Druid Knights 02: Knight of Rapture

by Ruth A. Casie

  “Slow down, we don’t need to rush.” He brushed off her singed staff and gave it to her.

  She stared at her walking stick. “For a moment I believed it was a bad dream.”

  “No, it wasn’t a dream but it wasn’t a portal. I wouldn’t have been able to get to you if it were. Even Bran’s magick can’t create a portal. It was an enchantment. You were there but it was temporary.” He put his arm around her and helped her down the hall.

  She glanced back at the room. “He said he was taking my memories. I’ll lose them little by little until I won’t remember…Arik.” She started trembling. “I was so sure tonight I would be back with him.” She turned to George when they got to the top of the staircase. “Instead, now I’ll lose him forever.”

  Chapter Six

  March 20, 1606

  “Steady, men,” boomed Logan’s captain, his voice trumpeted across the field of soldiers.

  Arik, at his tower window, watched the men below eager to observe Logan’s plan. He scowled at the west. Even at this distance the ground rumbled with the pounding hooves of the advancing horde. In step with Logan’s men, he imagined them hefting their swords, others readying their bows, everyone keeping their eyes on the black line of riders rushing toward them and waiting for the order to attack.

  “Come on,” Arik urged the advancing men. His neck muscles hardened with tension. Logan’s second in command raised his arm high, a purple cloth grasped in his hand. His eyes narrowed. Where was the signal? What was the delay? The riders were close.

  The purple cloth dropped like a stone.

  The left flank sprang into action, crumbling in disarray before his eyes. Arik stood in place trying to make sense out of what he witnessed. In unison, the attacking troop swerved toward the disassembled men and rode for the weakened spot. Horsemen swept up the embankment and clashed with the foot soldiers who tried to maintain a semblance of resistance before their line broke apart. The advancing men and horses thundered past them over the top of the ridge and down into the dry streambed.

  He had been driving Logan hard to make certain he was ready for the challenge of taking over for him when he left to bring Rebeka back. But the line shouldn’t have collapsed. For weeks his men played war games, neither side besting the other. The tried-and-true tactics were discouraging and Logan had pressed him to try this new maneuver. He couldn’t leave Fayne Manor defenseless. Had he pushed too hard? He tossed the notion away. His brother was battle tested.

  An arrow, a purple ribbon trailing, soared high in the air and caught his attention. He stretched his neck out the window and searched for the bowman.

  On the ground, Logan stood—his spent bow in his hand. The signal understood, in a rush the men on the left flank regrouped, closed the gap, then pressed toward the invaders. The concern that plowed deep furrows into Arik’s face smoothed.

  Arik’s fist pounded the ledge while the exercise continued to unfold, the anticipation building.

  Logan wasn’t done.

  Pursued from behind and seeing the disadvantage of being caught in the bottom of the ditch, the raiders made for high ground on the opposite embankment. As they climbed the rise, a line of Logan’s elite forces took their positions on the top of the ridge. Logan’s men pressed their advantage and advanced from every direction. Arik roared his encouragement from the tower window. The raiders were surrounded. Victory was Logan’s reward for the well-laid trap.

  A trumpet blew three staccato bleats. The maneuver was over.

  Logan glanced at the tower and gave his brother a courtly bow. Arik acknowledged his success with a triumphant raised arm. Satisfied in his decision to allow the new maneuver, Arik had not been disappointed.

  Arik turned from the window and his soaring spirits sobered. The comforting tower room closed in around him. He scoured the mute walls for an answer, bearing the weight of a pilgrim begging the gods for a cure. The answer wasn’t there.

  He sank into the chair, resigned, his elbows rested on the writing table. The acute guilt weighed him down like an ox’s yoke. “I should have warned her,” the damning whisper passed his lips. He slammed his fist on the wooden table, sending his hopes and the parchments flying. Another deep breath, then another. Again. Again, until at last the tempest in his head calmed. “I should have… I should have protected her.”

