And like a movie focused on the main action, Chance and Brandr Ur centered their view through the veil. Able to easily see the fierce, determined expressions on their faces, dread deepened in Nightshade’s gut as the combatants faced each other. More than with one of his feelings, he knew this was why Chance insisted on joining the rescue mission. Why he’d been so determined to be at ease with a new weapon.
Something about the sword drew his attention. Nightshade took a few steps to the edge of the brae and narrowed his eyes against the winds produced by the triple-strands of power. Lucidea joined him.
“What’s caught your attention?” she asked.
He turned his head and grinned. “Can’t get anything by you, can I, honey?”
She folded her arms over her chest. “Obviously a lot. We’ll talk about that later.” She jerked one hand toward the veil. “What about over there?”
“The sword.”
“Huh?”
“There’s something about Chance’s sword.”
Lucidea faced the veil and leaned forward. Nightshade shot his arm to the side to hold her back. “Careful.”
She nodded and eased back a step but continued to study the scene before them. Chance shifted his hold on his weapon, bringing the blade to ready. A dim glint shone from the pommel, casting faint light on the curving cross guards. Lucidea gasped.
Jayse was at her side in a heartbeat. “Darlin’?”
“That sword. I know it. How did he...?”
Nightshade squinted, and as though the veil wished him to see, a portion of the haft and the fine etching at the base of the blade came into amazingly clear focus.
He recognized the sword as well. “Oberon’s.”
Jayse pulled Lucidea back from the cliff’s edge and shook his head. “Can’t be. The sword’s safely locked up in the Faerie armory.”
“No, Jayse,” Lucidea said. “I’m sure that’s Oberon’s sword. More than just how the weapon looks, can’t you feel the power? Even through the veil? How did Chance get it?”
“Probably stole it.” At her soft statement, Nightshade turned to Tori. She shrugged. “You know as well as I do there’s something going on with him. Bet he knew he’d come to this point and would need a weapon that could possibly defeat the elemental. In any of the worlds we know about, there’s only one sword powerful enough to fit that description. Oberon’s.” She glanced at Jayse. “And it’s not like you keep the Faerie armory guarded, is it?”
“I’ll make sure.” Jayse formed a portal and moved toward the faintly glowing oval.
Nightshade grabbed his arm. “No. All of us need to remain here. If that is Oberon’s—”
“It is,” Lucidea insisted.
“We need to witness this battle,” he continued. “Be thankful Chance had the foresight to take such a powerful weapon.” He paused. “I just hope he knows what he’s doing.”
The air shifted. Thick breeze rising from behind his opponent carried a scent to Brandr Ur, a scent from long ago. The stench of his underwater prison. He glared at the magic-wielding human but the boy showed no indication of anything amiss.
Why did he remember that foul odor? The prison his brethren created for him was long ago demolished. The power had absorbed into him, making him stronger still.
The stench surrounded him, pressing on his shoulders, draining his energy and replacing a numbing cold in his veins. How could this be? Had the boy somehow discovered a remnant of the prison to use against him now? Brandr Ur shook his head. Impossible. What the witch had not destroyed, he had returned and demolished. No binding power remained.
No. His banishment was long behind him. The future lay past this tiny insect of a being. An insect to be swatted aside and destroyed. He shifted his grip and jerked his weapon high above his head.
Twenty-nine
With speed that halted the breath at the base of Bree’s throat, Brandr Ur attacked, leaping toward Chance.
One hand wrapped around the base of the blade to shorten his grip. Chance parried and sidestepped. While Bree approved of his stance and easy movements, his cocky grin gave her pause. Hopefully the expression was meant to further antagonize the elemental—rather than being a true representation of her brother’s attitude.
She bit her lower lip to contain instructions and comments she knew would only distract Chance. A sister’s comments.
Gowthaman stood silent at her side. She cast a quick glance at him, studying the intense concentration in his expression. A welling of love and longing momentarily chased her concerns to a manageable place. The brief seconds of peace and clarity allowed her to return her attention to the duel, set aside the sister and focus instead as the leader of the Alastriona.
