by Lizzy Ford
Reaching the lines of Laird Duncan’s men, he began to hack and maneuver his way through the warriors, followed closely by Geoffrey. The fire of battle lust drove him beyond his exhaustion. The men of clans MacLachlainn and MacDonald fought a short distance ahead of them, striking Laird Duncan’s men under the cover of seillie treachery. Cade guided his horse with his knees in their direction. His short sword was light enough for his tired body to handle but also made it far more difficult to slay those before him. It did not sweep off men’s heads with one stroke. It barely kilt men with a single stab, and he was soon frustrated by the small weapon.
Reaching a pocket of quiet, Cade glanced up.
Isabel and her guardian were charging down the hill, fleeing the English knights pursuing her.
“Brian!” he bellowed and held his breath, uncertain where his cousin was on the battlefield.
“Yea!” the answer was faint, distant.
“Isabel!”
Cade plunged back into the battle, fixated on the scarlet cloak visible through the fog. Swords sliced his arms and legs, but he forced himself onward, maiming and killing as he went, unable to think of anything other than Isabel in danger.
A surge of Laird Duncan’s warriors fleeing boulders or mud or some other seillie treachery smashed into him and carried him away from Isabel, towards the center of the battle. Cade’s horse went down under the retreat of the panicked men. His own fall was broken by the body of a warrior, and Cade scrambled up quickly to avoid being stampeded. The wave of men slammed into another large group before stopping. Cade staggered and struggled to find his footing. His weapon was gone, and a quick look left him dismayed.
He was too far to help Isabel, whose attackers were closing in.
With a roar, he shoved those nearest him away and snatched a sword from the hand of a dead warrior, stumbling and fighting as he plummeted through the bodies towards the scarlet cloak. He scanned those between him and her with desperation, praying to find a familiar face. Blood poured into his eyes from a cut across his temple, and he swiped it away.
Fear and anger fed his strength, kept him on his feet when the muscles of his arms and legs burned and quaked. The shouts of men and clash of weapons faded until it was a dull roar, and all he heard was his haggard breathing.
He saw naught but the scarlet cloak and slashed at anything that came between him and it. His own body was beginning to slide from his control, and he stumbled often enough for new pain to shoot through him.
The scarlet cloak disappeared once, and he panicked, screaming for Isabel at the top of his lungs.
Onward he plowed through the men, driven by the madness and unseillie magic that were quickly becoming his only buffer against collapsing.
At long last, Cade broke free of the battle and sprinted. The fog cleared for him, displaying the scarlet cloak once more.
She was kneeling on the ground, surrounded by the English knights, with a furious Richard pacing before her.
Isabel disappeared from his view as another swarm of men came between them. Cade hacked and shoved his way through them, relying on brute force. He dropped to his knees as he emerged on the other side and struggled to catch his breath.
Forcing himself up, he became aware of the thunder, the slashes of lightning roaring behind him, the howl of wind that whipped the scarlet cloak of Isabel around her body. He was losing his bid for control over his unseillie magic, beginning to fall prey to the darkness and madness that waited for him at the edges of his mind.
As he watched, transfixed and helpless, too far to act, he saw Richard’s sword raise into the air and plunge downwards, severing the hooded head of Isabel from her body.
Fire surged through Cade, as if he had been struck by lightning. Unseillie power unfurled within him, and darkness robbed him of sight.
Black Cade emerged from the depths of his heart and mind, bearing unholy magic, sorrow and rage. Cade sank into himself and allowed his madness to take him.
Chapter Twenty Four
Two days without sleep, except for short naps atop the horse, rendered Isabel almost too tired to see straight. But the moment she witnessed the melee in the valley, cold fear drove off her fatigue and replaced it with familiar despair. She had traveled as fast as possible. Was she too late?
She stopped her horse at the top of the hill overlooking the valley, dismayed by all she saw. Laird Duncan’s men had swept down one side and the few MacLachlainn warriors – including her brother and Brian – down the other. Fog and magic created a chaotic display, and she was able to make out no one she knew or even who fought on what side. Laird Duncan had sent down an initial group of warriors and was preparing the bulk of his force to overrun the valley. All the fog in the world was not going to protect an army of a few dozen from one twenty times its size.
Niall reined in his horse beside hers. His breath caught.
“I cannot see John or Cade or Brian,” she said, distressed by the madness in the valley. She gripped the fur-lined, blue cloak – a gift from King John – to prevent the strong ocean breeze from whipping it around her.
“Cade is here.” Niall’s tone was hushed.
She realized he was not at all interested in the valley but staring into the sky. Black, roiling clouds laced with lightning were closing in from all sides, stretching from the earth to the sky.
“Is this … him?” she whispered.
“This is how Black Cade destroyed five Saracen villages.”
The man who saved her brother, who rescued her on countless occasions, who thought only of protecting his clan, was capable of great mercy and kindness and of equally great fury. But understanding what she did now, that he had gone mad to heal her brother, she was unable to condemn him as she once had for being a barbarian. Cade was a good man with a pure heart incapable of fending off the madness inside him. The storm was a part of him that had escaped his rigid self-mastery, and she found herself awed by the ability for him to contain turmoil so great. Once she saw the power of his madness splayed across the heavens, she admired him more for having ever mastered such darkness.
