It had formed a thin oval, like a mirror, and as he came closer, it spun, so he was presented with the thin, almost invisible, side view.
The movement was furtive, as if it were hiding something from him. He moved right, and again it spun away.
Anger spiked in his chest, and he feinted right a second time, then leapt left. He found himself staring straight at a strangely lit Eric the Bold. Eric’s head was thrown back, as if in triumph, but already, as Rane watched, he saw the beginnings of a frown.
He realized why a moment later, when Kayla of Gaynor leapt from the pale-green tinted image within the wild magic, into his arms.
The instant Kayla was through, the wild magic crumpled in on itself, forming its usual ball. It spun, lifted off the ground, and flew away.
Kayla struggled against him, and he realized he was holding her tight, as if Eric could lean through some magic window and grab her back. He set her down.
“What was that?”
She was breathing hard, her hands shaking. She lifted fingers to her forehead, and pushed back the hair that had fallen over her eyes.
He could see the dark red marks of a man’s grip on her wrist.
“The wild magic. It formed that mirror thing and came straight at me. Sent me to Eric’s dungeon.”
She leant over, hands on her knees and breathed deeply.
Rane was unable to say anything. Eric’s dungeon?
Kayla lifted her head. “Eric was surprised. And scared.” She straightened. “He wouldn’t come near it.”
“Why did he have that look on his face?” Rane saw her hands tug at her shirt, smooth back her hair.
“What look?” She glanced at him, but he knew she’d understood what he meant.
He didn’t answer, kept his gaze steady on her.
She made a sound, exasperated. “He thought I’d decided to take what he offered.”
“And what had he offered?” Rane realized he was knocking his fist hard against his thigh, and forced his arm still.
Kayla’s eyes were serious, worried. “Everything.” She spun away, began down the path back to the camp, but stopped after two steps. Turned. “And nothing.”
She looked so stricken, so small, he understood there was more to it than that. Eric had done something to her. Told her something, or threatened her, and she was not going to tell him what.
With a curse, he strode forward, gripped her shoulders.
“What did he say to you?” He just resisted shaking her, forcing his fingers to hold her lightly.
He expected her to shout, or put on the cool, untouchable royal look she’d used since she realized he’d betrayed her. But she did neither.
Instead, a tear spilled from her eye, and ran down her cheek, and her lips trembled.
“What did he say to you?” He said it gently this time, let his hands fall from her shoulders.
She shook her head. Drew herself up. “He assumed I knew things…that I did not know. He could be lying, but I don’t think so. If he’s right, my parents lied to me, and kept things from me. But he doesn’t know that, and so he thinks he understands me. That he knows what I want.”
“And does he?” Rane stepped back, putting a little distance between them.
Her gaze flew to his, and held. She looked five years old. Lost. “No.” She took a step towards him, and suddenly she didn’t look five years old any more. She lifted her face and her lips brushed his, light, tentative. “He doesn’t understand me at all.”
Chapter Thirteen
It was the kiss Kayla should have given Rane earlier. The kiss she had wanted but her pride and her caution had refused to let her take.
Eric thought she wanted power, but really, all she wanted was the right to determine her own path. And the only one who’d ever helped her with that was Rane.
His response, immediate, completely serious, set her whole body trembling with anticipation. She’d felt the full force of his concentration once before. Her body sang at the thought of receiving it again.
He did not hold her, did not touch her, the only point of contact was their lips.
It made her skin unbearably sensitive. Every brush of forest breeze, every flutter of her clothes, teased her.
When he stepped back, she thought it was to take her in his arms, but when she opened her eyes, he was staring at her, his face a tight mask.
“What is it?” She heard herself speak as if from far off, as if she were waking from a dream.
“What do you want from me?” His voice was stark, the deep timbre of it fraying at the edges.
“Want?” She blinked, feeling stupid.
“Whatever we did together that night in your chamber, whatever your father has given me right to, the fact remains, princess, I am a woodsman. What do you want of me?”
She could not recall ever being at such a loss. She brought her hands together, stared at her intertwined fingers. What did she want of him, specifically? “I don’t know.”
He said nothing, but his jaw bunched and his hands and arms were clenched so tight, she could see the muscles, the tendons, standing out.
The silence went on for a beat. Then another. At last, she turned and started back to the camp. She could feel his eyes on her, like an itch between her shoulder blades.
And running through her head with every step she took away from him was the thought that he was the only one to ask her what she wanted since this nightmare began.
* * *
Rane had always been the thinker, the calm, deliberate one in his family. The one who used his muscle only when necessary, his brains all the time. Soren had the hotter head, the more impulsive nature.
But now, Rane wished his brains to the darkest corners of hell.
Kayla walked ahead of him, just as she had last night, after he’d brought their kiss to an abrupt halt. Every swing of her hair, pulled into a thick tail hanging down her back, every sway of her hips in their blue cotton trousers, was a brutal reminder of what he could have had, if only he’d kept his mouth shut and let his heart take over from his head.
When he’d asked his question last night, she’d looked stricken. As if she’d betrayed herself.
He’d forced her to think far too much.
