by S A Archer
Distracted for even that second, Malcolm missed a block. The wood elf’s blade sliced across Malcolm’s right arm, tearing a scream from him as his long knife fell from his grasp. Hot blood gushed down his arm.
Disarmed and wounded, Malcolm dropped down, dodging the incoming blows. Everyone seemed to scramble around him as attackers and defenders rushed in for him. Magic and bodies spun about him in a blur.
Someone came over him, and without any other way to defend himself, Malcolm reached up and tangled his fingers in the threads of the fey’s magic and twisted. A gut-wrenching scream ripped through the air.
Chapter Fifteen
In battles past, Lugh would have charged directly for Donovan. Not this time. When the corrupted Seelie vaulted off the porch, he raced into the fray… heading straight for Malcolm.
The boy didn’t even notice Lugh rushing for him as he parried the sword of a wood elf. He dodged the sweep of the blade and then came up with a strike, just to have it glance off the other’s sword. Focused as he was, the earthborn didn’t see the danger baring down on him.
“Malcolm!” Donovan shouted. His magic snatched at Lugh’s legs, but the Seelie’s nimble feet ran in a zigzag around each flexing mound of earth. In seconds, the beast that was Lugh would have his prey. Donovan lunged, teleporting.
He collided with the Seelie, knocking them both to the ground just shy of Malcolm. When the lad jerked with surprise, the elf took his advantage and sliced through the flesh of Malcolm’s upper arm, no doubt skimming the very bone as it glanced off it. Crying out in pain, the boy tumbled. With the commotion all around him, he came up with a punch that struck the wood elf in the gut, and the screaming from him was from more than the impact, and Donovan could only imagine what bloodhound instinct had kicked in.
Donovan himself rolled, scrambling to keep Lugh from slipping his grasp.
Tiernan leapt into the fray, clutching the silver shock collar with his gloved hands and lunging for Lugh’s neck.
But the Seelie jerked back an elbow that caught him in the ribs with a cracking of bone, knocking Tiernan away.
Donovan struggled to catch Lugh in some kind of hold, but the Seelie writhed like an animal, kicking and scratching and twisting with violent determination. And Donovan fought just as dirty, gouging and punching. Lugh’s teeth flashed, showing fangs as huge as a werewolf’s as he dove to bite Donovan’s throat. Donovan’s forearm came up, wedging into Lugh’s mouth and forcing the jaw open even as those fangs tore his flesh.
Tiernan wrestled back into the fight, grabbing a handful of Lugh’s hair and jerking back his head to expose the Seelie’s neck.
But Lugh kicked Tiernan in the knee, driving the joint in the wrong direction, and sending him down with a horrific scream.
Lugh broke free from Donovan, rushing again for Malcolm, who tumbled one-armed to dodge attacks of the two elves that flanked him.
Donovan snatched up the shock collar Tiernan dropped. Having no protective gloves of his own, the silver burned his palm, muting Donovan’s magic to an abrupt silence.
Lugh snatched Malcolm by the nape of the neck and jerked his head back hard, lifting the boy from his feet, fangs flashing as Lugh bent to tear out his throat.
Donovan punched Lugh in the kidney, faltering his attack. As Lugh dropped Malcolm, Donovan snapped the collar into place. The main force of the electricity hit Lugh, who screamed with the shock ripping through him. Donovan had no protection when the blast of the shock hit, which pummeled them both down to the ground like a giant dwarven warhammer.
The way they dropped, Donovan crumpled half over top of Lugh’s unconscious form. The sounds of battle muffled, as if down a long tunnel far away from him. Remote. Too easy to give in to the blackness encroaching around the edges of his vision. Reason struggled to emerge through the stunned chaos. He had to get back up. Get back into the fight. He pushed against Lugh, forcing his shaken body up to his knees. As he lifted his gaze, the vision of long legs appeared before him.
A woman’s legs.
