Primeval Magic (Demons of Fire and Night Book 3)

by C. N. Crawford

  She gripped the ax’s handle. “Do you really want me to do this?”

  The knight simply lay there, his head on the stump.

  “You must strike a blow,” said Bael.

  This is super fucked up. She slowly raised the ax above her head, her arms straining at the weight. The ax hung heavy in her hands, and her heart raced.

  “Do it,” Bael urged.

  Her heart thudded in her skull, booming like the beats of a war drum. Thud. Thud. Thud. A cold sweat broke out over her skin as she lifted the ax high above her head, then brought it down hard, striking the knight in the back of his neck. The steel blade tore through his armor, flesh, and bone, and buried itself in the wood. A spray of blood arced into the air, and in what seemed like slow motion, the knight’s head rolled to the side and onto the ground. Blood pumped from his severed neck, and his body jerked and twitched on the ground.

  Ursula’s stomach lurched. “Gods below.” Dropping the bloodied ax, she bent over on her hands, dry-heaving. This hadn’t been like killing one of Hothgar’s demons in close combat. The demons had been actively trying to kill her in battle. It had felt natural. This had been entirely different—an execution. She gagged again, her stomach rebelling.

  Bael peered down at her. “Are you quite done?”

  Ursula rose on unsteady legs, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry. I’ve never executed someone. At least, not that I can remember.” Blood stained her dress. “So, what? Do we go now?”

  Bael picked up the ax from the ground. “Go?”

  Ursula’s pulse raced. “Why are you picking that up? He’s dead. Let’s get out of here.”

  Bael gripped the ax, a glacial look in his gray eyes. Dark shadows whorled off his body, and he looked every inch an angel of death—a dark demon of the night realm. The Darkling, perhaps. What did he have in mind?

  Ursula swallowed hard. “I mean, the knight is dead. We can go now.”

  “No,” said Bael with brutal finality. “You gave your word. We must pass this task to go on to the Lady of the Lake.”

  He took a step closer, jaw clenching.

  Her pulse racing, Ursula scanned the yard. She needed a weapon ASAP. Bael’s bastard sword lay on the stones by his feet. Apparently sensing her interest in the weapon, he kicked it across the yard. Fuck.

  Bael’s expression softened, and he put down the ax. “Trust me. I won’t hurt you. I thought you’d know that by now.”

  Her heart pounded against her ribs. “Really? Because it sort of seems like you intend to hack off my head.”

  “I’m not going to kill you. I claimed you by the Lacus Mortis,” he said fiercely, “and I’m pledged to protect you.”

  Did he really take all that seriously? He couldn’t think they were engaged. They hardly knew each other. “You agreed to cut off the head off whomever survived, and you appear to be holding an ax.”

  “You need to trust me. It may sting a little, but I won’t kill you.” He crossed to her, grabbing her around the waist, and pulled her to him, gazing down into her eyes. He cupped the small of her back, letting his thumb stroke lazily up and down her back, soothing her. At the same time, the feel of his powerful body against hers electrified her, and her breasts seemed to strain against her tight bodice. She slid her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him.

  His sandalwood scent curling seductively around her, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to her lips. This wasn’t like when he’d attacked her in Marazion—when he’d been drunk on the taste of her blood. This felt slow and sensual, his lips moving gently against hers, sending heat racing through her core. Gently, his tongue brushed against hers, and his fingers tightened on her back, possessive now. The kiss deepened, his powerful arms wrapped around her. When, at last, she broke away from him, his eyes were closed as if he were replaying the kiss in his mind.

  When he opened his eyes again, he was studying her closely, as if trying to memorize every detail of her face. Once again, his thumb traced lazy strokes up and down her back. She couldn’t help but think of the time she’d sat on his lap on his onyx throne and he’d imbued her with magic, his hands hovering just above her thighs, but never touching her. She’d been desperate to feel his powerful hands on her bare skin, and that same, molten heat surged through her body now—until, with a jolt, she remembered the headless corpse lying at their feet.

  Her body tensed again. Sort of a mood killer.

