“I’ll fetch Kian,” Dyfed said. “He can perform the enchantment safely in here.”
“No!” she said before Dyfed could rise. “Look about you, Dyfed. The dead are buried here. His magic will be useless. Even Cadmaran couldn’t undo the bonds unless I was carried out.”
“Grand,” Dyfed muttered, casting a glance up to where the furious battle raged. “This is going to be interesting.”
He stood, scooping her slight frame into his arms, and headed for the stairs.
Bryn Chwilen wasn’t a very tall mountain, compared to those surrounding it. It was more of a large hill but at its topmost portion provided an excellent view of the valley beyond.
Malachi stood beside one of the few trees on the hill and gazed out at Glen Aur, the fine estate belonging to his uncle Ffinian’s new wife, Lady Alice. To Malachi’s right was Tylluan, rising up into the tall mountains where the castle lay, and to his left was the valley where, some miles farther on, Llew was situated. He could see neither Tylluan proper nor anything at all of Llew, and so he satisfied himself with looking at peaceful, serene Glen Aur and contemplated whether his wild and rascally uncle would be content there. Malachi supposed that Ffinian would be, because of Lady Alice. A man could always be content when he was with the woman he loved.
But Lord Graymar didn’t have the luxury of thinking on such things now or of pining for what he had never known and never expected to know. Being the Dewin Mawr was a pressing, demanding duty. Kian was fortunate to have been fated for Loris almost from the moment of his birth: he might never have had the time to find a suitable wife otherwise.
Malachi sensed, rather than heard, when Morcar Cadmaran was approaching; like all extraordinary wizards, they both possessed the gift of moving with complete silence.
Malachi turned to greet his adversary, thinking back to the days when they had been boys. They hadn’t precisely been friends, but they had at least been friendly on those few occasions when they met. The long feud that had continued between the Seymour and Cadmaran clans made it impossible for anything more to develop between them, and they had both known that they would one day assume the leading roles among their families. But Malachi could still recall long hours of merely being boys together, of caring far more about fishing and collecting insects and playing tricks on unsuspecting girls than about carrying on ancient insults.
“You’ve come,” he said as the other man neared. “I’m glad. I hope you’ve been well.”
The Earl of Llew smiled grimly. “Do you mean apart from the blindness, Malachi? Aye, other than that, I’ve been very well. And how is the great Dewin Mawr? Was your journey from London quite pleasant?”
Cadmaran had come alone, leaving his men at the foot of the hill. They were mere mortals, all of them, and useless in a fight against an extraordinary wizard. The Earl of Llew never employed magic mortals as servants, Malachi remembered, for he believed that mere mortals, being inferior, were more properly suited to be in service to those who were magic.
“It was very brief,” Malachi replied honestly, struck anew by the other man’s greater height and physical power. Unlike Seymours, the Cadmaran family had inherited the blood of giants, rather than elves, with the result that they tended to be quite large and daunting. And rather stupid as well. “I was obliged to make the journey in something of a hurry.”
Cadmaran tilted his head. “Indeed? I can guess as to the reason. You’ve come about the athanc, have you not? At last.”
“Not entirely,” Malachi confessed. “I fear my cousin is yet too stubborn to accept my help. He’s of the mind, you see, that he must face this challenge on his own, and prove that he is worthy to one day be Dewin Mawr.”
“Ah,” Lord Llew uttered with clear satisfaction. “But you are far wiser than he, are you not, Malachi? You know that there will be no stopping the beast without my help.”
“Kian is a capable wizard, Morcar,” Lord Graymar replied coolly. “He may yet find the way on his own.”
“He is certainly welcome to try,” Cadmaran said, and with the staff he held felt for something to sit upon. His black hair had been left to grow long and, unbound, fluttered about his starkly handsome face. “The beast will continue to ravage the land and feed itself as best it can all the while.”
Malachi had promised Kian an hour, at least, to get Desdemona Caslin safely out of Llew. Which meant that he must keep Lord Llew not only occupied but also unsuspicious. Fortunately, Cadmaran was as vain as he was powerful and loved to hear the sound of his own voice praising his own cleverness and cunning. It had certainly been thus when they’d been boys, and though they’d met but a few times since becoming adults, Malachi was fairly certain that hadn’t changed.
