by J. M. Taylor
“No. I’ve already told you. Malin stays where he is.” Ronan grabs my arm and forces me to stop. “The guards outside his door will not leave their post. We have no idea what will happen to him if his lover dies tonight. With nothing left to fight for, with no more reason to betray his father, he could turn on all of us.”
“We cannot fight them without magic. Even the strength and speed of your army will not stand up against them. We need Malin. You must allow him to fight at our side.”
Ronan is not entirely convinced, but he releases my arm and agrees that Malin will join us. “If he turns on you, if I sense at any time that he will harm you or sacrifice you for his own life, I will kill him and to hell with your magic. I will not lose you.”
I turn to face him. We don’t have time to quarrel, but I need him to understand me. “My life is my own, as is my right to magic. I will deal with Malin, and you will not interfere, nor will you decide my fate. Malin must live until I am a true witch again. This is my wish, and you will respect it.”
“If he suffers more than he is able to use the fire within him, you are bringing him to slaughter anyway.”
“I know my own magic, and when he’s ready, it will engulf his enemies in flames whether he controls it or not. Tell your men to stay clear of him.”
Ronan relinquishes. When I look back, he is still standing there, watching me, even though all around him chaos has erupted. The rain falls harder, his men race to take their positions. The army of Borthen is at the gates. They are upon us now.
VII
I take Malin to see Garrick one last time, for it is evident that the man will not make it through the night. Malin is reluctant to leave his side, but Garrick is surprisingly lucid and insists that he fight for their honor, for their love, and for the life they should have lived together. And with these words, Malin’s rage against what he has lost ignites my powers within him.
It is precisely what I had hoped. He may not be in complete control of the magic, but it will still serve our purpose.
Against a wall in the invaded bailey, he stands furiously seething over the loss of his lover. Every Borthen warrior in his path is bathed in a fire that rages so hot the rain can’t extinguish it, and they turn to ash as they run away.
I keep my distance from him, as do the others from Ronan’s army, but he is always in my sight. Amid the confusion and deafening clatter of battle, I am determined to keep him alive.
But I am surrounded.
The weight of my sword grows heavier with each blow, my arms weary of wielding it against metal and forcing it into flesh. Blood runs down its blade, dripping into the wet, red earth that swallows the dead and slows my pace. I search the dark rain for shimmering bear claws and groan and shout to fight through the numbing cold and pain, my heart racing, a bitter taste in my mouth. The labyrinth beneath my skin is fading, my fire is dying again. I am still not myself.
Three more warlocks fall in flames from Malin’s use of my powers, but he suffers greatly from the effort. He howls in agony and drops to his knees as a haze of smoke rises from his skin.
“Malin!” I cry out, searching for any of my allies nearby to flee to his side and aid him.
But none hear me through the thunderous downpour, the crashing of steel, and the final screams of dying warriors. None but a warlock from the Borthen Clan who quickly sees his chance to take down an enemy and a great traitor to Wilhelm.
“No!” The guttural roar burns my throat as I try to run to Malin. The whirring of a sword slashing through the air beside me does not deter me. I see only Malin, unable to stand and vulnerable to the predator that now approaches him. I must reach him before this foe does - before he is killed, and my powers die with him.
The mud is thick, and the dead are many now - too many beneath my feet are Children of Lilith, the men and women of Fairen, too many of Ronan’s warriors have fallen while even more of Wilhelm’s men sit upon their horses outside the gates and wait their turn for battle. We are losing. We cannot lose Malin.
“I have you,” I call out just as I am within reach, my voice raw and cracked. I am prepared to defend him, but the Borthen warrior has no intention of being denied his prized kill. The head of Malin is exactly what Wilhelm will want to see, for the betrayal of a son cuts deeper than any other.