  He leaned down, his breath warming the shell of her ear as he whispered, “I would not kill the one I claimed.” A heavy emotion tinged his voice. “As Lord of Albelda, you have my word. Please. Kneel.”

  She’d already decided she trusted him, didn’t she? “Are you sure you can control that ax?”

  “Trust me.”

  Slowly, she knelt before the stump, resting her cheek on the bloody surface. She grimaced when her face pressed against the knight’s blood.

  Bael’s footfalls sounded behind her. “It’s very important that you don’t move. Do not flinch.”

  That’s reassuring. One little twitch, and she’d find herself decapitated. Closing her eyes, Ursula focused on keeping her body perfectly still, her muscles completely rigid. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

  The sound of whooshing air punctuated the quiet, and a flash of pain seared the back of her neck. Ursula’s whole body tensed—and then it was over, the pain already subsiding. She opened her eyes. Blood dripped into her shirt, but she seemed to be alive. She took a deep, shaky breath, lifting her head from the stump. “That hurt.” She touched the back of her neck, and a smear of blood came away on her hand.

  “Only for a moment, though,” said Bael. “And we’ve completed the task. The knight never specified that the blow must be fatal.”

  “Correct,” the black knight rasped. Ursula jumped as Balach climbed to his feet, holding his head, still encased in the iron helm. “You have both kept your word and proven honorable. You may continue on to the chasm.” Cupping his head under one arm, he extended his other. “My axe.”

  Still shaking, Ursula remained on her knees, watching as Bael passed the ax to Balach. “Thank you for the challenge, Sir Balach.”

  Without another word, the headless knight turned, and walked back to his hut, his armor groaning and creaking.

  Bael caught Ursula by the elbow, pulling her to her feet. “That was very brave of you.”

  “I believed you when you said you wouldn’t hurt me.” She took a deep breath, searching his pale eyes. “When you said you were pledged to protect me by the Lacus Mortis, I thought it was only for show. I mean, we’re not really engaged, surely—we don’t even know each other. Right?”

  For just a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of pain flash in his eyes—and then it was gone. Standing this close to him she could sense the heat of his body. Instead of answering her question, he frowned at her neck, gently pulling her hair aside to examine it. “How does it feel?”

  “It stings a little, but I’ll be okay.”

  “Good.” Bael stepped away from her and picked up the bastard sword, striding to an arched doorway at the far end of the courtyard. “I believe we have another challenge awaiting us.”

  CHAPTER 18

  T hey passed through the doorway, and onto a flat plateau. Here, large volcanic boulders—nearly as tall as houses—covered the mossy ground. The boulders were inscribed with strange hollows and gashes—rough marks, as if they’d been gouged by the claws of a giant beast. A thick mist wound between the boulders, and the vapor crept up the hem of Ursula’s dress and condensed on her skin. Goosebumps puckered her flesh.

  Her teeth chattered as she kept pace just behind Bael. Just as he seemed to have barely exerted any effort climbing the stairs to Camelot, the chill hardly seemed to affect him either. Even without his magic, the man was clearly not human.

  They followed the path through the mist as the sky began to darken above them. Ursula kept her arms wrapped tightly around her, in what was proving to be
a futile effort to stay warm.

  By the set of his shoulders, Ursula could tell that something was weighing on Bael’s mind. As usual, he didn’t seem to want to talk, and they walked in silence on a gravel path that curved and twisted between boulders.

  After about a half hour, her stomach rumbled, and Bael turned to give her a sharp look. “You’re starving.” He said it almost as if it were an accusation. “There’s no food here. I can’t catch anything for you.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Catch something for me? What, like—if rabbits were lurking around the boulders, you’d kill one for me, and roast it over a fire?”

  “Of course.”

  She bit her lip. “That’s oddly sweet.” Her stomach rumbled again, louder this time.

  His shoulders visibly tensed, and he halted his walk. “You should have brought food with you. A human like you fatigues easily.”

  “I was a little busy trying to get away from the dragon who wanted to slay me. Why does it bother you so much if I’m hungry?”

