Susan Spencer Paul - [Enchanter 01]

by Touch of Night

  “The earl’s agreement,” Niclas repeated, gazing steadily into Cadmaran’s telling expression. “You’d not need Malachi’s agreement for anything, save . . .” The reason suddenly occurred to him, and he stiffened. “Not Ceridwen?”

  “Aye, just so,” Cadmaran said tightly. “I want what was promised to me. My wife.”

  The significance of his meaning sent a shiver coursing through Niclas’s bones. He had thought this matter long dealt and done with. Malachi had let him, and everyone else involved, believe that. Why on earth hadn’t he warned him that Cadmaran hadn’t given up on his demands?

  “It was agreed by the elders when you couldn’t find a wife among the Cadmarans that a suitable match would be found from among the Families, according to your request,” Niclas said slowly, choosing his words with care. “But Ceridwen—”

  “Is the wife I want,” Cadmaran said, his black eyes flashing with ill-controlled anger. “And the wife I’ll have. The Seymours have always striven to take what rightfully belongs to the Cadmarans, from the very beginning. You know what I speak of. But not this time. I will have Ceridwen to wife.”

  It wasn’t uncommon for powerful wizards to appear to grow larger when they were extremely angry, but Niclas knew the phenomenon was more a trick of the imagination than reality. Even so, he had to force himself to stay where he was when Cadmaran, his appearance even more menacing, took a step toward him.

  “Not according to the elders,” Niclas replied in calm, even tones. “They all agreed—with the exception of those that are Cadmarans—that such a match would be . . . ” He strove to think of the gentlest, least rage-inspiring word. “Unwise.”

  “They were afraid,” Cadmaran retorted, and around the room small objects shook and rattled. A picture frame on the mantel fell over with a soft clattering and a hanging oil lamp swayed gently back and forth on its heavy golden chain. “Afraid of what such a marriage would bring. Of the children that Ceridwen and I would produce, of the powers they would possess. They have no vision or understanding. Foolish cowards.”

  Far from it, Niclas thought. They had been wise beyond reason to refuse the match, and had shown their courage by standing against Cadmaran’s wishes.

  Among those few magical families who yet remained, the Cadmarans were the only ones to almost exclusively wed other magical beings, including a regrettable habit of marrying those who were closely related. It had caused terrible problems: Cadmarans enjoyed markedly fewer births than the other families, and among those that were successful they sometimes produced strange children who didn’t particularly resemble, or act like, human beings. But the unions had also gifted the small clan with extraordinary powers. Dark powers, aye, that had pulled them even farther away from the other families, but the Cadmarans had embraced them with fervor.

  But even that wasn’t enough for Morcar Cadmaran. Ceridwen was the most favored enchantress born among the families in a generation; her birth and accomplishments had been foretold over a hundred years before her arrival. She was a rare, mystical, and exceedingly beautiful sorceress, and if she were to wed a wizard as powerful as the earl of Llew their union would produce offspring possessed of unimaginable powers.

  But Seymours, unlike Cadmarans, had for centuries sought union with sympathetic non-magic mortals, for such marriages had renewed and even strengthened their powers without drawing them down into evil. And Ceridwen, clearly unbeknownst to the earl of Llew, had already fallen deeply in love with just such a sympathetic man, and had received Malachi’s blessing for marriage. Even if Malachi drew the blessing back—which he could not now do, having given it with his word of honor—Ceridwen would never agree to leave her beloved Colonel Spar and accept Cadmaran in his place. And Colonel Spar, whom Niclas had met several times in London at Malachi’s insistence, wasn’t the kind of man to let the woman he loved go for any reason. Nor would he care about Cadmaran’s incredible powers. Niclas had felt the colonel’s emotions and knew just what kind of sacrifice he was willing to make for Ceridwen’s sake. They were well matched in that regard.

  “What do you propose, then?” Niclas asked, glancing to where Julia sat so still and silent. “Are you going to hold Miss Linley and her maid captive until the Families agree to give you my cousin as a wife? Will you hold me captive?”

