Susan Spencer Paul - [Enchanter 01]

by Touch of Night

  “You don’t know that I’ll lose it,” Niclas said.

  “Oh, yes,” Cadmaran murmured. “I do. And should Malachi challenge me for it, it will be too late. The Tarian will make me far more powerful. He shall never again be able to defeat me.”

  His hand, which had yet been reaching out toward Niclas, suddenly waved away toward one of the walls.

  “How shall we conduct our battle, then? Which weapons do you prefer? They’re all here,” he said, indicating the various weapons mounted about the hall. “You’ve but to name your preferred manner of defeat.”

  “You agree to my terms in full?” Niclas asked. “You must speak them out loud, so that the guardians have a record in case I should—”

  “What?” Cadmaran asked, smiling. “Fail? As indeed you will. I have no trouble speaking it aloud. I will fight you, Niclas Seymour, for the Tarian and Miss Linley. Winner takes all.”

  “There is one thing you must know before we begin, however,” Niclas said. “The Tarian cannot be taken from the one who possesses it unless that one freely removes and gives it away, or,” he added, “unless that one is dead. If that is the case, it may be removed, and becomes the sole property of the new possessor.”

  “And?” Cadmaran said. “Did you think me unaware of its properties?”

  “No,” Niclas said, and was unsettled to feel his palms starting to sweat. “I merely thought you should know that I don’t intend to give you the necklace, and that you cannot remove it if I’m merely insensible. If you intend to possess the Tarian, you must kill me.”

  That gave the earl of Llew a moment of pause. He gazed at Niclas for a long, considering moment.

  “I see,” he said at last. “Then I must necessarily refrain from using magic, lest I call down a curse upon my head. That is indeed a fate to avoid at all costs. But,” he went on, circling Niclas slowly, “if I gain the Tarian, no curse will be able to dim my powers. The earl of Graymar would be allowed to call me out to avenge your death, but if I possess the Tarian, he can have no hope of success. Either way, the risk is well worth taking.” He came to a halt and faced Niclas. “I confirm my agreement to the terms, and the guardians are my judges. Choose your weapons.”

  It occurred to Niclas, briefly, that the other man had shown shockingly little regard for the taking of another’s life, but perhaps he’d expected too much from the earl of Llew.

  His silence appeared to provoke Cadmaran, who was all eagerness for the contest to begin. As he removed the elegant black coat he’d been wearing, he said, “We can fancy ourselves medieval warriors and use swords, or stand firmly in our modern time and choose pistols. Rapiers would be an elegant choice. Have you studied fencing? But of course you must have,” he said with a slight smile. “Your cousin is accounted among the greatest swordsmen in England. Surely you picked up a few tricks from him along the way.”

  Niclas was an acceptable swordsman, but far too much time had passed since he’d practiced the sport. There was only one skill Niclas had excelled at in the past three years, and that was because he’d found it to be a way of relaxing and quieting the racket in his brain.

  “Fists,” he said.

  “Pardon me?” Cadmaran inclined his ear.

  Niclas felt a flush of embarrassment. It struck him just how odd it was to have to repeat the method with which he was inviting Cadmaran to annihilate him.

  “Fisticuffs,” he said more loudly.

  He appeared to have genuinely surprised the other man.

  “Fisticuffs?” Cadmaran repeated. “Boxing, do you mean? The London Prize Ring rules?”

  “No,” Niclas replied, and began to remove his own wet coat. “I mean fisticuffs. No rules, save for no magic.” He thought with regret that he’d not be able to call upon his gift of supernatural strength, either.

  “I don’t know why I should be surprised,” Cadmaran said, sneering. “It’s a common sport for a common wizard. This is what the Seymours get for marrying mere—”

  Niclas was a good two inches shorter than Cadmaran, but he was able to land a solid blow to the face that sent the earl of Llew sprawling. The other man landed unceremoniously on his back, his expression a mixture of shock and pain.

  “You talk too much,” Niclas told him, letting himself enjoy a brief moment of satisfaction. He’d only been able to land that blow because he’d taken Cadmaran by surprise. The moment his opponent gained his feet, Niclas knew he’d be in trouble. But that was precisely why he’d come. “No doubt because you love the sound of your own voice so dearly.”

