Wayward Magic (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 2)

by Melinda Kucsera

  But his son had asked a good question. Thing scanned the Guardswomen's minds as he circled them. If they felt the wind of his passage, they gave no sign. But they were fully kitted out in the Guards' uniform of blue wool tunic and trousers plus leather gauntlets, vambraces, and greaves. They even had cuirasses.

  When Thing pierced their minds, all the usual chatter humans indulged in inside their thick skulls washed over him. He picked through it, searching for answers.

  Did you find out what they’re carrying? Crispin asked.

  Bodies, Thing sent as he flapped silently for the ceiling. They pulled wheeled stretchers behind them, and the yellow-robed mender moved between the stretchers as the group progressed.

  “Are they dead bodies?” Crispin squawked in alarm.

  Shush. Speak only mind-to-mind until we’re out of earshot. Sound carries when stones are naked like this. Thing gave him a reproachful look as he took the lead again. Behind them, the posse of war women vanished around a bend.

  You didn’t answer me. Are those dead bodies? Crispin stayed on the outcropping, his claws scratching the stone.

  The thought of dead humans was strangely horrifying to his son, but Thing couldn’t understand why. Everything died eventually. No, they’re not dead, just drained. Their spark is dark.

  The transept ended finally, thank the Creator, because the seeing stone had gone still a few minutes ago, and they hadn't found any trace of those crystals. Which meant, they might still arrive in time to see who had disturbed them. That person might still be there, passed out among the shards, just waiting for them to interrogate him or her. At least that was the plan Thing had cobbled together on the hurried flight down here.

  So, those people are darkening like Nulthir? Crispin landed on a shield-shaped rock formation facing the intersection. He was still talking about the bodies those Guardswomen were transporting. Why them? It was a strange duty for such warriors to carry out.

  Thing considered his son’s question for a moment. Yes, they are. And that was interesting, perhaps more interesting than the shards whose magic had infected Nulthir with its darkness.

  Where are they taking those drained people? I presume they're inmates here, Crispin asked as Thing hovered over the intersection.

  Another good question. Thing cast his mind back to the Guardswomen and read their destination. To the infirmary. Thing landed on the stone ledge overlooking the T-intersection. Maybe they should follow those bodies and the man who was hiding his power. He could be hiding more than that.

  Crispin swung up beside his father using his tail and claws to find purchase on the wall. Which way do we go now?

  Before Thing could answer, a figure dashed into the transept. He zeroed in on the bag the gray-robed human carried—it had a familiar magical signature, and it was cold in the infrared and in his mage sight.

  Thing leaped off the ledge. Follow him. He has the shards of that object inside the sac. That would account for the odd protrusions, and why this person was running all out. Whatever protection his master had given him must have a time limit. Good because so did Nulthir.

  Finally, we'll get some answers, Crispin said as he flew hard to catch up.

  Don't get too close. We don't know how far away those shards can drain a body, Thing warned as Crispin struggled to pass him.

  Crispin tried to look him in the eye, but he couldn’t turn his head one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. It was just another difference between them. It can't strike us down from afar. You have to touch it for it to affect you.

  In that case, Thing put on a burst of speed. There was no need to hang back and every reason to keep a tight tail on this gray-robed human.

  The lumir crystals set at shoulder height in niches carved into the wall winked out as their quarry passed them.

  “How will we know if he turns?” Crispin squawked as they were plunged into darkness.

  I'll see it. But Thing wasn't sure how good his son’s eyesight was. Not even Amal’s was as sharp as his in the dark, and this tunnel was growing darker with every extinguished crystal.

  “Yeah, but will I see it?” Crispin asked before Thing could shush him. His son was a warm blob with wings and a tail in his infrared vision.

  Thing held one finger up to his beak and signaled for silence before the next crystal light winked out. Mind-talking only, remember? We don’t want him to know we’re following him.

  Sorry. Is it a 'him' were chasing? I can barely make him out. They flew on, dodging stalactites.