  “Not captive,” Cadmaran said, calming now. “Miss Linley and her servant will be my guests. You will be my emissary. You once had a talent for making others see your way, did you not? I’ve heard rumors that before the curse you had the happy chore of rescuing several of your cousins from society’s censure. Convincing Earl Gray-mar and the others to let me have Ceridwen—as they ought to have done before—should prove to be a simple task for you to accomplish. Really,” he said more affably, “it was providential that I came across you on the road. One might almost think that Lord Graymar had sent you into my path on purpose.”

  Eight

  Stop panicking, Abercraf,” Niclas said sternly as he shoved a spare shirt into one of the saddlebags on his bed. “I can’t think with all your fears screaming at me. Hand me that small bag there, will you, Gwillem?”

  “Please, sir,” Abercraf pleaded, utterly useless at the moment save for wringing his hands. “Send for Lord Gray-mar. He can be here in a few moments’ time if you’ll but ask him to come.”

  They were gathered in the room to which Cadmaran had sent Niclas following their conversation in the private parlor. Julia and Jane had remained with Lord Llew, supposedly to have dinner, while three of his burlier servants had escorted Niclas and all his men to this chamber and locked them in. Niclas was to be allowed to leave within the hour—alone—in order to ride back to London and fetch Malachi. Julia, Jane, and all his men would remain behind as the earl of Llew’s “guests.”

  “He can’t be called simply because I want him,” Niclas said, mashing the contents of the saddlebag even farther inside so that he could pull the ties. “The Dewin Mawr only comes when another Seymour is either seriously injured or in danger of imminent death. If we could all make him appear at the snap of our fingers, Lord Gray-mar would never have a moment’s peace.”

  “But you are in danger, sir,” Abercraf said, his voice shaking with emotion. “Lord Llew will kill you if he divines your plan. Please, I beg you, send for Earl Graymar. No one else can wrest Miss Linley and Jane safely away from a wizard so powerful as Cadmaran.”

  “I’m going to get them both away from him,” Niclas told him firmly. “Tonight. Now. And you’re all going to help me, because it will be impossible otherwise. Even so, it might be impossible, but we’re going to try.” He glanced at Frank, who was trying very hard not to let Niclas feel his trepidation. “The horses, Frank. Will you be able to get them ready that quickly? And the carriage?”

  “Aye, sir.” Frank gave a determined nod. “They’ll be ready. Have no worries on that account.”

  “Gwillem, Evar, Ioan, you know the paths you’ll be taking?” He had to ask them, as they possessed enough magic in their blood to be immune to his gift.

  They nodded, and Evar asked, “How will you find your way into Wales, sir? It’s raining like the very devil, and there’s no light at all to guide you.”

  “God is merciful,” Niclas told him, “and even if I don’t deserve a moment of heavenly grace, Miss Linley surely does. I’ll cross the border one way or another. Have no doubt of that.”

  “There’s no horse can catch Lord Graymar’s Enoch, sir,” Frank said. “Cadmaran couldn’t catch him if he flew.”

  “Thank God for it,” Niclas muttered, thinking of Malachi’s singular ability to travel long distances with incredible speed. He wondered if the earl of Llew possessed a gift equal to that.

  He tied the saddlebag with swift, hard movements and handed it to Huw, who stood in the midst of the others, trembling with a mixture of fear and anticipation. Niclas gripped the lad’s shoulder reassuringly. “This is going to work. Cadmaran’s a powerful wizard, but he’s not particularly clever. If he was, he
never would have left us all alone here, assuming that we’re powerless to fight. He’s vain, and that gives us a tremendous advantage. Wits have outdone him before and wits will outdo him now. We must remember that. Now, every man to his post. Abercraf, don’t worry so,” he said once more, turning to the older man. “You’ll have Jane to take care of and once she’s out of Cadmaran’s spell she’s going to require a great deal of reassuring.”

  Abercraf drew in a steadying breath, striving to stand a bit taller. “I shall use the powder on her if I must, sir. I have it in a safe place here.” He patted a hidden inner pocket. “And Frank has the measure you gave him.” He looked to the coachman, who nodded, before turning back to Niclas. “Do you have enough left for the guards? Are you quite sure it will have an effect on them?”

