by C. A. Szarek
“My lord?” he called. When he didn’t receive an answer, he cleared his throat and tried again, this time louder. Impatience got the best of him, and Charis started pacing behind the small building, clutching his small mirror high and tight, until sharp edges bit his fingers.
“Half-breed.”
He glared on instinct. Sucked back a curse and schooled his expression fast, Drayton could see him, after all.
They made eye contact and Drayton arched a busy eyebrow. It wasn’t as gray as it had been. “What news have you?”
“I’ve found her.”
Delight took over the old mage’s lined face. Charis could feel his excitement, even though he wasn’t an empath, and even though they only spoke face-to-face via a spell. “Where?”
“She was in Castle Aldern after all. Until this morning.”
“Tell me.”
The order should’ve irritated; he launched into what he knew instead, revealing his worries about the lad that’d performed the protection spells. Charis told Drayton how his aura had glowed and how much power had radiated from his thin frame.
“He is Sir Lucan, the only Mage of Greenwald.”
Only mage?
Most noble households employed as many mages as they could get—if they didn’t have magic of their own. Charis wasn’t about to ask questions, though. “You know him?”
“Only of him, and rumors of great power. You’re right to be concerned.”
“Then—?” He didn’t want to voice his whole thought—then how am I supposed to get the lass? Couldn’t afford to look weak in front of Drayton.
“Stand back, I have something for you. Something that can help.”
He frowned. “Stand back? Wha—?”
“Just do as I say,” Drayton commanded.
Charis growled low, then belatedly hoped the codger hadn’t heard it. Both of them had kissed their patience goodbye.
Now it was different. She was so close. Everything had more urgency.
He did as the old mage had instructed, but Charis could still see him on the surface of the small mirror. “What are you going to do?” He cleared his throat and reminded himself to appear respectful. “If I may ask, my lord.”
Drayton didn’t spare him a glance, but he did answer. “A reverse retrieval spell. To send you something.”
“Send me what?”
“Something I’ve been keeping as a secret weapon.”
Charis wanted to roll his eyes. Why was the old mage being anticlimactic? He changed his mind when he took another look at his employer. Drayton’s expression was tight and there was a tremor to his jaw.
Whatever the codger had—
Is he afraid?
He narrowed his eyes and concentrated until he could see Drayton’s black ringed aura. Yellow wariness was all over it. Sometimes colors varied in people—bright white could be extreme fear or joy, but Charis’ gut told him he was seeing a negative emotion. As if Drayton didn’t trust what he was about to ‘gift.’
Great.
Drayton started to chant, panting harder with each word of the spell. Even so, the air in front of Charis didn’t start to ripple until he’d been at it a good ten minutes.
Soon, a small buzz sounded, causing Charis’ to wince. His ears were more sensitive than a full-blooded human. The buzz whistled until it was so high pitched any dog within hearing range would probably start to howl.
Attention he didn’t need.
He didn’t dare interrupt his employer, though.
Something hit the ground with a thud and Charis stepped forward to lean over the small object. He coughed, and his stomach coiled from the inside out. He fought not to liberate his last meal.
Drayton’s chuckle had him glaring. Shouldn’t the old arse be taxed after such a spell? He’d just sent something from Terraquist to Greenwald. Charis didn’t calculate the distance. Trying not to be openly offensive to the old mage was an afterthought. “What the hell is that?”
“Dimithian.”
His heart dropped to his stomach. “Nay…” Childhood horror stories churned in his head, memories of an animated old elf wizard scaring children by firelight under the guise of magic lessons hit him in the chest like a brick wall.
Breathe. In. Out. Repeat.
He cleared his throat and tried again. “Dimithian isn’t real.”
For the second time, a cackle was the first response he got. “That’s what the great elfin clan chiefs in all their wisdom want you to believe.”
