Touched By Magic (The King's Wolf Saga)

by Doranna Durgin

  Gone.

  The book clattered to the floor. The roaring and pressure in Reandn's head sighed away.

  And Adela's betrothal ring dropped to the stone floor, metal singing in a short dance that ended at his feet.

  Grief roared in his ears instead of magic. Reandn launched himself at the wizard and the roar turned to cacophony—crushing force slammed around him. Too late. He'd been too late, and he was as good as dead, as dead as his Adela.

  But his greying vision never blackened, just smeared the room into colors he tasted vividly. The noise pressed in against his skin, he smelled the movement of his body—his entire being rebelled, seeking relief against a bizarre assault of senses it had never been meant to handle, and the scream of his own agony reverberated impossibly, endlessly against his skin.

  A blink, and the world was normal again.

  Steamy brightness replaced twisted sensation; Reandn shot forward, still lunging after a wizard who was no longer there. Something, someone, had a firm hold on his leg, and it brought him up short and he fell hard. Adela's ring filled his sight, sitting on slick wet wood in front of his nose.

  Exclamations surrounded him, scurried away, and hushed to distressed murmurs. Barely, he raised his head; barely, he discerned a huddle of women—partially clad, gasping and gaping.

  He was seeing things, he had to be seeing things—but there was no time to blink it straight, not when something held his leg so tightly. Frantically, futilely, he jerked at the restraint.

  But when he rolled back to look, he discovered nothing but a doorway. A doorway, the structure of which ran straight and true to the ground—and included the outer edge of his boot and lower pant leg.

  Horrified exclamations told him the ladies, too, had noticed his impossible merger with the structure. Their gawking presence suddenly seemed ludicrous; he turned back to them with a grin of fierce challenge: to the ladies, to Ronsin, to the door frame.

  Then he pitched forward on his face.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Touched By Sorrow

  Chapter 5

  That brief moment of clarity was to be Reandn's last for what might have been forever. The world returned to its confusing state of jumbled senses, where undecipherable sounds beat against him, sights came to rest on his confused tongue, and darkness became a blessing he learned to seek.

  The disorientation had its interruptions. Snatches of authentic sensations teased him—a voice in his ear, a touch on his arm—and disappeared. He lurched back into reality when the distinct ring of magic strafed his head, and erupted into violence against the infinite number of hands that materialized to hold him down—but then lost that battle, too.

  Eventually he found a darkness he was more familiar with—the faintly uneven, washed-out blankness of his eyelids closed against light. He ached fiercely, and breathed carefully against it—waiting to fall back into the insanity from which he'd clawed his way free.

  It didn't happen.

  He took a deep, weary breath and started paying attention—learning without yet giving himself away.

  Warmth beat against him—more warmth than any King's Keep spring. There was security in the feel of rough wool beneath him, and in the feather bed that embraced him. Murmuring voices drifted to his ears, distant enough that they did not disturb him, gentle enough in tone that they did not alarm him. The faint odor of bread only served to complete the impression of home and contentment. He could, he thought, stay this way forever if Adela were by his side.

  Adela. Danger and death.

  His eyes snapped open; he rolled off the mattress, trying for his feet but finding himself on his knees, a tangle of bed covers and legs. Wincing at the bright daylight in the room before him, he stared at the looming shape of a teenage girl—trying to fit her into circumstances that made sense, and failing.

  "You're not going anywhere yet," she said, her strong accent only vaguely familiar and her eyes averted in a fashion that clashed with her self-confident words. "Get back in bed, and I'll get you something to eat."

  "Where am I?" he demanded.

  Her gaze lit on his and then darted away again; her mouth struggled against a smile. "You're on the floor in front of my brother's bed. And you're not wearing very much. Now will you get back before my mother comes in here to scold me?"

  True enough, the air moved freely against his bare skin. Reandn glanced down to see that he wore only an unfamiliar undergarment, a sight that narrowed his eyes.

  But he didn't get back in bed.

