Mystic Warrior

by Patricia Rice

  “You are far more pure of heart than I am.” If anyone deserved to be Oracle, it was Lis. Swallowing his fear, clinging to hope, Murdoch dropped his arm from her waist but stayed at her side as she stepped up to the altar.

  He held his breath while her long fingers stroked the stem lovingly—before curling around the silver and lifting. The cup resisted her pull, even when she used both hands.

  Just like in their dream.

  “The power here gives it strength.” She rubbed the cup again, testing its tenacity. “Seeing it here like this, I can believe all the legends they tell of this place.”

  Murdoch resisted touching her while she continued to test her will against the chalice. Despair etched his heart when the cup wouldn’t move.

  “Let me give it a rip,” Badeaux exclaimed. He reached for the sacred chalice as if it were a mug of ale, again breaking their state of awe and reverence.

  The miner grabbed the stem and tugged. At the profanity of his handling, the chalice illuminated the chamber with the power of a thousand candles, and flung Badeaux backward as if blown off his feet by explosives. He landed hard on the dirt floor.

  With a cry of alarm, Lis dropped to her knees to check the old man’s pulse and under his eyelids. “He’s still alive!”

  Murdoch refrained from expressing the sarcasm on the tip of his tongue. He had no great wish to be flattened by the gods for his irreverence, if that was what had just happened to the miner. The gods were obviously a feisty bunch. Testing the chamber with his earth sense, he decided the miner’s energy shield wasn’t needed in here, for the moment. “Let him sleep, then.”

  She hesitated, then nodded agreement.

  There was no reason for the miner to see him fail. Murdoch had never felt so paralyzed as he did now, with so much riding on his next step.

  Taking a deep breath, repeating the lessons Dylys had taught him, he cleansed his mind of all impure thought and reached for the sacred vessel that might free him from the prison in which he’d lived these last years.

  Callused from a lifetime of swordplay, his broad hand covered the stem from bowl to base. He lifted. The chalice remained fixed to the altar.

  Before he could let disappointment crush him, or think of another method of challenging the damned gods, the floor shook, and he whipped around to see the Minutor struggling to his knees, holding the back of his head. “Stop that!” Murdoch commanded in irritation.

  The old miner rubbed his furrowed brow, then shook his shaggy head as if to clear it, and stared at no visible personage. “Louise!” he said clearly.

  Glancing at the cracked, unshielded ceiling, Murdoch placed himself between the dazed man and Lis. If the miner splintered the rocks in his stupor, Murdoch needed to intervene, except he hadn’t tried to repair anything since childhood—for good reason. He couldn’t maintain his focus long enough to pull together the broken parts and hold them in place to mend them.

  Badeaux blinked and disregarded Murdoch’s protective stance. Stumbling to his feet, he rubbed the bruise on the back of his head and viewed the chamber with an odd detachment. “The gods approve of my plan! I was right to follow you. Praise be to Aelynn and all that is holy.”

  His change in manner was so startling that Murdoch and Lis both froze in place.

  Eyes glowing oddly, Badeaux removed two pistols from his capacious coat pockets. “Who better to halt a war than the high priestess of Aelynn?”

  Clearly, the man’s grief-stricken mind had cracked beneath too many strains.

  Enraged at the miner’s threat, Murdoch sought a menacing calm in hopes of finding a peaceful solution that wouldn’t get them all killed. Hand on his sword hilt, he attempted to See past the miner’s disintegrating mental barriers, but he could feel only his pain. If Lis could touch him, she might be able to Heal whatever had been jarred loose in the miner’s head. He needed to disarm Badeaux first.

  “We do not interfere in the Other World,” he cautiously reminded the miner.

  “I would think I’d have your support in this,” Badeaux argued as if they discussed the price of grain. “The French rabble are killing all that is beautiful and prosperous in their country. Did you think your priest in the village was a man of God? He was just another thief with an arsenal to kill aristocrats and steal from the rich, just like the blackguards who stole my Louise.”

  “You led the committee to the priest!” Appalled, Lissandra stated what they had already surmised but had had no way of proving. “They almost killed that good man!”

