“Hold on!” he whispered. “Please! I can’t lose you!”
Damian began to run.
Faeries saw them and rushed to help. One offered to take Adela from him, but he refused. The healer hastened out, asking questions faster than Damian could answer. He carried Adela to a room adjoining the healer’s quarters and laid her on the bed.
Rafael and Lidia barged into the room. Lidia ran straight to Adela’s side. Rafael went to where Damian stood, bent with exhaustion. They had more questions that he did not want to answer. He waited instead for the healer to speak.
“It is a dark poison. But there is more that is happening to her.” The healer turned to Damian. “What is it?”
“She was placed under a binding spell, but that should have ended.”
The healer gasped. “A binding spell?”
Damian took Marek’s bloodied band from the pocket of his tunic and showed it to the healer. Then he went to Adela, revealing the bracelet around her wrist. It now moved freely off her hand. He took both bands and threw them into the fire. Adela cried out as they burned, then fell limp once more.
“You should go so that I can look after her,” the healer said. “She will recover in time. I will let you all know when she wakes.”
Rafael and Lidia followed Damian from the room.
“What happened?” Lidia asked, tears making their way down her stricken face.
“That will have to wait.” A faery from the King’s guard joined them. He stood taller than Damian and wore the insignia of a captain. “Damian, the King wants you under guard until Adela recovers. Then he wants to know the full story so that he may pass judgment.”
“What? No!” Rafael protested. “Judgment on what? They didn’t do anything.”
“That’s what the King wants to make sure of,” the guard replied with a stern look. “Remove your sword and come with me.”
Damian unbuckled the weapon from his waist and handed it to Rafael. More guards fell in beside Damian. He made no resistance as they led him away to his room. The door was locked behind him, and he could hear the guards take their positions on either side.
He collapsed into a chair.
It is over. She’s safe. Nothing else matters.
Relieved by that knowledge, Damian slept.
Hours later, he awoke. The guards brought him food, but no news of Adela. He paced the room. He needed to know what was going on. Was she better? Worse? At long last, the door unlocked.
Damian stood instantly.
Rafael accompanied the healer into the room.
Damian focused on the healer. “How is she?”
“Not well, I’m afraid.” Worry creased the healer’s face. “Are you sure you broke the bond?”
“Yes.”
“There must be something else then,” she said. “I’ve given her medicine that should counteract the poison, but the sickness is still there. If something doesn’t happen soon—she’ll die.”
“No!”
Damian leaned heavily on the chair, knocked breathless by the healer’s words.
“I’m sorry.”
The healer left. Rafael turned to Damian.
“We’ll figure something out, Damian.”
“I have to see her.” Panic began to build inside Damian again. I can’t lose her. What can I do? A desperate solution came quick on the heels of the thought.
“I have to go.”
“What? You can’t leave here,” Rafael reminded him.
“Raf, please, you have to help me.”
Rafael hesitated for a long moment. “All right, what do you need?”
Damian shoved a few items into a small bag and slung it over his shoulder. “I need to get out of here unnoticed.”
“Then what?”
“I’m going to see the Nameless Ones.” Damian’s voice was grim.
“Damian!” Rafael exclaimed in horror. “Why?”
“Maybe they know some way to stop the poison.” Damian grabbed one of his spare knives and tucked it into his belt. “After all, some of them have used poisons, or worked with witches.”
If they did not help, then he would go to Count Stefan. He would need the count’s assistance if he was to try and confront the witch. He moved to the door, but Rafael blocked his path.
“Think about this, Damian. You know what will happen if anyone finds out what you’re planning!”
“Do you see another choice?” Damian half-hoped Rafael had some other idea.
Rafael fell silent for a moment. Then he slowly shook his head, his normally cheerful face twisted into worry.
Damian shrugged. “Then I have to go.”
Rafael ran a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh.
“Fine.” His frown remained, but he stepped aside from the door.
Damian hid himself with magic. When Rafael left the room, he slipped out behind him, unseen by the guards. He kept his feet light against the stone floors as he returned through the hallways to the healer’s quarters.
There was no one in the room with Adela. Damian sat in a chair by the bed. Adela lay feverish and unmoving. He took her hand, but she didn’t respond. He clenched his fist in frustration.
She found a way around her curse. She made a choice. I will find a way.
He brushed the back of her hand. “I will save you, Adela. Because I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time. So please, try and hold on for me.”
He slid the grass bracelet from his wrist, breaking their bond. He didn’t want there to be any chance that she would see what he was about to do.
“Good bye,” he whispered, then leaned down and kissed her cheek.
Rafael had placed Damian’s sword and belt inside the room. He buckled it onto its familiar place on his hip. Then Damian strode to the open window and flew out without a backward glance.
****
The Nameless Ones’ territory abutted the part of the forest that Damian cared for. At the line of division, the forest changed. It became dark and overgrown with thorns and poisonous plants, reflecting the malice of the inhabitants within. No living being went there except for those with darkness and hate in their hearts.
Damian landed and stood just outside the border.