  Not until he'd looked around this small sleeping alcove and the great room around it. A rumpled bedroll beside the fireplace bespoke the alcove's displaced occupant; a blackened, steaming pot swung from a kettle hook at the same fire. The door of the chimney's baking oven sat open, awaiting bread—the girl must have abandoned her task for him

  Across the elongated room, another bed nook mirrored his own, with a smaller cot next to it. Several trunks and a wardrobe neatly lined the wall across from the fireplace, and a half-closed door broke the center, offering only glimpses of the figures moving in the next room. Light streamed brightly through windows in the nooks and through the door, along with an overhead source he couldn't identify. The only immediate threat seemed to be this bossy child, who still waited for him to get back in bed, her fisted hands set against her hips.

  Someone's home. And a modest one at that, with unfamiliar architecture and features.

  Gathering the covers around himself, Reandn pushed himself back up to the bed, not without effort. With a satisfied nod, the girl left him and attended to the bread.

  He'd thought he'd been killed.

  He'd certainly seen Adela die...hadn't he? By all rights he should be with her, in Tenaebra's realm.

  At the least, he expected to be in enemy hands—he well remembered the continued pressure of magic in his ears, and the hands that had held him down after his arrival.

  Arrival. A bright room, frightened women...his boot melded with a door frame. He hastily stuck his foot out for examination.

  "You're all there," the girl said brusquely from the middle of the room, where she was surrounded by several chairs and heaps of material. "Now will you please just lie quiet until Pa-Farren comes back?"

  Not with so many questions left unanswered. His eyes narrowed. "Where's Adela?"

  She merely shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  If I'm not dead... Hope surged through him at the clarity of that thought—at chance that Adela, too, might not be dead.

  He grappled with his muddled memory, sorting the details—and then remembering more clearly than anything the look on Adela's face as she had faded to nothingness before him. Maybe he'd done the same—simply faded out of the Keep and into...this place.

  Except she'd left behind her ring. She'd taken no metal...and he still had his knife, his belt and his spurs. Or had, when he'd arrived.

  "You got an awful fierce look for someone who just fell out of bed," the girl commented, irreverent of his thoughts. She sat in one of the chairs, her knees drawn up and her chin on her fist beneath an open, cheerful face dominated by round eyes and a generous splattering of freckles. Her hair, thick and dark, didn't fall a bit longer than his. Below the short tunic sleeves her arms were plump and just as freckled as her face; the feet that poked out from her skirts were dusty bare.

  Reandn stared back, an expression far from the benign interest on her face. She seemed unimpressed. Abruptly, he grinned intimidation at her. I am not fooled by you. Not by this place, not by your age. I felt your magic. I am your enemy.

  Startled, she dropped her gaze and watched her toes wiggle for a moment, and after that snuck only surreptitious glances at him.

  For the moment, then, it seemed he was safe. Just as well, since he was obviously too weak to do anything about it even if he hadn't been—or to pry answers from her, for that matter—whoever she was. Wearily, Reandn closed his eyes to wait for Pa-Farren, whoever he was.

>   And though he was confused and hurting, with no idea which enemy had him now and what they would do with him, only a single clear thought emerged from the tangle in his mind. I'm alive. Maybe Dela...

  Maybe.

  ~~~~~

  He fell asleep, of course, unable to fight the demands of his body. Deeply asleep, past dreaming—

  And suddenly Adela was there. A presence, with him and around him, full of laughter, her face flushed, her eye bright, her dark hair swirling about her shoulders and his. With a need too great to question, he reached for her, tried to pull her close...but his fingers always closed on empty air.

  In a rush of spirit, she circled him, gently chiding. No. Listen. He felt a warmth then, a rush of energy tickling into the corners of his being. And then it was Adela's eyes he looked through, Adela's thoughts, her memories, running easily through his head.

