Deceiving the Bandit Lord

by Elle Clouse

  Chapter 7

  Snow fell as the days drifted past.

  Brogan stood in the center of the hot house wrapped in a newly knit scarf from Miss Cotton. Every window pane repaired or replaced by magic. The last repair was the heating element.

  “No wonder this stopped working long ago.” Ardhor inspected the heater, a potbelly stove with pipes that ran the length of the space. The elf pulled open the door and instead of ashes from a fire, there was a single round stone. He reached in and plucked it out and showed it to Brogan “This was powered by magic, a hot stone. It probably lost its power when the former master either got too far away or died.”

  Brogan took the stone. It was cool and smooth, a slate gray color. If he had seen it on the side of the road, he would’ve thought it was ordinary.

  “This can heat this whole room?” He knew it made no sense, but after a week of repairing glass with his mind, little would surprise him anymore.

  “It will have to be recast but yes,” Ardhor confirmed. “It will take the better part of a day for me. We can possibly plant the day after tomorrow, assuming you have seeds.”

  “We have seeds.” Part of the supplies he brought with him from Cearbhall. “Why can’t I recast the stone?”

  “Repairing broken glass is simple,” Ardhor took the stone from Brogan and set it back inside the stove, closed the door. “Fire magic requires a lot more practice and caution.”

  “But glass comes from fire, does it not?”

  Ardhor chuckled and shook his head. “Yes, it does but it’s not quite the same thing.”

  Brogan opened his mouth but Ardhor raised a hand to silence him.

  “If you are so adamant to push forward on your studies then I’ll give you another volume on magic basics.”

  That wasn’t what Brogan wanted to hear.

  “Have you had any luck finding the key to the room in the cellar?”

  “None whatsoever. It could have been buried somewhere in the garden or thrown out over the plain. It is probably lost.”

  Brogan frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. There had to be a way to get into the room in the cellar.

  “Don’t even think about trying to break through the door or dig in through the ceiling,” Ardhor waved his hands before him with a stern scowl. “The spell is more than a ward against discovery. There’s enough energy there to harm someone foolish enough to tamper with it. Whomever this Taliesin was, he or she did took great care to guard their secrets.”

  Brogan frowned. So much for that, he’d have to keep looking for the key.

  “If that hot stone lost its power when the caster got too far away or died,” Brogan said. “Then why is that door still magicked? Shouldn’t it have lost its energy by now?”

  Ardhor huffed. “It’s the type of magic. Did you not read any of the books I gave you?”

  Nope, he hadn’t. Brogan shrugged.

  “Spells with permanence have a touch of the casters essence. They cannot be cast often as they drain the practitioner of life force. So when Taliesin cast the spell to hide and bind the door, he imbued it with part of his soul.”

  “Whoa.”

  “It may fade with time, perhaps that’s why you saw it, but it could be centuries before it’s completely dissolved.”

  Brogan looked around the hot house, the energy used to repair the glass had fatigued him more than any manual labor he’d ever done. He couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to give up a sliver of his soul to cast something.

  “Well, since we are done here, let’s see about some lunch.”

  The kitchen had proven to be the meeting place in the manor and they found Aisling and Corinna peeling potatoes and giggling.

  “Good afternoon gentlemen.” Aisling hiked a thumb toward the back door. “Everyone is outside felling trees. Something about needing more firewood? Although I thought Lord Fletcher had cut enough before the snow fell.”

  Brogan met her eyes and smirked. He didn’t need to be reminded of their first encounter.

  “Not enough for a house full of guests, Miss Murphy.”

  She stuck out her tongue just enough for him to see, as if mocking him. He cleared his throat.

  “It’s best not to let them stay out too late,” Ardhor interjected stepping to the window and peering outside. “I found wolf tracks about the manor. Looks like you have a pack in residence.”

  Both women sobered.

  Ardhor continued: “Corinna, don’t you walk to and from home every day?”

  “Corinna?” Brogan fixed her with a stern look.