A sharp pain explodes in my back and down my leg. I lose my footing and splash into the bloody mud beneath me. My sword is lost in it. The wet, mucky hair sticking to my face stings my eyes, and my muscles ache. I can’t stand. I keep slipping. I hear someone screaming, and I wipe my face in search of Malin. A glint in the mud reveals my sword, so I grab it and try again to stand, but I am knocked over by a young Son of Lilith, cut down by a silver-coated Borthen blade, his heart removed with the force of magic as I struggle to back away from him. When he no longer writhes beneath his attacker, and the fear leaves his eyes, I know he is gone. He has fallen for the last time.
Pressing my weight upon my sword, I finally manage to stand. Malin is still kneeling. The Borthen warrior is upon him, his sword swinging overhead. Malin closes his eyes and lowers his head.
I am too late. The words echo in my head over and over.
But then I hear a resounding crash, and the sword of the Borthen warrior is set loose from his hands and sent flying through the air. By the time he sees his attacker, his throat is ripped from his neck and spat on the ground. He falls with a great thud, like a dead tree in a rain-soaked field.
“You? But how?” A stunned Malin tries to make sense of what he is seeing.
“I changed my mind,” Garrick answers, holding his hand for Malin to take. “Now you are stuck with me forever, I’m afraid.”
He is strong and vibrant again and clad in the armor of Fairen. Still, he struggles to steady Malin, who is fighting against two invasions. The obvious one is against the Borthen Clan’s army, the other is the attack of my magic inside his body. Something his father would not have foreseen. It is not making him more powerful. It is killing him.
Still, he is determined to fight. He takes his stance by Garrick’s side, and together, they face the clansmen of Borthen.
I am unwise to ignore my own surroundings, and even though I am no experienced warrior, I should know better. A blade across the back of my arm is a stinging reminder of the need to remain present and in the moment. My sword meets the warlock’s midair, the wet steel slippery. I force his down, but they meet again at our chests. We cannot find a firm stance, and our bodies are worn with exhaustion. But he is larger and stronger and is eventually able to push me away, creating a distance long enough for a deadly swing of his blade. No sooner does he move to wield it than he disappears from in front of me and reappears on the ground a few feet away with Ronan removing a sword from his lifeless body.
“I will not lose you,” he says to me. “I don’t care what you think about it.”
The madness of battle continues around us but with less fervor than before. We have killed many, but just as many of our own lie wounded or dead. And all who remain are soaked to the bone and weary.
For a fleeting moment, I wonder if it will finally be over. Ronan stands with his back to mine. We wait. Better to be defensive in our actions and let our enemies wear themselves out approaching us in such muddy conditions, but the fight eludes us long enough for the heart-pounding anticipation of battle to be replaced with exhaustion.
Horns blow long and low in the distance and drums beat in ominous rhythm.
“What is that?” I ask.
“That is another call to battle. It is the sound of more Borthen warriors being sent to our gates. There are at least a hundred more warlocks out there waiting to fight. Now, they will have their chance.” He spins me around and places an arm around my waist. “Take Malin and Garrick. Go now. The guards inside the castle will show you the way to a secret passage. From there, you can escape.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Don’t be a fool. All is lost, can’t you see that?” His
anger and frustration grow, his green eyes darken. “You must leave now before it is too late.”
“What about you? What will you do?” In my heart, I know the answer, and I know it will hurt to hear him say it, but I can’t stop myself from asking anyway.
“I will continue to fight beside my men and die with them if that is my fate. But you still need to defeat Wilhelm, to keep this from happening to others. You must try to recover your magic and stop Wilhelm from taking the kingdoms of men.”
He is right. This is what I should do, but I can’t bring myself to leave him. Instead, I break away and take my sword up, readying myself for more to come, but all falls quiet around us and the horn of Borthen does not call out again.
A tiny bird bobs and weaves through the waning storm and lands on a nearby wall. It is Titan, his bright blue feet noticeable in the graying hours before dawn. When he sees me, he dances with enthusiasm and sings a song of celebration.
“Listen,” Ronan says. “The drums have stopped.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
The Borthen warriors who remain inside the bailey begin to back away from their opponents and head for the gates. Beyond the wall, shouting soon turns to violent screams, the wailing death of men at the mercy of something significantly more powerful.
One of the scouts sent to find the coven returns, proudly waving the Fairen banner overhead and riding into the bailey and past the armed warlocks who are fighting only to free themselves now.
Behind him, Myrna is the first to ride through on her black horse, her bloody sword drawn and Luna, my mother’s white wolf, trotting alongside, her mouth marred with the blood of their enemies. The other coven members follow, weapons drawn, their collective use of magic dripping from them like wet stardust.
Titan sees his master and flits over to her, situating himself comfortably upon her shoulder. He chirps something in her ear, and she guides her horse in my direction.
“I see you have tasted battle today,” she smiles. “Better than that, I see you have survived it, and I know of a certain furry familiar who will be glad of that.”
From under the legs of the coven’s horses, Flynn sprints over to me, his tiny feet gliding over the murky ground. I sweep him into my arms, rub his large black ears, and whisper, “It is good to see you, my friend.”
Myrna is stunning, and I am mesmerized. There are few who possess her commanding presence. I ask her, “Did you kill all that remained of Wilhelm’s army?”
“We killed those who did not outrun us. Those who fled us this time will not be so lucky at Ravenwood.” She surveys the bailey and her smile fades. “You have suffered many losses here. Are there enough of you left to stand with us?”
“Yes,” Ronan answers. “We have lost many – more than I thought possible, but it seems the Borthen Clan has learned our secrets. They came prepared with silver-coated blades and spells to remove hearts. Sadly, those kinsmen are lost to us, but those who are merely wounded will heal. Some need a few days, but others may need weeks. Until then, you are all welcome here. The walls of the keep have not been breached, so my home is still intact. Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
“We don’t have weeks,” Myrna says, sheathing her sword, dismounting her horse, and following us inside. “Prepare those who can join us, leave the others behind. We will have to make do without them.”
“But there aren’t enough of us. Wilhelm has amassed a great army – only a portion of which we have seen here today,” I say.
“I know,” she says and nods toward Flynn, now prancing beside me. “Your friend here did a good job of conveying your message. But we can’t wait. We must act now while they are still whimpering from their defeat, while fear still haunts their every thought.”
“You have a point,” Ronan says to Myrna while Esmond, emerging from around the corner still wearing his bright blue tunic, begins to dismantle his master’s armor. Ronan says to him, “Be careful not to get anything on you.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Esmund answers.
Ronan cracks a smile, clears his throat, and returns to his former serious demeanor when speaking to Myrna, “I stand by what I said. We need more men, and it just so happens that I have already sent for them.”
“When?” I ask. “And who did you send for?”
“I sent two scouts from Fairen days ago, as we discussed, but only one was sent to find the coven. The other was sent to call on King Algar,” Ronan says.
Myrna is astonished. “But King Algar is human. The kingdoms of men do not fight with us.”
“This one will,” Ronan says. “I fought by his grandfather’s side in the War of Two Kings, and he will fight beside me now.”
“You call him and his men to slaughter,” Myrna says, shaking her head in disapproval.
“And you underestimate the strength and determination of men. When King Algar hears that Wilhelm will not stop with the destruction of witches and Children of Lilith, that his main objective is to take down the world of men, he will gather his armies, and he will join us in our fight for Ravenwood.”
“How long will it take for him to gather his armies?” I ask. “Not only is the Borthen Clan reorganizing as we speak, but my mother and the others who remain there are suffering. I have been waiting for the coven to arrive, and now they are here. We shouldn’t wait any longer. We should move now.”
“Malin is in no condition to travel anywhere,” Garrick says making his way past us and helping Malin into a chair by the great stone fireplace. “He needs a healer, and he needs to rest.” He holds up one of Malin’s hands and pushes his sleeve up, showing the blistering burns on Malin’s skin.
Myrna recognizes the son of Wilhelm and moves to strike, but I intervene.
“He does not share his father’s ambitions and is not our enemy.”
She hesitates, her hand on her sword, but ultimately decides to trust me. “When you were in Ravenwood, did you see the children?”
It hadn’t occurred to me that Wilhelm had detained the children as well as the witches who remained in Ravenwood, but of course there are children in the coven. I know this. Female children are always kept with their mothers, and no child rides with the coven now. I never even thought to ask Malin where they might be, but he isn’t capable of answering us now. He is dying. If we don’t kill Wilhelm, my powers will eventually burn him alive.
“I am sorry, but I learned nothing about the children when I was there.”
My answer grieves her, and I wonder if she has a child of her own in Ravenwood.
“I will find Leanora. She will see to him, and then maybe he will be able to tell us something.” She says, and before disappearing through the front doors and returning to the mud and carnage in the bailey, she turns back and says to Ronan, “Dawn is breaking. We will rest today, sleep tonight, and if your scout has not returned by tomorrow, the coven will ride against the Borthen Clan without the armies of men, and if necessary, without the Children of Lilith from Fairen.”
“The scout will return, and King Algar will answer my call,” Ronan says, though I sense some reservation in his confidence. There is a small chance this king of men could reject his request, and if he does, Ronan knows that we are unlikely to defeat the Borthen Clan.
Malin moans from his seat, so I say to Ronan, “He can barely lift his head and needs to rest. I want him to recover as much as possible so he can at least try to fight by my side when we reach Ravenwood. He has as much to lose as any of us if Wilhelm succeeds.”
“Take him to his room and stay with him,” Ronan tells Garrick. “I’ve met with Leanora before, and you can trust her. She is a legendary healer and will see to his burns.” And then he turns to me and says, “We need to get you out of your armor now, but if it’s alright with you, I’d like to do that in the privacy of my bedchamber.”
“You have me for today and tonight only. Understand? No matter what happens, I leave for Ravenwood tomorrow, along w
ith the coven.”
“And I will go with you, and any able-bodied Child of Lilith within the walls of Fairen will follow me. But until then, let it just be the two of us together. If Ravenwood is to be my final battle, let me remember it was all for you.”
The weight of my armor hangs heavy on my shoulders, my body stiff and sore from battle. I am tired and in need of a bath.
“Esmund, send others to help our guests, and then prepare a hot bath for Violet,” Ronan commands. It’s as though he has read my mind, and I adore him for it. He leans down and gently kisses my forehead. “We are both tired. Lean on me and let me care for you. Just being with you is enough for now. Tomorrow, we ride for Ravenwood – with or without King Algar and his armies. I promise.”
Violet of Ravenwood Series
A note from the author:
The first in the Violet of Ravenwood Series, Wolf Moon was originally published in an anthology as a “one and done” short story, but I just couldn’t seem to let go of Violet, Ronan, and the coven. For this reason, the end of Wolf Moon became the beginning of a series.
In Ravenwood, Violet learns just how dangerously powerful she is, and for the first time, she understands why her mother always warned her of not being ready to control that power. Violet also realizes that her magic has made her a pawn in Wilhelm’s scheme for his son to rule over all beings, especially the kingdoms of men. But this dream is not shared by his son Malin, whose love for a human stands to ruin everything Wilhelm is hoping to achieve.
I hope you enjoy Ravenwood and look forward to the next book in the series.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J. M. Taylor is a writer of whatever haunts or amuses her. She loves writing and can’t resist including a little witchery in her stories.
To stay in touch with reality, she teaches Humanities at a university in southeastern Virginia where she also lives with her artist husband, brilliant daughter, a mischievous cat, and two spoiled dogs.
Visit the author’s website to learn more and sign up for her newsletter at https://www.whateveramusesme.com
