Dark Destiny

by M. J. Putney

  She pointed the pistol toward the ground, dizzy with relief. She was wondering what happened next when the front door of the nearest house swung open and a white-haired man burst out, a rifle in his hands. “Get away from that devil, miss!” he shouted. “I’ll take care of him!”

  Aghast, she realized that he was as likely to shoot as the pilot had been. “No!” She stepped between Schmidt and the white-haired man. “He has surrendered and will go quietly. Do you have a telephone so you can ring up the authorities?” In German, she said, “Best raise your hands, Herr Hauptmann.”

  The pilot raised his hands and the white-haired man lowered his rifle, though he watched Schmidt suspiciously. His wife appeared behind him. Without turning, he said, “Edna, call the police while I keep watch on this damned Nazi pilot.”

  Schmidt was eyeing his growing audience warily. Rebecca said, “Since I speak German, I’ll stay with you until you’re safe in custody.”

  He glanced at the man with the rifle. “Can I lower my hands now?”

  Rebecca nodded and said in English, “He’s lowering his hands, but truly, he is no threat. He has accepted that his war is over.”

  Nick appeared beside her. “Want me to take that pistol?”

  “Please!” She handed it over, and he expertly opened it and removed the ammunition, dropping the bullets in the pocket of his school uniform jacket. The colors were the same as LGG, with a navy jacket, gray trousers, and a red tie. He looked grown up and authoritative in it.

  Nick tucked the empty pistol into his belt and let the jacket fall over it. Then he wrapped a warm arm around her shoulders. Trying desperately not to cry now that the danger was over, she embraced him, shaking.

  “I was so terrified,” she whispered. “How did you know to come?”

  “I felt that something had happened to you.” He held her close with a mixture of tenderness and strength. “I bolted out of the middle of my Latin class. A good thing I have finder talent, but I’m going to have some explaining to do!”

  She laughed a little and stepped from his arms with reluctance. “Then you’d better go back to school.”

  Eyes warm, he said, “I’ll stop by LGG and tell the principal and Mum what happened and why you’re not in class.”

  “I’ll come in when I’m not needed here.” She gave him a crooked smile. “I do hope you’re planning on walking home with me today!”

  “I’ll be there,” he promised.

  He left, cutting his way back through the growing crowd. She wondered if he’d be allowed to keep the pistol. She hated the very feel of guns, but in these times, she understood why he wanted a weapon.

  In the distance, she heard police sirens. Turning to Schmidt, she said, “Do you want me to send a letter to your family? I think the Red Cross can deliver it.”

  He nodded and reached into a pocket inside his leather flying jacket. He pulled out a slip of paper with the name of his parents and his address in a small town she’d never heard of. “I have carried this in case my body needed identification.”

  Wincing at his bleak practicality, she accepted the paper. “I shall write and tell them you are well and safe.”

  He clicked his heels together and gave a stiff little bow from the hips. “Because of you, Fräulein Rebecca Weiss. I shall never forget your kindness and wisdom.”

  She smiled and offered her hand. “Your future is brighter than you now imagine, Herr Hauptmann Schmidt. Go with God.”

  “I shall try.” As they shook hands, he said, “My Christian name is Hans.” Then he turned and faced the two policemen who were cutting their way through the crowd.

  His face was composed, though she felt his inner tension as he faced an unknown future. She waited quietly beside him in case her translation services would be required. She also thought of how much more she would have to report when Nick sent her message stone through the mirror.

  CHAPTER 13

  Near Carmarthen, Wales, 1804

  Gunfire. Cynthia was sleeping draped across Jack’s lap, her head on his shoulder and her arm around his waist. Then the boom of guns jarred her out of the peace that she found only with him.

  Jack also jerked awake and instinctively leaped to his feet. Cynthia slid off his lap and landed on her backside on the carpet. “Owww!”

  While she was still sputtering, Jack said, “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry! Are you all right, Cynthia?”

  A window of the drawing room exploded inward in a shower of shattering glass. Deciding she’d be outraged later, Cynthia scrambled to her feet. “The French must be attacking! Elspeth? Tory? Allarde?”

