“Uh…excuse me,” he said, taking a wide berth for the door as inspiration dawned. “I really must go to the…garderobe… I think I drank too much water.”
Without missing a beat, the creature’s head turned to follow his ambling progress. Alaric moved far too quickly to snag the handle of the door.
The psaltery smashed against the wall just a few feet from his head. Alaric flinched away from the attack. He glanced back in time to see the girl springing towards him with lightning speed. Frantic, he seized the door and jerked it open, half stumbling in his effort to get out of the room. Her body struck the wood as he slammed the door shut. Alaric heard her scream like a raging beast and scrabble at the door. He let go of the handle and backed pedaled as fast as he was able, and stepped into a softer form that grunted.
“Hey!” Kellach said and stretched hands to grab hold of Alaric’s tunic.
Perhaps it was fear that fed Alaric’s reflexes. He had no time to think. Call a spell…any spell. Light was the easiest.
“Solus!” Alaric cried.
White light swelled in his hands. His attacker hesitated, unsure of what such magic could do, and hitched back. Precisely what Alaric hoped. He lashed out with a fist and punched the ferrety little man in the nose. Howling, Kellach stumbled back, grabbing his own face.
Alaric turned to run, only to feel hard weight slam him from behind. He sprawled to the floor, his startled yelp lost under the outraged snarl as the demon’s weight pressed him down. Only panic kept Alaric fighting now. The creature was small and strong, but for the moment, Alaric had the advantage of size. He drew one of his knees under him and pushed so he was thrown over on his back. The demon squawked in surprise as Alaric jerked free and left the creature floundering on the floor.
No sooner had Alaric gained his feet when a new threat presented itself. A wall of men…well, only two, he later reflected. But they were big men all the same who came at him with leers and angry curses. Alaric backed away, now faced with no place to run except back to that circular room. Maybe he would try to practice that flying spell.
But as he turned, an ankle clipped his own. Alaric fell, hitting the floor. With a moan, he turned and saw Kellach wiping a stream of blood from his ferrety face and wearing a weasel grin.
Alaric was unable to get to his feet before the extra pair of lackeys seized him in iron-strong grasps. He opened his mouth to shout for help, but Kellach made short work of the effort when the little man plunged a knotted fist into Alaric’s stomach. The blow hurt and Alaric’s vision swam as he doubled. He fought to breathe as a small hand seized his hair and jerked his head up. The child’s face wore a mask of dark rage.
“Put him in the trunk…now,” the demon said.
The trunk? Alaric panicked. No, not in the trunk! Not there! He kicked and struggled and swore to no avail. A hand clamped tight across his mouth kept him from screaming or fighting them with spells. They forced him back into the circular room. The demon pushed the lute aside and lifted the lid of the trunk. Alaric fought like a cat headed for a bath, using every physical weapon available to him, and still the numbers worked against him. At least, as they pushed him into that tiny space, before they could close the lid, he managed to scream.
Then darkness closed in, leaving him barking knuckles and knees against coffin-sized confines that refused to budge.
~
Horns and barbs, Vagner groused as he tried to straighten out his hair and frock. This was not exactly going according to plan. The circle was supposed to have eliminated any worry that the young mageborn bard could escape the room. Oh well, at least they had him in the trunk now, and because of the spells Tane so carefully wove into it before their journey here began, no one would be able to hear Master Braidwine kicking and screaming himself hoarse. Those same spells would also prevent him from opening the lid or setting himself free with spells. Now, to get out of this filthy human dwelling. Granted, that part would not be so easy if Tane had not rid himself of the Greenfyn mageborn’s company.
Not my problem, Vagner thought. As the demon hurried down the stairs, he could hear Tane’s voice raised in discourse with another.
“It is never wise, sir, to assume that all Haxons are stupid,” Fenelon said.
