Caledonia Fae 04- Druid Lords

by India Drummond

  The druids had to be responsible. In their investigation with the Source Stone, they had either discovered something important or their attempts had gone wrong. Nothing else would have kept them away. “We have to go on with the ceremony,” Munro said, knowing Huck counted on them to keep Konstanze and her entourage from returning to Ashkyne as long as possible.

  “Precisely what my mate said,” Griogair chuckled. They turned towards Eilidh and began to ascend the steps. The prince whispered, “Soon to be your mate as well, my friend. I am proud to stand with you.”

  Munro gave him a grateful glance. “Thanks.” He looked up at Eilidh, and a smile tugged on his lips. Even with so many crazy things happening all around them, tonight was a good night. Finally, after all this time, she’d be his wife.

  When the two men reached the top of the dais, Munro reached for Eilidh’s hands. He took them and kissed the backs of each one. “I love you,” he said softly.

  Oron grumbled. “You aren’t supposed to speak yet,” he muttered.

  Eilidh grinned. “I love you too.” Her silver eyes shone in the moonlight.

  Munro turned to Oron. “Okay. Let’s do this, then.”

  The elder shook his head with dismay, but amusement shone in his eyes. He raised his voice and intoned formally, “Under the blessing of the Mother of the Earth and the watchful guard of the Father of the Sky, I bind these two in thought, spirit, and flesh.” Oron lifted his hand and recited an incantation in the ancient fae tongue.

  Everyone else disappeared for Munro. The worries faded to the background. His skin tingled as the joining magic danced around them. He’d understood faerie mating ceremonies weren’t merely a formality, that he was entering a compelling magical contract, but he’d not anticipated the depth of the experience. As Oron spoke, Munro’s will and commitment to the union were tested. He may have spoken. He wasn’t certain.

  Sudden silence swept around them. A reverent hush quieted the crowd as lights danced. Time seemed to stand still. Only the Elder’s voice, reciting words Munro didn’t understand, made him aware any time had passed at all.

  “Quinton?” Eilidh said after Oron’s voice faded away.

  “Yes?” he replied, feeling slightly dazed.

  “It’s time to go,” she said. “Are you ready?”

  “The ceremony’s over?” he asked.

  With a musical laugh, she said, “Yes. Come. Now time for the fun part.” She laid her hand on his forearm. “Or am I going to have to guide you to the tents where we’ll disrobe? You appear slightly stunned.”

  “Oh, no,” Munro said. “This part I’m ready for.” He reached over and swept her into his arms and kissed her. A cheer went up around the crowd.

  Eilidh flushed. Even still, she’d enjoyed the kiss as much as he had. She opened her mouth to speak, but then she suddenly paled and stiffened. Panic stabbed through her aura.

  “What’s wrong?” Munro asked. Gasps sounded around them.

  “I don’t know,” Eilidh said. “Another ripple. This time, much stronger.”

  She looked at Oron, who snapped his fingers at one of the nearby attendants. “Gather the conclave,” he said. He turned to Eilidh. “Your security is paramount, Your Majesty. We should get you to safety until we know what’s happening.”

  The ground trembled beneath their feet, and the crowd’s mood shifted. What had been a happy celebration suddenly felt like a barn full of horses had been spooked in a thunderstorm.

  Munro hated to even consider leaving, but he had little choice. “I should go to the Halls of Mist,” he told her. “Will you come with me?”

  She glanced towards the crowd and shook her head. “My people need me. If I leave, they might panic. When you know what’s going on, send word. I’ll join you when I can.”

  Munro didn’t like it, but they both had obligations. He kissed her again. “I’ll see you soon. I promise. We have unfinished business,” he said quietly.

  Be careful, she sent to his mind as he rushed down the steps and through the frightened crowd.

  Chapter 21

  Demi held Huck’s hand as they stood in utter darkness, pressed against a cold stone wall, waiting for Leocort to appear from the other side of the keep. She could hear Huck’s breathing, even though she couldn’t see him. Turning her face towards him, she whispered, “Thank you.”

  His eyes cast a strange glow when he looked in her direction. He blinked slowly and squeezed her hand.