  He didn’t have to close his eyes to imagine her. She was forever etched in his mind. But his lids slid closed as he sniffed the air like his best hunting dog ferreting out a scent. Last night the fragrance had been lavender and rose. Today, melted wax and spent sulfur.

  Faith, the early hours of the morning he had sensed success within his grasp only to have it slip from his fingers. The formula wasn’t right. His fists were closed so tight that his fingernails bit into his palm. He was so close he could feel her safe in his arms.

  The nights were the worst. She filled his dreams. He felt her touch, heard her voice and tasted her lips only to wake in the morning and lose her all over again.

  Enough. This was torture and it wasn’t getting him any closer to her. He gave himself a mental shake and forced the images away. No prescription existed for creating a doorway through time, not even for a druid Grand Master. All he had were calculated guesses. “Maximillian had done it,” he whispered to himself, staring at the runes on the walls. What did Maximillian have—no, what power was unique to him? The stars. He rummaged through documents, transcribed arcane symbols and reworked the formulas to align it with the stars. An hour later, he put down the quill and rubbed his eyes, satisfied he had gone over each rune and found where the correction needed to be made. Each druid had a power. Rebeka’s magic was still a mystery, but it would be revealed to her. His came from the earth, Logan’s from song and Leticia’s from plants. He’d been searching in the wrong place.

  He stood and stretched to work out the kinks from sitting hunched over the table. He surveyed his tower room. Gone were the beautiful tapestries that had adorned the walls. In their place were hundreds of charcoal markings, runes and formulas that covered every inch of the high walls. He took a piece of charcoal and with precision followed the formula.

  “Ninoor nin ah ray,” he chanted in a soft whisper that echoed in the room. He went from one symbol to the next. His eyes focused on each rune as he narrowed in on the area he needed. Relief rushed over him when his finger landed on the runes that needed to be altered. He rubbed them out and replaced the section with the new set of runes.

  Out of the quiet, while he scrawled the last symbol, the clear voice of another reached his ears. “Ninzure nin ah ray.”

  Arik went silent. His hand froze.

  “Ninzure nin ah ray,” the voice chanted with an urgent tone.

  A spark of excitement ignited in the pit of his stomach. At last, success was more than a wish and a dream. It was within his grasp. He added his voice to the chant. His heartbeat mimicked the cadence. The runes on his body thrummed with the energy. Where once a lone sash of symbols traced up his back and down his torso to that private place of power, now the markings were embellished with magical sigils and spread across his chest and back like a close-fitting shirt. Each new addition a protection against the consequences of the powerful magick he was invoking.

  As the chant crescendoed then faded to silence, so did he. He remained quiet, dizzy from the rush of anticipation. He whispered his thanks to the Great Mother.

  Dare he hope for success?

  No, no doubts. Magick required intent, focus and determination. He had them all and he would succeed. Now with the corrected formula he was ready to try again.

  The gold pentacle that covered the floor between the scrying mirror and the hearth glittered in the firelight. The ancient design of the pentacle was there long before him. Fresh pools of melted wax and smudges of charcoal surrounding the relic confirmed the many times he and Logan had attempted to open the portal. He bent and prepared the area for the last marking. Logan would lend his voice and add the final symbol. He strai
ghtened and reviewed his changes one more time.

  All was ready.

  “Arik,” Logan called out from the other side of the door.

  His head whipped around. “Come,” Arik said. Glad that Logan was with him, he was eager to begin. Today they would succeed.

  “I’ve brought you some bread and cheese. You haven’t eaten for two days. I wouldn’t want you to waste away.” Arik saw the plate but he had no appetite. He had scoured all his books and documents for information, even those with Dark Magick. With great care he drew on select rubrics and had fasted to purify his mind and body.

  He welcomed the smile he detected in Logan’s voice. The division of work between him, Logan, Marcus, Jeannie and others had gone well. The result was his tenants were no longer at one another’s throats and the estate was running without many problems.

  Logan set the plate on a spot he cleared on the table. “You appear rested.” Logan tore off a piece of bread and gave it to him.