Charis swallowed—two or three times. Avoided looking at the little black menace, though it had to be a dud. It wasn’t taking his magic away. He was just repulsed. He slid back two more steps, evidently to Drayton’s delight, because the old mage laughed again.
“In its current state, my Dimithian can’t hurt you. It’s covered in a protection shield.”
Since when can Drayton read minds?
Fear skittered down his spine, as much as he hated to admit it. “Ah.” He let his gaze dart to the dark stone and back to his employer—whose eyes still danced at him in the mirror. Charis had never seen the codger so upbeat. He sucked back a growl, since it was at his own expense.
Although it’d always been his policy to never ask questions, a plethora swirled around about the supposed-mythical element in front of his eyes. Maybe Drayton really was from Aramour originally, despite his odd accent.
“Keep the shield in place at all times, unless you’re using the rock’s powers. Do not touch it with your bare hands even then. It will take your magic, too.”
“How?” Charis croaked.
“It works like a storage device, but only for a time. If the magic is not transferred or claimed, one of two things can happen.”
“What?” His fascination and revulsion were equal, and he couldn’t stop staring at what was no doubt, many a mages’ demise.
“The magic dissipates and returns to its natural possessor on its own, if not taken with the right spell by another. Or—” Drayton paused.
“Or, what?” Charis barked.
Annoyance glittered in the codger’s eyes. Evidently he didn’t like his storytelling rushed. “It explodes. Of course the damage scale of such a thing would depend on what kind of magic it holds at the time.”
“How do you know the difference in what it will do?”
“You don’t. That’s why it’s so feared. So dangerous. It can be very unstable.”
“Yet you want me to use it?”
Drayton laughed again. Charis’ anger rolled over into a slow boil.
“Calm, half-breed. I’ve had this chunk for many turns. Keeping it shielded has altered the stability. No harm will come to you or your magic.”
Again, inquires he never gave swirled around in his the back of his mouth. Why do you need me if you had Dimithian all this time? led the charge, but he held his tongue.
“What do I do if I need to use it?” Charis gulped, trying not to look at what he’d eventually have to pick up.
With a patience that surprised him, Drayton explained what the rock did, and how to remove—and replace—the magic shield. It didn’t make Charis feel any better.
“Whatever you do, don’t try to use your magic when the Dimithian is unshielded,” the codger cautioned.
“What happens?”
“It’ll harm you. If it takes enough of your magic beforehand, it can kill.”
Charis cursed, whipped the offending chunk up from the dirt and ending his mirror’s spell. Drayton laughed again, instead of the anger he’d expected.
He shook his head and shoved the Dimithian in his pocket. His stomach churned and his spine burned. Instinct throbbed, his magic shouting at him to get rid of it.
I hope for the Blessed Spirit’s sake that’s not a damn omen.
Chapter Thirty
They’d followed for most of the day, and it would be dark soon. They couldn’t wait much longer to take her; they were getting farther and farther from Terraquist. The large party was making excell
ent time.
Now that Charis had the Dimithian, there wasn’t really a reason to wait.
“They have to stop soon. They didn’t break for a meal yet,” Bracken said.
“I’m sicka waitin’,” Nason mumbled as he gnawed on a piece of dried meat from his pack.
“It won’t be much longer.” Charis tried not to bark.
“Perhaps the lass isna’ a delicate flower.” Bracken smirked.
He doubted she was. She was bonded to a wolf, after all. “Nay, but they all have to eat. And I’m sure they’d not force a lass—a lady—to travel all night, even with a carriage.”
“Aye, you’re probably right. So when do we make our move?” Bracken’s tone suggested Charis’ answer had better be satisfactory.
“Soon,” he forced out through clenched teeth.
“Look, they’re stopping!”
Bracken and Charis exchanged a look, but Nason was right. The party had slowed their grueling pace, and the men were looking around. One called orders and they turned off the road into the least densely wooded area of the forest that lined the road.
“Smart to stop before reaching Beret,” Bracken said.