  They’d gotten past the keep with little trouble, doing exactly as Leocort instructed them. Once or twice, Watchers had wandered in their direction. The first time, the faerie shuddered as he walked right by them. The second time, the guard approached, but hesitated, then turned around as though he remembered he needed to be somewhere else. The two druids had been lucky. As Huck said, the wards didn’t render them invisible.

  After several minutes past, Demi shifted her weight. “He’s taking too long,” she said quietly. “He might be in trouble.”

  “He’s adult faerie, with more magic in his little finger than you or I will master in a lifetime. He can take care of himself,” he whispered. “If he doesn’t return soon, we’ll find our own way.”

  “I can’t leave him behind. I don’t want him to suffer for my escape.”

  Huck didn’t answer. She suspected he thought she was being sentimental for no reason, especially considering what was at stake. But reaching out to Leocort felt right to her. He was more than her jailor. In only a few days, he’d become her friend. The situation was strange and unlikely. Before her arrest, she’d never known any faerie but Ulrich. He hadn’t inspired anything but fear of his race.

  The sound of voices came from farther down the corridor, slowly growing louder. “Why are you asking about the boy?”

  “The human woman will die tonight. I think it’s only right that she goes to the Mother knowing her boy is well.” Demi recognised Leocort’s voice.

  “So tell her as much,” came the sharp reply.

  “Would the statement be true?”

  “What does it matter? She killed our prince.”

  “Lies do not become our race, Avin.”

  The approaching faeries drew close. If they stepped any further, they’d walk right into Huck and Demi. She began to inch away, but Huck squeezed her hand and pulled her closer. What was he doing? Demi trembled with pent-up anxiety.

  “The boy is alive,” Avin said.

  “Alive? Why wouldn’t he be? Do you mean he is in danger of not surviving?”

  The second faerie hesitated. “You should tell the prisoner her son is well. We do not need her causing trouble.”

  “Are you worried that she can? The queen said she is nothing but a human, that the druids’ claims to an ancient heritage are false.”

  “The child has begun weeping blood,” the faerie said. “Our healers have tended to him, but can find nothing wrong.” He paused. “He has grown inconsolable.” He lowered his voice, and Demi strained to hear. “Even the queen is afraid of him.”

  “What is she planning to do?” Leocort asked.

  “She said she’ll deal with the child after she returns from Caledonia. There are rumours that she believes the druids’ story that Ulrich had ill magic. I’d not doubt the tales myself. I served as his personal guard for a time. I could tell you stories about him that would shrivel your rod for a century.”

  “I’ve heard some malicious talk,” Leocort said. “No ill magic could sully the royal bloodline. It’s impossible to conceive of such a thing.”

  “Of course,” Avin said. “I’m merely relating what I’ve heard.”

  “I’ll forget this conversation, my friend, but I’d caution you not to repeat baseless gossip.”

  Feet shuffled on the stone floor in the adjacent corridor, then one set of footfalls moved in the other direction. She prayed that the faerie who’d remained stationary was Leocort and not his companion.

  After a long moment, he spoke. “I sense your presence only because I
can’t will myself to move around this corner.”

  “We’re here,” Demi said.

  Leocort finally stepped into the intersection. “You overheard?” he asked. His expression was strained and he looked away from the pair.

  “Yes,” Demi said. “How long before the queen returns?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “The ceremony should be taking place now. I would expect Queen Konstanze to return shortly thereafter. She will not wish to be in Caledonia come sunrise.” He paused. “Do you know what is wrong with your boy?”

  She feared Leocort would not help her if he knew Jago had blood magic. Ulrich had told her clearly that only gifts of water, stone, earth, and air were accepted in the Otherworld. Because her druidic abilities hadn’t developed until they met, she’d had no difficulty in hiding her barely emerging blood talents from him. “Jago has never cried tears of blood before,” she said carefully. “Is it possible this is the result of some magic Konstanze has done?”

  Leocort’s forehead crinkled as he frowned. “Come,” he said. “The darkest hour of the night is passing. If someone discovers our absence…” His voice trailed off. His blue skin paled.