Now, even the easing of the enchantment, from a death grip to the firm, gentle hold of a lioness on her cub’s neck, could not lighten either of their moods. At least they were nearing their goal. Rane did not believe the enchantment would give them this respite unless they were.
The wind picked up again, bringing a welcome stir in the hot air, mixing up the forest scents so the overriding smell in his nostrils was green.
It cooled the sweat on his arms and neck, but the rattle and hiss of dead leaves blowing, and the sigh and creak of the trees, was dangerous. Anything could approach them, unheard, over the waterfall of sound.
Wild magic was almost impossible to see in the faint gloom of the forest by daylight, and he’d felt eyes on them for the last half hour. He didn’t even try to persuade himself he was mistaken.
Something leapt, sinister and dark, from a tree to their right.
Rane closed the distance between himself and Kayla before she could even cry out, stepping in front of her, his knife in his hand.
He did not look down at the blade, but he knew it glimmered in the gloom. It was one of the only reasons he had to be grateful to wild magic. His knife had saved his life more than once.
“What was it?” Kayla stepped out from behind him, and he saw she’d picked up a stick from the forest floor.
“Do we want to know?”
She shrugged. “It’s been following us for a while.”
Irritation tugged at him. “Why didn’t you say something?”
She spared him a sideways glance. “You knew already. I saw you looking for it.”
There was a flash of a dark body, flitting from one tree to another at ground level, and Rane knew whatever it was, it was fast and sleek.
They had only been standi
ng still a minute or less, and already the enchantment clamped them with a heavier hold. Rane felt a sense of desperation rising in his chest, and he tried to shut it out. He needed all his wits in this.
The wind dropped, and silence settled on them like a down coverlet.
A bush rustled, and Rane tensed, moving forward, ready for anything.
Something jumped, not at him, but over him. He caught a glimpse of black fur, and he had the sense of it twisting in the air, like a cat.
Kayla screamed, and Rane spun, knife up, heart thundering.
It was a cat. A cat large enough to reach his hip. Not a panther or a lion, it looked like a house cat, a hundred times the size. And it had Kayla on the ground, a paw resting on her chest.
* * *
The way it had sprung, the size of its paws, Kayla expected to be in pain, but the cat had pushed her down almost gently, its claws retracted.
The golden eyes staring at her lifted up to Rane. It spat at him, hissing, and the fur on its back rose up. It ended with a yowl in the back of its throat that went on and on. She thought it would leap at Rane and attack at any moment.
“Shh.” The word came instinctively from her. “Shh.”
The terrible grumble stopped, and the cat looked back at her, curious.
Kayla pushed at its paw and it released her, sitting back as she stood. She reached out a hand, and scratched it under its chin.
The purr, when it came, was almost deafening.
“You’re just lonely, aren’t you, puss?”
Rane took a step closer, and when the cat did not react, sheathed his knife. “Don’t encourage it.”
Kayla frowned. “I thought I was saving us from being ripped to shreds.”
He raised a brow. “You saved it from me. Now we have the problem of what to do with it.”
She looked at him, the way he stood, easy and sure, and realized he was serious. He had no doubt he would have killed the cat. For some reason, that confidence, that bone-deep certainty, made her shiver.
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t hurt it.” She rubbed its flank. “It isn’t to blame for what it’s become.”
She watched Rane move uncomfortably, and was suddenly aware of the same discomfort. She looked around for the bags she’d let fall, her mind turning to the path ahead, and cursed the enchantment.
“It feels stronger, doesn’t it?” Rane was looking at her with a strange expression.
“Do you think we’ve gone wrong? Missed a path?”
He shook his head. “I think we’re close. Close enough any little delay is punished.”
Kayla gave the cat a last pat. “Sorry, puss, we have to go.” She bent to pick up her saddlebag, and went flying with a cry as a head butted her back.
“Kitty wants to play.” Rane’s voice held laughter, and Kayla realized she’d never heard that lift in his voice before.
It was nice.
She picked herself up and brushed leaves and small twigs off her shirt and trousers.
The cat dipped her head and butted Kayla again. Even seeing it coming, she had to brace her legs to keep on her feet.
“We have to go.” The laughter in Rane’s voice had been replaced by desperation, and Kayla nodded. She was as on edge as he sounded, her nerves strung so tight, so quickly, she almost imagined Eric might be nearby, trying to control them.
She slung the bags over her shoulder, and Rane stepped aside for her to precede him.
Relief came with the first few steps down the path, and the imaginary goblin at her throat eased its hold.
There was a yowl of protest, and the cat moved, walking parallel to their path, winding through the trees. Kayla called to it, and it responded with a chirp. Its head whipped to the right and it pricked its ears, stopped dead. Then it sped away from them to the east.
Having a giant, playful cat with them would have made stealing the gem impossible, but Kayla was sorry to see it go.
She thought of what Eric had said, that she was a witch, and grinned. If he was somehow right, what a familiar that kitty would make.
Chapter Fourteen
Rane smelled the wood-smoke nearly ten minutes before the path spat them out behind a dilapidated shed. Kayla stopped short, turning to look at him over her shoulder, her eyes wide. Questioning.