  Niclas took up his greatcoat and swung it about his shoulders.

  “The earl of Llew refuses to hire anyone possessed of a magic lineage to serve him. When his guards arrived to escort me here I felt their emotions at once. They’ll not be immune to magic. Indeed, I have every belief that Cadmaran only manages to keep such faithful servants through the use of his powers. He despises all those who are non-magic. I can’t believe his men would remain with him of their own free will.

  “Now, this is very important,” he said, and they gathered closer. “You must all leave the courtyard at once, for he’ll be quick to react once he senses someone of magical blood departing. With luck, he’ll set out in pursuit himself with several of his men, but I’ll be content if he merely leaves Miss Linley and Jane in the care of his guards for a few moments. It won’t take us long to get the women out of the inn, so long as Cadmaran’s distracted. Frank, you must have both the coach and Enoch ready in the place we’ve agreed upon, for we’ll have no time to waste once we’re out of the Blue Hind. You know the course you’re to take?”

  “Toward Welshpool,” Frank said with a nod. “And pray God Cadmaran doesn’t follow us there.”

  “He won’t go after the coach, for he’ll have no sense of your whereabouts. It’s those of us with magic blood he’ll follow, not knowing which is me. If we all set out as closely together as possible, he’ll have to make a decision quickly, and we must hope it’s the wrong one.”

  “But what if he doubles back and chooses your direction?” Huw asked worriedly. “What if he doesn’t go after any of the others? Or if he should break up his men, sending some in each direction?”

  “It’s a possibility,” Niclas admitted, “but he’s not particularly clever, just as I told you. He’ll expect that I’ll try to get Miss Linley safely back to London—to where Earl Graymar can protect us. By the time he discovers his mistake, however, Miss Linley and I will be in Wales, and he’ll no longer be able to track magic blood.

  “If Cadmaran should catch up to any of the rest of you,” Niclas told them, “assert your lineage and claim Earl Graymar as your Dewin Mawr. He won’t dare to harm you for fear of Lord Graymar’s vengeance.”

  “What shall we tell Lord Graymar when we’ve arrived in London?” Gwillem asked.

  “Tell him of Earl Llew’s determination regarding our cousin Ceridwen. She must be made safe—perfectly safe. Tell him that I’ll get Miss Linley to Castle Tylluan; he must have no fears on that score. It’s Ceridwen he must set his thoughts to.”

  “But if Earl Llew should turn back and pursue you, sir . . . ?”

  “Then tell Lord Graymar to come when he can,” Niclas replied. “But only after Ceridwen is in a place where Cadmaran won’t be able to find her. I wish I could say that Miss Linley’s life, or my own, were of greater importance, but if Cadmaran should somehow succeed in securing Ceridwen, many more than two will be in grave danger. Take heart”—he held out his hand to grasp each of theirs in turn—“for all will be well. He’s powerful, aye, and so we must take every care, but his love of that same power is what will give us success in this venture.”

  She was floating. Drifting. Dreaming.

  It was dreadful.

  Julia tried, for the hundredth time or more, to shake free of the heavy lethargy that engulfed all her senses, but each time she made even the slightest headway into sanity, she was pulled back down into darkness.

  She was only dimly aware of what was taking place about her—sounds, voices, lights, colors—and felt that awareness only in brief moments. Otherwise she was in a dream world, asleep, unaware of anything unless drawn back to consciousness by a particularly intrusive event.

  Niclas’s voice had been one. She’d heard him telling her to fight against the dullness, against her sleeping prison, and Julia had obeyed. She’d tried so hard . . . so very hard to hold on to him, to come to him. And then she’d been pulled back by the harsh voice that held her captive. It had felt as if a strong hand had grabbed her by the hair and forcibly dragged her back, away from Niclas and all hope.

  She was drifting. Sleeping, yet not asleep. The voices had been calm, even pleasant. Except for that harsh voice, which could never be welcome to Julia’s ears.

  But then, just as she was drifting back into unawareness again, everything changed. The voices were louder, more excited, though she couldn’t make out what they were saying. But something was happening now. The harsh voice was gone, and there was a sound of scuffling, and then . . . then she heard Niclas’s welcome voice saying her name.