  “What’s wrong?” Demi rushed towards him. She supported him as his legs faltered. “Does your head injury trouble you?”

  Leocort looked past her, to Huck. “This is druid magic,” he said.

  She glanced over, but Huck’s expression was unreadable in the dim light.

  “We should hurry,” Huck said flatly.

  The faerie nodded. He stood upright. Whatever had caused him to falter passed. With obvious effort, he walked past the two druids. “Follow me,” he said. “Quietly.”

  Taking a wending route through the maze of corridors beneath the castle, Huck and Demi stayed close to Leocort. When other faeries approached, they hung back, but no one challenged them. They came to a spiral stone staircase.

  Again, Leocort staggered, but caught himself on the wooden rail. He glanced at Huck. “Am I not helping you?” he asked. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Whatever you’re experiencing isn’t my work,” Huck said, “but that of my comrades. They are summoning the Source Stone.”

  Leocort paled even further, his skin taking on a green-tinged, sickly hue. “They are draoidh,” he said.

  Huck tilted his head. “Of course. Isn’t that why you’re helping us?”

  “Yes, my lord druid,” Leocort said. Gathering his strength, he led them upward.

  On each landing, the group paused as Leocort kept an eye out for danger. Watchers and servants went about their duties in the corridors, but Demi noticed they all had an uncertain look about them, as though they were afraid. The source of their disturbance was unclear, but anything that improved the chance that Jago’s guards would be distracted or disabled suited her fine.

  Leocort guided them to the top of the stairs. He nodded to the end of the corridor, where two Watchers stood on either side of an enormous arch. “Beyond are the queen’s personal chambers.”

  “Where will Jago be?” Demi asked.

  “Somewhere close, I think. She may fear him, but he is still of royal blood,” Leocort said. He gestured to the opposite end of the hall. “Walk that direction. Slow and erect, like soldiers. No one should bother you. But don’t turn back. I’ll establish where the queen is keeping the boy.”

  Demi and Huck did as Leocort instructed. She fought the urge to turn and watch him as he approached the guards at the queen’s door. At the far end, she and Huck came to an alcove and he pulled her within. With a swipe of his hand, Huck extinguished the torch flame behind them. “We’ll wait here,” he said. “I don’t want to wander too far without him.”

  Suddenly the ground shook beneath their feet. Huck braced himself against the wall and pulled Demi close. “Earthquake?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Huck said. “Leocort is right. You can tell by the faeries’ expressions around here something is up. I hope this means the other druids have found a way to stop Konstanze.” He glanced at a passing faerie’s stricken expression. When she’d gotten out of earshot, he said, “I also hope they can do whatever they have to without bringing the castle down on top of us.”

  Worry clouded her mind and grew stronger as they waited. Her desperate fear shredded any hope of patience. She needed to hold her Jago, tell him everything would be okay.

  Irregular footfalls approached, and Demi’s alarm rose. She stepped out of the alcove, only to see Leocort stumbling towards them. Rushing to him, she said, “What happened?”

  He stared at her, puzzled. “Can you not feel the heaving of the flows?”

  Demi shook her head. “Our magic is different from yours.”

  “It’s as though the Otherworld is tearing in two.”

  A child’s scream sounded nearby. Without a second thought, Demi broke into a run, hurtling down the corridor towards the sound of her son’s voice. She heard Leocort groaning in pain behind her and the sounds of other faeries in the vicinity, all clearly in distress. “I’m coming, Jago,” she called out. “Mama’s coming.”

  ∞

  Aaron and Lisle ran towards the main courtyard of the Halls of Mist, following the young scholar sent to fetch them. As they stepped off the bridge, a hard tremor knocked them forward, and Lisle tumbled to the ground. Aaron’s heart thumped in his chest. If that had happened even five seconds earlier, he would have finally learned how deep those foggy chasms below extended.

  “Hurry, my lord druid,” the faerie called, helping Lisle to her feet.

  Aaron didn’t like that the old lady had been summoned too. She’d never touched the Source Stone, and its magic would likely overwhelm her. If the scholar hadn’t insisted all available druids of the Hall were required urgently, Aaron would have voiced his objections.