  He was right. Cadmaran came off the ground with a roar of fury and ran at him full force. He sent a fist flying toward Niclas’s face, but Niclas hadn’t spent so many nights brawling on London’s docks for nothing. He ducked the blow with ease and sent his own fist into the earl of Llew’s belly, keeping his knuckles tight to deliver the greatest impact. Cadmaran doubled over but managed to keep his balance, and by the time he’d swung about Niclas had moved away to the other side of the room.

  “Julia!” he shouted as the other man gathered himself for a fresh attack. “I know you can hear me. I’ve come to take you out, but you’ve got to fight!”

  Cadmaran didn’t run at him this time, but moved with greater care. Niclas backed away with equal caution, still speaking to Julia, who remained quiet and passive on the dais.

  “You fought him once before,” he said aloud. “Do you remember? But that time you didn’t know what you were up against. Now you do, and you have the power to win.”

  Cadmaran lunged and swung at him, and again Niclas easily bounced away, this time sending both fists into his opponent’s lower back, which he knew from experience was particularly painful.

  It went on for long minutes; not once did Cadmaran manage to land a blow, but expended himself chasing Niclas about, while Niclas did little more than jump aside and take every opportunity afterward to strike. He knew the fight couldn’t go on like this forever, but while it did, he continued to address Julia, encouraging her to resist the spell she was under.

  “Be quiet!” Cadmaran shouted furiously, breathing harshly now as they circled each other. “She can’t hear you and she certainly can’t obey you. She’s mine.”

  “She can hear me,” Niclas told him. “She hears my voice because she is my unoliaeth, and nothing but death can break that bond. Julia! I know you’re listening! Fight hard! Come back to me!”

  Cadmaran made the mistake of glancing toward Julia, and Niclas put his head down and ran forward, actually lifting the bigger man off his feet for a second or two before shoving him away. For the second time, Cadmaran landed on his back, sprawling in a most undignified manner, which Niclas hoped would sufficiently prick his pride. But just to be certain, he said, “No wonder you wanted to use weapons. You clearly need all the help you can get, my lord Llew. Do you wish to rest a little before going on?” As Cadmaran awkwardly pushed to his feet, Niclas raised his voice. “Do you see how easily he can be fought, Julia? There is nothing to fear in casting aside the spell he’s placed you under.”

  As he rose, Cadmaran’s expression was tight with rage. His black eyes speared Niclas with a look of hatred, and he knew at last that the moment had come. He had pushed the earl of Llew over the edge, beyond sense or reason. Niclas straightened and tried to ready himself for what was to come.

  It began slowly. Objects in the hall started to shake, mirroring the wrath of the master of Castle Llew. The curtains swayed and the torches trembled in their holders, causing the light in the hall to flicker violently. Cups, plates, tables, chairs, and all the fine ornaments began to rattle loudly. Candlesticks dropped to the ground and several of the vacant suits of armor fell over with a loud crash. Weapons mounted on the wall came loose from their moorings and clattered to the ground.

  “Very impressive,” Niclas called out. “I shouldn’t wish to be the one to clean up this mess, however.”

  Cadmaran again did that odd thing that Niclas had occasionally observed, and appeared
to grow taller. He lifted a hand and pointed it at Niclas, clearly intending to strike him with some spell or other—but he had forgotten about the Tarian.

  “Your magic is useless on me,” Niclas informed him with as much of a sneer as he could manage. “And since you can’t seem to fight as well as a mere mortal man, perhaps you should admit defeat now.”

  “The Tarian protects you from the power of magic,” the earl of Llew managed between harsh breaths, “but it does not protect you from the results of magic. Those you must save yourself from”—a thin smile formed on his lips—“if you can.”

  The earl tilted one long finger and a sword yet mounted on the far wall began to shake violently. The next moment it had come free altogether and shot directly toward Niclas, point out. He barely had time to throw himself aside before it arrived, the blade skimming so close that it sliced through the upper part of his arm.

