early memories. He still had no idea about his origins. That he would do the same to his own son defied credibility.

  Even though Aegir hadn’t imagined this particular development, he didn’t have to dig too deep to understand. Far simpler to erase memories of a mother who had competing priorities than to explain how Arianrhod had lied to her kinsmen—the Celtic pantheon—choosing not to tell them about her son. Because Jonathan’s memories of his mother were tangled in his memories of the Selkies, there wasn’t a way to eradicate one and leave the other intact.

  Angus had been resolute when he’d come for his son. Arianrhod had been desolate as she fled to Caer Sidi. Surrounded by so much angst and misery, Aegir hadn’t dissected his emotions. Easier to hang onto annoyance at Angus than to examine how much he’d miss the boy’s bright light and his burgeoning talent. Magic ran rampant in Jonathan. How could it not with a seer for a father and a goddess mother?

  He jerked his attention back to the present and crossed the boundary into Arcadia amid the escalating sounds of battle. Worry displaced his sorrow about the boy. The Druids wouldn’t have summoned him back this soon unless their need was dire.

  Raene had already shed the blanket. In place of the simple skirt and blouse she’d worn before, she was encased in light armor. Arcadia clearly believed she’d need its protection. She angled a brow at him, tapped her mail-clad chest, and asked, “Which way?”

  He crossed the space between them and gripped her forearm. “Stay behind me, lass, until we see what we face. From the sound of things…” He didn’t finish his sentence. Didn’t have to. She understood. He had a feeling not much escaped her keen mind. She was an intuitive magic-wielder, unaware of how she employed her considerable gifts, but reliant on them just the same.

  He hurried toward where the clash of magic joined the rough sounds of steel on steel. Must be Fae, rather than Black Witches. Many of them favored swords. Unlike most magical creatures, the Fae were relatively insensitive to iron. He extracted power from the land—and the sea. Opening channels deep within himself, he drew magic into his body, shaping and forming it into a weapon that arced between his hands.

  Better to be ready. Even the few seconds it would take to craft a defense might mean Raene sustained harm. Keeping her safe was important to him, although he didn’t fully understand the why of it. They broke through dense tree cover into an open spot. The enchanted world was a veritable shifting sea of elements that never looked the same way twice. It appeared the trees had withdrawn a safe distance to provide a killing field—and keep them and their saplings out of danger.

  At least fifteen Fae were ranged in a ragged line swinging blades of varying types that glittered beneath Arcadia’s sunny skies. The two Druids from earlier had been joined by half a dozen others. Badly outmatched, they focused magic in swirling funnels to deflect the swords. No one was seriously injured. Not yet, but blood dripped from jagged rips in the Druids’ robes. Its hot, metallic smell felt wrong in what had always been a place of peace.

  The Fae firmed up their line and ran lightly forward, carving from left to right and back again. The Druids fell back a few paces. They were too few to mount an effective defense, but they’d fight until they were too wounded to continue, and the Fae knew as much.

  Aegir sent magic in a circle to double-check, but he was the only non-Druid fighting on their side, not counting Raene. If the Druids had raised the Shifter Council telepathically, they’d yet to send reinforcements. He edged back into the forest with Raene sticking close to him. He thinned his lips into a harsh line. The wise path would be to wait for more warriors to show up, but waiting wasn’t an option. Not with the Fae advancing with blood in their eyes.

  At least Raene was following his orders.

  So far.

  That might change. He didn’t know her well enough to make any predictions.

  He aimed to position them across from the Druids and catch the Fae in a deadly crossfire. He tried not to look right at the Fae. Most were far from beautiful in their native form, but they employed glamours designed to force the eye their way. Once you looked at them, they could exert power over you.

  “Do not let them capture your gaze,” he told Raene, switching to telepathy.

  “Even I know that much,” she mumbled, not bothering with mind speech.

  Magic built behind him, subtle but with strong roots. Good. She was readying herself.

  Two of the Fae, stunning men with long, flowing hair of silver mixed with gold, surged forward, sabers swinging so fast the blades were a blur. Dressed in old-fashioned garb, they wore leather breeks and shirts with sleeves that belled out at the bottom. So similar they might have been clones, they chanted a compelling refrain in a language Aegir didn’t recognize.

  He closed his ears to it since it felt damned near as hypnotic as their dark eyes. Fae were a scourge. Far worse than they’d been a few centuries before when magic roamed free. As things stood, they blamed everyone—magical and human alike—for what the world had turned into. He supposed they figured if they killed everyone off, they could resurrect an environment more to their liking.

  The attacking Fae balanced on the balls of their feet. Small silvery flecks glistened around them, looking harmless enough until one zapped past Aegir and buried itself in a nearby tree. The tree groaned piteously. Sap shot from the hole, washing the dart out.

  “Watch out!” Raene’s voice was soft, a contrast to her grim warning.

  He feinted sideways narrowly avoiding a volley of the insidious bits of evil. Raene ended up next to him. “Those barbed things, they’re coming from the ones not actively fighting,” she hissed.

