Aldred stammered an apology, then stopped, scowling. Finally, he spat, “What the fuck is going on? Who are you?”
Julianne sighed tiredly. “I’m me, Aldred. And yes, I just returned. We defeated the New Dawn, but Donna slipped away—I think the magic she was exposed to has warped her mind a little.”
“You mean—” Aldred stopped, then dropped into a whisper. “You mean, she’s Donna?”
“Who?” Marcus asked, shaking his head with confusion.
Aldred glared his way silently, and Marcus bristled at the suspicion on his face.
“The other me,” Julianne said flatly.
“So, you know about that,” Aldred said. “Master, if it’s really you… please, I don’t want to have to force through. Your shields.”
“Just for a moment,” she warned. “I don’t know what that psychopath is up to, and I’m in no state to defend against her, not yet.”
Marcus watched as both Julianne’s and Aldred’s eyes flashed white. Julianne’s faded quickly, while Aldred’s continued to glow. A moment later, Marcus felt a gentle pressure on his mind.
Strengthening his shield, Marcus grinned. “Sorry, friend. Julianne might trust you, but I don’t know you—and right now, I wouldn’t trust my own mother if she was standing next to you.”
Marcus didn’t mention that his mother was dead these last seven years—if she had been there, he would reach for a knife before a hug.
Aldred sighed. “Fair enough.” He bowed to Julianne, a deep, reverent gesture. “You have my deepest apologies, Master. We have suspected the one with your face is not who she seems, but the authority of the position…”
“Turns you into a horde of dithering idiots,” Julianne finished for him. “I’m a leader, not a precocious god.”
A smile touched Aldred’s lips. “Ah, yes. It’s definitely you.”
Julianne swallowed, and Marcus winced at the dark circles beneath her eyes. “Aldred, your Master really does need help.”
Aldred jumped and nodded. “I’ll send for someone. Perhaps… Oh, Bitch help me. You wouldn’t know…”
“That Margit is dead?” Julianne asked. “It’s ok. I found out earlier. Terribly sad.”
Marcus’s breath caught, and pain sank into his chest. Julianne had spoken of Margit like a favorite grandmother, someone she loved and trusted above all others. She had often joked that if he didn’t meet Margit’s approval, their relationship would just have to end.
Where the hell did she hear that? Marcus wondered.
Her face gave no hint of the grief she must be feeling, but he tried to believe that it was because she really was strong enough to handle the news. Still, she didn’t look strong… she looked downright nonchalant.
Marcus’s lips pressed together while his brain raced over the possibilities. All he knew was there was something she wasn’t telling him—and as they entered the Temple dining hall, this wasn’t the time or the place to ask what.
He had promised to trust her, so that’s all he could do. When it was safe, she would tell him what the hell was going on.
Julianne slowly walked past the few mystics dining in the cavernous hall. Marcus watched as eyes slid their way, quickly appraising the newcomer before quickly averting. The low hum of conversation quickly fell under a stifling blanket of silence.
Three of the diners walked out, and Marcus saw one still held a plate full of barely-touched food.
“Donna must have really done a number on these guys,” Marcus said. “That, or your stories about the level of fun in this place were way overstated.”
“Hey,” Julianne chided quietly. “We’re fun. Most of the time.”
“You must be right.” Marcus looked around, taking in the somber faces as Julianne slid into a seat a little larger than the others at the head of the table. He took the seat next to hers. “I can’t imagine Danil coming from a place like this.”
Julianne snorted. “I don’t know where Danil came from. He says he was born on a farm, but I swear, the man was raised in a bawdy tavern. Or maybe a brothel…”
“For all his talk, I don’t think he’s ever stepped foot near a prostitute before he met Polly,” Marcus said, grinning.
He noticed a few curious looks turning their way, and he blinked as his shield wobbled under the pressure of several mental probes. He slowed his breathing and locked his eyes on Julianne’s.
“You good?” she asked softly.
He gave the slightest nod, then jumped as a young woman trotted up to them with a platter of warm bread and sliced fruit, and a pitcher of elixir with a glass. “Master, I’m so sorry. We just got William’s message.” She deposited the tray and waited, posture tight and lips in a tight line.