Donovan glanced up. For a quarter of a second, his jolted brain struggled to recall the human’s face. Then it snapped into place. London. The enchanted human who’d abducted Kieran and abused Malcolm. The one who’d slain innocent fey in Danu’s temple. If the earthborns had succeeded in their mission to kill her, she wouldn’t be standing over him now, her gun aimed at him. Their eyes met just before she swept her foot up, kicking him in the face and knocking him back.
The blow exploded through his already sensitive head. Donovan rolled, cupping the pain with his hands, as London and a wood elf bent over Lugh. “This is gonna hurt!” The elf growled, and teleported the three of them away again.
Donovan’s hands covered the explosive pain shooting into his face from his left cheekbone. Clearly, this woman wanted him to kill her. Next time he clapped eyes on her he’d oblige her. Not just because she kicked him either. Anyone determined to keep Lugh’s beast on the loose was just too stupid to live.
Chapter Sixteen
Donovan winced, feeling the swelling thickening on the left side of his face and the blood running from the cut on his bottom lip. His palm still burned from the silver and the electricity, and his arm ached from Lugh’s bite.
“NO!” Malcolm skid to the ground next to Donovan, grabbing his shoulder with one hand. His right arm hung to his side and bled profusely. Blood loss already made his skin pale. The boy’s shocked eyes opened as wide as they could. The fear in them going deeper than just for Donovan’s health and safety, but for all that Malcolm and the other earthborns depended on him. He’d given them a home and taught them to live as Sidhe, and although losing Donovan wouldn’t steal from them what they were and what they could become, the teenaged earthborns hadn’t come to that realization yet.
From behind them someone shouted, “Stop! Adara Grove, stand down!”
The cry came again and this time augmented by Kieran so that the voice carried everywhere around them.
Gripping Malcolm’s offered hand, Donovan pulled himself up to sit on the ground. His assaulted nerves and muscles hadn’t completely recovered from the jolt. It’d be another minute before he could coordinate them enough to rise and remain standing. The elves ceased fighting, backing away from their Unseelie opponents. And the Unseelie let them, gathering around Donovan as he slung his arms around his knee to keep his balance as he glared up at the elf running toward them.
Unarmed and barely able to use his right arm, Malcolm snarled threateningly. When instinct overtook him, the lad could be as dangerous as, and far more unpredictable than, Lugh’s beast, and Malcolm wasn’t even aware of that about himself.
“Be still,” Donovan ordered, and Malcolm immediately calmed, even though his wiry body remained taut.
The elf shouted again, in case any hadn’t heard him before, “Stop! Stop this fighting!” He rushed out and crouched next to Donovan. “The Eclipse!”
“I saw.” He pushed himself to his feet, putting a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder as much to steady himself as to ensure the boy settled down. Donovan didn’t bother to wipe at the blood on his mouth. The cut had already stopped bleeding, but the bruise still surged with his heartbeat.
“This shouldn’t have happened.” Horror haunted the elf’s features, draining the color from his skin that contrasted sharply with the bright blood splattered over his rumpled clothing. “I don’t understand how this could have happened.”
Donovan didn’t bother to look at Malcolm. The lad already knew his fault in all this. Mistakes were inevitable, without a more skilled bloodhound to train him properly. “It doesn’t matter now how it happened. Only that it has.”
“No one is safe!”
“That much is clear.” Donovan whistled a high sharp sound, and then shouted, “Dawn!”
She rushed from the
sidelines, and reached for Donovan’s bloodied face. But he dodged her hands. “Malcolm’s arm. And then Tiernan.” He pointed her toward Tiernan’s unconscious form. The other Unseelie bore scrapes and bruises, but otherwise appeared intact. Donovan glared at the wood elf. “Assess the wounded first. Then we talk.” It was not a suggestion or invitation. There was as much command as threat in his words.
The wood elf only nodded, eyes fixed on Donovan as if watching for him to blow up at him. “We have more wounded inside. And dead.”