After the initial clashes the combatants circled, gauging the other’s ability with short strikes and teasing advance and retreat. Each metallic clang echoed, bouncing from the surrounding rocky ledges, creating a cacophony of real and imagined sound. Tempted to cover her ears, Bree winced at each blow.
Retreat. Chance’s sword allowed him the longer reach, but the elemental was taller, broader, and quickly gaining skill and confidence with the mortal weapon.
Advance. Taking advantage of a split second when Chance’s sword wavered, Brandr Ur swiped his weapon, an awkward, ungainly movement that surprised her brother into taking three steps back. She blew out a relieved breath. He’d avoided a deadly wound.
Advance. Chance’s retreat lasted only a breath then he grunted with the effort of swinging his two-handed claymore. The elemental barely caught the thick blade against his quillons. Chance leaned into his sword, pressing, forcing Brandr Ur to retreat the steps he’d gained.
Morghan eased to Bree’s side. “We’re runnin’ out of time.”
Now what? Unwilling to move her attention from the combatants, she asked, “Why?”
“The veil’s shrinkin’. We can no’ wait much longer if ye are to escape.”
Ye? She turned to look Morghan directly in the eye. “We’re all going home. There’s no you or me about it.”
Morghan gave her half a smile. “Then we must no’ linger.”
A resounding clang of weapons made her thoughts stumble. She cast a quick glance at her brother before speaking to Morghan. “You and Coralie move closer to the opening. Whenever you can get through, do it. No matter what’s happening here, you get through.” At Morghan’s rebellious frown, she softened her voice. “This battle is enough for me to worry about. Go home. Now if you can. Take Gowthaman with you.”
“I will not go.” Gowtham’s softly spoken words thrilled her, then burrowed fear deep in her heart. He was barely healed of his pain. What if...
“Do not argue, Breanna. For this is one moment where I will not allow you to win.”
Morghan opened his mouth to speak but Coralie covered his lips with her fingers. “Aye, we shall go. Yer man will remain at yer side. As it should be.” Bree followed Coralie’s gaze when she glanced at the fighters, who stared at each other, still but for their harsh breathing. “Soon, we shall see ye at home. Come Morghan. We need no’ give Breanna more to worry upon.”
Visibly reigning in his arguments, Morghan’s shoulders slumped and he nodded. When he allowed himself to be drawn toward the veil, Bree returned her attention to Chance. She reached for Gowtham’s hand to tug softly on his fingers. “You really should go with them.”
“I should not.”
She heard the smile in his voice and found one for him. “Watch Morghan for me. Make sure they get away. Please?”
“Of course.”
A rush of hot air preceded Morghan’s return to her side. His eager words stepped over her reprimand. “I remembered. I do no’ ken what ’tis, but...” His brow wrinkled in concentration. “Somethin’, a word Da taught to Lachlan an’ me. So long ago ’tis been buried forever in my memory.”
“A word? For what purpose?” She glanced at the fighters. Chance and Brandr Ur remained frozen in threatening postures.
She felt Morghan shr
ug. “Da would no’ say. In truth, I do no’ believe he knew himself. But I remember Da said this magic was only to be used in the most dire of need. That would be now.”
Gowthaman gently squeezed her fingers. “If this is Sindhu magic, no harm should come to us with its use.”
Morghan’s frown deepened. “I do no’ feel this to be only Sindhu. But somethin’ more. Perhaps magic for all Alfar?”
“Good.” Bree lifted one shoulder. “Any help we can get. Do what you need to, then get yourselves through that veil.”
“Aye. We shall be waitin’ for ye. Be quick.” Morghan stepped away, hesitated then moved a few paces closer to the veil. Angling so she could see both Chance and Morghan, Bree waited.
“Arunz!”
Nothing happened. At least nothing she could see. A puff of air filled with the sharp tingle of magic breezed by her. The hair on the back of her neck lifted. A tiny dirt devil burst from the veil, then danced across the gray soil to hover a moment over the hollow depression still filled with their scrying water.