  Ahead, huge arcs of electricity flared from the portal, extending beyond the main courtyard. The young scholar froze. “We can’t get past that.”

  “Bollocks,” Aaron said. He didn’t like the charges the portal emitted, but neither was he prepared to turn back. “I’ll go first,” he said.

  “My lord druid!” the faerie shouted, but Aaron had already broken into a run, heading for the runed pillars of the library entrance. He turned, one hand on a pillar, the other motioning for Lisle to come ahead. She couldn’t run well. When she approached, Aaron swept forward and scooped her up, carrying her the rest of the way as a flare of light warped past. Aaron glanced back at the messenger.

  The faerie inhaled deeply, then nodded, sprinting towards the druids with the natural speed of his race. Three steps in, an electrical burst struck him square on the chest.

  “Shit,” Aaron said. Releasing Lisle, he ran back, arriving in time to catch the young scholar as he crumpled. A treacherous light show flashed around him. Aaron tucked his shoulder down and slung the faerie over it, then carried him fireman-style to the library entrance.

  Navigating the many narrow stairs to the hall below took more time than Aaron believed they had to lose. Alarm hurried him downward to the wide, open chamber of the library, with Lisle trailing silently behind.

  When Aaron finally staggered in, faeries rushed forward to relieve him of his burden. “What happened?” one asked, carefully guiding the scholar’s limp form to the ground.

  “The portal is shooting out lightning,” Aaron said. “You’ll stay with him? We have to get below.”

  “Yes, my lord druid,” she said, putting her slender fingers on the scholar’s face. “We will care for him well.”

  “Thanks,” he said, but her attention was elsewhere as she urgently snapped her fingers for two others nearby to assist her.

  Aaron showed Lisle to the hidden stair that would take them below. With each step, the heavy pulse of the Source Stone throbbed waves of pressure in his chest. “You might get overwhelmed,” he said to Lisle. “Don’t let that worry you.”

  “What is happening?” she asked.

  He ignored the question, instead mov
ing as fast as possible to the Stone’s chamber. He wasn’t sure anyone knew what was happening.

  He burst in, pushing his way past the keepers, who surrounded the Stone and chanted rhythmically. Glancing back, he saw the old woman more politely weaving through the crowd. Finally, they both arrived at the centre of the room. The Stone was raised and glowing. Douglas and Rory knelt on either side of the artefact. Sweat beaded on their skin. Their taut faces and clenched jaws showed their struggle.

  Aaron went to the far side and knelt between them. “What’s happened?” he shouted over the droning keepers.

  Douglas strained to look at him, as though fighting the will of the Stone. “It doesn’t like being told what to do,” he said.

  “It’s breaking apart,” Rory shouted. “If we let go, or they stop, the Stone will shatter.”

  “Jesus,” Aaron said. The throbbing of the Stone’s magic made his head swim.

  “If the artefact breaks,” Douglas said, “the Otherworld kingdoms will be splintered forever. Everyone will be cut off.”

  Aaron’s gut tightened. Hundreds of thousands, if not millions, could die. He put his hands on the Stone, and a jolt shuddered through him. His teeth ached and his eyes bulged. With some effort, he linked with Douglas and Rory. They’d successfully joined before, but this time, the Stone fought them. He’d never experienced anything like this, never would have believed a talisman could have a will of its own, even a strong, ancient artefact like the Source Stone.

  He looked up at Lisle, who stood in front of the keepers, her bright eyes fixed on the Stone. She’d proven herself a talented, capable druid, helping them when they crafted the portal. He didn’t think they could have succeeded without her. Now they needed her again. “Lisle!” he shouted. She looked up at him. “Lisle! Come touch the Stone. We have to hold it together!”

  The old woman knelt and, with only a moment’s hesitation, put her hands on the surface. Aaron felt her energy quickly join with the men’s, as though she’d been linking all her life. She shuddered with pleasure at the touch of the Stone’s power. He cursed to himself. Lisle was a strong druid, yes, but inexperienced with the Stone. She’d never be able to resist its overwhelming magic the first time. Her presence in the link could make things worse.