“I know you’re there!” he shouted. “I want to speak with you.”
The dark forest waited in silence.
“Just because your father knew me does not give you the right to call me,” a sibilant voice answered.
A faery appeared, clad in dark clothes worn and tattered through. His eyes were dark shadows in an unnaturally pale face. He blinked in the sun and spread his black wings to shield himself.
Damian looked on him with pity, remembering at time long ago when laughter had shown in the faery instead of hate.
“Why are you here?” the dark faery hissed.
“There is a faery who was bound by a witch to an evil mortal. She was poisoned while doing their bidding. I broke the bond over her and the poison has been treated, but she still has not recovered. What can I do?”
“Why ask me?” The faery smirked, faintly amused.
“Because you know of these matters.”
“Perhaps, but why should I help you?”
Damian unsheathed his sword and pointed it at the faery. “I will kill you if you don’t.”
The dark faery sniggered. “Careful, boy, or you’ll become like me. You might think you’re doing something right, but it will take you down a path you won’t want to come back from.” The faery waved him off. “You shouldn’t be here. I can’t help you.”
He turned away.
“Narcyz!” Damian called after him.
The faery hissed, almost in pain. “It is forbidden to use my name,” he spat. “Be careful—Damian.”
“Please, Godfather.” Damian lowered his sword. “I love her.”
Narcyz glanced from Damian’s sword to his face. “I see you are already in trouble with the king, so you think you have nothing more to lose. I will tell you what
I can. If a witch made the binding spell, then her blood is also a part of it. She still holds power over the faery and will maintain it until she drains the life from the faery—unless the witch dies first.”
Damian sheathed his sword. “Thank you.”
He knew what he had to do. Confronting the witch was the only way to save Adela. Perhaps Count Stefan would help him bring justice to those who had hurt her.
“Damian,” the faery said, his face softening at a memory from before the darkness. “I see only death on this path you intend to take.”
“I have to try.”
“Then you are as foolish as your father,” Narcyz said. “He thought he could save me and he failed.”
He vanished back into the twisted trees.
Damian spread his wings and flew until the towers of Count Stefan’s castle came into sight. He did not dwell on the Nameless One’s words.
He would save Adela. No matter the cost.
Chapter 9
Count Stefan stared at the pattern of swirling green that brushed the tiles under his chair in the great hall. He hadn’t been able to think straight since Adela had disappeared. Part of him was shaken that he had narrowly escaped an assassination. Another part couldn’t accept that she had been the one to try and kill him.
The whole castle was thick with shock and rumors over what had happened. No one spoke of it in front of him, but he knew there were whispered conversations in the halls and kitchens.
Stefan wished he knew why Adela had done it. Why she had almost killed him, then taken the poison for herself. Who had controlled her? Where had she gone? Was she still alive?
He sighed. He had too many questions and no answers.
Footsteps paused a few feet away and someone coughed. Stefan dragged his eyes up to see his captain.
“My lord,” Cyryl addressed him.
The captain looked at Stefan with a new respect in his eyes. People were already beginning to call him Stefan the Blest, as if the faery’s words would rescind his previous misfortunes.
The way everyone is looking at me now, there must be some sort of glowing aura around me I’m not aware of.
“Yes, Captain?”
Cyryl cleared his throat again. “There is someone here who wishes to speak with you, my lord.”
Stefan wondered why the captain was performing the steward’s duty. He sat straighter in interest. Something unusual was happening. “Send him in.”
Cyryl gestured to the doorkeepers.
The doors swung open, and a figure stepped through. He was not tall, but he commanded the attention of the hall. He strode purposefully toward Stefan. He carried a short sword and wore plain clothes of a style slightly different than the others in the hall. The look reminded Stefan of Adela’s clothes.
The stranger halted in front of the dais, dipping his head in a respectful salute. The Count’s hunting dog rose and went to the stranger, rubbing against his leg.
Stefan watched in surprise. The dog had never been friendly with anyone before. The man bent to ruffle the dog’s ears, murmuring a few words in a language Stefan didn’t understand.
He’s a faery!
“You are welcome here, faery. I am Count Stefan. They told me you wished to speak with me.”
“My name is Damian,” the faery said. “I am here because of Adela.”
Stefan started from his seat. “You know her! Where is she? What happened to her?”
A shadow passed over Damian’s face. “She was poisoned by Count Marek and his witch. She will die unless we can stop it.”
“Marek!” Stefan exclaimed in disgust. “I’m not surprised to hear that snake was involved in this. What did he do?”
Damian explained in concise terms about the bond forced on Adela and Marek’s power controlling her every moment. Stefan was silent for a long moment, trying to reconcile everything that Damian said with the events that had happened since Adela had arrived.
She hadn’t loved him. She had been forced. But she’d shown kindness anyway.
“Why are you here?” Cyryl demanded.
For the first time, another expression broke past the grim frown on Damian’s face. It was one Stefan recognized. It was one of pained desperation to try and save a loved one. And he understood part of the reason Adela had been so reluctant.