“That’s fine, Daisy,” Julianne said. “Tell the cook I said thank you, and sorry to put her to such a bother outside of meal time.”
A look of confusion flitted across Daisy’s face as she dropped a quick curtsy. Once she had scurried away, Marcus leaned close to Julianne.
“Are young girls normally that terrified of you here?” he asked.
“Not if they behave,” Julianne said wryly. “I think that ‘other me’ has been a bit short on manners, though, and they’re already used to her abrupt orders.” Then, she groaned. “Oh, Bastard’s luck.”
Marcus looked up to see a middle-aged man headed their way, carrying a small basket. His face was drawn, and his eyes cast to the floor.
“Jonsen!” Julianne’s voice was laced with false cheer. “I see you’re finally living your dream.”
Jonsen looked up warily. “I beg your pardon?”
Julianne dropped her voice, looking him directly in the eyes. “I remember you once told me that when your magic manifested, you were disappointed it wasn’t nature-based. You said you’d always wanted to be a druid.”
Jonsen’s face trembled, and he frowned, burying his attention in the small pile of bandages he had brought.
“And now, here you are, patching me up,” Julianne said, more loudly.
Jonsen carefully lifted Julianne’s arm. He probed it carefully, and she sucked in a hissing breath, jaw dimpling as she clenched her teeth.
“You ok, Jules?” Marcus asked.
“Fine.” Her voice was strained.
“I’m afraid you have a break, or at least a fracture.” Jonsen sighed. “We will have to send to Arcadia for help. I’m not even sure the rearick would be able to help in their med hall. I’m afraid my meagre talent isn’t enough to treat this, apart from basic care.”
He helped Julianne to wrap the arm in a piece of fabric, strapping it down to her chest to keep it still.
“There,” he said, patting it hard enough to make her wince. “All done.”
“Thank the Bitch for that,” Julianne muttered. “Sorry, Jonsen, I care for you dearly, but you’re about as gentle as a shit-faced moose.”
Jonsen sucked in a small, fast gasp, his eyes widening. Instead of the shock or irritation Marcus had expected, the man’s eyes filled as his mouth parted in desperate hope.
“Master?” he whispered quietly. “You’re… you again?”
“Damn straight,” she said. “Don’t say anything, though. I’m not sure what we’re dealing with yet.”
Jonsen nodded, a sharp, jerky motion. Then, he quickly piled up the bandages and hurried away.
“I’ve lost my appetite,” Julianne said. She reached for the elixir and downed it in a long swallow. “Oh, my dear elixir. I’ve missed you so much.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow as she held the cup to her chest. She grinned at him.
“I love you too, Marcus, but until you’ve gone from drinking the nectar of the gods on a daily basis to sipping under-aged wine, you can’t know how glad I am to be back.”
“We’d best get you to bed,” he said. “Because you may not have noticed the herbs floating in that pitcher, but I did.”
“Herbs?” Julianne stood, leaning over the table to peer in. “Well, whaddya know?” Her cheeks flushed
as her smile widened. “My thanks to the chef.”
Marcus chuckled. “Fast acting, I see.”
Julianne nodded, then frowned. “I shouldn’t have drunk that. I need to be on my guard. I can’t fight Donna if I’m wiped out on sedatives.”
Marcus shot out of his seat, alarmed. “What about your shield?” He hissed quietly. “Are you in danger? I’ll carry you back down that damned mountain if I have to.”
“Don’t be silly,” Julianne said. She gripped the table with one hand to steady herself and her eyes turned white, the soft, familiar glow a comfort to Marcus. They cleared. “There. I can focus past it now.”
“Wait,” Marcus said, catching her free arm as she turned away from the table. “You just… magicked away the effects of a drug?”
Julianne snorted. “Nope. But I did make sure I’ll stay awake. You’ve never been drunk and had to turn up for guard duty?” she asked, making her way to the door.
Marcus nodded, eyes quickly taking in the plush tapestries they passed and memorizing the route they took through the winding Temple hallways. “And no, I won’t tell you how drunk, or how often.”