  He met her gaze, his expression solemn. “You may not take it seriously, but I’m pledged to protect you and provide for you.” Without another word, he turned and strode off again.

  Okay, so she’d hurt his feelings when she’d brushed off their betrothal. But really—he couldn’t be taking it seriously.

  She folded her arms across her chest, hurrying to keep up with him. “I just meant that we don’t know each other. In this day and age, you don’t agree to marry someone unless you know them. You’ve hardly told me anything about yourself. You said you were from Canaan, and that you were ten thousand years old. I know you were married once. That’s all I know.”

  “You don’t know about yourself, either,” he pointed out. “You have no memory. But it doesn’t matter to me. I know everything I need to know, everything that’s important.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He stopped again, fixing her with a fierce gaze. “I know that you’re brave and honest, and loyal, and that I can trust you with my life. That’s all I need to know.” He strode on again.

  A lump rose in her throat. Well, now I feel bad. She hadn’t even told him everything yet, either. Specifically, she’d failed to mention the fact that everyone believed her to be an evil entity known as the Darkling. “I know those things about you too. I just don’t know anything else about you. You’re silent most of the time. You’re not really a big communicator, you know. I know you spent a lot of time alone in Abelda Manor, but most people get to know each other by talking to each other. Telling stories about their lives.” She’d seen a glimpse of his life—the ruddy, flower-dappled fields in her vision—and she wanted to know more. “You’ve hardly told me a single thing about yourself.”

  “My job is to provide you with what you need. And if you want to know about me, I will tell you. Ask me your questions.”

  She thought back to the few tidbits he’d told her about himself. “You’re nearly ten thousand years old, which means you’re pretty much from the earliest civilizations known to man. You obviously have stories to tell. You said you were from Canaan. So—where is that now, exactly?”

  “The place I’m from is now called Byblos, in Lebanon.”

  “By the Mediterranean?” she ventured. It must have been the city she’d seen in her vision.

  “Yes.”

  “What about your parents?”

  Contemplatively, he stroked his jawline. “They died. Nearly ten thousand years ago. I still remember them vividly. My father was a soldier. My mother’s beauty was legendary, and she shone like the north star. The gods fought over her, but she chose my father instead. Both my parents died young, of a plague.”

  Ursula frowned. “How? They must have been immortal. Like you.”

  He shook his head. “I was born human. Nyxobas made me into an immortal, a high demon.”

  “How? Why?”

  “After my parents died, I traveled around the Mediterranean. I was known for my strength and skill with a sword. I worked for the gods, collecting treasures they wanted, killing their enemies. And over time, Nyxobas and Emerazel wanted me to join their courts, to make me immortal. I accepted Nyxobas’s offer.”

  And refused Emerazel’s. Ursula was reminded of what he’d said of Arthur. Never refuse the demands of a god. It tends to end badly. But there were some things she’d have to broach gently. Namely, what Emerazel had done to punish him, and why, exactly, he’d killed his wife. “And after you accepted Nyxobas’s offer, you joined him in the Shadow Realm?”

  “No. For thousands of years, Nyxobas appointed me as his representative in Canaan. Over time, the people there confused me with a god. The built temples in my name, and forgot about Nyxobas. You can imagine how much he appreciated that.”

  “So he called you to his lunar realm.”

  “Precisely.”

  “And are you happy there?”

  He shot her a perplexed look, as if the concept of happiness had never occurred to him. But there was something else in his eyes—a fierce hunger. “I have felt more alive recently.” He peered at her closely.

  She felt herself blushing, then quickly reminded herself she still didn’t know why he’d slaughtered his own wife. Best not get too big of a crush on him. In any case, she had to ask him about it. Bracing herself, she cleared her throat. “And your wife? The woman whose portrait I saw in Abelda Manor.”

  Immediately, his eyes darkened, muscles tensing. The damp air iced around them, chilling with frost. “There’s water up ahead. A stream.” He glanced at her, studying her closely. “Do you want my jacket? It will get cold up ahead.”