“Never mind tha’, the trees are thin here. We need cover,” Nason complained.
“We’ll be fine. We’ve a secret weapon, remember?” Charis said.
They’d taken the news of Drayton’s gift with wide eyes and a hundred questions Charis didn’t know the answers to. Although neither had elfin blood, they’d known each other for turns, and like him, had grown up in Aramour.
Nason’s family had served Charis’ father’s elfin household for generations. Bracken descended from a long line of blacksmiths. He’d walked away from his family’s trade for reasons unknown. His policy of no questions extended to his lads, too. As long as they got the job done, he didn’t care.
“There’s likely a clearing that way.” Charis pointed to the right. “We’ll let them set up camp. Relax. Disarm. Then we attack.”
“Before it gets dark?” Nason asked.
Charis shrugged. “It matters not. With the Dimithian, it’ll be quick.”
“Then we hie to Drayton? Tonight?” Bracken crossed his arms over his chest.
“Aye. Under the cover of night will be best, before they can recoup.”
Bracken gave a grunt and nod.
Nason licked his lips, drawing attention to his pocked face.
“Let’s get as close as we can and remain undetected. We need to know the layout if they pitch tents.”
“We need ta keep the lass in sight,” Bracken said.
“Aye, agreed.”
Nason rubbed his hands together. “I can taste tha’ coin.”
Bracken snorted. “Put your tongue in your head and draw your damn sword.”
The smallest man of their group glared up at Bracken.
“Hush, both of you, and pay attention. We have to get the lass before we get any gold.” Charis scowled.
Both his lads snapped their mouths shut and nodded.
Nason tied their horses and they hunkered down together, crossing the empty road as soundlessly and as stealthy as they could.
Charis was tempted to cover them in a masking spell, then quashed the idea. If that lad, the Mage of Greenwald was as powerful as suspected, he’d sense any magic. There were knights in the group, too. Smart men who’d lay out a perimeter and have the lad probe for danger.
“Shite,” Charis whispered as they paused behind a close copse of fat trees. They could hear conversation, but didn’t risk peeking around to see just yet.
“What?” Bracken’s gaze snapped to him.
“If the lad covers their camp in a protection spell, we’ll have to use the Dimithian earlier than planned.” He quickly briefed them on what he’d sensed about their prey, as well as Castle Aldern.
Bracken shook his head. “We’ll just hafta be fast.”
“Aye,” Nason agreed.
“You’re right. We’ll do what we need to do.”
“For the coin,” Nason whispered.
Bracken grunted, but didn’t look at blond man. “At any rate, watch now, worry when we have ta.”
“You’re right.” Charis nodded.
In unison, they moved as close as they dared, using a huge fallen tree as cover, right outside the clearing. All three drew their swords, but rested them at their sides.
From their view, they could see everything, but the overhanging foliage from the felled tree, as well as the low hanging canopy above would hide them from being easily spotted.
Men laughed, talked and tossed supplies back and forth. They were efficient. A large bonfire already burned at the center of the camp, a neatly stacked pile of wood ready to reenergize it as needed, and one tent was already pitched, flying the flag of Greenwald atop its triangular peak.
The carriage was off to the left side of the clearing, and their more than a dozen horses, including the lass’ gray, stood side-by-side, two troughs in front of them. Some munched from feedbags that’d already been set up.
“How did they—”
Charis ignored Bracken’s rare wonder and sent out a quick magical probe. “Magic. They used magic with the horses’ tethers, water and food. Probably the big tent, too.”
“Ah,” Nason said.
Two men were putting a second tent up, but this one was smaller. Made of a finer material, too, because it had a sheen in the firelight.
“For the lass,” Bracken said, as if he’d read his mind. “She’s a lady, after all.”
“Where is she, anyway?” Nason asked.