She giggled. “You were still drunk, but you concentrated hard enough that no one noticed, right?”
Marcus nodded. That wasn’t entirely right—old Dickerson had caught on, more than once—but he had gotten away with it a few times.
Julianne shrugged. “It’s like that. I still can’t walk in a straight line, and I’m tired as hell, but I refuse to notice.” That may have been true, but Marcus waited as Julianne glared at a stairwell, as if trying to flatten it with her mental powers. Finally, she steeled herself and started up them.
“Damn,” Marcus remarked. “I could have used that trick back in my soldiering days.”
Julianne clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “You don’t mean to tell me the good citizens of Arcadia have had to rely on a drunk guardsman, do you?”
Marcus chuckled. “I never pretended to be an angel. Some of the stories I could tell would curl your toes.”
Julianne paused at the top of the steps, rubbing her face.
“You really should go for a lie down, Jules,” Marcus said gently. He hoped his insistence wouldn’t make her fight the idea harder.
To his surprise, she nodded. “That’s where I’m going now.” She gestured ahead. “My rooms are down at the end, and my beautiful, wonderful bed is in there. I plan to have a very intimate reunion with it in about twelve seconds.”
“Unlike you to actually take a break when you need one,” Marcus pointed out. “Not that I’m saying it’s a bad thing.”
“I know when I’m bordering on useless,” she answered. “Bitch’s oath, Marcus. I’m tired, sore, and my head is absolutely pounding. I need meditation and sleep—and not necessarily in that order.”
Feet pounded up the stairs behind them, and Aldred emerged into the stairway.
“Master Julianne,” he panted. “News from Craigston. It’s the rearick—they’re marching against us!”
“They’re what?” Marcus snapped. “What do you mean against us?”
Aldred shot him a look, but Julianne nodded for the master guardsman to explain. “They sent a messenger ahead. A rearick soldier came, he said if we don’t hand you over, they’ll attack the Temple!”
Aldred’s voice shook, rising higher with every word until it finally broke on the last.
Julianne sighed. “How far are they?”
“I sent scouts straight out. They estimate we have about two hours,” Aldred said.
“Well, then,” Julianne said. “At least I have time for a nap before they get here.”
“A nap?” Aldred said, voice no more than a whimper.
Julianne sighed. “I literally can’t think past the end of my nose. If I don’t rest, I’ll fall down.”
Aldred took in Julianne’s pale face and the dark circles under her eyes. He gave a curt nod, then turned to Marcus. “You’re a soldier?” he asked.
“Yes,” Marcus replied, straightening. “I served Arcadia, fought in the rebellion, and served Arcadia again afterwards. I led the battle for Tahn alongside Julianne and helped to free Muir from the New Dawn, too.”
Aldred frowned at the unfamiliar place names, but turned to Julianne. “Master, what we are facing… it’s beyond my experience.”
Julianne touched his shoulder. “It’s beyond all of us, Aldred. Rearick marching against the mystics? Never in all of history have we faced such a trial.” Her hand fell away, and she straightened. “Marcus will assist you. Trust his advice. He’s wiser than he looks.”
Marcus rolled his eyes at that.
“I’ll send William up to stand at your door.” Aldred’s eyes glowed as he sent the mental message. “Master, if I may—your shield? It’s shutting off my ability to speak with you.”
“I can’t drop it,” she explained. “Or I may never get it back up again. I don’t know where Donna is or what she’s up to, but I can’t risk letting her in my head.”
Aldred nodded. “Of course, Master Julianne.”
Julianne leaned in to hug Marcus, whispering in his ear as she relaxed into him. “Help them prepare for the worst, my love… but do not let this come to war.” She pushed back and stepped away. “Come and fetch me before they arrive,” she said.
Heavy boots clomped at the stairs and William appeared. He jogged over to them.
“Your job is to keep Master Julianne safe,” Aldred said. “At all costs.”
William nodded and stood at attention, his eyes turning white. Aldred shook his head.
“No!” the master guardsman snapped. “Full shield. If we need you, I’ll send a man on foot.”
William nodded, and Aldred hurried away, Marcus by his side.