  ~~~~~

  In the dim late afternoon light that filtered into their chambers, Adela wriggled closer to Danny as he slept. She gently ran her hand along the lean muscle of his side, a proprietary reaffirmation of the form she knew so well. Danny stirred and rolled to his back, and she opened her eyes to watch him in the dim firelight, studying features she already knew by heart. She knew that his nose, appearing straight from most angles, actually held a slight curve. She knew the angle of his jaw and its strong chin, and more than anything, she knew his eyes. Even closed, they held her attention, with thick dark lashes that contrasted so strongly against the intense grey irises she could bring to her mind's eye at any given moment. She rested her head along his shoulder, enjoying the warmth he radiated, more content than any one woman deserved to be. Breathing.

  ***

  Adela held Danny's hand as they walked into the great hall for a song-fest, not surprised at the expression she caught on one young Highborn face. No doubt the youth had felt Danny's teeth as Wolf First. He could be arrogant, she knew, especially with the Highborn, and was readily pushed into action. She didn't know how anyone could expect else of him, coming to this keep small for his age and stuck in the kitchen, unprotected from the older, higher-born boys who needed something to do with themselves. Her own first sight of him had been as he fought off two older boys.

  He'd won that fight, and maybe a bit of her heart—even though the scruffy youth was at the time far below her own hardly lofty status as attendant-in-training.

  And next she'd seen him, he'd been in the Wolf Yearling uniform, a giant step for one of his social standing. The Wolves had been pulling back into central Keland, and openings were few, so she presumed someone had gone out on a limb for him.

  Even then she knew he was worth it.

  ***

  Adela watched Danny stoke the fire...joined in his silly guessing game with Kavan...helped him tease young Willow out of his sulk with a treat of molasses-soaked oats, laughing together as the horse stopped playing coy and flipped his nose up and down in impatient give me, give me... Adela tumbled onto their chamber floor with him as horseplay gave way to passion...

  ***

  Adela, leaving him, returning his own eyes, his own thoughts. Surrounding him with her essence, planting the touch of her lips on his mouth, his throat, the strong line of his collarbone. Leaving the sound of her voice in his ear, a murmur of affection, a murmur of reassurance—I have Kavan, we are together.