Dead…
The fey rarely killed each other in skirmishes such as this, with the exceptions of the lowest kind, like Changelings or goblins. You fight to wound. To conquer. Not to kill. Especially since the Collapse, now that the fey were so few.
If the shock collar hadn’t brought Lugh’s rampage to a halt, more would have died. Likely more than one Sidhe even. The Eclipse complicated matters tenfold. Even as an Elite, Donovan rarely was summoned to assassinate a fellow Sidhe. But if a way to break the Eclipse couldn’t be found, he wouldn’t have any other choice.
Chapter Seventeen
The wood elf king of Adara Grove, who said his name was Mckenna, paced in the parlor. He didn’t make eye contact, instead only casting fervent glances back toward the bedroom now and then, where Dawn and the other healers tended the critically wounded. Judging by the pitched voices, things weren’t going well. “I had no clue,” the elf muttered. “I knew he was close to Fading, but to risk dark magic? Lugh?”
“Let it go.” Donovan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, face pulsing as his body healed itself. Not as fast as if he’d allow a healer’s touch, but far quicker than if he left his body to mend without his magic to bolster it. Being half magic, half physical, he could allow his magical side to surge within him and repair what was injured.
Tiernan slumped in the chair next to him, still rubbing his knee even though Dawn had reversed the damage.
The door to the outside stood open and the earthborns loitered out there, listening. Malcolm propped himself against the doorframe, leaning his head in, keen to everything that was said. Maybe the boy would learn something about the careless use of his powers.
Voice hard with his dark mood, Donovan demanded, “Did Lugh manage to connect to the ley line?”
Mckenna nodded. “He went through the process. When he emerged from it, he went into a rage. The impurities in the ley lines must have reacted poorly with him.”
“No.” Malcolm’s voice was soft.
“No?” Mckenna frowned at the boy.
Malcolm lifted his dark eyes to Donovan. He raised his open palm toward his chest, then jiggled it and cast it away. It took him a moment longer to find the words to explain. Gestures came easier to the lad who sometimes found it challenging to articulate what he alone sensed in the magic. “He’s not connected.”
Donovan didn’t doubt the bloodhound’s assessment. He turned back to Mckenna. “You know about the items Lugh was collecting.” It wasn’t a question. He’d encountered enough Seelie to know how to read them. Wood elves tended toward the Seelie alignment, but couldn’t match the cunning of the Seelie Sidhe.
The wood elf only debated a moment before straightening. “The hope is to use them to recreate the Mounds.” He looked from Malcolm back to Donovan. “It is the only way to save the fey.”
“Save the fey?” Tiernan snorted, “You just said connecting to the ley lines would save them. Those of us already connected are not Fading.”
“Not Fading yet,” Mckenna clarified. “This world’s magic is not pure fey. The taint of foreign magics degrades the quality. The fey can’t use foreign magic. It passed through us, but can not manifest. We will dilute over time. Fading slowly, but losing our abilities before then. We will grow weaker as a race, dying… diseased and broken.”
“We won’t allow the Seelie to reign over the fey realm again.” Donovan growled. “They destroyed the Mounds. Manannan and his Champion. They caused the deaths of millions of fey. Never again.”
“Never again,” Tiernan repeated.
The earthborns, all children of exiles, echoed the war cry. “Never again.”
Mckenna’s frightened eyes knew they meant it and it startled him. “I don’t know the culpability of anyone in the Mounds Collapse, but I do know this. While Eclipsed, Lugh is not capable of completing this task.”
“We will see it done.” Donovan straightened. “With your aid.” Again, a command, not an observation.
Mckenna nodded, though the implications clearly frightened him.
“Where are the artifacts Lugh collected?”
“They are not with me.” His eyes darted to the side. Though he might not possess them, he knew where they were. Donovan allowed him the opportunity to consider his position. But the wood elf thought better of lying, casting his hopes with the Unseelie, rather than the insane Champion who’d slain his people in the throes of his madness. “But I know where he keeps them.”