  She tried to step around Murdoch, but he pushed her back. Something in the old miner’s head was out of alignment. Until the guns were out of Badeaux’s hands, he wouldn’t let Lis near him. Here was the danger he’d sensed—not a physical danger that he could battle with sword or lightning. He suppressed a shudder of dread. He didn’t want to kill the demented old man. Spilling Aelynn blood would profane this holy chamber.

  Badeaux shrugged. “I hoped the committee would lead me to the lady. I saw her in Pouchay and followed, but she hid too well.”

  “Why me?”

  Murdoch winced at her astonishment. Lis had been sheltered in her mother’s shadow for so long, she truly had no idea how valuable she was. In an effort to curb his temper, he clutched the hilt of his weapon and struggled to find some means of disarming the miner. Pistols inside a crumbling tunnel were as hazardous as his volatile earth powers.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” the Minutor retorted. “An Olympus can call on an army of skilled warriors. You can end the Revolution!”

  “The lady is pledged to uphold the laws of Aelynn,” Murdoch protested, still fighting his rage that any man, much less one of Aelynn, would threaten Lis. “You know she cannot do as you ask. The Other World must fight its own battles.”

  Lis pinched him, but Murdoch ignored her warning. She might be able to speak for herself far better than he could, but Badeaux had gone past reason.

  The miner shrugged. “She can persuade the Council otherwise. I’ve seen her family do it, but if that is not her wish, there are other means. It looks to me as if you are her other half, a warrior who can fight on terms the Other World understands. Between us, we can force the Council to cooperate. Give me your support, and I’ll hand the weapons to you.”

  “Of course we’ll aid you,” Lissandra said sweetly, before Murdoch could react.

  Her innocent tone should have told anyone who knew her well that she was about to produce an ax and chop off a toe. Murdoch respected her abilities enough to suppress his anger and see what she intended.

  “You miss your wife and children terribly, don’t you?” she continued. “I cannot begin to imagine so great a loss.”

  The old miner actually wiped a tear with the back of his pistol-wielding hand. “I am nothing without them. All I’ve worked for, all I am, is gone, and I am left here, gutted and alone. Knowing I have the means to save others from this suffering gives me purpose.”

  She bled the man’s heart with her Empathy.

  This was not a formidable enemy to be struck down with lightning. Murdoch relaxed his tense stance and waited for the man to hand over his guns to Lis.

  Contrarily, she stiffened behind him, and her words were less sweet in reply. “We will take you home with us, and you may present your case to the Council. They must know what is happening in this world.”

  What was she sensing that he could not? Murdoch asked himself. Wary, he watched for weaknesses.

  “Your man here may talk to the Council,” Badeaux acknowledged. “But I am a businessman who understands that I need collateral to obtain what I want. We’ll wait here for his return. It should only take twenty-four hours or less to make the trip. We can give him a week to persuade the Council to reason.”

  As he grasped that the crazy old goat meant to hold Lis hostage to his demented scheme, Murdoch’s rage shot from simmer to white-hot. He whipped out his swords faster than the human eye could see, and used them to hold the miner and his guns at bay. For
Lis’s safety, he forced his rage into his grip on the hilts, but he had no means of knowing how long he could restrain his wayward energy. “I go nowhere without Lissandra,” he announced with the command of a general. “She has made you a reasonable offer. You do not need to continue holding weapons on us. Set the pistols down gently.”

  Murdoch could disarm the miner with his eyes closed, but the unstable pistols falling to the floor might discharge, or his own rage could cause the gunpowder to explode. He had to force the miner to set the weapons aside.

  The vision of death he’d Seen darkened the corners of his mind. Just as he stood to gain everything he’d ever wanted—this demon had come to steal it from him. Murdoch wanted to roar at the injustice.

  The Minutor snorted. “Don’t think I didn’t watch you using those blades on the giant last night. I don’t trust you. That’s why I carry these pistols. Go, talk to the Council. Leave us here. I understand these rocks far better than you ever will. There is more than one tunnel and more than one way in and out, so you cannot trap me. I am a gentleman and will see that no harm comes to your amacara.”