“How is it that an American came to know about the ancient creatures of Europe?” he asked. “And, of far greater importance, how did you discover he knew, and lure him here to Wales to release the beast from its slumber?”
Lord Llew had settled himself comfortably on a large rock and, looking very pleased with the questions, said, “I shall tell you a little, if you wish to hear it. But it will not put off forever the matter that we have come to discuss, Malachi, though you may desire it. The athanc must be stopped, and there is only one way that you can achieve that goal.”
“Tell me about Draceous Caslin first,” Malachi said. “And about his daughter, Desdemona, who controls the creature.”
“I should have thought your cousin, who believes himself to be in love with my betrothed, would have already told you a great deal about her,” Morcar said, laughing lightly. “But I shall gladly tell you all, for she is a wondrous female and an admirable sorceress. Sit and be comfortable, Malachi, and I will answer your questions before we come to an understanding. Or to something rather different.”
It wasn’t so much that the stone dogs were large and ferocious and determined to tear Kian into tiny bits that had him sweating. It was the innumerable fighting men who insistently appeared from among the various garden pathways to attack him while he was already busy tossing the dogs, by turns, into the air or against the building or up into the trees. The Earl of Llew clearly had a large army at his disposal, all mere mortals, fortunately, else Kian would have found it far more difficult to make them insensible. Between them and the dogs, however, his hands were sufficiently full, and Dyfed’s voice in Kian’s head telling him that he must also somehow find a spare moment to free Miss Caslin—from enchanted silver cords, no less—wasn’t precisely welcome.
She knows the spell Cadmaran uses for turning the dogs back into stone, Dyfed told Kian in his silent speech. Just get her unbound and she’ll deal with the creatures and you can get back to the men.
“That won’t be quite as simple as you make it sound, fy gefell,” Kian shouted back, loud enough so that Dyfed could hear him, using one hand to cast a spell on the latest wave of fighting men and the other to toss the dog nearest him as far into the garden as possible. Then he turned immediately to tend to its twin, which was actually ripping up chunks of earth in its frenzy to get at him. Kian used both hands to send it flying away, but the other dog had already recovered and was tearing its way through what remained of the shrubs with teeth bared.
Did he even know the spell for loosing silver cords? he wondered. It was another ancient enchantment that he’d heard of but never come across before. Cadmaran certainly seemed to prefer the odd, old ways to the new.
“I’m going to toss the dogs,” Kian said, shouting again, “and take a moment to put up a shield that will stop them and the men. It won’t last long—Llew is far too well protected against such enchantments. We’ll have but seconds before they’re through again.” He paused to put more of Cadmaran’s men to sleep—there was getting to be quite a pile of them—then to toss the dogs again. “Wait for me to tell you when,” Kian instructed, “and then lay her down before me as quickly as you can.”
It took a full minute of dealing with both the men and the dogs before the chance came for Kian to put u
p the shield; then, “Come!” he shouted, and readied himself to free Desdemona Caslin.
Dyfed threw the gates open and sprinted across the small clearing, laying the young woman on the ground as gently but quickly as he could.
The dogs were already throwing themselves against the shield, while half a dozen men armed with pistols appeared.
“Datod!” Kian shouted, and, “Difetha!”
Neither worked, and the shield was beginning to give way. One of the dogs had nearly pushed through and would quickly be upon them.
Lifting his hands again, he tried once more, “Rhyddhau!” and the silver cords slid away.
Desdemona Caslin came to her feet with a fury of sound and motion, unleashing all her anger and power just as the shield gave way. A sound came out of her—neither Kian nor Dyfed had ever heard anything like it—that was sufficient to put the fear of God into man and beast alike. With a flash of her hands she sent the dogs up into the air—not flinging them away but high up—and kept them there, twisting and growling and clawing helplessly.