  Blood began to seep before Niclas became aware of the stinging pain that followed and, rather than fear, he felt a resounding relief.

  Blood had been spilled, and now Malachi would come. He would rescue Julia, regardless of what happened to Niclas. All he had to do now was stay alive long enough so that Cadmaran wouldn’t have a chance to inflict any harm on her before the lord of the Seymours arrived.

  Objects began to fly from all directions, axes and knives and more swords. One of the empty knights lost his javelin as it became a spear aimed at Niclas’s heart.

  Rolling, he leaped to his feet and ran, just managing to overturn a sturdy wooden table and hide behind it before the weapons struck with loud, angry thuds.

  “Hurry, Malachi,” Niclas murmured aloud. An ominous clattering drew his attention. Two large shields mounted above him were about to strike. Niclas rolled tightly against the table, tucking his legs in as the heavy objects fell.

  “I always knew he wasn’t very clever,” Niclas said, grabbing one of the shields to use for a cover as he ran out from behind the table. A number of things struck the shield, hard, but fell harmlessly away, and he could hear Cadmaran cursing from the center of the hall.

  It seemed to take forever, but Niclas managed to get behind another table and push it over, too.

  Now there was a curious silence. Niclas waited, striving to control his breath, listening intently for Cadmaran’s footsteps, but none came. But letting a powerful wizard have too long to think was a mistake, for within a few moments he might devise any number of plans. Such as using Julia’s life to bargain with.

  Grasping the shield, Niclas gingerly looked over the table’s edge, and saw that Cadmaran was indeed standing very still, thinking. Julia, however, had moved off the dais, and was standing in the far corner of the hall. She was watching the unfolding events without any discernible emotion on her face, but the fact that she’d moved anywhere at all of her own free will was, to Niclas, an extraordinarily good sign.

  Cadmaran was standing quite still, blinking. He lifted a hand in front of his face and moved it slowly. Then, just as slowly, he turned toward the now empty dais, and kept looking, searching, most likely, for Julia.

  Niclas shot up to his full height, purposely holding the shield away in order to draw Cadmaran’s attention, and shouted, “Ready to cede defeat yet?”

  He never even saw the knives that struck him. Cadmaran had left a dozen of them, of various eras, lengths, and blades, drifting almost to the ceiling, ready to strike the moment Niclas showed himself. Four struck him to the hilt: one in his left shoulder, one in his right arm, one in his left thigh, and one almost in the center of his belly. He brought the shield up just in time to deflect one aimed directly at his heart. The others skimmed past, slicing a cheek, shoulder, and arm, striking the wall behind him with a loud clattering.

  Niclas fell to his knees, then, as the pain began, collapsed onto his back. He lay there behind the table, feeling the shock and thinking, belatedly, He’s not quite as stupid as I believed.

  He had three of the daggers out by the time Cadmaran’s face loomed over him, and had managed to pull the fourth from his belly before Cadmaran knelt.

  “I’m going blind,” the earl of Llew said quietly as one of his large hands closed over Niclas’s throat. “I’ve been cursed, just as you knew I would be when you drove me to lose my temper. You’ve cost me a great deal.” His long fingers began to squeeze.

  Niclas lifted both his hands to grasp the earl’s wrists, but his strength seemed to have drained away with the blood he’d lost. He could feel it pouring from his wounds, making a wet, warm pool beneath him.

  “But I won’t need my sight once I have the Tarian.” It will be better than sight to me, and I shall cheer myself with the knowledge of how Julia will suffer beneath my hands in your absence, but always for your sake.” His other hand joined the first about Niclas’s neck, squeezing lightly.

  “I’m going to kill you slowly,” Cadmaran murmured, bending close. “My sight dims with each passing moment, but I can still feel your life pulsing beneath my hands. I shall enjoy the seconds as I feel the flow of your blood slowing beneath my fingers. And stopping.”

  Julia, Niclas thought, struggling as mightily as he could. Malachi, make sure she’s safe . . .

  He couldn’t fight any longer. Or breathe. His eyes closed, and he heard Cadmaran chuckling. Fleetingly he thought about the Tarian, but that remorse couldn’t hold him.