Charis scanned the area. He only spotted three of the five knights he’d seen outside the castle gates. “There’s another—smaller—clearing, to the right. See how the trees thin again?” he gestured. “And I smell water.” His tracking magic confirmed when he sent his senses forward.
“She’d want privacy, and a bath, if there’s a creek.” Bracken nodded toward where Charis had indicated.
“With guards,” Nason said.
“Thirteen in sight,” Bracken said.
Charis’ headcount came to the same number. “Fifteen in all, not including the lass and the wolf.”
“We can’t kill it,” Bracken boomed.
“Nay. They’re bonded, it’d kill her. We have to take it out, though. Get her away from it. Magic’ll do it.”
“Good.”
Silence fell as they watched. One of them men started cooking in a large pot over the fire. Both tents were up now, and more men came and went in and out, preparing to bed down for the night.
“What now?” Nason whispered.
“We wait.”
“Until the right moment.” Bracken finished Charis’ statement.
“False sense of security.” Nason flashed a toothy grin and raised his sword.
“When they least expect it,” Charis said, ignoring how his heart skipped and his stomach churned because of the so-called-mythical rock in his pocket.
* * * *
“Where’s Elis—the lady?” Alasdair demanded of Bowen, then winced.
His brother arched an eyebrow. “Lady Elissa is bathing.”
The emphasis on the honorific he’d forgotten made his wince slide into a scowl. The last thing he needed was for his fellow knight to comment. He’d obviously—unfortunately—noticed Alasdair’s mistake.
Bowen crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to one side. “I’m her chaperone now. I have things handled.”
He narrowed his eyes at the dismissal and tried to ignore the ripple of Bowen’s lips as the knight fought a smile.
“You can go back to camp,” Alasdair said.
Bowen shook his head, scattering his sandy locks about his shoulders. “Nay. ‘Tis my duty to keep her safe.”
“Which is why you’re yards from her.”
His brother laughed, which made his blood boil. “Aye, I’m sure you’d want me closer when she’s unclothed. Her bondmate is with her. She knows to holler if there�
�s trouble. Besides, she has more magic than half the people I know.”
Unclothed. Right. Of course, that’s what you focus most on.
Alasdair cleared his throat. “Well, at any rate, you can go. I need a word with her.”
Bowen smirked. “It’s not proper for me to leave her unchaperoned. Especially with the likes of you.” His brother’s humor didn’t damper his rage.
He grabbed the knight by his collar. “Go. Back. To. Camp.”
Instead of fighting him, Bowen chuckled again and tugged out of his grip. He threw his palms up. “Fine. Fine.” Then his expression sobered. “Don’t hurt her again, Alas.”
Shock rolled over him and he backed up; stumbled. “Hurt her?” The question was cracked, telling Alasdair he couldn’t fake innocence.
If Bowen had noticed, his lass didn’t hide her pain…maybe she couldn’t.
Alasdair clenched his jaw and fought the urge to crush his eyes shut. His emotions teetered back and forth from agony and shame.
The look on his brother’s face was a mix of sympathy, and something else. Was Bowen angry at him, too? “I don’t know what happened between you two, but I can guess. You don’t have to say anything, but none of us are daft. Keep that in mind.”
Alasdair studied his boots.
Bowen sighed and walked past him, then paused. “Keep something else in mind, too, Alas.”
He glanced over his shoulder, then jarred when his gaze collided with his brother’s serious amber one—something that was unusual for his fellow jester. “What?”
“We’re on a journey to deliver her to her betrothed. He’s a good man, and a duke. Don’t ruin that for her.”
His tongue was thick in his mouth. Alasdair could only stare at his brother and reject his statements. Especially, the word betrothed.
Bowen shook his head. “Go back to camp. I’ll stay here.”
“I can’t.”
His brother sighed again. “Be quick about it. Do not. Hurt. Her. Again. She’s a sweet lass, and she deserves better than that.”
Better than me.
Alasdair nodded, because it was all he could manage. Hell, he agreed with Bowen.