“Carreg!” she shouted in that still-unearthly voice that shook the very ground, and the dogs immediately became stone once more, frozen into their twisted positions.
And then she dropped her hands—no, Kian thought as he watched in amazement, it wasn’t merely dropping, it was more like slashing. The stone figures were hurled into the garden beyond, crashing to the ground and exploding into hundreds of tiny pieces. The force threw Kian and Dyfed and all of Cadmaran’s men flat onto their backs, but Desdemona Caslin stood unaffected, her dark demeanor and scowling expression like that of a demon creature come out of the pit to vent her fury on any who dared cross her path.
Kian rose to his feet first and moved to help his brother.
“Hell hath no fury,” Kian muttered, wiping bits of rubble from his sleeve. He would have done the same for Dyfed, but he had already pushed past his brother to gather Desdemona Caslin into his arms. Kian spent a brief moment staring at the clinging couple and wondered what his brother had gotten himself into, wishing to take such a woman as wife. But there wasn’t more time to ponder the matter; Cadmaran’s men were coming to their senses, too.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Kian said. “And across the border into Tylluan, where Llew can’t touch Miss Caslin.”
“I welcome a meeting with him,” Desdemona said in a manner that made Kian’s skin tingle. Dyfed, however, only gazed at the frightening female with adoration.
“Do you have the gift of levitation?” she asked, and in unison with Kian swept her hand toward the men advancing upon them, sending them insensible to the ground.
“I know quick traveling,” he told her, “but we can’t leave the horses.”
“Only tell me where they are,” she said, reaching out to grasp the front of Kian’s tunic, “and hold on to me tightly. I can carry you both outside the castle walls, and we may be done with Llew forever.”
It was amazing how long the man could talk, Malachi thought as he shifted uncomfortably on the rock upon which he’d been sitting for a full half hour or more, his chin resting in one hand. He’d been hard-pressed several times not to nod off and was put in mind of his school days, when his teacher’s dull lectures had tempted him to play tricks with the clocks. Malachi’s father, the former Earl of Graymar, had put a stop to such nonsense in the manner commonly employed by mere mortals—a thorough whipping—which had proved to be astonishingly successful in keeping Malachi from using magic so casually again in public settings.
Not that he hadn’t gleaned valuable information regarding the Caslin family from Morcar’s droning tale. Quite the opposite. He must certainly send Brecmont to America with some of this interesting knowledge to lend him aid. But for the current problem, it added nothing in the way of help.
“Well, that’s most intriguing,” Malachi said when the Earl of Llew stopped long enough to take a breath. Malachi stood and tugged at the lapels of his perfectly tailored coat, straightening the edges. “Thank you for relating the tale, and also your knowledge and experience of the Caslin family. It was vastly entertaining.”
Lord Llew tilted his head curiously. “Entertaining?” he repeated, a touch of confusion in his tone.
“Very,” said Malachi. “I’m so glad that we were able to come together and have this meeting, brief as it must necessarily be. I’m afraid I must be going now, however, for I assured Lord Tylluan that I’d be back well before sunset.”
The Earl of Llew frowned and slowly rose to his feet “You cannot leave. We’ve not yet discussed the athanc.”
“Perhaps another time,” Lord Graymar said. “I must return in plenty of time to help my cousin plan for the beast’s wanderings tonight. He received some dreadful scratches last night. Lord Tylluan, not the athanc, of course. Clearly, he needs a better plan, and as advice is the only help he’ll accept from me, I must make certain to be there to give it.”
“But—”
“No, no,” Malachi protested, “I can’t stay longer, though I wish I could. Perhaps we might meet again before I depart for London and reminisce about old times. But for now, I must bid you good day.”
“Malachi—”
“There is one final thing that I must say to you before I go, however, Morcar,” Lord Graymar said. “And I hope that you’ll think on it well and calmly throughout the coming days, though I have no doubt you’ll be in no condition to do so right away.”
A wary expression possessed Cadmaran’s dark features. “What is that?”
“I will pay you for the girl—for Miss Caslin,” Malachi said, “to make up for the loss of her. Tenfold, if necessary.”