  Elspeth woke and automatically tried to get up, then collapsed with a cry of pain as she put weight on her injured ankle. As Jack went to help her, Tory rolled from the sofa and crossed the room to peer out the broken window. “It’s the Black Legion all right. There’s at least a company marching up the driveway. It doesn’t look like they expect opposition. They probably want to capture or loot the house and are shooting out windows for amusement.”

  “We need to get out of here!” Cynthia flinched as another window shattered, spraying broken glass across the carpet. “Where are Allarde and his friend?”

  “They and Blakesley’s batman rode into Carmarthen to notify the authorities so troops can be raised.” Tory turned from the window and waved her hand to douse the mage lights that had been illuminating the room. “As you say, we need to leave. Elspeth, how are you doing?”

  “Better, now that Jack has dulled the pain again,” Elspeth said in a strained voice. “I can’t walk, though.”

  “I’ll carry you.” Jack scooped her up in his arms. “Cynthia, can you take my bag? We need to leave!”

  Cynthia grabbed Jack’s bag while Tory snatched up Elspeth’s. The front hall led to a corridor that cut through the center of the house. Moving at a fast walk, they headed to the back of the building. Cynthia and Tory lit dim mage lights once they were out of sight of the French. They heard loud French voices speculating on the state of the wine cellar as the soldiers marched up the driveway.

  Feeling sorry for the Blakesley family, Cynthia led the way to the morning room in back of the house. French doors led out to a stone terrace. The door was locked, so Tory used her magic to swiftly open it.

  Cynthia held the door open for Tory, Jack, and Elspeth before following them into the cold night. As soon as she closed the door, Elspeth raised her head. “Merciful heavens, the French have a mage with them!” she said in a hushed voice.

  “Damnation!” Jack swore. “Do you know what kind?”

  “Presumably someone with talents useful in war,” she said grimly.

  Cynthia wondered what those abilities were as she raced down the stone steps and across the lawn. Finder ability? Weather magic? The ability to sense the presence of others? A tangle field to prevent the enemy from moving? There were far too many possibilities, and later they’d have an interesting discussion about it. But right now, all that mattered was bolting into the woods behind the house before the enemy saw them.

  They were halfway to the woods when a huge ball of mage light flared above the lawn and hovered over their heads, illuminating the Irregulars with lethal clarity. Cynthia’s heart jumped into her throat. She pushed herself to run faster, but the light tracked the running Irregulars.

  From the terrace behind the house, a voice boomed in French-accented English, “Halt! If you surrender, you will not be hurt in captivity!”

  Cynthia risked a glance over her shoulder and saw a tall, gaunt man in black stalking toward them, armed soldiers in his wake. This had to be the French war mage, for he radiated power.

  The mage raised both hands and she guessed that he was about to throw a tangle field to slow them long enough to be captured. From Jack’s arms, Elspeth gasped, “Leave me here and make a run for the trees!”

  “Don’t be an idiot!” Cynthia snapped as she swung around, reaching for the sky to see if there was any lightning she could summon to blast the war mage.
But there was no bad weather close enough to help. Nothing!

  The mage light above vanished and Tory yelled, “Use your hearth witchery!”

  Of course! Cynthia was a powerful hearth witch, and that included the ability to control fire. She visualized a line of flames between her and the French, then created the reality with a furious sweep of her arm. Instantly a curtain of flames blazed across the lawn. Flames and smoke!

  Gleefully she summoned wind to blow the smoke into the faces of the French. She heard coughing and curses and could barely see the mage or the soldiers.

  Then Tory grabbed her arm, sharing her special ability to make other mages stronger. Immediately the fire roared twice as high, completely blocking their pursuers. “Now we run!” Tory ordered.

  As the girls raced after the others, horrible laughter followed them. “Magelings!” the war mage shouted. “What a delight! I look forward to consuming you!”

  “Not today, you warped beast!” Cynthia hissed as she and Tory entered the shelter of the trees. It was a woodland garden rather than a natural wood, and it had been designed with thick shrubbery and twisting paths. They had to slow and create mage lights, but for the moment they were safe.