“They are naught but barbarians, sir,” Tane said. “Hardly worth a scholar’s time to write about…”
“But there will come a time,” Fenelon retorted, “when such histories will be needed. You mark my words. The Haxons are not fools, and any show of weakness on the part of the people of Ard-Taebh will be looked upon as an open invitation to full scale invasion. All it will take is one strong leader, smart, ruthless and charismatic enough to unite them.”
“Oh, and where do you suppose such a leader will come from? The Haxons themselves? They can’t stop fighting among themselves long enough to follow one leader…”
Hmmmm, the demon thought. This could go on for hours. Perhaps Vagner would intervene. He stopped outside the door, looking down at his torn dress, and smiled. Spitting on his hands, and placing the moisture on his face so it looked like tears, Vagner backed away quietly. He took several deep breaths and began to make bawling sounds as he suddenly ran at the door. He had even managed to fake some full scale snubbing by the time he reached the door and burst into the chamber.
Both Fenelon and Tane looked up, and the latter almost lost his composure. Vagner ran full tilt across the room and threw arms about the bloodmage’ waist, and in the demon’s best childish whine, cried, “Grandfather, Grandfather, he said I was awful…”
Tane blinked in surprise. “Who?”
“Master Braidwine,” Vagner went on. “He said I was a stupid child, and I could never learn anything! Then he took my psaltery and smashed it and stormed out of the room…”
“Hold on just a moment,” Fenelon said. “Alaric broke your psaltery?”
“What happened to your dress?” Tane asked.
“I tried to stop him, Grandfather, but he pushed me away and I fell,” Vagner whined and hid his face in Tane’s chest.
“Perhaps I should go see what made Alaric do all this,” Fenelon said. “Striking a child is not like him at all…”
“He’s gone!” Vagner whimpered and tossed a guarded wink and a smile up at Tane who kept a straight face. Only a secretive hint of a smile marred the look. “He just went away!”
“Went away?” Fenelon said. “What do you mean, went away? Where did he go?”
Tane’s brows worked out of their amused arch. “There, there, child,” he said and turned a fierce glower on Fenelon. “I can see now that I was mistaken to have invited such a terrible person into my household. How dare he be so cruel to my granddaughter! I shall order him flogged and thrown out of Dun Gealach! I shall demand he be imprisoned…”
“Now, let’s not be hasty,” Fenelon said with a frown. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for all this. Alaric is not one to display bad manners, and he is not one to abuse a child…”
“Are you suggesting that my beloved granddaughter, my sweet little Vagnera, is a liar?” Tane said, tensing with hostility. “How dare you! I demand you leave this place at once…”
“My pleasure, sir,” Fenelon said and started for the door. “I’ll just fetch Master Braidwine and…”
“But he’s gone!” Vagner wailed once more. “He went away!”
“Went away where”?” Fenelon repeated.
“Just away,” Vagner said and stamped one foot in a childish gesture of frustration. “He opened a big magic hole and…”
Fenelon stopped and spun back around. “A magic hole?” he said. “A gate? That’s impossible. Alaric is unable to manage a gate spell.” Vagner nearly cursed as Fenelon turned for the door again. “Alaric,” the mageborn shouted and made a sudden dash at the opening.
“Dorcus a’ dunadh!” Tane shouted, and the door slammed shut before Fenelon could get through it.
Fenelon slammed a hand against the door and lurched back around, anger see
thing on his handsome face. “What have you done to Alaric Braidwine?” He started at them, raising hands as though about to cast a spell.
Tane pushed Vagner aside and wiped a hand across his own face as he muttered a reversing spell. Old features tightened and filled out with the strength of stolen youth. The beard melted away and the hair thickened and braided itself with a multitude of bone beads.
“Tane Doran…” Fenelon whispered.
“It’s so nice to be remembered,” Tane said and raised his hands.