  “Aye, its true.” Corinna spared a side glance at Aisling but nodded. “The wolves aren’t anything new around here. I’m used to them.”

  “Balderdash, you shouldn’t walk alone in the dark.”

  “Sir, it’s alright. Really.”

  Brogan waved her comment away. Corinna’s parents counted on him to make sure she was safe. How could he be so thoughtless? “I don’t want you to get harmed out there. I’ll have Glenn set you up a room here.”

  “I always duck into the old blacksmith house if I’m in trouble,” Corinna commented.

  “And where is that?”

  Corinna pointed outside. “To the north past the outer wall about quarter of a mile. The hearth is sound and keeps the cold out.”

  “None the less, you will have a place to stay here as well.” Brogan insisted, he didn’t want his kitchen maid to come to harm alone in the night. “And if you insist on getting home, maybe Phelan can walk with you.”

  Corinna nodded and returned to her potato peeling.

  “Where is Glenn?” Brogan asked glancing down the servant hall.

  “He is out with the rest of the men making sure they don’t cut down the wrong trees,” Aisling answered. “They’ve been out there for hours.”

  “Do you suppose they will want more mulled wine when they return?”

  Aisling glanced at the door the cellar and her cheeks turned red. Two could play her game, he smirked too bad bottles of wine sat on the counter already.

  “Is that Lord Brogan I hear?” Miss Cotton’s voice echoed in from the great hall.

  Ardhor’s eyes grew wide. “Uh, I have something to take care of...” He disappeared down the servant hall.

  “Yes Miss I’m here.” Brogan chuckled at his friend’s quick departure.

  The old woman stepped into the doorway, wrapped in a half knitted shawl and the needles in her hand, the yarn tucked under her arm. “I’m going to need more wool if I’m to keep your men bundled up.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Good, good. I thought I heard that nice elf Ardhor with you.” She looked about the room then shook her head, turned and returned to the great hall. She knit as she walked.

  Aisling met his eyes and shrugged, a playful smile on her lips. Apparently she didn’t know why Miss Cotton sought out Ardhor, or why he dashed away so quickly at her approach. He’s never seen the elf so skittish.

  Brogan strode into the mud room, grabbed his cloak and stepped outside. A few men stood in the distance, taking an ax to the tree trunks. Another group trimmed the branches off the logs. The lordlings dragged the logs to the last group of men, who chopped down the pieces into firewood.

  Glenn gave a nod as he approached.

  “Lord Fletcher,” he said. “We are almost done. This should set us for the rest of the winter.”

  “Good work.” Brogan put his arm around Glenn’s shoulders and walked him away from the laboring men. “I have a few things that need your attention. First, Corinna needs a place to sleep. Ardhor mention wolves in the area and she’s been walking home at night. Not acceptable.”

  “Of course my lord but it’s not the wolves she needs to worry about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Glenn squared off with him and stepped close to whisper. “The woods hold many secrets and wolves are only one of them. We can expect a visit from bandits nigh any week now and they’ll steal anything tha
t isn’t locked up.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Every year. When food and supplies get scarce, the bandit strike.”

  Brogan frowned. “Corinna mentioned the blacksmith’s is in good order, perhaps we can use the forge to repair tools for weapons or locks for the doors. I can fletch arrows, shoot a bow if I have to.”

  “Are you planning to raise an army too?”

  “I want to defend our home.” Saying it out loud made it more real. He’d defend Armanta the best way he knew how. He turned to look back at the manor, Aisling stood watching him in the window. She waved and smiled. “I’m going to defend my home.”

  “FIRE MAGIC IS NOT MY specialty.” Ardhor stood before the blacksmith forge, the hot stone from the greenhouse laying in the forge. “But perhaps the memory of fire will make this easier.”

  Brogan turned and strode into the cottage adjacent to the blacksmith workshop. The prior resident had left a table and chairs, a bench near the hearth, and a bedframe in the backroom. He latched the door and pulled, the lock held true. Corinna was right, it made a safe place to hide from wolves.