  A few minutes into the woods, they found Jack sprawled under a tree and panting for breath. Elspeth was beside him, her injured leg stretched out in front of her. “Elspeth, if I didn’t know better,” he said wryly, “I’d say you weigh more than an elephant!”

  “I’m sorry,” Elspeth said in a small voice. “You should have left me behind. Better one person be caught than all of us.”

  “We leave no one behind,” Tory said firmly as she dropped to the ground. “Not when we can make Jack do the heavy work.”

  “You frail girls need a man around to take care of you,” he said with deliberate provocation.

  Cynthia threw a handful of dried leaves at him. He batted them away with a grin. “Elspeth, you saved me from losing an eye. Do you seriously think I’d abandon you to an invading army?”

  “I’m glad you didn’t,” Elspeth admitted. “Tory, were you the one who doused his giant mage light?”

  Tory nodded. “But we’d have been in trouble if Cynthia hadn’t been able to call so much fire.”

  “I didn’t know I could do that.” Cynthia leaned against a tree trunk, wishing she could curl up here and go back to sleep. Calling the fire had exhausted her. “Mrs. Rainford would not be pleased that I used her hearth witch teachings as a weapon.”

  “Well, Mrs. Rainford’s only son is glad you did!” Jack made a face. “When we were in 1940, the weapons were a lot scarier, but at least we didn’t have to worry about the enemy having magic.”

  “That war mage is scary,” Tory agreed. “Let me do some enhancing on our stealth stones. I don’t want him finding us.”

  Cynthia pulled out the pouch that held the smooth, water-polished pebble she’d been given when she joined the Irregulars. Tory held it between her palms and closed her eyes as she recharged the magic. The stone pulsed with energy when she handed it back.

  When all the stealth stones had been enhanced, Cynthia said, “Now that we’ve caught our breath, I guess we head toward Carmarthen.”

  With a sigh, Jack got to his feet. “Tory, can you let Allarde know that we’re on our way and he and Blakesley mustn’t return to his home manor?”

  “I’ll try to pass on the gist of it.” Tory closed her eyes, reaching out to Allarde. “He understands that we’re all right, but there was trouble and we left the manor. He’ll look for us. I gather there is one main road to Carmarthen, so we should meet up.” Wearily she got to her feet. “This has been a very, very long night.”

  “Time to mount up, Elspeth,” Jack said. “If I carry you on my back, it will be less tiring.” She nodded and he knelt so she could climb aboard, wincing as she did so.

  “Time for another shot of pain blocking?” Cynthia placed a hand on Elspeth’s shoulder and sent a dose of healing magic.

  Elspeth’s face smoothed out. “Thank you. If not for the pain blocking, I’d be curled in a ball weeping with pain. It seems unfair that I can help others heal, but when I’m injured, I can’t do much for myself.”

  “We’ll find a bonesetter in the morning. A good one who can join the bones smoothly and make the break heal quickly.” Cynthia patted Jack on the head. “Which way, faithful steed?”

  He chuckled and set off in the direction they’d been heading. “The main Carmarthen road runs behind the Blakesley estate, so we should reach it soon.”

  Cynthia hoped so. As Tory had said, this night was very, very long.

  Endless.

  CHAPTER 14

  The trek east was made easier when Tory saw an elderly, good-natured pony watching from a fenced pasture. This time it was Cynthia’s turn to rip up her spare shift so it could be made into a crude lead.

  Tory attached the improvised lead to the pony’s halter, then led it from the field, and Elspeth had transportation. Jack hadn’t complained about carrying her—apart from the elephant remark—but he put Elspeth on the pony’s broad back with a sigh of relief.

  Numb with fatigue, Tory kept putting one foot in front of the other. The night had to end eventually. As the sky lightened in the east, they entered a village that was large enough to have a church and an inn with a sign proclaiming it as the Royal Oak, Rhys Morgan, proprietor.

  “Is this Carmarthen?” Cynthia asked doubtfully. “I thought it would be larger.”