  He gave his brother a penetrating stare. “You’re not a very good liar.” Holding the bread, he motioned to the window. “The maneuvers went well today, very well.” He didn’t miss the pride in Logan’s eyes. “I had no idea your main battery stood ready behind the ridge. I believed your men were not prepared and that Marcus had the advantage.” He clapped Logan on the shoulder. “Your strategy was well planned and executed.” He tossed the uneaten bread onto the plate.

  “We surprised Marcus—a difficult feat,” Logan admitted. A wide grin flashed across his face.

  “You should eat something.” Logan gave Arik a parchment. “We received a message from Doward before maneuvers.”

  Arik ignored Logan. Eat. He sounded like Jeannie when the girls were small. He blew out a breath. Logan had his best interests in mind. He opened the document. “I was hoping for some word from the Council before I left.” As Grand Master they had been in close contact, but since Rebeka left they had been silent.

  “He says that they seem to have vanished. He’s never seen them go into such deep hiding. There are places he wants to investigate before he returns to Fayne Manor.” He handed the document back to Logan. Faith. He ran his hand through his hair. He had hoped the Council could help him. No, something smelled and it wasn’t pleasant. He knew he had to continue on his own. “Keep watch for him. Tell the Council what has happened and that I’ve gone to bring Rebeka back.” He paused, not wanting to say the words. “And to deal with Bran.” He tried to keep his voice even. When he glanced at Logan, he knew he hadn’t succeeded.

  Logan nodded. Placing the document on the table, he moved to the wall and concentrated on the new markings. “You expanded the air element to include the stars.”

  “The time portal was Maximillian’s design. Including his power may show us the way.” He hadn’t been this calm in weeks. Was the Great Mother telling him something? Arik examined the formula again. He knew it was right.

  Logan nodded and read the rest of the formula. He, too, knew it was correct. “I see you’re ready to begin.”

  “Aye.” Arik stood next to Logan. “We made great progress last night. You did well with the change you made to the formula. I finished it.”

  Logan took some of the scattered papers. Arik leaned over to take them from him but Logan pulled them out of his reach, glancing at them.

  “Arik, you needn’t resort to this. Dark Magick isn’t the answer.” Logan shook his paper-filled fist at him. “We spoke about this over and over. We decided. We would not use Dark Magick. Do you think you can control it any better than Bran? Stop it from eating away at you, like it does him?”

  Arik had chosen his course. Months ago he was certain of success. Now, each day he faced defeat and he didn’t wear it well. How could he explain to Logan that he would rather die trying everything in his power to find her than live without her? He was determined to find her. Now. Not tomorrow or next week.

  “Look at the wall.” His arm circled the walls around them. “They shout with every attempt we’ve made.” He pulled open his shirt. “I wear the marks of each one. Each time I’ve tried to locate her, each time I used magick, a new mark was added to strengthen the request. If this attempt fails there is nothing left but Dark Magick. We’ve avoided it as long as we can. Bran’s Dark Magick took her away. It may be the only way to bring her back.”

  “No, better you use the enchantment than Dark Magick.” Logan threw the papers to the floor. Logan didn’t try to hide his distaste.

  “The results of the enchantment are temporary. Logan, I want her back permanently.”

  “You must know I do, too. We’ll find her and you’ll bring her back, but not this way.” Logan clapped him on his back.

  “Then how? Do you know another way?” Arik asked. The silence stretched for several heartbeats.

  “I didn’t think so,” Arik said, his voice soft. “Enough. There’s work to do.” Arik opened the large domed topped chest next to the window and rummaged through it. “Today, today we’ll find her.” He cleared his mind of any doubt that plagued him. “While I adjusted the markings I heard the same chant as last night. It varies a bit from ours.” His hands stilled and he beamed at his brother. “Someone works with us.”

  “Arik,” Logan cautioned. His hand stayed his brother’s arm. “Do we rush into this too quick?” Quick? They’d been trying for six months. Had they become so accustomed to failure that success was to be avoided? Or was Logan worried about taking his place?