Cadmaran shook his head in confusion. “She is to be my wife soon. I have no intention of selling her. Certainly not to a Seymour.”
“You don’t have any choice in the matter,” Malachi informed him. “I believe that a unoliaeth exists between her and Dyfed, and, if that is so, to keep them apart would only bring down the wrath of the Guardians. Considering that they’ve already placed a blood curse on you,” he said more gently, “I should think that’s the one thing you’d want to avoid above any other.”
And then, not waiting to see how long it took for the Earl of Llew to comprehend him, Malachi prepared himself for the odd sensation of rapid traveling, closed his eyes, and departed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Niclas and Professor Seabolt arrived at Tylluan shortly after Kian and Dyfed returned with Desdemona Caslin, well in time for Kian to give orders for the evening meal to be served in the castle’s medieval great hall, as was the custom at Tylluan when guests were present, with all the castle folk in attendance.
Having heard the news that Professor Seabolt had at last found the long-sought enchantment, and being assured by Niclas that Loris was still safely, if not happily, in London, and being successful in their rescue of Miss Caslin from Morcar Cadmaran’s clutches, there was a good deal to celebrate.
The athanc was going to be finished off tonight. Miss Caslin would help to control the beast, and Kian would perform the enchantment to put it back into slumber. All he had to find was a woman who was willing to play the most important part in the spell, which might, he admitted, be rather difficult, considering how dangerous that part was going to be. But surely one of the maidens at Tylluan would be willing to risk her life for the good of her family and friends. His people were all brave, even the females.
Dyfed and Miss Caslin had retired abovestairs as quickly as they could, waiting only long enough to hear what Malachi had to report about his meeting with Cadmaran and to properly greet Niclas and to rejoice over the news that Professor Seabolt had brought.
They’d been gone for three hours now, ostensibly so that Miss Caslin could have a hot bath and a change of clothes and a little nap before the celebration at dinner. Kian had his own notions as to what his brother and Miss Caslin were actually doing—they’d been unable to keep either their eyes or their hands off each other since being reunited�
��and though they didn’t say so, he knew that Malachi and Niclas and Professor Seabolt had the same thought.
Malachi commented that he would have to approach the elders among the Families as soon as he possibly could in order to gain their approval for Dyfed’s marriage, and Niclas said something about first needing to contact Draceous Caslin in the States and obtain his agreement regarding a change of husbands for his daughter.
“I believe I have just the man for that particular task,” Malachi murmured thoughtfully. “Though I’m not certain that Dyfed and his beloved will be able to wait long enough for Brecmont to achieve Boston and send word back to us.”
Kian, having already had to wait for what seemed like an eternity to be united with his unoliaeth, didn’t think it so terrible a thing for his brother to have to wait a few months. Apart from that, neither Dyfed nor Miss Caslin appeared to be suffering all that much from the lack of being legally wed.
The celebration dinner was a great success. Despite the short notice, Cook managed to produce a meal that would have made Loris proud.
Before the fine meal was done, some of those who could play and had brought their instruments struck up a tune. Singing and dancing commenced, and, shortly thereafter, Kian and some of those who had the ability to levitate objects had taken up one of their favorite games—sending small objects flying in an attempt to strike various chosen spots about the room. It was rather like hitting the bull’s-eye in archery, and whoever struck closest to the mark was deemed the winner. Spoons were the favorite projectiles, doing little harm as they hit candlesticks and vases and tapestries, but when they’d all been spent, the players were left with only forks and knives to continue on with. Unfortunately, these tended to do more damage and break more objects, but as the evening progressed and the wine flowed and the musicians played even more cheerful tunes, those caught up in the game really didn’t care.
The contest had come down to a tie between Kian and Malachi. They had long since given up on eating utensils as missiles and were using small unshelled walnuts. The objects they were trying to shatter were several teacups—all mismatched, as they were what had survived of Tylluan’s various tea services throughout the years—which Malachi had enchanted to fly about the room in any and every direction. Kian and Malachi took turns sending a walnut flying; whichever of them broke the most teacups would be the winner.
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