  “This is probably the village of Tregwelli,” Elspeth said. She was white-faced with pain and exhaustion. “If so, Carmarthen is larger and a mile or two farther east and more inland.”

  “You’ve passed this way before?” Tory asked.

  Elspeth shrugged. “A long time ago.”

  “Since there are lights on inside,” Jack said, “let’s see if a hot breakfast might be available. All in favor say aye!”

  The decision was unanimous, so Jack helped Elspeth off the pony’s back. Tory untied the lead from the halter and crooned to the pony, “What a sweet girl you are. Now it’s time for you to go home.”

  She laid a hand on the pony’s forehead and visualized the route back to the pasture where they’d found her. When she removed her hand, the pony gave Tory a friendly butt in the shoulder that almost knocked her over, then ambled back in the direction they’d come from.

  Cynthia stared after the pony. “You can talk to horses?”

  “I’m not sure, but I thought it was worth a try.” Tory handed the ragged lead to Cynthia. “Here’s your shift back.”

  Cynthia made a face as she stuffed the ruined garment in her bag. “My hearth witch lessons haven’t covered how to turn rags into clothing again.”

  Tory opened the door into the inn’s taproom, and Jack carried Elspeth through with Cynthia following. The room was warm and welcoming, with a fire burning cheerily. Jack set Elspeth down on a wooden settle by the fire while Cynthia used the bell rope by the bar to summon the landlord.

  A balding, broadly built man entered the taproom and surveyed his new customers with a shrewd eye. Elspeth said a few words in Welsh, to Tory’s surprise.

  The landlord nodded and said in musically accented English, “I thought you looked English. I’m Morgan. Are you here for an early bite to eat?”

  “Yes,” Jack said. “But also with grave news. The French have landed an invasion force several miles west of here. A couple of our friends have ridden into Carmarthen to raise the alarm.”

  Morgan’s bushy brows shot upward. “Damnation! The French have really landed, and here of all places?” He frowned. “You children aren’t playing a prank?”

  He thought they were children? “I wish this was a prank,” Tory said flatly, “but the French troops are all too real. Maybe they were heading to Bristol and bad weather blew them off course. They landed last night and immediately set up camp in an old hilltop fortress. Then they captured the Blakesley estate, where we were staying.”

  The landlord whist
led softly. “How large a force?”

  “More than a thousand troops,” Jack replied. “Probably closer to two thousand, and well armed. The word must spread so people can evacuate their homes.”

  “Some will leave.” Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “And some of us will be grabbing up pitchforks and fireplace pokers to fight. If the damned Frogs only just landed last night, there should be time to rally the defense forces.”

  “We hope so,” Cynthia said. “For now, we’d appreciate something to eat.”

  Morgan opened the kitchen door behind the bar and called, “Olwen, fry up some eggs and bacon for four hungry young people who just outran a French invasion.”

  A rosy-cheeked woman appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, a wooden spoon in her hand and her expression horrified. “The French? Don’t be daft, boyo!”

  Morgan gave a swift summary of the situation, then sent Olwen back to cook breakfast. Turning to his visitors, he said, “You young folk aren’t Welsh. What brings you here?”

  Tory realized that in the twentieth century, they’d had to be discreet about their abilities, but there was no reason not to talk now. Most people in her time respected magic. “We’re magelings from Lackland Abbey. Our best scryer”—she gestured toward Elspeth—“saw the invasion, so we came to help.”

  “Lackland Abbey. Then you must have strong magic,” he said, his expression approving. “Sounds like we’ll need all the help we can get! I’ll see if that food is ready.”

  He disappeared into the kitchen. Tory sank onto a chair opposite the fire while Jack and Cynthia shared another wide settle, locked together.

  Tory closed her eyes and tuned her mind to Allarde. Now that there were no other distractions, she sensed that he was near. “Allarde is close, I think.”

  “I hope so,” Jack said. “I don’t like when we separate in strange territory.”

  Tory’s prediction was better than she expected. Breakfast had appeared and they were just finishing their meal when Allarde swept into the taproom, his dark cloak swinging from his shoulders.