Fenelon reacted quickly. The hum of multiple magics filled the chamber. Vagner wanted to sing for joy as essence was drawn. Power swelled about them, riding the currents of the air. Both mages reached for the essence of fire and jerked it into the room. Flames billowed into a raging column between them, lashing back and forth as each one shouted words of spells to bind fire to their wills. Tane was good with the element, but the Greenfyn mage proved to be its true master. Fenelon pushed the column of fire closer to Tane, and the bloodmage began to tremble in his efforts to keep himself from being burned. Struggle as Tane did, he could not shove the flames back.
Tane’s glance flickered only briefly towards Vagner then shifted back to concentrate on Fenelon again. The demon arched brows in disgust. And just what are you expecting me to do? Vagner thought. You sealed my magic within me, and I cannot touch it…
But the demon did have hands.
Vagner grinned and crept over to the sideboard, seizing one candlestick. Then light as a feather, the demon slipped up behind the Greenfyn mageborn.
One good blow and Fenelon went down. The fire swelled, then vanished. Tane started swiftly towards the door, wearing a mask of disgust. He paused only for a moment to snatch the candlestick from Vagner’s grasp and return it to the sideboard.
“Come on,” Tane said and continued on with rapid strides.
“Come on?” Vagner repeated and glanced at the prone figure in blue and white. “But aren’t you going to…”
“This is neither the place nor the time,” Tane said. “Klling a member of the Greenfyn family is a complex matter. If we don’t leave now, others will come and attempt to stop us.”
“Others?” Vagner followed Tane out into the corridor where the bandits were waiting with the trunk. They leaned against the wall, fanning their faces and sweating profusely, but at the sight of the bloodmage, they lurched upright.
“He sent a summons to Dun Gealach just as he started the fire spell…damned Greenfyns are able to cast more than once spell at a time.” Tane gestured at the others as he started for the main doors. The bandits rolled their eyes and struggled to collect the trunk and follow. “I clearly heard him calling to another as he reached for the essence of fire,” Tane said. “Now, we must get loaded and leave before this place is crawling with members of the Mage Council. I’m not a god yet, Vagner, and until I am, I know my limits. Now lets go! I need to be well away from here before I gate us to the border keep.”
He marched out the main doors and into the stable yard where the carriage was waiting. Vagner cast one last glance back towards the room where Fenelon lie unmoving. With a shrug, the demon raced after Tane and his prisoner.
Time to worry about killing Greenfyn mages later then. Alaric Braidwine was theirs for now, and soon enough Tane would have the young man’s knowledge, and Vagner would have his form back.
Vagner just hoped Tane would leave enough life in the youth for the demon.
TWENTY SEVEN
Etienne Savala prided herself on being a stable and practical woman. It did no good to display such a emotions as panic or fear when teaching young mageborn to calmly manage their budding and erratic powers. Besides, the years of her trying relationship with Fenelon Greenfyn had taught her much more about patience and fortitude than healer training ever could. One could not share the bed of such a man without those skills.
Even so, when she felt the frantic hum of a ley line buzzing with a summons from Fenelon, she lost a little of that composure, enough so the sphere of water she concentrated on holding to teach Tobin the spell shattered and sent water splattering everywhere.
“Horns,” she hissed. “You three, stay here. I must go…”
Her students looked startled, but they knew better than to ply her with questions. This whole affair irked Etienne just a little. She could tell Fenelon had focused his summons on her alone. If this is some foolish prank of his…
Etienne seized her staff and threw her cloak about her shoulders, and marched for the outermost yard of Dun Gealach. Any who saw her flying past would have compared her to the battle maidens of old. She reached the outer bailey unchallenged, and there, without so much as a good-bye or a glance at the guards who watched the entrance, Etienne stepped into the circle marked on the flagstones and opened a gate, honing in on the place from which the summons came. Not the wisest use of the spell, she briefly admitted to herself since she had no idea where the gate would open and leave her. Surely Fenelon would not give her a trail that would sit her in the middle of a stone wall or in the midst of danger. He knew well enough she would never forgive him. He was far too precise to make that mistake for which Etienne was grateful.