  That was another good question. If this human ran into more humans, he'd be harder to track especially if he lowered his hood. Thing scanned the thief's mind, but there was just some nonsensical prattle about an angel, but no thoughts about what he was doing with those shards, or why he’d taken them in the first place.

  Did you get anything from your mind scan? Crispin asked. He'd fallen further behind because the darkness made it hard for him to see the stalactites and avoid them.

  No, there's something wrong with his mind. But Thing delved deeper because he needed answers. A dark thing pushed back hard, forcing him out of the gray-robed man's head.

  Stars exploded in his vision, and everything went dark for a moment. A deep rumbling laugh resounded along with the gnashing of many teeth as something grabbed hold of his mind and pulled.

  Thing clawed at the dark creature that was trying to capture him, shredding its mind. I'm not your prey. Go back to the shadows where you belong. With one more vicious strike at the heart of the laughing darkness, Thing wrenched himself free of its dark, suffocating grip.

  Dad! Crispin shouted as he put on a burst of speed and flew blindly on. But there was nothing his son could do in a battle of minds.

  Thing slammed back into his body in time to twist aside and avoid a stalactite. He dug his claws into the stone wall, extended his tail and caught his son around the waist before Crispin slammed headfirst into the same stalactite. Relief swept through his son at the physical contact as they hung there by Thing’s claws.

  What happened? Your mind disappeared. I couldn't find you. Crispin patted Thing down, seeking injuries that weren't there while their quarry got further away.

  I'm not sure. My mind might have gotten too close to those shards he carries. That would explain the darkness. But not the laughter or the gnashing teeth, and that bothered Thing. A bad feeling sliced through him, leaving him cold and shaking from fear for his family and his friend.

  What is it, Dad? Did you find something? Crispin swung up onto the rock ledge above them. It ran parallel to the ceiling at just the right height for his son to run along it.

  There isn't just magic in those shards. There's something else in there. And that something had a mind of its own. If Thing's hunch was correct, then Nulthir was in grave danger of losing not just his life but his soul. In need of solid stone under his claws, Thing swarmed up the stalactite to join his wide-eyed son.

  You can't mean... Crispin's voice trailed off. He couldn't say the word, 'demon.'

  There's an intelligence in there. Thing clasped his son's shoulder tightly. I don't know if it's a demon. I just know there's something in those shards, and it's hungry.

  Crispin swallowed audibly. What do we do now?

  Same plan as before. We find out where he's taking those shards and what will become of them. Thing squeezed his son's shoulder then let go. He scanned the transept with his mage sight.

  What about Mom and Nulthir? We must warn them. Crispin dropped to all fours; his wings tightly folded against his sleek back. He was seconds from bolting back to his mate and siblings.

  They're depending on us to find a solution. Thing was built for flying, not running, so he stepped off the ledge and snapped his wings open to catch the draft coming from the vent cut into the ceiling directly above. He wouldn't force his son to follow him, but he did glide just below the ledge within eyesight of his son in case the kit decided to stick with the chase.

  Crispin was silent as he paced him
. His son ran with the liquid grace of a cat, as swiftly and silently as the wind in Thing's feathers.

  Thing kept the hooded human and the cold spot he carried in his mage sight as another set of footsteps echoed softly in the tunnel. Thing stretched his thoughts out until they bumped into another mind, one he'd read before.

  That Guardswoman, Iraine, is headed this way, Thing sent, breaking the silence between their minds.

  She is? What's she doing here? Crispin's cat ears pricked up as he waited for a reply.

  Thing slowed, so he could skim her surface thoughts. He found confirmation of what he already knew. She ran into the thief. There was a scuffle—no make that two scuffles. He took the shards and knocked her out. She wants answers too.

  Should she get them though? It would be easy to turn her tired mind to other pursuits. But should he? Thing considered that.

  Don't stop her. If she can find answers, let her. She's like Nulthir, strong and tenacious. Water plinked into the puddle Crispin leaped over.

  What if she tells someone about us? Thing turned his head one-hundred-and-eighty degrees to see his son's face. The only human he trusted was dying from dark magic. Thing wasn't ready to trust another human.