  He could only think of Julia, and how much he regretted leaving her at Cadmaran’s mercy.

  And then, of a sudden, the vise about his neck was gone. Air rushed into his lungs and, gasping, he surfaced from the heavy blackness to find Julia standing over him, an enormous axe drooping in her delicate hands. Cadmaran was lying crumpled to one side, perfectly still.

  “I . . . I only struck him with the flat of the blade,” she said, staring wide-eyed down at Niclas. Her face had gone white, and she was visibly trembling. “I hope I didn’t kill him. Oh, Niclas.”

  Weakly, he reached out a hand and she fell to her knees, shoving the axe aside and pressing herself into the crook of his arm. With a smile, he set his hand upon her head.

  “It’s all right, love. Malachi will be here soon. He’ll take care of everything.”

  As if he’d been announced, the most powerful wizard in Europe arrived. Niclas had expected something spectacular, but this was among his cousin’s better entrances. It sounded as if a tremendous, violent storm had started up inside the house.

  “Stay down,” Niclas told Julia, just as a furious blast of wind shot through the entire castle like an explosion, shattering windows and slamming doors open and sending objects flying. It was sufficiently frightening to cause even Cadmaran’s spell-restrained servants to start screaming and shouting.

  The heavy doors to the great hall had slammed open and were swinging back and forth, banging against the walls. But as the earl of Graymar entered the room they began to shudder loudly, broke off their hinges and fell with a crash to the floor.

  “He always has to make such a fuss over these things. And noise.” Niclas laughed weakly and closed his eyes. “No, stay down, love. He’s not done yet.”

  “Niclas!” It came out as an unearthly roar rather than anything human. The very walls and floor shook. “Morcar!”

  “Better tell him we’re here, Julia,” Niclas whispered, “before he tears the whole castle down.”

  And then, for the first time in over three years, he slid into complete blackness, and slept.

  Nineteen

  Niclas?”

  He felt a cool cloth on his forehead.

  “Niclas?”

  It was Julia, and she sounded anxious—and very far away, as if she were part of a dream and he couldn’t reach her.

  “Come along, cfender. Stop lolling about and wake up. You’ve cosseted yourself long enough.”

  That was Malachi. Which meant this wasn’t a dream, for Niclas would never let Malachi into any dream that Julia was already in.

  “I was sleeping,” Niclas muttered groggily, his eyes
still closed. “And I want to keep sleeping. For a month.”

  “Three days is more than sufficient to make up for what you’ve missed,” the earl of Graymar stated imperiously. “And I should think you’d want to celebrate the lifting of the curse. Which you can do much better if you’re awake.”

  If Malachi had spent more than three years of his life endlessly awake, he would have developed a deep appreciation for the bliss that only sleep could bring.

  The curse was gone. Niclas was giddy with the realization.

  “Look at him,” Malachi said. “He’s smiling. If you’re able to smile, then you’re able to awaken.”

  “You stayed in Wales all this time just to yell at me?” Niclas said, slowly dragging his eyelids open. Julia was hovering over him, gazing at him with concern. He smiled and tried to lift a hand to touch her face, but discovered that it hurt too much. “Your bruise is better,” he murmured, thankful that Malachi was such a gifted healer. “I could have killed Cadmaran for that alone.”

  “You mustn’t move for a little while,” she said, tears brightening her blue eyes. “Lord Graymar has tended your wounds with some of his special potions, and he vows that you’ll mend quickly, but you must lie abed for a few days. You’re safe at Glen Aur.”

  Lie in bed for a few days, he repeated silently. How delightful. He would spend all of it sleeping, unless he could convince Julia to join him.

  “Where’s Cadmaran?” he asked.

  Malachi’s blond head popped into view, his crystalline blue eyes peering down at Niclas from over Julia’s shoulder.

  “At Castle Llew, where he should remain for some time. The elders are considering a punishment apart from what the guardians have already done, but we’ll have no trouble from him for a long while, regardless. He called a blood curse down upon his head, and was blinded. Not as Steffan is blind, but in the manner of mere mortals. He must now learn to live in this new way.”