Lone Star Magic

by Karen Whiddon

  Using the back of her hand, she wiped her face. “You’ll never take my sword. Come any closer and I’ll kill you.”

  He chuckled, the mercurial mood changes making her heart pound.

  “Stay back.” Brandishing her sword higher, she gave him her best threatening look.

  “You might have magic in your weapon, but I’ll wager you don’t know how to use it.” Unfazed by her threats, his expression reformed into his pleasant, polite mask.

  He was right. Damned if she’d let him know it.

  “I’ll cut you.”

  “If you do, it’ll be by luck, my dear. Not skill. Blind luck.” He took another step forward. “And any such good fortune you might have had seems to have run out on you.”

  Damn. What to do? Hoping, praying, she began to mutter words, hoping if her sword was magical, they’d be transformed into a spell. Because she didn’t know the old language, she spoke in English, mimicking the sing-song tone she’d heard Alrick and the Mage use.

  Valerian froze. “Dare you cast a spell against me?”

  Ignoring him, she continued.

  “Against ME?” he roared. Madness banished the last hint of sanity from his eyes. Laughing, he reached for her sword.

  “No!” Swinging wildly, she struck him.

  Blood sprang crimson from as she slashed his arm.

  Stunned, she forget to continue her spell. Bad mistake.

  “You cut me.” Fury contorted his aristocratic features. He lifted his hand, long fingers curved like talons. “For that, you will pay.”

  A shiver of terror ran through her. She knew what was coming. Magic. Hurriedly, she tried to finish her lame attempt at a spell. The sword will help her. She hoped.

  But her words came too late. The Warlord had years of experience and a real command of magic. He spoke his spell. She didn’t have time to resist or to fight or figure out a way to counteract it. Foul magic struck her like a bolt of lightening. She kept her grip on her sword, fighting against the rush of power. Then everything went black.

  * * *

  They crouched in the dank alleyway until the footsteps receded. The cement beneath their feet was cracked and ran with a moisture than came from within. The scent of rotted garbage and decaying flesh made Alrick want to retch.

  “Alrick?” Cenrick plucked at his sleeve. “What did the Mage give you? He said it might help us.”

  Withdrawing the cloth-wrapped bundle, Alrick untied the coarse string. Inside, folded many times over, was a well-worn document.

  “A map of this place in this time.” Opening it, Alrick studied one side and then the other. “This outlines both worlds – Rune and human.”

  Cenrick dusted off his leggings. “Good. We can use it to locate the Warlord’s stronghold.”

  “There’s something else.” Plucking a smaller piece of parchment from the folds, Alrick squinted to see it in the dim light. “A copy of the wedding announcement.”

  According to the document, the ceremony would be held in a temple in the Neutral Lands. The Mage’s spidery notation explained this was an area between the human world and Rune, where the veil had once stood.

  Alrick clenched his jaw. “We’ve got to get to the Neutral Lands.”

  “How will we find this place?”

  “Simple.” Tucking the paper in his pocket, Alrick stood. “We find someone and ask them.”

  * * *

  Perfumed and powdered, Carly refused to allow them to dress her. “I can do it myself,” she snarled, waving away first one, then another of the half-naked women attendants. They were Fae, but looked like no Fae she’d ever seen. Their beauty had been disfigured with grotesque tattoos and piercings. Swirls of blue and purple snaked across their cheeks, noses, throats and breasts. Carly could hardly bear to look at them.

  Nor at herself, now clothed in a hideous dress the color of blood. Her tank top and shorts and flip flops had disappeared. Worse than that, he’d taken her sword.

  Her one chance to save herself, and she’d blown it.

  She didn’t want to marry this man. Nor did she want to die. She wanted to live, to return home and take a pregnancy test and try her best to have some kind of normal life.

  Cradling her abdomen, she wondered if she truly carried Alrick’s child. The odds were against her having conceived so quickly.

  Unless it was meant to be.

  Shaking her head at her romantic foolishness, she thought of the bleak future the Warlord had planned for her. She’d sooner die than let a man like him raise her son.

  Even stripped of her sword, she hoped she wouldn’t have to.