The tiny, water-filled tornado moved on, growing until it reached the elemental’s knees. He kicked at the damp particles as the whirlwind claimed his body, encasing him in a fine sheen of gray mud. His angry growl reverberated from the surrounding stones. Unable to wipe away the mud, Brandr Ur cursed and stomped in a tight circle, reminding Bree of a child in the throes of a temper tantrum.
The space of three breaths passed as she watched the strange tableau, then Gowthaman said, “Morghan and Coralie have successfully transversed the veil. I see them still, and dim figures welcome them.”
Relief swamped Bree’s overwrought emotions and she allowed her shoulders to slump for just a moment. The primary focus of this mission was successful. “Thank goodness.” Then she firmed her spine, squared her shoulders and softly urged her brother, “Come on, Chance. We don’t have much time.”
She didn’t think he could hear her whisper, but he touched two fingers to his forehead in salute then settled his two-handed grip firmly on his sword. His precise, determined steps herded the still cursing elemental until he had positioned Brandr Ur with his back against a tall, upright stone.
Chance broke his silence. “Time to finish this, old man.”
The elemental’s expression settled into confusion. The hand clutching his sword shook. Bree kept her gaze fixed on the wavering tip and inched forward, expecting a sneaky attack. Gowthaman refused to let her hand go when she tugged, so she eased back to his side.
“I’m okay.”
Nodding, Gowthaman relaxed his fingers. “The passage home is noticeably smaller. We must hurry.”
“No sweat, Gowthaman,” Chance called. “We’ll be outta here in a couple minutes.”
The elemental continued to stare at his shaking hand. “What have you done?” He lifted his gaze. “How?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Chance swung his sword in a wide arc, shot forward and impaled the elemental.
Brandr Ur’s eyes opened wide, shock and pain evident in his silence. He dropped his sword and clutched the blade piercing his chest. “No. You cannot...” Clawing at the blade with bloody hands, he staggered back until his spine pressed against the stone.
“It cannot be. I destroyed this power. The well is gone. I cannot be held again.” Dark blood welled around the blade, stained his skin, spreading down his abdomen to his thighs. “I can... not wounded.”
Chance retained his firm grip on the hilt, leaned into his weapon, and pushed forward. “This ends now, elemental.”
“No.” Brandr Ur attempted to shove him away then drew a shallow breath. “You... take you with me.”
“How you gonna do that?” Chance gave a minute shove, the soft, muted sound of metal against stone loud in the small campsite. Bree shuddered.
“Chance?”
He turned a grim smile to her. “Almost, Sis. Get ready to run for home.” Forcing metal against stone, he shoved again.
With cut and bleeding hands wrapped around Chance’s blade, the elemental struggled to remain upright. His eyes dimmed a moment before a fevered glint sparked in the depths and he began to mumble.
Blue-white flame, startling against the gray world, slithered down the blade and wrapped around Chance’s hands, licking up his arms.
“Release the blade,” Gowthaman shouted. “A death chant, Chance, let go.”
“Can’t.” Chance groaned as the flames wrapped around his chest and moved to engulf his torso.
Bree shook off Gowthaman’s restraining hands to run toward her brother.
“Do not touch him. Breanna. No.” Gowthaman captured her only steps from Chance and held her tight against his body. “Do not. Or you may be taken as well.”
“What’s happening?” Tears burned her eyes and she blinked fiercely. “I’ve got to help him.”
His face frozen in a grimace of agony, the blue-white flames connected Chance to the mumbling elemental.
Gowthaman tightened his hold. “There is nothing you can do.”
Horrified, she watched Chance stumble to his knees, hands still grasping his sword.
“I did not believe such magic was possible. A death chant.” Gowthaman’s shudder settled panic and despair far deeper into her than his words.
“What do you mean?”
Chance’s agonized cry ripped at her soul. She fought Gowthaman. “Let. Me. Go.”
“If you touch him, you will be absorbed into the magic.” Terrified of losing her to an ancient magic he did not understand, Gowthaman attempted to drag her further from the flow of power. His heart lurched in sympathy for Breanna and her brother with each of Chance’s deepening groans. But he could not allow her to risk herself.
The elemental was dying, for legends said the magic wielder’s dying breaths were needed to call forth a death chant. Gowthaman closed his eyes. Despite the knowledge on which he prided himself, he knew of no way to counter the chant, to save Chance. Once again, he failed his Breanna.