Tiernan rose to his feet. “Where?”
“Wyndracer. The dragon. But, I don’t know how to contact him,” Mckenna admitted.
Tiernan dismissed the worry. “I know how to find him.”
Chapter Eighteen
London’s foot mashed the pedal to the floorboard. She’d have bent the metal of the floor if she’d possessed the strength. Even as she flew down the highway, she hit the speed dial on her phone. As it rang, she risked a glance into the backseat. Lugh was still out cold, the collar leaving evil red burns on his neck from the silver. Bad as it looked, it still wasn’t as disturbing as the magic bruising around his eyes. Beside her, Kev hugged his middle. He asked, “Where are we going?”
“To get help.” Then she muttered into the phone, “Come on… come on… answer.”
Finally, a deep voice rumbled through the phone. “Hello?”
“Jonathan!” She jerked upright in the seat. “I need your help! Lugh’s hurt! Bad. I don’t know what to do.”
“Bring him to me. Head for Sneem.”
“Already en route.”
“You still driving that Honda?”
“Yes.”
“Then see you soon.” He hung up.
London wasn’t sure what he meant by that, until they were about half an hour from Sneem. They’d taken a stretch of coastal road down toward the village. Few cars passed on this section of the road, and no one was about when a shadow slid down the hillside and swept over the car. London leaned forward to look up, but then she saw Jonathan swooping down into the grassy berm just a few car lengths ahead of them. His black leathery wings and whip of a black tail made him look like a dark angel, or a demon. He landed lightly on his feet as if simply stepping out of the air onto the grass.
Kev sat up, staring out the window at the half man, half dragon. But almost immediately the wings folded down into the appearance of a long duster, and his tail wrapped about his waist, taking on the illusion of a snakeskin belt. The serious set to Jonathan’s face was beyond intense and, even if she hadn’t intended to pull over, just that could have had her screeching to a stop. Jonathan bent his tall frame in half to peer into the window. His steel-grey eyes quickly assessed everything. Herself, Kev, and then Lugh crammed into the backseat. Jonathan opened the back door. “What happened to him?”
“The Unseelie did something to him.” London twisted around in her seat. “He’s not moved at all.”
“Shock collar.” He tilted Lugh’s head to the side to examine it. “Silver by the look of the burns.”
“Before you take that off of him, you better restrain him,” Kev said, leaning around in his seat.
Jonathan’s hard gaze rose to impact Kev, and London was glad it wasn’t her that he gave that look.
“He’s gone mad.” Kev flinched from the dragon, but persisted. �
�Stark raving. Killing anyone he could get his hands on.”
She protested, “But the Unseelie did something to him. He said it right before this madness.”
“He wasn’t right even before the Unseelie showed up,” Kev said.
“We’ll sort it out.” Jonathan lifted Lugh out of the car like he weighed nothing. Then he nodded toward the mountain. “See that ridge? Meet me up there.” And with that the dragon rose into the air with a massive beat of his wings.
Kev stepped out of the car next to London. He bent at the waist and looked up at the mountain. “You people think I got that much juice? I’ve already teleported with you how many times? And even pulled a triple. Bloody hell.” He squinted up the hill, debating, then glanced around. “You leaving the car here?”
“Yes.”
He nodded and drew in a deep breath. “This will shoot my wad, but there’s nothing for it.” He waved her over to him. “Come on, then.”
London moved up next to him.
“Come on now. Do the hug and hang on tight. I’m not sure we’ll make it as it is.” He opened his arms to her.
London closed the distance. She wrapped her arms around him and his cheek rested on top of her head. The heat from his body was more than she expected, like he ran a fever. They hugged each other tight and she felt Kev flinch. There was a stilted sensation, but nothing else.
Shaking his head, he sucked in another deep breath. “We’ll have another go. Hang on.” This time he crushed her tight to him as they teleported with a heavy jolt and then dropped from nearly a meter above the ground.
