Soul Magic Read online

  “You look as though you will live.”

  “I feel…” holding out her hands before her, she studied them. “better.”

  Mayhap he could find a use for her yet.

  “Your magic – has its power been restored?”

  Her eyes widened, then narrowed to slits of green. “Wynne helped me. Without her aid, I could never have done it.”

  “I need you to use it again.”

  She drew a hissing breath. “Truly you must wish me dead.”

  He waved a hand. “Nay. Since you have showed you can use it, I would find a way to keep Thorncliff.”

  “And your life.”

  “And my life. Wynne’s power must be great, for you have magic still within you. I can sense it, I can see it. Use it now to help me.”

  She shook her head. “I--”

  Urgency mounting, he glanced around them. Still they remained hidden, sheltered by shifting shadows from the marauding invaders.

  “Remember your own words - if I am dead, I cannot help you regain your son. Cast a spell.” He swallowed, desperate enough to try anything. “Use the magic. Help free my keep.”

  “Darrick, I don’t know—”

  The sound of running footsteps, the clash of blades. A sharp cry, an agonized scream, and the triumphant roar of several men, most likely not his own.

  “That came from around the building.” Darrick took a step towards the noise, faltered, and looked once more at the small woman beside him.

  “Do something," he ordered. "I have agreed to help you, if I live. If you want me to make it through this, cast a spell, bring the storm, do something!"

  She chewed her bottom lip. "Well you know that I am forbidden to intercede in the battles of humankind.”

  "You offered once. I care not for your rules. Help me."

  “There will be a price. For both of us."

  "I will pay it."

  “Be careful of what you promise. You’ve already said you would help me.”

  “God’s teeth, woman--”

  A huge man, bloodied sword at the ready, staggered around the corner.

  “Look out.” Instinctively Darrick sprang to defend her, even as the man growled and lunged forward.

  Darrick raised his sword. The giant swept him away without a second glance, sending his weapon clattering. Reaching Alanna, he grabbed the front of her glimmering gown and lifted her high off the ground.

  Scrabbling to his feet, Darrick went for his sword. Behind him, Alanna cried out, fury dark in her voice.

  The air vibrated. Magic. He’d been right. Whatever Wynne had given her must have been powerful indeed.

  The earth trembled. The sky darkened. Thunder boomed and lightening flashed. The wind began to shriek and howl.

  And this was with her magic waning?

  “Release me.” Alanna ordered, as lightening again split the sky. No trace of alarm remained in her sure tones. “Though you have dared to lay hands on a Princess of Rune, I will give you one last chance. Release me.”

  After a disbelieving shake of his shaggy head, the giant laughed.

  Alanna smiled, a fierce smile of such deadly beauty that the giant immediately fell silent. Low-voiced, she spoke, and though her words were of no language Darrick knew, the lyrical cadence of them hinted at great power.

  Indeed, the air around them began to stir. The hair rose on the back of Darrick’s neck.

  The giant blinked, then growled, a strangely inhuman sound. He yanked Alanna close, crushing her against him, one huge hand holding her captive, the other still gripping his bloody weapon.

  His own sword in hand, Darrick moved to plunge his blade in the man’s undefended back. Readying himself for the killing blow, he fell back, repelled by some unseen force.

  The giant – and Alanna – began to glow. The sky went utterly black, the faint light of the sun extinguished, as if snuffed out by some huge hand. Around them, all sound ceased. The battle cries, the shouts, all gone. Only the ominous crackle of the fires remained.

  As Darrick looked on in stunned disbelief, Alanna’s glow became so bright it hurt to look upon her.

  In a shower of sparks, the giant vanished.

  The sky ripped open, a deluge of icy water – no mere raindrops these, but a torrent, a flood, soaking everything and extinguishing the fires all at once. Then the wind rose in a fierce maelstrom, sweeping away both smoke and rain, the furious force of it cleansing away all that remained of the battle. Finally it too vanished and the air went still.

  The day began to lighten from black to gray.

  His breath making plumes of frost in front of his face, Darrick found himself frozen, powerless to move. Soaked and chilled to the bone, unable even to shiver, he watched as Alanna, her radiance fading, calmly brushed off the front of her gown where the giant’s hand had soiled it, then crumpled senseless at his feet.

  Overhead, the dim light of the sun peeked hesitantly through the haze. The wind became a gentle breeze and the world smelled clean, fresh.