  And a murmur of farewell.

  ~~~~~

  Reandn jerked awake, gasping with the impact of what had been much more than a dream. Even now, he felt the fading ambience of Adela's presence, and the impact of her farewell. No one had to tell him she was dead, not now. He knew.

  He took his air in great gulps, feeling the burn of a tear on its way down the side of his face. And he felt, too, the stirring of new feelings, new desires. Find Ronsin.

  Kill him.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter 6

  When Reandn woke again, it was to the muted light of evening, and the sound of a whispering voice, straining with the effort to be quiet—though not quiet enough to keep him from eavesdropping. Aching, wary of his environment, he listened with his eyes closed.

  "You weren't here." The voice was a woman's. "I saw the look he gave Maurinne. I don't know where he's from, but I'm not altogether sure it was civilized!"

  "He didn't act uncivilized to me." There, that was the girl, and sounding uncertain.

  The woman ignored the girl's input. "Find somewhere else to keep him!" That meant there was someone else in the room. Pa-Farren, perhaps?

  "Please, Lina." The third person—a firm but mellow voice, worn with age. "He is no threat to us. And I must keep him here—you know that."

  "I thought you left your wizardry behind you," the woman said, rather sharply.

  The man chided gently, "The art of magic isn't something one can simply put aside."

  Reandn couldn't help but stiffen. I was right.

  "Translocation is a powerful spell," the old man was saying. "Someone's discovered a way to tap into magic—and I must find out who."

  "Even the women from the bath knew enough to come to Pa-Farren, Mam," the girl said, treading carefully on the obvious edge of disrespect. "They could see it was magic. Wouldn't it be fine to come across some magic?"

  "There were plenty who abused it," the woman muttered.

  "All the more reason to find out who is wielding it now," Pa-Farren said with finality. "This man is no threat, Lina. Not even if he hadn't been so sickened by the journey."

  "And just what makes you so sure?" Lina demanded.

  "I thought you would recognize the crest he wears—the King's Wolves. Considering their current scarcity, I imagine he's straight from King's Keep—the ring, too, whoever it belongs to. It's not his—it's a woman's ring." His voice rose. "How much of that have I got right?"

  "Where's the ring?" Reandn demanded, opening his eyes to meet the bright blue gaze of the man looking across the room at him.

  "I am not the enemy," Farren said, interpreting without reacting to the hostility in Reandn's eyes.

  Reandn hitched back on his elbows, doing his best to hide the effort it took. "You're a wizard."

  "I once was." The man stepped closer, and his bearing made it apparent that although he was aging, he was by no means aged. Streaks of sandy hair held out against the grey; his face was used but not overly lined. "And you, it seems, have a reason to fear wizards."

  "Not fear," Reandn said steadily, veiling the threat very little.

  A smile crossed Pa-Farren's face, and lingered. "Indeed," he said. "You see, Lina, there is good reason to try to find out who has this stray bit of magic."

  The expression on her face dismissed his concerns and replaced them with her own. A strange man, the stern lines around her mouth said. One who has threatened us, echoed the engraved worry marks above her dark eyes, below hair that was both as dark and as short as the girl's. Though there were no freckles in evidence and her features were not padded with plumpness, the slight bump on her nose was there on the girl's face—and the man's.

  A family. But one who still offered no answers.

  "The ring," Reandn said, trying to keep his voice level. After a moment's thoughtful fishing in his trouser pocket, Pa-Farren extended his hand...and Adela's betrothal ring.

  Reandn took it with trembling fingers—touching it, convincing himself. Plain gold gone satin with use, the gouge where she'd once caught it on a harness buckle worn sharp, saving her finger...

  Finally he closed his fingers around it, shaken by the evidence of reality behind his jumbled memories, his startling dream. Adela's flesh, suddenly evanescent, fading...gone. Only this ring left behind. And somehow, he'd brought it with him.

  Until Pa-Farren spoke, he didn't realize how long they'd waited—or that the older man had managed to glean his sorrow. "Son?"

  Reandn shoved the ring on his little finger, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The man had asked him questions; he'd answer. Focus on that. "You're right. I'm a King's Keep Wolf."
He looked directly at the woman and added, "Keep your distance, and keep your safety."

  Her reaction hovered between relief and indignation; she spoke aside to Pa-Farren. "He's as rude as a barbarian."

  Unruffled, the old man spoke almost cheerfully. "Wolves have no need for tact—only a quiet foot and a quick eye."

  Reandn gave him a sharp look. Only time at the Keep would have exposed him to the phrase—although in the past there had been Wolves stationed across Keland. Possibly this man was old enough to have heard it then.

  The old man moved aside as Maurinne nudged her way past him, carrying a tray with broth and toast and cool water. "You'll get more when you've gotten used to food again," she told him, but her voice was no longer quite so bossy, and she came just close enough to hand off the tray.

  Pa-Farren gave Reandn a thoughtful look as she left, and helped himself to a chair pulled up by the bed. "I need to know," he said, "how you come to be here. I need to know everything about it."

  "Do you, now," Reandn said, managing to burn his tongue on the first bite, reaching for the water. He didn't much like the man's tone of voice, his easy assumption that Reandn would be happy to comply. He held water on his tongue, pondering what to tell this old man. Unknown, wizard, magic...the one who had received him from Ronsin's spell.

  It was Keep business. It belonged between Saxe and Ethne, between the king and the Hounds and the Wolves—and, mostly, between Reandn and Ronsin.

  "I'd like to know what you really did to her," Pa-Farren grunted, glancing back at the girl. "Last time I saw someone truly set her back, she was ten. It's good for her."

  Reandn attended his broth. Then, as the old man turned back to repeat his question, Reandn cut him off. "I asked her where I was, when I woke up. She said you'd tell me."

  Pa-Farren hesitated. "If you're from King's Keep, it's going to take a while to get you straightened around. We're in Maurant—on the edges of it, anyhow. Near the outer markets."