  Rage filled every pore of Murdoch’s body and steamed out of his nostrils. Pebbles started to fall from the roof. Lissandra squeezed his shoulder to hold him steady. It would be far simpler to slice the bastard into ribbons, but he curbed his temper until the hard metal of his sword hilt cut into his palms.

  If refraining from drawing blood was the price he had to pay to save Lissandra, he would pay it. He held his weapons and his temper, and, in this case, he submitted to her superiority in communication.

  “Murdoch cannot go back without me,” she chided. “If you had any contact with our home, you would know that. As an Olympus, I am the one with the powers of persuasion. You said so yourself. Let us all go together.”

  The miner’s eye color shifted from the green glow of justice to the dark midnight of vengeance and obsession. Murdoch’s gut churned as surely as his hand steadied on his sword hilts. In a ploy to placate, he lowered the blades to the ground and took a step closer, thus placing himself within reach of the miner’s weapons.

  “I go nowhere without Lissandra,” he repeated. “If you can bring the cup back with you, the Council is certain to listen to reason. Why don’t you trade your puny Other World weapons for one of far greater strength, the chalice?”

  As expected, the Minutor again glanced greedily in the direction of the jewel-encrusted goblet.

  With a speed that even a trained Aelynner would have had difficulty following, Murdoch grasped the miner’s wrist and wrenched the firearm free from the old man’s ineffectual grip. With his other hand, he pried at the smaller pistol, doing his best to point it away from Lis.

  Cursing, the Minutor fought back with surprising strength. In an attempt to free himself, he accidentally joggled the trigger. The ball shot wildly, hitting the ceiling, and ricocheting off crumbling stone with hollow echoes. Lis cried out as the reverberations cracked the brittle limestone over their heads.

  Reflexively, now holding both the miner’s guns, Murdoch spun around and dropped to his knees to cover Lis as she sank to the floor.

  With an explosive crack, the ceiling began to crumble and fall. Beneath the shelter of his body, Lissandra moaned. Setting the pistols aside, Murdoch caught her waist and pulled her closer, attempting to reassure her while he used his energy to divert the shower of stone from their heads. He could not divert all that fell, but he could protect the space they occupied.

  A slab of rock crashed into splinters near the chamber’s entrance. Murdoch winced and tried to make himself bigger, wider, anything to shield Lis. The avalanche of stone dislodged mud patches and loose rocks on its way down. Another shudder of vibrations and the remainder of the ceiling collapsed over the chamber entrance, leaving open only the space around the altar where they crouched.

  With another moan, Lissandra fell limp in his arms. Heart in his throat, Murdoch held her tight while pebbles and dirt rained down on his back.

  The Minutor shouted his fury, and another hail of pebbles and a slide of earth followed. The air filled with dust and dirt until each breath threatened to choke Murdoch’s lungs.

  As the cascade of rock slowed, Lis remained still and silent. He couldn’t feel her essence as strongly as he should. Terrified he’d lost the most beautiful spirit on earth, not knowing how since he’d taken the brunt of the fall, he turned her over, supporting her waist and pillowing her head with his arm. His entire soul roiled in fury and anguish; he dared not let her inside the chaos of his mind until he knew what was wrong.

  The hot, sticky flow of Lis’s blood covered his hand.

  His rage spiked, and the ground rumbled.

  Control, she whispered inside his head, as if her spirit had settled there instead of where it belonged.

  The air was so thick with dust, he could see almost nothing. Heart pounding as if it would depart his chest, Murdoch could barely find Lis’s wound, much less Heal it. He could hear the Minutor coughing and scuffling, so the old man still lived. And Murdoch wanted to kill him, slowly and torturously. Which would require letting the miner live a while longer because Murdoch had better things to do—and he needed help doing them.

  “Lis is hurt, you fool!” he shouted, stanching his anger for fear of shattering more rock. His head began to pound from his effort at restraint. “We need light and air. How great are your earth gifts?”

  A faint glow suddenly illumined the rock faces of the chamber, revealing the disaster within. The entrance was completely blocked. Above them, the chamber’s roof was now a sagging tangle of rock, earth, and old roots that could disintegrate with a sneeze.