  They led her out onto the granite stage at dusk. The bright red silk of the gown she’d been forced to wear shone like blood against all the gray and black stone. Torches blazed every ten feet, adding thick smoke to the already hazy atmosphere. The temple was packed; elbow to elbow, shoulder to shoulder, the Warlord’s followers had come to watch him wed.

  In the center of the stage was a cracked marble altar. Hands bound behind her back, Carly was escorted by two burly men who could not have been Fae. They led her to the altar and left her facing the crowd.

  A moment later, trumpets sounded and the Warlord arrived.

  Cloaked in his usual black, he seemed to float above the stone. His power brought a shimmer to his shadow, an eerie light to his dark face.

  As she stared at him, a blurry shape came between her and the fire from a nearby torch. Tinth! The Mage’s faithful hawk.

  The Warlord didn’t appear to have noticed. He slowly turned and, still floating, faced his followers. With his attention fixed on the crowd beyond, he began leading them all in a chant.

  The unintelligible chanting was not made up of words. But the cadence and resonance they used, made her feel unclean. Hearing it, she felt as though the sound tainted her with evil. At first, she thought they spoke a prayer. But as the chant continued, she felt the familiar prickling sensation that preceded magic.

  They were chanting a group spell. Summoning dark magic and drawing strength from things most men feared.

  As the power built in waved, roiling and sweeping along her nerve endings, she fell to her knees. The Warlord did not deign to notice her – his absorption with his followers and their spell was complete.

  From the corner of her eye she again saw movement and realized what she’d seen earlier. Tinth, on the floor behind her. Moving quickly, the Hawk hopped to her and slashed at the ropes around her wrists. As the sharp talons raked her skin, Carly clenched her teeth, fighting not to cry out or move.

  Once, twice, the hawk struck her. Then finally, the rope split. Free. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might burst from her chest.

  Free. Now what?

  The two men who’d escorted Carly earlier entered. One carried a large bird, hooded and chained. When they reached the altar where Carly knelt, they placed the bird before her on the bloodstained surface.

  Still chanting, the Warlord swirled around. He raised a hand, something glinted – a dagger.

  Horrified, Carly realized he meant to kill the bird, splattering her with blood. A sacrifice?

  Tinth pecked at her leg. Without even looking at the hawk, Carly understood. Tinth wanted her to help the other bird.

  “I can’t even save myself,” she muttered, the oppressive chanting drowning out her words. If only she had… “My sword,” she told Tinth, at this point willing to try anything. “Can you bring me my sword?”

  She couldn’t tell if the hawk understood or not.

  The Warlord floated closer, pushing his hood back so his face was not hidden. He wore the intent expression of the truly fanatical. Still he chanted, the power continued to build, and Carly tried frantically to decide on a course of action.

  The knife blade flashed again. Metal? But he wasn’t fully Fae, she remembered. Maybe half-Fae could hold steel.

  Behind her, Tinth screeched. In a blur of feathers, the bird attacked, using her beak and talons as weapons.

 
; Surprised, the Warlord dropped his knife. It clattered to the marble floor at Carly’s knees.

  Don’t think. Act. She grabbed it.

  Attempting to fight off the furious hawk, the Warlord screamed, a cry of pure rage.

  The chanting faltered, slowly dying out. The rush of magic ebbed and faded.

  Though she held the knife, she didn’t know if she could use it to attack her enemy while he fought off Tinth. Instead, Carly ripped the hood from the sacrificial bird, then used her knife to cut the bindings on its legs. It was another red-tailed hawk, like Tinth. Once she’d freed the bird, instead of flying away in a mad rush for freedom, this hawk joined Tinth in the attack on the Warlord.

  Still clutching her weapon, Carly glanced around, looking for a way out. The two bodyguards stood transfixed near the steps, watching their master try to fight off the birds as though hypnotized. They made no move to help him.

  Same for his followers. The crowd seated below sat still as statues. Instead of rushing to the Warlord’s defense, they appeared frozen, motionless in time. Something to do with the half-said spell, she supposed.