The wind turned to a gust that shoved off the helmets of those with her, and fat raindrops splashed onto the rocky terrain beneath their feet. Over the ocean, hail had begun to fall. Thunder smashed across the sky, shaking the ground and drawing a chorus of panicked whinnies from the horses.
Niall muttered under his breath. “I have to find him,” he said and twisted in his saddle. “You, with me!” He motioned to the dozen Scottish knights behind him he had selected to accompany him. “Stay here, Lady Isabel!”
She squeezed the reins, unable to take her eyes off the broiling tempest growing closer. She would never understand seillie magic or what it drove Cade to do, but she had seen it take hold of him before, in Laird Duncan’s Great Hall.
“I would recommend engaging Laird Duncan quickly,” said the man on her other side. The stewart, a cousin to the King of Scotland, had been educated in the English court and plucked for service after he came of age. Long of tooth, he was nonetheless sharp and wise and sent with her by her true father to ensure she secured the lands belonging to her mother.
“I am not a warrior,” she replied. “Do what you must to protect my lands.”
He signaled the commanders of the small army of knights and warriors lent to her. Two hundred men poured past them into the valley and vanished into the fog.
“The others?” he prodded at her silence.
Isabel could not look away from the storm, could not help but believe Cade would lose control only if he were suffering greatly. What had caused such suffering? How was she to remain here when he was in pain? Most importantly, how did she help him as she yearned to do?
“I do not know,” she said and shook her head. “My brother wished them to be closer to the ocean, away from the valley.”
“I rode across this land on many journeys in my youth. They could hide beyond the valley, near the cliffs.”
“Find them,”
she replied.
“’Twill be done.”
In her interactions with him, the stewart had asked no questions. She innately knew from speaking with her adopted father’s stewart on a daily basis before she left Saxony that a man in his position would accomplish his duty without hesitating as to the means required. She was grateful, for her mind was focused on not losing those she loved.
Another party of his men broke away at a gallop, headed towards the ocean rather than the valley, leaving her and the stewart with a personal guard of six. A lance floated before her eyes and smashed into a boulder. A sheepish guard hurried in front of the two of them to snatch it only for the wind to pull it out of his hands again. He shielded his eyes against the rain.
She frowned and looked up. The ocean breeze reached her, as did light sprinkles. But the gusting wind shoving horses to the side seemed to skip over her, along with raindrops around her.
Colorful lanterns – Cade’s spark of magic – appeared in the valley, obscured by the fog and blinking faintly. Green, yellow, pink. She watched as they disappeared, dispersing into the oncoming storm forming above their heads.
A black funnel cloud swept through the far side of the valley, devouring men and horses and throwing them far from the battle. It fizzled and dissipated, leaving only death in its wake.
The stewart crossed himself, murmuring a prayer, before he spoke loudly enough for her to hear. “’Tis unseillie magic. I did not think to believe you when you spoke of the seillie.”
Another funnel cloud formed, this one closer, and tore through the middle of the battle, slaying everyone in its path without discrimination.
“This is wrong,” she said, unable to catch her breath when she saw the power of Cade’s magic. Cade would never knowingly hurt any of his warriors.
“I fear the worst is coming.”
Her eyes lifted to the heavens.
Clouds had begun to swirl above the ocean. They formed a funnel that extended halfway to the sea while wind twisted the waves and lifted them towards the heavens. The mammoth funnel began to grow and pull in more clouds and water. Sparks of Cade’s sorcery glimmered and flashed in the depths.
Two people on horseback came from the direction of the ocean, over the hill, and started into the valley. She recognized Father Adam’s white hair and stooped form. He was headed towards the center of the battle, and she frowned.
Wind pushed the stewart’s horse into hers, and she steadied her destrier with a pat.
“We need to seek shelter!” the stewart cried above the gale sweeping in from the ocean. He turned his mount and started towards lower ground.
Untouched by gale or rain, Isabel hesitated. Two more funnels tore through the valley, and the downpour grew as thick as the fog.
Cade was there somewhere, and he was hurt or mad. His sorcery was once more visible, as it had been the night she followed him into the forest. He claimed it guided her to him, despite his wishes. The tempest roaring around her, caused by his magic, did not touch her. She was protected from him, by him.
Yer touch drives him back inside me, where he belongs, he had once told her about the Black Cade side of him.
Even now, pink gems sparkled from the far side of the battlefield. She had been drawn to the seillie chieftain since they first met, connected to him by a fate neither of them had understood. Her heart yearned for her to find him, to settle the darkness ripping him apart, to feel his arms around her once more and beg him to forgive her for treating him unfairly when he had the gentlest heart and wisest mind of any she had ever met. To lose him now, after all she had learnt, was unbearable.
Only when it was possibly too late did she see her own flawed thinking. Her greatest sin was not lust or hate. It was harshly judging a man worthy of her respect and love. He was flawed, and his magic frightened her. Whether her god or his had brought her to him, she was fated to share what remained of her life at his side. If they were to die here, it would be together, as husband and wife. It was an honor, one that would take all her strength, one that was worth her eternal soul, one he deserved.