Silent, Breanna continued her struggles. She went limp, surprising him into loosening his hold. She slipped away, skidding to a stop an arm’s length from Chance. Gowthaman rushed to her and tried to take her hand, but she shook him off.
Glaring at the elemental, she shouted, “Let him go.”
Tinged with pain, Brandr Ur’s weak, satisfied grin taunted them.
Chance collapsed, dragging the sword down with him, tilting the blade higher. The elemental paled. “I die. He dies.”
“No!” Breanna shoved Gowthaman. “Stay back.” She spread her arms then pointed one hand toward the elemental.
Gasping, Gowthaman fell back a step. She called upon unbelievable power, indiscriminately summoning any nearby magic. A physical wave of his magic flowed from him. He reached for her. “Breanna, do not.”
Raw power rose and swirled around her, distorting the air like waves of heat over desert sands. She held her hand open, gathering, collecting then tightened her fingers into a fist. “Let. Him. Go.”
Distorted power hovered around her. Deep crimson smothered the blue-white flames, then pulsed along the sword, surrounding both Brandr Ur and Chance. Breanna lifted her fists toward the elemental and with a sharp snap of her wrists forced him tight against the stone. A backlash of power skimmed down the sword. A high keening escaped Chance’s tightly compressed lips.
“No, Chance.” Shaking, she knelt to wrench the hilt from Chance’s hands. Her magic pooled with pulsing crimson at the elemental’s chest as she rose. One short step at a time, she pushed and the blade slid easily through Brandr Ur’s body and into the stone. She leaned into the hilt until the cross guards sank into his flesh.
Frantic with fear for her, Gowthaman struggled against the powerful remnants of magic surrounding her and pried her hands from the sword.
When her fingers slipped away, surprise lit the elemental’s eyes. Life blazed. Faded. A single glint flickered. Died. The huge, heavy body slumped forward, held upright against the stone only by the fey metal.
Gowthaman shuddered as the lifeless eyes seemed to condemn him. He let the shudders carry the feeling away then relaxed his hold on Breanna. She sank to her knees and he moved closer to Brandr Ur. He needed to be assured the elemental was truly dead.
Unrestrained, Bree crawled to Chance’s side and cupped his cheek with a shaking palm. He opened his eyes and tried to look past her to his enemy.
“He’s dead, Chance.”
“Me, too, Sis.”
“No, you’re okay. I can heal you.” She lay her hands over his heart and closed her eyes, calling for her healing abilities. Nothing. Her hands remained cold. Numb. Lifeless. “No, I can do this.” Tears spilled down her cheeks.
Trembling, Chance covered her hand with his. “Don’t cry, Bree. I can’t stand it when you cry.”
After a watery sniff, the tears refused to still. She couldn’t lose Chance. She couldn’t. Gritting her teeth, she demanded the magic come to her.
“Nothin’ you... can do. Least we got him. Won’t hurt... no more voices—”
“Shh. Quiet, now.” She looked around, desperately searching for Gowthaman. She pressed her palms against the empty pain in her belly. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”
Chance shook his head and winced as a tiny shrug lifted one shoulder. “I’ve dreamed about dyin’, Sis. Best... best dreams... ever had.”
“You won’t...” She couldn’t say the word.
A faint indigo sparkle lit his eyes and his cocky grin returned. “Hey Bree, at least I’m... not wearin’... a red shirt.” Chance’s eyelids closed. His hand slipped from hers.
Bree choked on a dry laugh. Only Chance would make such an obscure comment when he was—She screamed in denial. Continued to scream when Gowthaman pulled her away. He shook her, gently at first... then with purpose and brought her back to the horrific reality of now.
Escaping into Gowtham’s embrace, she cried. His soft stroking of her hair, the warmth of his breath as he whispered comfort to her failed to intrude upon her abject sorrow.
“Breanna, beloved, we must go. The veil is nearly gone.”
“I can’t go without Chance. I can’t.”
Blue Keltic Moon (Children of the Keltic Triad) Page 26