  “Drop back, and I’ll ward you.” His voice was gruff.

  “You’ll do no such thing,” she said, indignation clear in her tone.

  One of the Fae angled his blade, slicing sideways. The targeted Druid moved fast, but not quickly enough to avoid losing a finger. Magic formed around his injured hand, glowing golden. He must be beyond agony, but he didn’t say a word.

  Druids never used weapons, but jets of magic flew from their upraised hands as they spat words in Gaelic. Power words designed to assist their cause. The Fae blades sizzled when Druid magic crashed against them. One turned black. Another burst into flame. A Fae on the sidelines tossed fresh swords at his companions.

  Aegir sidled past the perimeter of the trees. They were outraged by the disturbance that had dared cross Arcadia’s borders. It wasn’t terribly sporting of him, but he loosed a volley of power at the Faes’ backs. His magic formed a bevy of dark blue spears, seawater sharpened to a razor edge.

  A sharp intake of breath next to him suggested Raene had never considered such a use for her magic, which w
as a lot like his. She was a quick study. Moments later, a second batch of spikes in a slightly lighter blue raced toward the Fae. By now, they’d turned into a hissing, snarling batch of pissed off Faeries.

  They bolted to a spot where they faced Aegir and Raene squarely, murder glistening in the depths of their eyes.

  Behind him, the trees soughed, their leaves rustling menacingly. Would they help? Aegir dared hope so.

  The Druids didn’t look much happier than the Fae. The golden glow had formed a glove around the one Druid’s injured hand. Aegir considered telepathy, but Fae magic was far more potent than either his own or the Druids’ Earth-based enchantment. They’d intercept any communication.

  Two of them batted at places the backs of their shirts had caught fire, courtesy of Aegir’s darts, or perhaps Raene’s. Done with standing in his shadow, she’d placed herself by his side, hands raised and power flowing smoothly from them.

  The air thickened with the reek of expended enchantments. Selkie magic carried the varied scents of the sea; Druid power was rich with the smell of freshly turned earth. He’d always thought Fae magic should stink, be as foul as they were, yet it wasn’t. Wildflowers, heather, and ancient moorlands under a summer sun mingled into a pleasing mélange.

  The Fae didn’t remain between Aegir and the Druids for long. Clearly understanding they’d lost the upper hand, they leveraged their superior numbers to split forces. Four flanked him and Raene. The remaining eleven faded out of sight, reappearing behind the Druids.

  Aegir rested a hand on a nearby tree bole, urging, encouraging. If the trees truly had a stake in this—and they well might since Fae were not their friends—now would be an excellent time to make a move. He didn’t linger near the tree, returning his full attention to the peril they faced.

  The Fae nearest him twisted his lovely face into a sneer. “Return to the sea, Selkie king. We have no grievance with you.”

  “Aye.” Another Fae, this one female with hair the color of a rusty sunrise and a stunning body wrapped in a richly embroidered sky-blue dress, stepped closer. “Go now and we will forgive your attack. And allow your companion leave to depart as well.” She sent a pointed look winging Raene’s way.

  “Leave me out of this,” Raene snarled. “I can get myself out of here.”

  Aegir swallowed surprise. There was more to the woman standing by his side than he suspected, or perhaps she didn’t fully comprehend the range of Fae power. He aimed his words at the nearest Fae. “I canna comply. This land is sacred not just to my people, but to all magic wielders.”

  “Pah. Ye’re weak,” the male retorted. “We have no such haven, and we live forever.”

  “Aye, and just look at you.” Aegir screwed his face into a disapproving expression.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” The female Fae spat the words.

  Aegir watched the Druids out of the corners of his eyes. They’d come up with shields from somewhere. Maybe they’d built them on the spot with magic, but it gave them something to parry the Fae swordplay. Eleven against eight were better odds, but still not good.

  The trees’ thick canopy rustled louder in an unseen wind. It was the only warning before the trees rushed forward as if no longer tethered by roots. Reaching with branches that had developed hooked protuberances, they snatched up the Fae as if they were a passel of rag dolls and shook them.

  Magic sheeted from the skewered Fae, turning the air black and gray shot with threads of red and silver. An unholy screeching ran through the clearing from the highest note on the scale to the lowest and then back again. The heather and moorland scent developed undernotes of rot.

  A look of wonder flitted across Raene’s face, and she fell to her knees, head bowed in supplication. She didn’t remain there for more than a moment before rising. “Goddess bless the trees. I’ve only seen them do this once before.”

  “They rarely come to our aid, lass,” Aegir replied.

  The four Fae who’d circled them had vanished. He wasn’t certain when they left, but it had to be after the ones still dangling thirty meters above the ground were nabbed.

  The Druids stood in a semicircle and raised their clear, pure voices in song. Aegir recognized it. The Gaelic prayer honored the Earth from which they drew strength. Blood streamed from the captured Fae, wetting the ground. One by one, they disappeared, accompanied by a splatting sound as if they’d been sucked into some cosmic vacuum cleaner.