  “Julia.”

  He said it again, and she struggled to reply, just to focus her eyes and see his face. He was before her, so close that she could feel his warmth, and the warmth of his hands clasping her own cold ones, yet she couldn’t see his face or form. There was only a whirling darkness in which the sound of his voice was her only anchor.

  “Shock,” she thought she heard, and “cold.” But she wasn’t certain.

  And then, as if someone had poured a bucket of ice-cold water on her head, all the confusion came to an abrupt halt. She was pitched headlong out of the endless, numbing whirlwind into stark, severe awareness.

  It was painful. Her body didn’t seem to remember how to work, or her lungs how to breathe. She felt like a fish tossed onto the ground, helpless and gasping.

  “It’s all right,” a low voice murmured against her ear. “I have you. Don’t be afraid. Everything’s fine now. You’re safe.”

  His arms were around her, holding tight. One large, strong hand rubbed gently over her back and shoulders, warming her.

  “You’ve been under a powerful spell, and it will take a little time for you to feel quite right again, but I’ll keep you safe until you do.”

  Julia drew in a shaking breath and blinked. Her eyes ached with dryness.

  She was pressed to Niclas’s firm chest, feeling quite small and delicate against his much larger frame. If he held her any more tightly, some of her bones would surely crack. As it was, the side of her face was firmly planted in the wool of his coat, and both the smell and weave seemed overpowering and irritating.

  “I’ve put something about your neck,” she heard him say, his voice low, soothing. “It’s not merely a necklace, but a powerful enchantment that will protect you from being cast under such spells again. It has a name—we call it ‘Tarian’—and it’s very important to the Seymours for both its history and powers. As long as you wear it, you’ll be safe from Cadmaran and all other magic. But you must give me your solemn vow, Julia, that you’ll not remove it until I tell you to do so. That’s of the greatest import. You mustn’t remove the Tarian until I ask you to do so. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she managed. “I think so.”

  “It’s all right if you don’t. We’ll speak of it later.” She felt him pulling away, and sank her fingers into his coat with immediate desperation to hold him fast. “We must go,” he said, gently pushing until she reluctantly gave way. “We have to get out of Shrewsbury as quickly as possible.”

  With care he grasped her chin and tilted her face upward. “Look at me, Julia. Can you see me? Do you know who I am and where you are?”

  Colors that be
fore had been a blur were now sharp and vivid—almost painfully so. Niclas’s clear, blue eyes, gazing steadily into her own, appeared inhumanly bright.

  “Yes,” she murmured, licking her lips. “I know you, Niclas. Mister Seymour.”

  He smiled faintly. “After tonight, and what’s to come, I believe we’ve moved past such formality, Miss Linley. Please call me Niclas, if you wish it. You may well want to call me something quite less appealing before this night is done. But we must hurry. I’ll have to carry you.” He stood, then bent and easily scooped her unresisting form up into his arms, holding her against his chest. Looking across the room, he said, “Have you got her, Abercraf? Is she all right?”

  Julia turned her head to see the manservant kneeling before Jane, who was sitting ramrod straight in her chair, staring at nothing, her expression completely blank.

  “She’s not coming round, sir,” Abercraf said worriedly. “I fear she’s been deeply affected.”

  “She’ll do better once she’s out of this place and some miles down the road,” Niclas told him. “You’ll have to carry her, and quickly. We’ve no time to waste. Can you manage?”

  “I can manage very well, sir,” Abercraf replied with a touch of offense in his tone. “I’m not that old and she’s not that heavy.”

  “What’s happened to Jane?” Julia asked slowly, her tongue feeling thick and her mouth dry. “What happened to me?”

  “I’ll explain very soon,” Niclas promised, gathering her a bit closer. “Trust me. Everything will be fine. But we must hurry.”

  “I’m ready, sir.” Abercraf had hefted Jane’s short, rather bulky form over one shoulder.

  “That’s an excellent idea,” Niclas said, observing Abercraf’s action. “I’m afraid you’ll have to travel the same way, Miss Linley, for a short while, loath as I am to treat any lady in such a manner.”