“I don’t think this is it.” He felt no ease of the relentless pressure of the enchantment.
He moved cautiously around the side of the shed, and a kick of surprise stopped him in his tracks. It was a small village.
The little cottages crowded along a strip of hard-packed earth, creating a rustic village square, protected on three sides. The houses were rough, wood and thatch, but the shutters were well-fitted and summer daisies and roses flourished in front of steep-pitched porches.
They were standing in a field, a large village green, holding a small herd of black-and-white cows. One of them had claw marks down its flank, and Rane thought immediately of Kayla’s kitty.
A road, narrow but well-kept, snaked off to their left into the forest, in the direction of Therston.
He became aware of the silence, loud as a roar in his ears. The swish of the wind in the trees and the erratic bird song only accentuated the lack of human sound. In a village.
There was something very wrong here.
He jerked when Kayla touched his elbow. She pointed, and he noticed a figure standing just within a doorway, deep in shadow.
A door banged, and Rane swung in the direction of the sound. A man stepped out on a porch, breathing heavily, and Rane had the sense he had been working behind the house, perhaps cutting wood in the forest. He had been summoned to deal with trouble and he’d run every step of the way.
He had his axe in his hand, still edged with the green-brown skin of the tree he’d been chopping. He was a huge man, well-built and tall, but he held the axe as if prepared to do battle against monsters, not two travellers.
“Good day.” Rane lifted a hand in greeting and started along the fence running beside the storage shed, towards the square.
“No further.”
He stopped, and Kayla ran into his back, muttered something under her breath.
“We mean no harm. If you would prefer, we’ll continue on now.”
The man lowered his axe. “Where are you from?”
“Gaynor.” Kayla called out.
“Gaynor?” The axe sank a little lower. “What news from there?”
“The crops are good, the kingdom is peaceful.” Kayla spoke what might as well have been the Gaynor motto.
“Aye? Can’t say I’ve ever heard anything different about Gaynor. Although I’d have thought even it would have been affected by the current troubles.”
“Troubles?” Rane took another step forward.
The axe came up. “How’d you get from the border of Gaynor to here without some consequences, eh? No one has stepped out onto our green from that path in the last half-year. No one human, that is.”
“We’ve come across our share of horrors these last three days.” Rane let his arms fall to his sides, palms out.
“Like?”
“Like a woman who was a statue by day, and a sorceress by night.” Rane glanced at Kayla. “And a strange ball of light that made windows into other places. And a monster made of two men and the dead forest leaves.”
“And a cat whose head came to my waist.” Kayla stepped forward, to stand beside him.
“That would be Sooty.”
“Sooty?” Kayla cocked her head.
“My daughter’s cat. Or was. Can’t say she’s Sooty any more.”
“I think she’s probably still Sooty. Just bigger.”
“I’m surprised you saw her and lived to tell the tale.”
Rane could tell the woodsman was intrigued by their normal appearance. But the axe stayed raised. He thought of what he’d seen himself in the Great Forest and wondered that the man hadn’t tried to kill them on sight, without stopping to question them.
“She just
wanted to play.” Kayla grinned. “And she likes being scratched under her chin.”
At last, the axe lowered. “You’re the luckiest pair I ever met, I’ll give you that. Since the troubles began, we only see monsters this deep in. Most of us are planning to move.”
Rane took his words to be an acceptance of them, and he started forward, easy and relaxed. “Do you know these parts well?”
The woodsman nodded, then snapped his head towards the path from Therston. Rane heard it, too, the sound of galloping, and put his hand on the hilt of his knife.
Behind them on the green, the cows began to low, deep, hair-raising bellows of fear.
A rider burst from the trees, cape flung back and flapping as his horse thundered towards them. He rode as if something was after him, and Rane saw, with a lightning strike of horror, something was.
A troll, stoop-shouldered and huge, lumbered after him; long nose and long hair sprouting from a massive head on a too-thin neck. In one hand it held a club.
The rider was coming at them so fast, Rane thought he was going to speed past them, back into the forest on the other side of the green, and leave them to face the troll alone. But just as he drew level, he reined his mount in, turning it with an elegant move that spoke of perfect accord between rider and horse.
Rane took a precious second to glance across as the rider freed his sword from its scabbard, and his eyes widened. He knew that sword.
There was no time to think about that, though. Instead, he drew his knife and focused back on the monster coming at them. The woodsman had joined them, and Rane realized the four of them had formed a loose defensive line.
Except Kayla had nothing to defend herself with. She didn’t even have a stick.
The troll was making a sound, a sort of growl, as he saw his quarry run to ground, and three other tasty morsels besides. One reach of his long arms and Kayla would be gone.
There was nothing to do but attack. To reach the troll before it reached them.
“Get back.” Rane didn’t look to see if Kayla obeyed him. He ran forward and realized with surprise he was shouting—a long, continuous battle cry. The moonstone was in his left hand, and he closed his fist around it. Lifted his right hand, knife blade glimmering, lengthening, and leapt.
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