  I trust her. She promised she wouldn't speak of us, and she won't. Crispin kept his thoughts locked down, and his face turned away, but his true feelings still showed.

  Thing sighed. He'd read no overt desire to do them harm. No, Iraine wanted to catch the person who'd masterminded the attack on the prison and its population. Her thoughts were consumed by that.

  Fine, I'll leave her be because you asked me to. Thing supposed one more human knowing about them was a small price to pay if it took a powerful opponent off the board.

  Thank you. Do you know if the others are okay? Crispin glanced at him, and there was gratitude in his eyes.

  Thing had kept his mind pulled in, so his awareness only encompassed the area around them to concentrate his power. That came at a cost though. His bond to his mate had been reduced to a soft murmur in the back of his mind. Thing could bring it to the fore again and turn up the volume, but that meant stretching his thoughts up through the levels above him and opening himself up to the thoughts of all the minds in between him and his mate.

  It wouldn't take long to isolate his loved ones from that tumult, but Thing could lose his tenuous hold on the thief who was still some distance ahead. He might not be able to regain that hold thanks to those shards and the mind trapped inside them. Better he concentrate on catching up. They still needed to know as much as they could about those shards and their purpose. That information was crucial. Thing felt it in his heart of hearts, and that organ never lied.

  Besides, Amal was a strong female. She didn't need him to pull her feathers out of the fire. She was quite capable of saving herself. I'm sure your mother is fine.

  Chapter Eight

  “Quickly! Drag him into the light!” Amal shouted when no one came flying to her aid. They were all in the next room except for Thistle. Not helpful. Kits today. Amal shook her head and barked another command, this time mentally, and her family snapped to it finally.

  We’re coming, Dale sent from the next room.

  Hurry, son. I can’t hold them. Amal slashed through another shadow with her tail this time, cutting it in half. But its tell halves just merged back together and came at them again.

  Amal reached under Nulthir's tunic for the dawn rune and lifted it as high as its leather thong would let her. Its soft bluish light fell on the shadows, driving them back, but they didn’t dissipate. Hellfires, what would it take to defeat them?

  Thistle rushed to her side and wrapped her prehensile tail around Nulthir’s upper arm. “Help me pull.”

  Amal copied her and kept hold of the dawn rune, but its glow was waning. The magic that lit it was almost spent, and Nulthir was in no shape to reignite it. Nor was it doing more than delaying the inevitable.

  “You can’t stop me this time.” The shadows converged on a single point. “In fact, you didn’t stop me last time either. You just delayed the inevitable,” a gravelly voice said.

  “What is that?” Thistle pointed, but she kept on backing away and pulling with her tail.

  “Just a shadow, that’s all.” At least that’s what Amal hoped it was. But in her heart of hearts, fear burned. Where were her children?

  We’re coming. The door’s stuck. Dale sent a mental picture of Mixie pounding on the rune that operated the door, but nothing happened. Why isn’t it working? Nulthir renewed it only yesterday.

  Might the shadow have something to do with that? It laughed as it lunged for Nulthir again. Amal launched herself at the shadow and shredded it with her claws. But its remnants floated back to the darkest corner of the room adjacent to the door her family pounded on to respawn. But that door was made of good Shayarin oak from an enchanted tree. It wasn’t coming down without a battering ram, and none of her kits had one.

  “Break it down if you have to, just get out here and help us. We’re losing him,” Thistle called.

  “Pull harder! We have to get him into the light.” Amal wrapped her tail around Nulthir’s upper arm again and pulled for all she was worth.

  “I am pulling.” Thistle grunted. Her pinkish eyes were narrowed to slits. “He’s too heavy. We can’t move him without help.”

  That was true. Nulthir was about a hundred and eighty pounds of adult male. Nor was he a small man. He stood a shade over six feet in boots. Add in the gear strapped to his utility belt, which increased his weight by about ten pounds, and they had a problem. She and Thistle were about two feet tall and weighed in at twenty pounds.

  “We need to lighten the load.” Amal scampered over to his belt and undid it. That reduced his weight by about ten pounds. She rid him of a few more pounds by stripping off his gauntlets and his steel-toed boots.