The spell spat her out in a shadowy corridor next to an open door. Battle magic lingered in the air. She spread mage senses about her, seeking life. Only one could be felt. Her eyes were drawn towards the center of where the power struggle had taken place…
Fenelon sat on the floor, holding his head between his hands.
“Fenelon?” she said.
“About time you got here,” he moaned. “Where are they?”
“They?” Etienne repeated. She crossed the chamber and commanded her staff to stay upright while she knelt at his side. The healer training of her youth took over. She seized his chin and pushed back his forelock of burnish copper to look into rich blue eyes. His pupils were dilated. Not good.
“Tane Doran,” he groused. “Ahhhh…”
Her probing touch found a bruise on his forehead, the sort one might get from striking the floor with one’s head, she mused. Not serious enough, however, to explain the eyes. “Tane Doran?” she repeated and continued to examine him, following the contours of his skull. “The bloodmage you were rattling on about the other day?”
“The old man was really Tane Doran,” Fenelon said and hissed again when she found the more serious injury at the base of his skull and came away with blood on her fingers.
“Mistress Miranda needs to see this,” Etienne said. “Come, I’ll help you.”
She pulled him to his feet, no easy task since he didn’t seem to be able to get his legs under him at first. But Etienne prevailed. She slipped an arm around Fenelon’s waist and pulled one of his arms over her shoulder, and pushing with her legs, she heaved both of them off the floor.
“I’ve got to find Alaric,” Fenelon said and tried to pull away, nearly unbalancing both of them. “They’ll hurt him if I don’t…”
“Alaric is not here,” Etienne said.
“Are you sure?” Fenelon said groggily, glowering at her.
“I’m positive,” she said. “I’ve already scried the place, and yours is the only life essence I detected when I arrived.
“Then they’ve taken him with them,” Fenelon said and tried once more to pull free. “I’ve got to find him before they tear Ronan’s secret from him and find the sword…”
“What sword…?” she asked.
“The sword that will kill Na’Sgailean…or give her life. I’ve got to go…”
He nearly collapsed again. Etienne tightened her grasp and commanded her staff to leap into her hand.
“Oh, no you don’t” she said. “You’re going straight back to Dun Gealach and the infirmary if I have to throw you over one shoulder and carry you.”
“Oh, I do love a strong woman who knows how to keep a man in line,” Fenelon said with a half grin as he leaned more heavily into her.
Well, that was more like the old Fenelon Etienne knew. She
opened a gate spell back to Dun Gealach where there were enough guards present to help her get Fenelon to the infirmary when he fainted in her arms.
~
The rocking of the carriage was mild compared to Vagner’s excitement. They had Alaric Braidwine, and surely Tane would feel generous now that the quarry was his. The demon bounced like an enthusiastic child, occasionally stroking the ornate trunk filling the floor space between them, treating it as though it were the most precious prize in the world.
There had been no time to tie it in the back. Tane was eager to be well away from the city with his escort of bandits in livery before he attempted any form of magic.
I shall be myself again, the demon thought. And I shall have new songs…
“Will you stop that impatient gamboling about,” Tane snarled. “There’s barely enough room in this carriage as it is.”
Vagner flung the child body into the opposite seat, legs crossed, and looked petulant. “I was merely celebrating.”
“Celebrating?” Tane repeated.
“We have him,” the demon said with a smile and leaned forward to pat the trunk. Soon, you shall have what you want, and so shall I…”
Tane cocked his head, his mouth thinning into a cold smile. “And just what do you want, demon?” he asked.
Vagner hesitated. What game was this? Tane wore that expression that often made the demon uneasy with dread. “You… promised to give me back my true form…remember?”
“Not so fast, creature,” Tane said, his face growing malicious. “I have yet to be satisfied you have learned your lesson in humility. And until I am so satisfied, you shall remain as you are…a powerless, but pretty child.”
Dragon's Tongue: Book One of the Demon-Bound Page 22