  He opened the door again and glanced at Ardhor. Deep in meditation, Brogan didn’t know how long the elf would take to cast his spell. The longer he watched, he noticed tendrils of light between the stone and his friend. He’d not noticed it in the hot house.

  The stone illuminated as Ardhor chanted until it glowed white hot, heat waving over them. He opened his eyes and smirked.

  “The hot stone is recharged.” Ardhor motioned at the stone in a downward move. The stone changed from white back to slate. The heat ceased. He used a rusty shovel left from the last smith to fish it from the embers, and set it on a cooling stone. “I have set it to a dormancy phase.”

  “Good.” Brogan smiled. “I don’t think it will take much to get this up and running. Then we can repair all the iron works in the manor.”

  Ardhor frowned. “I don’t think that should be your first priority. You have much to learn yet.”

  “You heard Glenn, we need to be ready if bandits attack. We need to be able to defend ourselves.”

  “I have some offensive drills I’ve been meaning to try. What better place to try them than out here? Where no one can see us?”

  That piqued Brogan’s interest. Better than fixing broken glass pane by pane. He motion Ardhor outside the forge. They strode to the center of the clearing. Only snow and trees for miles.

  “I find people learn the fastest when put to the test.” Ardhor squared against Brogan. “Reflex over cognitive thought. I won't throw anything at you that I don’t think that you can handle.”

  Brogan brought up his fists.

  Ardhor chuckled. “This is a magic duel. You won't need your fists.”

  Brogan scowled and dropped his guard.

  Ardhor shouted, his word formed a wave of air that cascaded toward him.

  Brogan leapt out of the way. The air whooshed past him, whipping his hair into his face and shooting chills down his sleeves and pant legs.

  Ardhor yelled again and wave of air rushed for him. He dodged out of the way.

  “You’re supposed to deflect my attack,” he huffed. “Not duck out of the way.”

  “I’m not going to stand still! What are you doing? What was that?”

  “Words of power. Deflect them.” Ardhor launch several in short succession.

  Brogan dodged the first and second but the third landed square in his chest. It knocked him down in the heavy snow. He felt like someone punched him in the gut. The snow melted up his backside.

  “How can I combat words of power when I have none of my own?” He picked himself up shook the snow from his clothes.

  “Words of power are unique to the caster,” Ardhor said. “Not all are real words either. Some are songs or grunts. The effect is still the same.”

  Ardhor launched more sound waves, the pressure pounding against his ears and making his heart rattle. Brogan sidestepped them all, his hands moving of their own accord like brushing away a passing foe.

  Ardhor raised a brow. “I don’t believe I’ve seen that tactic before. Normally people meet word for word and they cancel each other out. I’ve never seen the force pushed aside like that. Creative but not what I am looking for here. Everyone has their own preferred energy type. We need to find out yours.”

  Of the handful of pages Brogan read in his magic book, the different energy types was the first topic. More kinds of force than he imagined, he remembered scoffing at the force of air. But now that he’d felt it, tell the ache in his stomach reminded him air wasn’t weak. His organs felt like they might shake from his body with one more wave.

  “Again!” Ardhor pushed air forward with open hands, thunder boomed with the force he pushed.

  Brogan brought up his arms and willed the wave to the side like before but it knocked him back.

  “Again!” Arrows of charged sound bolted across the field, a cyclone of whirling snow and air.

  Too slow, Brogan felt the air expunged from his lungs as he fell to the ground again. It took all of his focus to keep from passing out.

  The snow crunched as Ardhor advanced, his arms poised for another attack.

  Brogan met Ardhor’s glare and the world slowed down. He couldn’t withstand another brutal attack. His body took over and he saw his fist jabbed forward. White light bolted from his punch and knocked Ardhor off his feet with a boom.

  Brogan exhaled, his breath lingering in the air. “Ardhor?”

  The elf lay some twenty paces off, silent and unmoving in the snow. Brogan pushed himself up and hobbled to his friend.

  Ardhor’s eyes were wide open, staring at the clear sky. He didn’t move.