  There! She spotted the exit. At the back of the temple, the huge double doors had been closed and bolted, locking them all within. As she ran across the stage towards the edge, something crashed against them from the outside. She skidded to a stop, watching as they shuddered, but they held. Again. And again, the relentless pounding sounding like a battering ram.

  Finally, the bolt gave way. As the door burst open, the crash reverberated around the temple.

  Two men appeared in the opening. Carly let out a glad cry. Alrick. With Cenrick by his side.

  She began again to move, casting a glance back over her shoulder. Still the hawks slashed at the Warlord, diving and screeching. He cursed; then finally bellowed for assistance. “Help me! Now, you fools!”

  At the order, his burly assistants seemed to come awake. They rushed to him. Some of the audience stood too, awakening from their stupor to look around in confusion.

  Now! Dagger in hand, Carly dove for the area below, fighting her way through the crowd to the door. To Alrick.

  “Kill her,” the Warlord shouted.

  Carly didn’t look back. Not now, not with escape so close. With every fiber of her being, she focused on one thing, one man.

  Alrick.

  She had to get to Alrick.

  Cenrick by his side, Alrick strode into the temple. His gaze found hers and locked. He began moving towards her with single-minded intent, pushing away anyone unwise enough to stand in his path. Cenrick kept pace on his heels.

  Oddly, no one stopped them. The crowd rose from their seats, moving out of the way. Their motions were unhurried, lethargic, as though the earlier spell had rendered them incapable of speed.

  Tinth and the nameless hawk soared high, then fled, disappearing into the smoky gloom.

  She saw a blur and realized the Warlord came after her, slipping across the distance as if he rode some invisible skateboard.

  “Alrick!” Hardly aware she screamed his name, Carly reached out for him. She touched his arm and he squeezed her hand, quickly as his gaze met hers.

  “I will keep you safe,” he swore, one corner of his mouth lifting in a smile. He shoved her towards Cenrick. “Go. Take her to safety.”

  Grabbing her arm, Cenrick tried to drag her away. She refused to go. “No. I’m not leaving. Cover our backs,” she ordered, lifting her chin and bracing herself at Alrick’s side. The Warlord was nearly upon them.

  “Carly,” Alrick protested. “Go. Please.”

  “No. Not now. Not ever. We’ll face him together.”

  The Warlord caught up with them halfway up the center aisle, sliding to a halt and appearing to hover a foot above the floor. “You.” His eyes narrowed as he studied Alrick. “Move aside.”

  Alrick shook his head. “Stand off. Now.”

  “You would die for this woman?”

  Instead of answering, Alrick crouched, sword ready. Cenrick moved into position to defend an onslaught from behind. Carly gripped the dagger, the Warlord’s own weapon. Once she’d told Alrick she couldn’t shed blood for any reason. Now, she reckoned the life of her unborn child and his daddy was reason enough.

  She could do this. She must. Trying to determine how and when to make her move, she never let her gaze leave her enemy’s body.

  Not counting her a threat, the Warlord didn’t even look at her. He watched the men. “Foolish Princes,” the Warlord sneered. “Even now, in your time in Rune your father lies ill and dying. He has not yet named an heir. He calls for his sons, and the Mage tries to comfort him. But his sons do not come. He believes they do not care.”

  Above them, the hawks circled and screeched.

  Alrick blanched, but made no response to the taunts. Grim-faced, he slowly advanced on the bloody Warlord. “Prepare to die, Valerian Wake.”

  Snarling, the Warlord drew his own sword. The blade was black, as though the metal had been tempered too long in the fire. “It will be you who dies, Fae Prince, when this steel blade slices you to the bone.” He glanced at Cenrick, his lips curling. “And you. You will both die, here and now. Rune will be left without an heir, your people will be rootless, leaderless.” His laugh rang out, contemptuous. “Thus begins the beginning of the end for Rune.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Alrick struck. The Warlord parried, sweeping aside Alrick’s blade deftly.

  “I am from your future and know well the past. But you can still change this – destiny is not set in stone. Will you sacrifice all for this human woman and her unborn whelp?”