  He waited, Raene by his side, until all was quiet. The Arch Druid walked heavily to where Aegir stood and bowed. “Thank ye for heeding my call, Selkie king.”

  “How could I not?” Aegir inhaled sharply.

  “Will they return?” Raene asked.

  The Druid eyed her. “I know you. Ye’re who sought healing earlier. Did Arcadia give you what ye needed?”

  She nodded solemnly. “It did. Thank you.”

  He inclined his head. “Ye are new to this place and its customs. The land helped you, so now ye must return the boon.”

  “I will help any way I can.”

  Aegir was proud of her. She wasn’t trying to wiggle out of anything.

  “She lives mostly as a human,” he informed the Druid.

  Raene curled a hand around his forearm. “I will adjust things so I can stand watch here. How often do you need me?”

  “Once a year, child,” the Druid replied, “for one turn of the moon.”

  “I return to the seas for longer than that, anyway.” She frowned. “You didn’t answer me. Will they return?”

  “Not anytime soon. We hope.” The tall, tonsured Druid twisted and retrieved a blade that had dropped when the trees stepped in to mete out their own brand of punishment. A quick glance reassured Aegir that the trees were only trees again, rooted firmly to the earth as if they’d never moved at all.

  He barked a command in the Selkies’ tongue, and the rest of the blades slithered across the ground to form a heap at his feet. They clanged and clattered, having a hard time lying still.

  “Would ye like me to remove them from Arcadia?” he asked the Druid.

  “Aye. We have no use for weapons as ye well know.”

  “Nor do we,” Aegir said. “Magic is quicker and cleaner, and metal is…difficult for many of my people, but I can bury them in the sea. Make certain they’re never raised against us again.”

  All around him, the trees began to rustle and sough again. The Druid narrowed his eyes. “We owe them for their assistance.”

  “It’s a blood boon they need, isn’t it?” Raene raised one russet brow.

  “It is, indeed.” The Druid looked as pleased as Aegir had ever seen him. Detaching a small blade from a sheath, he handed it to Raene. She turned toward the nearest tree, sliced the blade across her palm, and gripped the tree’s rough trunk.

  Power thickened around her, accompanied by the astringent salt smell of the sea. The air turned silvery as the tree accepted her offering. Aegir hurried to her side, took the knife, and repeated her actions. He wanted to ask how she’d known, except she said she’d seen the trees spring into action before.

  He handed the dirk to the Druid and inclined his head. “If ye have no more need of us, we shall return to my island.”

  The Druid leveled his dark gaze on Aegir. “Ye were late arriving.”

  Aegir nodded. “True enough, but I shall remain until we are certain the Fae have given up their foolishness.” He tried to look away, but Druid magic held him in place. He met the man’s direct stare. He did not want to explain himself. The why of him being late was his affair and his alone.

  He would select who to reveal it to, and it was none of the Druid’s affair.

  Insofar as the Druids were concerned, all creatures with magic should play a role protecting Arcadia, yet most didn’t even know about the enchanted land. He was fairly certain the Celts were aware of its existence but didn’t view preserving it as their problem. Most of the Celtic gods had their own special worlds, much as Arianrhod ruled over Caer Sidi.
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  Angus might not be aware of his origins, but Aegir knew them all too well. Angus’s da was Cathbad, a Druidic seer who’d fallen out of time and memory at least a thousand years before. If this group of Druids realized the ancient seer’s spawn was near at hand, they’d move heaven and earth to co-opt his presence, holding him on Arcadia and claiming him as their kinsman.

  Aegir clamped his jaws tight together. The Celts relied on Angus’s prophecies. They’d fight tooth and nail to hang onto him. The end result wouldn’t be pretty. He’d consulted with his own father, and both he and the prior Selkie king were in full agreement. Angus wasn’t their problem, and the Selkies would do well to steer clear of the whole, tangled mess.

  His knowledge might have been a bargaining chip. A big one, but he couldn’t have used it to convince Angus to leave Jonathan’s memories alone. Doing so would have placed both himself and his pod at grave risk. If it had been anyone but the Celtic gods who’d shanghaied Angus, Aegir would have told him the truth. It didn’t require seer ability to determine how such a move would play out, though.

  Angus would jump through time and return to Cathbad—taking Johnathan with him. The Celts, beyond furious at losing their favorite lackey, wouldn’t rest until they ferreted out who’d spilled the beans. Wouldn’t take them long, not with their powerful magic.

  Once they’d singled out Aegir, his life would be forfeit—or they’d turn him into a slave—and they might well wipe out his pod while they were about it. Depended how livid they were…

  Power probed the edges of his mind. He held it at bay easily.

  The Druid narrowed his eyes. “Keep your secrets, Selkie king. As long as ye honor your vow to keep Arcadia safe from harm, I require naught further from you.”

  Raene cast a questioning glance his way.

  Before she could ask anything, he nodded at the Druid assemblage and aimed for a formal note when he said, “I’m as close as your call should need arise.”