“Because I am—a friend of hers. I cannot sit back and watch her die. Not if there is a way to stop it.”
“And is there?” Stefan asked.
He nodded. “The witch is Marek’s sister. She is the one who placed the spell. Her death will stop the poison. I will fight her, but I need help.”
“I thought a faery could not kill a human,” Cyryl interjected.
“It is against our law.” Damian’s expression sobered. “But the witch holds a dark and terrible power and has harmed innocent people. It is either her life or Adela’s. Her evil must be stopped before it infects this land further.”
“My lord, are you considering this?” Cyryl leaned closer to Stefan, the eager interest in his expression belying the caution in his words.
He wants to help.
Stefan knew the captain’s mother had been a friend of the faeries. Besides, there was no guile in Damian’s eyes. They could trust him.
“Yes, Captain, I am.” Stefan stood. “Marek has been trying to take my lands from me for a long time. Now he has made an attempt on my life. This is war.”
A rumble ran through the hall with his declaration.
“What of the witch?” a lord asked.
“I will fight the witch with my magic,” Damian said. “I have the best chance to counter her power.”
Stefan nodded in agreement. “My warriors and I will deal with Marek and his soldiers. Captain Cyryl, mobilize the men. We leave by tomorrow morning.”
“What more can I do?” Damian asked.
Stefan turned to him. “Wait.”
*
And wait Damian did. The castle did not sleep as the soldiers prepared to leave. Damian remained in the great hall, listening to the count and his lords plan for the next day. He sharpened his sword, wishing that they could move faster. Adela did not have much time.
Finally, the humans were ready. Stefan found Damian and brought him to one last council meeting. The Count and his captains went over their plan again, looking to Damian for his approval. He knew little of wars but it seemed sound to him.
The council was dismissed. Damian and Stefan walked through the courtyard.
“Will you ride with us?” Stefan asked.
“I will be close by,” Damian answered and changed into the barn owl.
He hovered over the gate as the count gave the order. Then, his army left the castle. The townspeople watched in silence as the soldiers left, wondering at their fate.
Marek’s lands lay four miles from Stefan’s. By midday they were within sight of his castle. The sleek grey stone rose from the ground like a dark stain against the clear sky. Pale blue banners flapped in the breeze. Damian circled the walls, counting the soldiers that paced the wide parapets.
Damian joined Stefan and his men on the ground, shifting to his faery form to relay the information.
The Count frowned in thought. “The gates will be closed against us. I don’t know how long it will take to break through to the main keep. How long does Adela have?”
“Not long enough.” Damian gestured towards the gates. “I will open those for you. Be prepared to move.”
“Wait.” Stefan stayed him with a touch to his shoulder. “You love her, don’t you?”
Damian paused. “Yes, I do.”
The count didn’t look surprised, but disappointment still marred his face.
Damian continued. “She has told me about you. You are a great man and deserve the blessing she gave. I am honored that you are willing to help me.”
Stefan only nodded.
Damian spread his wings and took flight, hurtling towards the castle. A strange recklessness came over him as the rumble of the
cavalry charge echoed behind him. He raised his hands together, calling forth a blast of raw magic to throw against the gates. They crumbled under the force of his power, shaking the castle and its walls. The guards stared in shock as he landed in the courtyard.
****
Stefan and his soldiers burst through the ruined gates. Marek’s men rushed to defend themselves. Within minutes, battles had broken out all over the castle.
Marek clutched at the bandaged stump of his left arm as he and his sister descended through the melee into the courtyard to join the fight. Marek’s soldiers fought with renewed vigor as they saw their leader.
Stefan cut through a soldier, pushing through the melee towards Marek. Marek quickly drew his sword. The two counts met with a clash of steel. Malvina side-stepped their fight, her dark power swirling about her as she and Damian locked glares.
Damian drew his own sword as the witch advanced. She raised her staff and cast a bolt of lightning at him. He whipped his blade out in front of him, its keen edge parting the electricity around him. Undeterred, she rammed her staff into the ground. The earth shook.
Damian stumbled as the courtyard heaved around him, and the buildings groaned. In a sudden burst of magic, Malvina vanished, then reappeared in front of him. He parried a thrust of her staff but a bolt of power from her hand knocked his sword away. Another magical strike from her threw him to the ground.
“Pathetic!” she spat, raising her staff again.
Damian clapped his hands together, emitting a brilliant stream of light. Malvina screamed and shielded her eyes, dropping the staff. Damian scrambled to his feet and backed away, desperately looking for his sword.
Malvina recovered and took up her staff. She plunged it into the ground again as Damian ran to his fallen blade. The keep began to crumble, and Damian struggled to avoid falling masonry. Around him, men cried out as they were struck. The ground beneath him shook, and he strove to keep his balance. He spread his wings, flying a few feet above the ground.
He turned at the beat of heavier wings. Malvina, now in the form of a giant vulture, stretched out her talons. They latched into the front of his tunic, and her wings powered them both high above the keep. Damian struggled futilely against her immense strength. The witch shrieked in triumph.
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