  She shook her head. “You keep it. I’ll let you know if I need it.”

  Bael slipped into his jacket, marching on.

  Ursula exhaled, listening to the sound of rushing water. Through the fog, she couldn’t see its source. As they moved closer, Bael unsheathed his sword. They rounded a boulder, and Bael stopped abruptly and thrust out his hand to stop Ursula. When she peered down, she saw that the ground dropped away sharply. A deep, wide gorge sliced through the mountain, and a hundred feet below, a torrent of water thundered over massive volcanic boulders. A thick spray rose off the water, mixing with the mountain mist and obscuring the cliff face on the other side.

  A narrow suspension bridge hung just to their right. Built of wooden planks, it creaked in the wind, swinging from a pair of thick ropes. Bael crossed to the bridge, pointing at a bolder at its base, inscribed in Angelic.

  Ursula stood by his side, mentally translating. “A Knight knows no fear. What do you think that means? We just cross the bridge?”

  “I think that’s the start, at least.” Already, he was stepping on the bridge, placing one of his hands on each of the ropes. He moved gracefully but deliberately, one foot at a time over the boards.

  “Just go slowly,” he called over his shoulder as he disappeared into the spray.

  Following Bael’s example, she grasped one of the ropes in each hand. They hummed against her hands. Must be the wind.

  Warily, she made her way onto the bridge, the wind whipping at her hair, her dress. The boards seemed sturdy, and the spray and mist were so thick she couldn’t see the water below—a blessing, really. As she moved forward the world seemed to drop away. The roar of the water and the pervasive fog seemed to disconnect her from reality.

  She focused on placing one foot in front of another, but soon the mist was too thick to even see her feet. It closed in around her, enveloping her body like a death shroud. Desperate for a sense of solidity, she tightened her grip on the ropes. Her fingers moved along the cold, wet cords, but she couldn’t see her own hands—not even her shoulders.

  The wind tore at her hair, whistling in her ears.

  “Ursula,” a woman’s voice whispered, seemingly from within her own skull. “Ursula. I’ve been waiting for you.” Ursula felt a powerful tug at her gut, luring her off the bridge’s edge. “Will you join me in the mists?”

  “Go
away. I’m trying to concentrate.”

  “Ursula,” the voice cooed, soft and maternal. “Where have you been? Why did you leave Acidale? Come, step off the bridge and see me.”

  “Acidale? Who are you, and how do you know who I am?”

  “Of course I know who you are,” the voice purred. “Don’t you remember your own mother?”

  Hope washed over her. Was this her mother, a shade in the mist

  “No,” stammered Ursula, gripping tightly to the ropes. “I can’t remember anything.”

  “You were such a beautiful girl. You had nightmares about wolves, and I’d soothe you with lullabies in your bed. In the day, you played in the wildflower meadows in the fields of Fraelissa. You sparred with your grandfather, moving like the night wind.”

  “In Mount Acidale?” Ursula stopped, her fingers forming a death grip on the ropes.

  “Yes. Every summer we would visit Britomart Lake, and your father—” Delicate fingers brushed against her cheek. Then just as suddenly, they were gone. “Oh… I didn’t know.” There was a sense of urgency, almost fear in her mother’s voice.

  “What?”

  The timbre of the voice changed, no longer feminine as it rushed past her like the wind. “The lost, as if unburied from the soil. Uncovered from the dankest roots of oaks…”

  Ursula sucked in a sharp breath. “What do you know of the prophecy?”

  But the voice was gone, and she stood alone on the misty bridge, the icy wind chilling her skin. She shivered involuntarily, and after a moment, she began moving forward again.

  Was that really my mother? A lump rose in Ursula’s throat. Merlin had spoken of the shades of lost souls on the Tor—perhaps it had been her mother.

  Ahead of her, a shout pierced the quiet—Bael’s deep voice. “No! No. No…” A deep, gut-wrenching despair laced his voice.

  Her pulse racing, Ursula hurried forward along the bridge as fast as she could. The wind ripped at her hair and clothes, stinging her cheeks and flinging her red hair into her eyes.