  “Your fault,” Badeaux said. “We’ll die in here.”

  Fear choking his throat more than dust, Murdoch ran his hand over Lis’s beautiful hair, searching for the wound. He thought he’d protected her. How had he failed?

  Dust turned her silver-gold strands to gray, but he saw no blood. Her face was pale, and she was so weak, her mind was open to him, open and blank. He entered softly, with soothing words, and located the pain piercing her spine where the ricocheting pistol ball must have entered.

  His head nearly split open trying to conceal his horror and grief at the immense realization: she had stopped breathing and her body lay lifeless in his arms.

  A Minutor should have abilities to support the roof, Lis’s spirit murmured inside his head. First things first.

  Had he been in his right mind, he might have laughed at the sensation of pure Lis whispering through his head. But his grief was inconsolable, and he was nearly as mad as the Minutor. Her body was dead. She inhabited his mind. May the gods help them.

  “Shield the roof,” he ordered aloud, “or I will see you die more unpleasantly than this.”

  The old man only whimpered and curled up inside himself. The earth roof strained from the weight of the tor above. Collapse and total destruction were imminent.

  That he had not actually Seen death in his vision meant there was yet a glimmer of hope. Murdoch clung to that hope. If he could simply drill through the man’s dementia to the knowledge inside his head . . .

  Strength, he prayed to the gods. Aelynn give me strength. And the patience not to strike out in fury. And the discipline to think everything through and carry it out in perfect order without destroying everyone in his anguish.

  Sweat dripped in filthy rivulets from his brow at his effort to hold his energies and maddened grief inside. Still holding Lis’s lifeless body, Murdoch honed his despair and anger into a razor-sharp focus to probe the miner’s eroded shields—much as Dylys had done when she’d attempted to sever Murdoch from his powers.

  To his amazement, as the pressure mounted inside his mind, he felt a Healing energy join with his, easing his pain and enhancing his power so that he could hold his focus steady.

  The Healing energy wasn’t Lis. He knew her spirit as well as his own, could feel her slipping away from him with every moment that he delayed. T
he soothing force bathed him in reassurance, aiding his concentration.

  He had to mend the miner’s mind first, help him shield the chalice and Lis, before he could surrender to the terror roiling inside him. Aiming the Healing energy as he would his rapier, Murdoch transferred it to the stricken miner.

  The resulting connection to the other man’s mind gave him some understanding of how Lis felt when she unmanned an attacker by grabbing his nose and softening his wits. Murdoch could feel and taste the shattered paths and anguish of the miner’s memories.

  Concentrating so hard he thought he’d topple, Murdoch traced the pathways, rebuilding what was broken, erasing what was irreparable—mending as he’d never done before.

  He had no notion of how or why he knew to do what he did, but the action of submitting to a greater force than his own was all that kept Murdoch sane, giving his rage and grief a pure, shining focus. In a final burst of light, he removed the last obstacle that was preventing the miner’s sanity, and released the good memories that had been blocked by the bad.

  The Minutor howled in grief and agony.

  In Murdoch’s arms, Lis didn’t respond to the cry, which told him more than he wanted to know. Tears sliding down his weather-toughened cheeks, he prayed as he never had before. Could he Heal her? A spine wound was so serious. . . .

  “Shield the roof, Guillaume!” Not knowing if his insane mental surgery had worked, Murdoch tried not to shout too loud. The mysterious outside energy had abated as quickly as it had come, leaving him to his own resources. It was a bad time to be convinced that he needed the minds of others—or the power of gods—to direct his energies.

  Instead of retorting, the Minutor wept copiously, in great gulping sobs.

  But Murdoch felt the miner’s force field rising across the roof, and he quickly sent his own strength to join it. They were still imprisoned, but the showers of pebbles stopped. The Minutor’s reason had returned enough for him to use his powers for self-protection.

  “Aelynn be praised,” Murdoch murmured in true gratitude, no longer doubting the gods, because there was no other rational reason for the miraculous feat he’d just accomplished.