  Dispassionate, Darrick knelt and effortlessly lifted his former intended. He held her loosely in his arms. Even comatose, her fae nature lent her a faint glow of radiant beauty. He hardened his heart. Well he knew how her loveliness could affect him.

  Straightening, he listened again for sounds of the battle. Still he heard nothing but his own breathing.

  Another voice spoke, though he could not find the speaker. “Your keep is free, mortal. At great cost to herself, with our aid, Alanna has done as you asked. The invaders are gone. Now there is another debt. One to be paid by both of you."

  Wynne. He recognized the voice. Invisible. He sighed. In the time since Alanna had left him, his existence had been blessedly normal. He’d forgotten how omniscient the magical beings of Rune could appear to be.

  “Show yourself.” Scowling, Darrick planted his legs apart in the ready stance of a warrior. To all appearances, he was alone in his keep. The wind-scarred plains beyond the castle wall were empty. No trace remained of the tents, the milling men, the scarlet flags that had flapped so menacingly.

  The sound of Fae laughter rang out, bells chiming merrily in the breeze. Alanna had taken him to Rune once or twice in the old days, and he knew Wynne to be an elderly, yet commanding woman.

  “There is a price to pay,” the voice repeated.

  “I understand. But I have no gold.” Best to get that out of the way early. “I’ve been to the crusades and returned a fatherless pauper. No fortune was left to me after my sire’s death. Show yourself.”

  A soft laugh danced upon the wind, like leaves against snow. “My magic wanes. The metal you carry weakens me further. Lay down your sword, mortal. Then we will talk of repayment.”

  Still he could not discern where Wynne stood. Her voice seemed to come from everywhere… and nowhere.

  Darrick shook his head and kept his sword ready. “I like not talking to a woman I can’t see. Show yourself and name your price. I will see it paid.”

  “Not only does my magic diminish, but that of all of Rune. Prophecy and legend are our only hope.”

  “I know nothing of prophecy.” He shifted his weight from one foot to another. “And, since Alanna left me, I know nothing of legend or magic. Name a price I am able to pay.”

  “The danger to Alanna is great--”

  He straightened. “Danger? What danger? She spoke only of regaining her son.”

  Silence, only silence, the emptiness of it echoing off Thorncliff’s walls. He might have been utterly alone here, with an unconscious Fae princess in his arms. Surely not.

  He heard a soft sigh and knew his Fae visitor had not yet left him.

  “Where are my men?”

  “They are well. In the morning they will remember little of this, only knowing that the battle has been won for now.”

  Fair enough. “What of the others? What has become of them?”

  “None were killed - most of are unharmed, except the one who would have hurt Alanna. The rest were
merely persuaded to go elsewhere.”

  In his arms Alanna stirred. She lifted her head and, despite his best intentions, when the vivid green of her gaze touched upon him, he felt like a metal shard had pierced his chest.

  “Alanna,” he said, wincing a little at the foolishness of his thoughts.

  “Aye.” She bit her lip. “I thought I heard… Wynne?”

  Pushing out of his arms, she stood, took one wobbly step, then shook her head. “She is gone. Maybe I imagined her.”

  “Nay.” Left shoulder aching, Darrick finally released his death-grip on the hilt of his sword and relaxed his hand. “Wynne now likes to speak to me while remaining invisible. But yes, she was here.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Only what I already knew. That my debt to you is great.”

  She cocked her head, considering. “There was more?”

  Reluctantly he nodded. “Aye. She told me the danger to you is great.”

  “Danger?” Her green eyes burned. “I care not for that. You have given me your word. We must ride. It is time for us to go and regain my son.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Geoffrey remembered the woman. As soon as she’d lifted her golden head to meet Darrick’s inquiry, he knew her. Alanna of Rune had been his lord Darrick’s former betrothed. Geoffrey hadn’t liked her then and her reappearance now, while they were struggling to fight under siege, could mean only one thing. Treachery was afoot. Someway, somehow, Alanna meant trouble. Darrick had never been able to see that. If he’d been the one betrayed, Geoffrey knew he’d never forget.

  Beautiful and deceitful, five years ago Alanna’s disappearance on the eve of their wedding had been the cause of Darrick’s sudden fervor to go crusading. Though Darrick never spoke of it, Geoffrey knew her leaving had caused his friend great agony. