by E. G. Foley
On the plus side, he did not sense that Jake was in any danger. You never knew with that one. Then Maddox’s Guardian instincts drew him toward the right.
He strode down the front stairs, past the pumpkins and hay bales and the tall, burning braziers.
The chilly night air was refreshing after the warm ballroom. He’d eaten a lot—though not as much as Ma, he thought in amusement—and it had made him slightly sluggish.
Overhead, clouds scudded across the moon. He nodded to a group of old men who had gathered outside to smoke. Wizards and their pipes, Maddox thought, shaking his head.
Old Balinor had come out to join them; the chief wizard’s owl watched him pass, swiveling its head, its golden eyes gleaming in the darkness.
Maddox continued striding out across the sprawling lawns. Where are you, you little pain in the neck?
There. Finally, he spotted Jake leaning on the arched stone bridge over the little river.
Maddox marched toward him. Since he could see in the dark almost as well as Balinor’s owl, he could clearly make out the younger boy’s look of abject misery as he stared down at the water.
“You’re not planning on throwing yourself in there and drowning, are you?” Maddox called with rude familiarity as he approached.
The mild taunt worked to pull Jake out of his woe. Anger was better than despair any day.
Jake lifted his head and turned toward him with a scowl. “That’s not even funny, you know. Or have you forgotten that Archie nearly drowned in this stream?”
“Relax. I was only joking.” Maddox slowed his pace as he walked up onto the bridge.
Jake’s forelock hung over his brow, making him look as defiant as a colt that wanted nothing to do with being trained. His cravat dangled around his neck where he’d torn in loose, as though he couldn’t stand to wear it anymore. “Whaddya want?”
Maddox frowned at him. “Easy! I thought I’m supposed to be the grumpy one.”
* * *
Jake harrumphed.
“Well?” he demanded, glaring at the older boy. He really didn’t appreciate the intrusion—or the taunt. Sometimes a chap just needed to be left the bloody blazes alone.
“I have an idea,” Maddox said.
Something in his cool tone of voice brought Jake up short. A steely note beneath his usual nonchalance.
Jake turned warily, eyeing him. “I’m listening.”
Maddox looked askance at him, as though choosing his words with care. In that brief silence, the stream lilted, flowing by underneath the bridge. A few small bats screeched, flapping back and forth among the trees.
“That little dwarf lord. Broadbuckle,” Maddox said. “He told you the Black Fortress was seen six weeks ago somewhere in the Alps. Right?”
“Right.” Jake nodded.
Earlier this evening, the boys had exchanged what little information they had found.
The Guardian apprentice leaned his elbow on the stone wall of the bridge with a casual air that made Jake suspicious.
“Well,” Maddox said slowly, “Kahlberg’s in the Alps.”
Jake gave him a blank look.
“My father’s kingdom? My birth father.”
“Oh! Right… Blimey, it is in the Alps, isn’t it?”
Maddox nodded. “I don’t know if the royal idiot’s even heard that Ravyn is missing yet.”
Jake narrowed his eyes, looking intrigued. “What exactly are you thinking?”
“I’m going to write to him. Ask him to send out spies and use whatever channels he has at his disposal to pinpoint the location of this valley where they landed. The Alps are a big place, after all. But Prince Maximilian von Kahlberg’s got connections throughout the whole region.”
Ignoring the sarcasm in Maddox’s voice, Jake straightened up with newfound excitement. His thoughts whirled like the stray leaves that skittered past his feet, rasping across the bridge’s cobblestones. “You think he might actually do it?”
“He better.” Maddox shrugged. “He loved her once. I know he’s married now to his proper princess, but he owes my mother that much. Ravyn saved his life, after all. Besides, Prince Maximilian hates the Dark Druids almost as much as we do.”
“Maddox, you’re brilliant!” Then Jake tilted his head. “You’re sure you don’t mind doing this?”
The older boy smirked. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sure he’ll be surprised to hear from me. We don’t have much contact, but I’m still his firstborn son, illegitimate or not, so…”
“Right,” Jake murmured.
“Besides, I never ask him for anything.” Maddox pushed away from the bridge, squaring his shoulders and standing up to his full height.
At seventeen, he was half a foot taller than Jake. His athletic silhouette blocked out the warm, glowing lights of the palace several hundred yards behind him.
“I’ll write the letters tomorrow,” Maddox said. “I could send it as a telegraph, but I’m afraid that wouldn’t be secure, and this is sensitive information.”
Jake nodded—and sniffled. His nose was cold. “While you do that, I’ll get to the library and see what I can dig up on these Mesopotamian Marshes. Who knows? We might be able to get another lead.”
“That’ll get us started.” Maddox’s dark eyes glowed with newfound spirit now that he had some direction. “In the meantime, you and I need to start preparing—without letting anyone else guess our intentions.”
“Our intentions? What do you mean?” Jake flipped his forelock out of his eyes. “Preparing for what?”
Maddox glanced around furtively, then peered over the side of the bridge, checking to make sure no naiads were eavesdropping on their conversation from below.
Satisfied, he lowered his voice. “If and when my father’s spies bring back information, we need to be ready to act. I say we go there ourselves.”
“Oh!” Jake raised his eyebrows, but instantly felt uneasy.
“I figure if the Kahlberg spies can at least tell us which valley the Fortress landed in, you and I can go there and have a look for ourselves.”
“How? We’ll need a Lightrider—”
Maddox smacked Jake lightly in the head. “We just need a train, you idiot.”
“Hey!” Jake scowled, fixing his hair again.
“Well, a boat first, to get across the Channel, then a train,” Maddox amended. “Then a couple of horses once we get across France.”
“Why is everybody always messing up my hair?” Jake grumbled.
Maddox grinned. “Because you hate it.”
Jake growled. The elder brother he never wanted. “You think there’s any real hope of finding clues so long after the Black Fortress has been gone?”
“Maybe it’ll come back,” Maddox said. “Besides, anything’s better than sitting around here doing nothing.”
“Well, I can’t argue with that.” Jake thrust his hands down into his pockets and lowered his head, considering. “You know they don’t want us taking any action on our own.”
“Who cares! It’s been months. How long are we supposed to wait? No. You ask me, we’ve been patient long enough.”
“But Derek said—”
“All I know is that neither Red nor Ravyn would leave us to rot in some dungeon cell somewhere if we were the ones who’d been captured.”
Jake winced. “You really think that’s where they are? In a dungeon cell?”
Maddox deflated a bit. In the moonlight, Jake saw a ghost of regret for his bluntness skim his friend’s square, uncompromising face.
“Your Gryphon probably is,” Maddox admitted. Then he looked away, gazing off at the naiads’ stone gazebo. “Ravyn might not even be alive anymore. One way or the other, I’ve got to know her fate. She’s still my mother. Even if she did give me away.”
Jake winced. Maddox was a pain, but his heart went out to the moody older boy.
After all, he was quite familiar himself with the torment of not knowing what had happened to his parents. He hated watching a fri
end go through it, too.
“Very well.” Jake drew a deep breath and let it out, nodding. “I’m in.”
“Good. We’ll plan on it, then. But don’t tell Dani! Or Archie. In fact, don’t tell anyone. We’ll only get in trouble.”
Jake frowned. “What if Isabelle senses it?”
“She can only sense your emotions, not read your thoughts. And mine won’t be a problem, since she can’t read me at all,” he added dryly. “So, do we have a deal?” Maddox offered his hand.
Jake hesitated, then nodded. He had tried his best to be obedient for three whole months. But tonight had not yielded anywhere near the results he’d been hoping for. What Maddox proposed was simply the logical next step.
It was risky, of course, the two of them going off by themselves to hunt for the Black Fortress. Especially since it seemed like the Dark Druids were after him.
But Jake cast aside his misgivings and shook Maddox’s hand, giving his word in a mumble to keep their plan a secret.
Sealing their pact, the boys exchanged a hard look, both well aware of what this could cost them. There would likely be serious consequences once it was discovered that they had disobeyed orders and sneaked off on their own.
Maddox could get kicked out of the Guardian program, and Jake might never get selected for Lightrider training.
He might also get murdered by Dani O’Dell for leaving without her, but that was neither here nor there. There was no way he’d drag her into this.
Their instructions had been clear: Let the adults handle it.
Only, the adults were failing them once again. Not that Jake was surprised.
Adults had been failing him ever since he was a wee baby. Uncle Waldrick and Fionnula Coralbroom had sort of killed his parents. His parents, for all their Lightrider skills, had failed to fend off the attack. (Jake was sure he wouldn’t have failed.) The naiads had lost him in the river. The orphanage had been a dismal place, his apprentice masters even worse.
No, Jake had learned through hard experience that if you wanted something done right, you always had to do it yourself in the end.
He was glad Maddox had thought of this plan, though, because Lord knew he was all out of ideas. But it seemed that until they heard back from Prince Maximilian’s spies, they were stuck with more waiting.
Ugh. At least now they had a clear, sensible next step to follow. Maddox was right. Anything was better than sitting around, idle, waiting for somebody else to fix this.
Blimey, if Jake had to endure another month of that torture, he was sure he would go barking mad.
CHAPTER 14
Forbidden Waltz
Sometimes the battle of good versus evil involved great armies, mighty clashes across continents and seas.
But more often than not, it raged quietly within the hearts and minds of human beings.
That was where the battle must be won.
It was a war the Dowager Baroness Ramona Bradford had been fighting for three hundred years, and tonight once more, after the party, no matter how old and weary she felt, it was time to join the struggle again.
Leaving the harvest feast later that night, the Elder witch whisked up the marble stairs to her private quarters to keep her promise to Zolond.
She refused to indulge him overmuch, but she knew better than to try his patience or bait him with needless waiting. He was unpredictable, and she could not afford for him to abandon their talks.
When she reached the door to her apartments within the Elders’ section of the guest block, Ramona closed the door quietly behind her. She lit the candles with a word, then let out a long exhalation, relishing the solitude of her room after all the hubbub of the party.
Drifting into the sitting room that adjoined her bedchamber, Ramona slipped off the Elders’ loose ceremonial robe of black silk that she had worn draped over her gown. Then she kicked off her shoes and unpinned the brooch at her throat, loosening her prim lace collar.
A light knock at her door a moment later proved to be Oriel, showing up once more for moral support.
Ramona let her in. Her purple-haired friend flashed a freewheeling smile and held up a bottle of what proved to be cherry cordial, then wafted into the chamber.
“I stole this from the party,” Oriel quipped. “I thought you might need a draught before you start.”
Ramona snorted. “Good idea.”
Her flowy peacock dress billowing out behind her, Oriel strode over to the slim table by the wall, where Ramona kept a pitcher of water and small plates, mugs, glasses, and such.
“It was a good party, don’t you think?” Oriel remarked as she poured them each a small absinthe glass of the sticky-sweet cordial.
“Mm.” Ramona nodded absently, but her thoughts were far away.
Oriel was only trying to make chitchat to put her at ease, but they both knew the seriousness of her endeavor here. The clairvoyant Elder was the only one Ramona had told about her forbidden communications with the Dark Master.
Her friend brought her the drink. They clinked cups with a murmur of “cheers,” and each took a thoughtful sip.
Ramona made a face. “Oh, that’s strong.”
Oriel shrugged. “So what do you need me to do?”
Ramona smiled ruefully. “Send for a healer if I pass out.”
Oriel winced. “Please be careful.”
“Careful never got anybody anywhere in this life, my dear.” Then the Elder witch sat down at the small round table where her white crystal ball waited.
She took another sip of cordial, mentally girding herself for battle once more against her greatest foe.
The man who had once been the love of her life.
Oriel retreated to her usual chair in the corner, where she watched and waited in somber silence.
Ramona took a deep breath and let it out, closing her eyes, stilling her mind. She knew what she was doing was extremely dangerous. But she wouldn’t be taking the risk or wasting her time if she didn’t think it could work.
Three months ago, she had attended the battle against the Dark Druids in the desert of Karakum, but not in person. In person, she had been at a pleasant seaside villa in Taormina, Sicily, chaperoning the children (as much as anyone could manage such headstrong little heathens) on their Grand Tour.
But upon receiving word of the Order’s battle plans, the Elder witch had gone into her room, shut the door, taken out her crystal ball, and then journeyed to the desert of Karakum through the astral plane.
Invisibly observing the battle from the air, lending what aid she could at such a great distance away, the last thing she had expected was for Dark Master Zolond to sense her there and come whooshing out to attack her.
It was during their duel on the astral plane, as fierce and terrifying as it had been, that Ramona had realized there might still be a small part of Geoffrey DeLacey left inside the wicked Zolond.
He could have killed her, but he hadn’t done it, and that told Ramona all she needed to know.
She still had some influence over him.
And that, in turn, encouraged her to think that perhaps not all hope was lost. Perhaps, in spite of how evil and how incredibly powerful the warlock had become over the three long centuries that had bound them here together with unnatural long life, there might still be a glimmer inside of him somewhere of the young man she used to love.
Maybe, just maybe, he’d be willing to listen to reason.
He might still destroy her, of course, but that was a risk Ramona was willing to take in the interests of trying to head off a great and terrible war.
Everyone could feel it building in the air, not just the Guardians anymore.
Though Zolond had defeated her that night, the fact that he had spared her life had convinced her that she still got to him. She knew he had loved her before evil had taken hold of his mind.
Her plan to try and reclaim him was bold, but she would not shrink from using what slight power she might still possess over him, in the interest
of heading off this war taking shape between the Order and the Black Brotherhood.
Zolond could stop it from happening, if only she could stop him.
And so, when he had contacted her telepathically through his crystal ball about a month after their spirit-bound brawl in the desert, wanting to see in spite of himself if he’d hurt her too badly, Ramona had taken full advantage of the situation.
She’d been working on him in secret ever since. Her one goal was to try and pull him back, if only just a little, toward the light. Toward peace.
The danger, however, was that her darling Geoffrey had the same idea, and was working just as subtly to pull Ramona toward the darkness.
This endless battle of wills on the astral plane was exhausting them both. They were really too old for this nonsense. They both should’ve been dead centuries ago. She would’ve been, certainly, if not for that blasted spell the two of them had put on their love when they were both so young and naïve.
Before Geoffrey had chosen magic over her.
Ramona sighed, rested her fingertips on her crystal ball, and began staring into its white quartz heart. In spite of everything, foolishly, she could not deny that she was eager to be with him again.
Who else could ever understand what it was like, this strange life of theirs, cloaked in magic, watching eras come and go over such long, wearisome stretches of time?
She didn’t like to admit it, but sometimes it was painful being apart. They were both so alone. In times gone by, they used to finish each other’s sentences.
It was so easy to fall back into a wary friendship when Geoffrey chose to be pleasant.
Then she closed her eyes, centered her mind, and promptly left her chamber and her body, whooshing out onto the astral plane.
Ah, it was so freeing. No achy joints stiffened with arthritis, no weary eyes with dimming sight, no creaky old bones.
Here, she was spirit. Weightless. A roaming, sentient soul—like a ghost, but still alive, seated in her room with Oriel looking after her.
Reaching her destination took little more than a thought.