“Lady Isabel!” the stewart shouted. “Come!”
She glanced towards the tempest forming over the sea. If it were to hit the valley, all would be lost.
Loosening her horse’s reins, she kneed it hard and bent over its neck.
She galloped down the hill, into the melee of the valley. Isabel guided the destrier away from those fighting and through the mud, her senses filled with the scent of earth and blood and the sounds of battle. Lightning raked across the sky and thunder smashed the heavens, rumbling the ground.
Another funnel swept by, this one close enough for her to see its incredible width and power, and she hunkered down over the horse. At one point, she thought she saw Father Adam, likewise skirting the battle, and headed in the same direction. He was swallowed by fog, and her course altered according to the pink lanterns.
Where Cade somehow protected her from magic, he was not present to save her from battle. One moment, she was atop her horse, and the next, she was hauled off its back and thrust to the ground. Isabel landed in the mud. Three men, too covered in grime and blood for her to make out what tartan they wore, stood over her with weapons raised.
“Is that her?” one shouted.
She hurried to her feet and started to run. One of them caught her arm and yanked her back. Just as quickly, his hand fell away, and his mouth dropped open. The two of them looked down at his severed arm at the same time, and she stifled a cry. The blade of a broadsword pierced his chest, splattering her with blood.
Isabel stared as her attacker fell, to be replaced by a familiar face.
Richard’s master-at-arms stood bloodied and breathing raggedly before her. She started to inch away, prepared to run to the destrier lingering outside the battle, when he spoke.
“You should not be here!” he said.
“I belong with Cade!”
Thunder roared loudly enough to cause them both to look up. The ground quaked beneath them. The grey-black clouds forming the edge of the wild sea tempest were visible over one ridge while a dark wall of clouds formed over the opposite ridge.
Isabel lifted the skirts of her gown and whirled, seeking the pink lanterns.
“Where do you go?” the master-at-arms gripped her arm. “You cannot think to enter battle!”
“I must find him!” she shouted above the wail of wind.
He studied her. “He controls this sorcery, does he not?”
Her mouth went dry. She considered lying to protect the seillie secret. Another crash of thunder dissuaded her.
“Yes,” she said. “But I can help him stop this!”
The knight appeared torn. She held her breath, awaiting his decision.
“I will assist, my lady,” he said finally. “Stay behind me.”
“He is there.” She pointed.
The master-at-arms released her and strode before her. He began to make a path, at times fighting and at other times, maneuvering around the warriors clogging the valley. She trailed him closely and guided him when needed by tapping his arm and pointing.
The fog began to turn black, and the funnel clouds to appear at shorter intervals. Aware of the massive storm creeping into the sky above her head, she began to witness the destruction it would leave. Men from the edges of the battle were thrown towards its center. Horses were next to be lifted and tossed, along with rocks and debris. The storm closed in around the valley and began to devour everyone in its path.
She pushed the master-at-arms, tears of fear on her face. Untouched by the tempest, she could not escape the sight of its destruction and violence as the world began to crash around her.
The men in their path were swept off their feet, and ocean water started to spill over the ridge into the valley.
Suddenly, the master-at-arms, was sucked into the air by the force of the winds.
“No!” she cried and held onto his cloak. She tripped over a dead warrior and fell, for
ced to witness her guide being swallowed by the storm. He disappeared into a funnel. Ocean water washed over everyone and everything in its path – but parted as it reached her and raced around her.
Isabel wiped her eyes clear of tears and continued. She refused to think of her brother being caught in the tempest or washed out to sea and forced herself to continue when she wanted nothing more than to drop to her knees and sob.
She had to find Cade.
The men before her were torn away from the ground beneath their feet by a combination of wind and seawater, whose rising levels threatened to block her view soon. She followed the pink lanterns, the trail of Cade’s magic.
At long last, when all was flung clear from her path, she glimpsed him before a wave of seawater blocked her sight. The water passed, and a passage opened for her to reach him.
Cade knelt with his head bowed, surrounded by the colorful lanterns of his magic, untouched by the storms.
“Cade!” she cried.
If he heard her above the wind, he did not move.
Isabel stumbled and staggered through the mud left when the ocean retreated to allow her passage. She splashed into a puddle and rose with effort. Breathless, she looked him over, not convinced he was alive. He was so still, drenched and bleeding.
“Cade!” she called again. “You must stop this!”
He shifted without lifting his head.
“Cade!”
“Yer dead.” His low voice was ragged.
“I am here!” she said and focused on traversing the last few obstacles to reach him. “Cade, you will kill us all!”
“Can … no’ … stop … it.”
A sob welled up inside her. “You must! My brother … your cousins and kin … you will slay them! You will slay me!”
“I am … weak. Can … no’ fight it.”
Her ankle twisted beneath her, and she fell once more. Fire shot through her, as burning and hot as when she had broken her shin falling from a horse. Trembling, Isabel swiped away tears and water from her face and rose. She limped forward. Reaching him at last, she dropped to her knees before him. “You can fight it. You must!” she said, voice cracking. “Your magic guided me here. It protected me so I could help you!”