  “Ardhor!”

  His lids fluttered as if remembering himself. “I hadn’t anticipated a retaliation of that magnitude.” He held his hands up and turned them back and forth. Then searched his shirt for something. “No wonder my father insisted that I train you. With power like that you could be a real danger to yourself and others.”

  “You worry too much,” Brogan offered a hand up. The elf accepted and he pulled him to his feet. “Before I met you, I didn’t even know I had magic. I would have died as mundane as any other man.”

  “Magic finds a way.” Ardhor brushed off the backside of his pants. “It always finds a way. Those with magic who don’t know it are the most dangerous. More dangerous than a wild mage.”

  “How so?”

  “The magic finds an outlet. Sometimes it’s innocuous, like Lachlan’s affliction. Sometimes it levels a whole city.”

  “Wolfkin have magic?” Brogan couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought about it before. The physical transformation from man to wolf had to be fueled by magic.

  “Someone in Lachlan’s line had magic but left it unchecked and it... mutated them. Manifested as a shift into a wolf, and it was passed down the line. Every member of his family that can shift has some magical ability. They just never learned to control the catalyst and suffered through the change.”

  No wonder they hid it, the emperor’s war on magic meant they’d be killed. Brogan thought about Aisling, was she wolfkin too? Would he care if she was? He shook his head.

  “Come on, let’s get this place locked back up and go home.”

  “MY LORD.”

  Declan turned and Fintan slipped through the dilapidated apartment door. The year prior he owned a flat in the most affluent section of the Talesin, now he was reduced to a loft in the slums. Even after calling on all his debt, the one room attic was an expense he could barely afford. “Tell me you have news and my visit isn’t for naught.”

  “Aye, I have news of the shipment’s thief.” Fintan lingered by the door, his shoulders hunched over in a habitual manner. Probably from slinking around the town. The man was in his element among the thieves and pirates. And the only man brave enough to deal with him after the fall out.

  “Good.” Declan set his saddle bag on the cot. He ran his hands over th
e scars on his arm, the memory of the beating he took for losing the goods. His reputation was slower to heal.

  “Turns out the Lord Knightly was a fake name and he didn’t act alone. He had a team.” Fintan confirmed his suspicion. No one would have been able to load crates off the docks so quickly without help.

  “Go on.”

  “Apparently, a Lord Knightley run up a lot of debt with a few local money lenders. More than the sale of your silks could cover.”

  Declan nodded. The silks were a minor loss. It was what was hidden within that was the real prize. “Have the money lenders started to talk?”

  “I thought it best if you were present, my lord.” Fintan cracked his knuckles. “To make sure we ask the right questions.”

  Declan smiled. “Excellent, then we can discover this blaggard’s real name.” He wanted a name to put with the face then watch the man suffer like Declan had suffered. He rubbed his arm again. He’d make him suffer ten times more, his entire group.

  “There is the issue of my payment.” Fintan licked his lips. “You won’t be backing out of our deal?”

  “Yes, still as agreed but only upon completion. I need to see that man in the grave before I’ll agree to wed my sister off. Work before pleasure, my good man.”

  Chapter 8

  “What a lovely roast chicken.” Miss Cotton stepped from behind the changing divider in her white night gown and sleep bonnet. She shuffled to her new bed in their new room, the newly completed guest room.

  Aisling nodded, it was nice to have something for dinner other than week old stew. It was also nice to have her own bed again. Miss Cotton was a horrible blanket hog. With the heavy curtains she’d sewn hanging in front of the room’s windows and the repaired quilts atop their hand carved beds, the room was inviting and cozy.

  Aisling waited until she heard Miss Cotton’s signature snore before slipping out the door. It was too early to turn in just yet and she hoped to catch Corinna. Although no longer the full moon, she yearned to run through the fields like they had the first night.

  She found the kitchen empty, the counters cleared and all the goods they had scavenged were jarred, bagged, or hung to dry. The fire left low for heat. The servant hall was dark, not even light slipping below the doorways.