  “Sniff the air. Do you smell it?” Arik stood straight and took a deep breath, filling his lungs. “It’s success. Don’t fear it.” He stared at Logan. “Never be fearful of success. Be ready for it.” He bent back to rummage in the chest. “I need you to be with me on this. Any doubt weakens our chances for success.” Was he trying to convince Logan or himself? “Now let’s go over things one more time.”

  “I will set the wards before we begin.” One by one Logan ticked off each task on his fingers. “You’ll take your place in the pentagram. I’ll not touch you or speak to you. I’ll lay the last ward. You’ll start the ritual and together we’ll chant as we have practiced. And I’ll wait for you and help you bring Rebeka back through the portal.”

  “Good.” Arik nodded and picked through his armaments. He’d given Logan a good speech. Faith. He didn’t know if he was ready? But he died a thousand deaths not knowing if she was safe. No. He had to go. He had no choice.

  Logan peered over Arik’s shoulder. “You prepare like you’re going into battle.”

  “I’ve no idea of the consequences we face to bring her home.”

  “What about the consequences of you traveling there?” Logan asked. Even a druid Grand Master faced consequences using such powerful magick. Any error in the formula or the process and he could be caught between the two times forever. He understood the risks but he wouldn’t let them stop him.

  Arik raised his eyebrow. “I prepare the best I can to avoid surprises. We both do.” He tucked a knife into his waist belt. He removed a small pouch of coins from the chest. He thought to leave them behind then reconsidered and tucked the pouch into his belt as well.

  “One thing more.” He took off his sword and raised the Sword of Rapture above them. The sword was more than a blade. It sang with the blood of the vanquished and was the glory of his people. It proclaimed its owner its chieftain. He lowered the steel and appreciated the reverence on Logan’s face.

  “I remember the day Maximillian gave this to me.” Arik’s voice was filled with respect. “It was too big for me, or rather I wasn’t the man to wield such a mighty weapon.”

  “You grew into it,” Logan said, a trace of laughter in his voice.

  “Aye, and I’ve never been without it. The sword doesn’t define the man. But the principles it represents—honor, loyalty and trust—do. They are a part of him.” Logan had proved he was worthy and able to hold his place while he was gone.

  And if he didn’t return? A chill passed his shoulders. If he didn’t return Logan
would carry on.

  He swung the blade around and presented the hilt to his brother. By giving Logan his sword he gave him the right to rule. “You’ve always taken my part when I’ve gone to court or on campaign,” Arik said, his tone solemn. “I leave Fayne Manor in your capable hands.”

  “There’s no need for this.” Logan pushed the sword away. Arik recognized a bit of panic in Logan’s voice.

  Arik put his arm around his brother and drew him close. “You know I go of my own accord. But I don’t know how long I’ll be gone and I will not leave you at a disadvantage.” He took off his chieftain’s signet ring and slipped it into Logan’s hand. “The sword and signet proclaim your legitimacy to lead.” His low-pitched voice rang with authority. “There must be no doubt.”

  Logan turned the gold ring over in his hand. “It has your sigil.” He examined every line in the magick symbol. “I remember watching the goldsmith work the design into the ring. How exacting you were with its creation.” He hefted it, testing its weight. “I’d forgotten the energy it carries.” He peeked at Arik, a boyish expression on his face. “It hums,” Logan added, his tone hushed.

  Arik closed Logan’s hands around the ring. He was proud of the man Logan had become, a man with great patience and courage beneath a lighthearted exterior. He would miss his company, his counsel and even his sense of humor. He watched Logan fill his lungs with breath.

  Logan nodded. “I’ll accept them but I’ll put them in the druid sanctuary for safekeeping, until you reclaim them.”

  Arik watched the concern skitter across Logan’s face. He knew that look in brother’s eyes, the tilt of his shoulders, the dancing from foot to foot. He waited for his request.

  “Will you reconsider? I’d rather give you my sword arm than take your sword.” The hope in Logan’s voice was unmistakable.