  “I’ll get the door.” Thistle let go and wrapped her tail around the nearest chair. She swung up onto it then up onto the dresser and leaped off. Her pregnancy made her a little ungainly in flight, but she didn't have far to go.

  “Be careful. That shadow is massing for another attack.” Amal pointed to the darkness veiling the only exit from Nulthir’s flat. It was growing darker and larger as the minutes ticked by. Where was it gaining strength from?

  Thistle hit the rune on this side of the door to the other bedroom and it swung open, spilling kits and grandkits into the room.

  “Get the little ones back inside and put something down to stop the shadow from going under it," Amal shouted over the questions her kits asked.

  "Dale, Mixie, Yarn—help us, we have to get him into the sunlight.” Thistle waved to Nulthir, and the three largest of her kits ran on all fours to help Amal. Thistle landed beside them, bringing their total to five.

  Six, if Amal counted tenacious little Mirla. She was more kittenish than the other grandkits, but she was the eldest of that generation. Mirla dug her feet in and pulled with the rest, and Nulthir started to slide. Thank the Creator, because that shadow was coalescing into a roughly human shape with horns and claws. “Come on. Pull. we don’t have much farther to go.”

  More of her children and grandkits joined in, even Furball though what good he could do was anyone’s guess. But Nulthir slid into the sunlight finally. It fell full upon his face, and his skin smoked. His eyes flew open. They were black swirling pools.

  “That’s not Nulthir in there!” Dale shouted as he reared back, his back arching like a cat as a hiss escaped his beak.

  Indeed, it wasn't Nulthir's mind in control. A stranger looked out of his eyes until he blinked, then the darkness stilled. Pain replaced victory in them. His skin was graying. His hair had hardened into black spikes that wept blood as he writhed in agony.

  “Reverse! Pull him back!” Amal shouted. Her wing was also smoking, but she kept pulling.

  “What’s happening to him?” Mixie brushed a lock of hair away from his face.

  That was a good question, but Am
al didn't have the heart to answer it. She wished Thing would return. She had a feeling it might already be too late for Nulthir.

  “Are we going to lose him?” Thistle whispered, but there wasn't a creature in the room who didn’t hear her question. Thistle hadn’t known Nulthir long, only about a year or so, but Thistle cared as deeply as the others.

  “Not without a fight. I’m not giving up. We’ll find a way.” Or they would all darken with him. If this was his curse to bear, they would shoulder it with him. Family stuck together. But Amal hoped Thing returned before that happened.

  “Neep!” Furball shouted. The kit bounced up and down on the windowsill of all places just inches from a long fall into a sunny morning.

  “Someone get him down from there before he falls.” Amal gestured, but she needn’t have worried.

  Mixie swung past her sibs and their mates. She snatched up her baby and froze.

  “What do you see?” Thistle asked as she let go of Nulthir.

  “Hope.” Mixie pointed into the sunshine.

  “Keep pulling. We have to get him out of the sunlight.” Amal pulled, but she was one of the few still pulling. Nulthir was almost out of the light. “Just a little more.”

  “Maybe she can help,” Dale craned his neck to see around his sister and his brother’s mate. Their bodies blocked most of the sunlight coming in through the window, easing Nulthir’s pain. But he wasn’t out of danger yet.

  Amal climbed over him and slapped the backs of the heads of all three shirkers.

  “Ow, Mom, what was that for?” Dale rubbed his head and gave her a sour look.

  “He needs your help, and so do I. Gawk later. We need to move him out of the light.” Amal chivvied them back to the task at hand. Before she joined them, a flash of silver moving against a sea of green outside caught Amal's eye. “That can’t be who I think it is.”

  “What if it is?” Dale said between grunts of effort. He was the strongest of her kits with burly arms and legs and a stockier body than her or Thing.

  “Shayari is vast. The odds of her being here are astronomical.” Amal shook her head sadly. In her heart of hearts, she wanted that silver spot amid the green to be more than the sunlight dappling the leaves of the enchanted forest that surrounded Mount Eredren on three sides. “It can’t be the Queen of All Trees.”