  “This unborn whelp is my son.” Again Alrick attacked, this time thrusting at the Warlord’s chest. Blood spurted, staining the black robe.

  The Warlord cursed, slashing. Alrick parried.

  Tinth appeared, flying straight for them. She carried something in her talons, swooping to drop it at Carly’s feet.

  “My sword.” Snatching her weapon up, a thrill ran through her as the crystal sword began again to glow.

  “Magic,” Cenrick whispered behind her. “Use it to help him.”

  Apparently having shaken off the remainder of their lethargic stupor, the two bodyguards jumped from the stage. They went down the right aisle, running to come around and attack from behind.

  Cenrick met them half-way. The first man went down quickly, his scream dying in his throat. Seeing this, the second skidding in his tracks and took off in the opposite direction.

  Bellowing with pain and rage, the Warlord tried to rush Alrick. Alrick’s blow caught him in the shoulder. He staggered back, his narrow-eyed gaze focusing on Carly. Rage radiated from him. Carly shuddered.

  “Stay behind me,” Alrick ordered. “He’ll try for you next. I don’t want you hurt.”

  She didn’t move. Though she knew Alrick was remembering her words – so long ago – when she’d told him she could never kill anything, she’d changed. Now was the time for her to make a stand, to prove she could do whatever was necessary to ensure her future, to protect the babe who grew inside her, to save the man she loved – her unborn child’s father. Deep breath. Lifting her small dagger in one hand, glowing sword in the other, she took a step forward. Cenrick returned to take up the rear.

  A soft breeze, carrying with it the scent of flowers, swept through the temple. The gray light receded, the fog swirling up and away. From their seats, the people stirred, sighing with forgotten pleasure.

  “Magic,” Carly said. “Not of your doing.”

  “Then whose?” Alrick growled. “And why?”

  Another soft glow appeared, making her sword shine even brighter. Above the altar, a bubble of light hovered. Tinth and the other hawk circled protectively, calling out softly.

  The nameless boy appeared, his gaze dazzling, his expression happy. At his side sat Kayo, tongue lolling, tail wagging.

  “You,” the Warlord snarled. “You’ve been haunting my dreams. What ghost are you, that you always must torment m
e?”

  Carly knew now was the time to act. Now. Only she could ensure her babe’s future. Only she could make her own destiny. The Warlord recoiled from the boy in horror. Now.

  Taking advantage of his distraction, Carly lifted her sword and rammed forward and up, through her enemy’s ribcage to his heart. She felt a stab of remorse, then the fierceness of righteousness. At the same moment, Alrick struck, slicing open the Warlord’s throat. Blood spurted. The Warlord’s expression went blank, shock and death leaching the blue from his eyes. As he crumpled, his sword fell from his, clattering at Carly’s feet. Cenrick kicked it away.

  “Who are you?” Dying, the Warlord managed to ask, while blood leaked from his mouth.

  Carly wasn’t sure he heard the boy’s answer before he died.

  Alrick moved to her, running his hand over her hair. “You were so fierce, so strong.”

  “I protect that which is mine.” As she spoke the words she knew a thrill of foreseeing. Apparently Alrick felt it too. They both turned to face the boy – and her dog – and waited for him to answer the Warlord’s final question.

  “I am Lance, moving between time.” He smiled fondly at Carly, then focused on Alrick. “Yours. As you are mine. Take care of my mother, father.” With a laugh, the boy met Carly’s gaze and winked. “And I’ll take care of Kayo. Thank you for him, mother. I always wanted a dog.”

  Stunned, Carly took a step forward, her knees buckling. She reached out for him.

  Kayo barked. Lance blew her a kiss. With that, he vanished.

  In the ringing silence that followed, there came a sound. The gut-wrenching sound of someone sobbing.

  Alrick led Carly outside.

  Cenrick followed. “We’ve got to get back to Rune. You heard what he said about our father.”

  “Lies.” Another voice said. The Mage – Mort – appeared in front of them. “Nothing but a pack of lies.”

  “I thought Fae couldn’t lie.” Carly hugged the older man, planting a relieved kiss on his lined cheek. Evidently he too had figured out the secret which enabled him to return to his own time.