Julianne slipped into her room and inhaled deeply. The scent of old lavender still hung gently in the stale air.
“So,” said William, hovering in the air. “It’s really you?”
Julianne smiled gently. “The one and only.” She pulled at the bed spread, awkwardly tugging it down.
William darted in to help her, expertly turning it down before helping her out of her long, white robe. Julianne slid between the clean sheets, basking in the cool, crisp feel after weeks on the road.
“I was beginning to think I’d never see you again, Master Julianne,” William said softly.
“You already did,” Julianne said. “Outside, in the snow. That was me—the real me.”
“Oh, no,” William said, laughing. “That wasn’t me. That was the real William.”
Julianne lurched upright, but the man towering above her shoved her back. He leaned down, pressing Julianne’s injured arm, and tugged a pillow over her face to smother her agonized cry.
The fabric pressed against her mouth, but a rough hand tugged it away from the top of her face to let her see Donna staring down at her.
“Oh, Julianne. I’m so glad you’re back.” Donna gave Julianne’s arm another twist. “It’s a pity we can’t play just now. You see, I have a war to kick off.”
Pain lanced through Julianne, and her stomach roiled, as a veil of darkness slowly closed over her. She reached out to the one person she knew could help, but, swamped by agony and muddled by sedatives, her magic crumbled before she finally lost consciousness completely.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Bastian bared his teeth and braced hard as the remnant lunged at him. A clumsy strike saw his sword clatter to the ground. The remnant grabbed a hunk of Bastian’s hair and jerked his head forwards, gnashing broken teeth at Bastian’s neck.
Bastian shoved, punching the beast’s throat until it let go. He stumbled back, and a second body slam threw him to the ground. The remnant growled and spat, screaming obscenities as the mystic desperately shielded his face with one arm, punching and flailing with the other as the remnant pummeled Bastian’s head.
A blow to the gut made Bastian’s diaphragm spasm, then freeze. His mouth opened like a drowning fish as he tried to suck
air back into his chest.
“Weak!” the remnant screamed. “Weak! You no warrior, you weak!”
A boot planted in the dirt by Bastian’s head, and through his oxygen-starved mind, he recognized it as Tansy’s. A flash of sunlight on metal left spots in his vision.
Bastian stretched out, and the remnant saw its chance. It dove, mouth open, towards Bastian’s cheek. Teeth sank in and pain speared his face even as his fingers fumbled for purchase on Tansy’s boot.
He found it. Her knife—one of them, anyway—slipped out, clutched in numb fingers as he stabbed. His first strike sank into flesh and the remnant howled, flesh pulling from Bastian’s face and breaking away with a sickening twang.
He thrust the knife again, aiming under the chin of the remnant as it was distracted by the flood of blood spurting from its neck. The remnant jerked as the knife smoothly slid through flesh, tendon, and finally brain.
Lungs finally cooperating, Bastian gasped and heaved the dead weight of the remnant off his chest. He rolled to his knees, and retched until a rough hand yanked his shirt from the back, pulling him up.
“Ye pansy,” Garrett cried. “Stop pukin’ an’ start killin’!”
Bastian reeled as Garrett let him go, stumbling two steps to the side before Garrett grabbed him again.
“Fuck’s sake, lad. Tomorrow, you’ll report fer mornin’ trainin’. No excuses!” Garrett paused to run his sword through the guts of a charging remnant. “Bah. Take this an’ try not ta get yerself killed.” He shoved the dripping sword at Bastian.
“There are too many,” Bastian panted, his eyes glowing white as he used his magic to block out the pain in his cheek. “We can’t win this.”
“Me lassie will be along soon enough,” Garrett said, grinning. A horse whinnied loudly and yells of “Tahn!” rang out across the battleground. “There she is now! Go find yer girl and stick by her. She’ll keep ye safe.”
Garrett stepped on a dead remnant, craning his neck to see over Mack and Sharne, back to back in the center of a ring of remnant. Mack fought with force, chopping and swinging his heavy sword to lop off limbs and, as Garrett watched, a head.
A New Dawn- Complete series Page 74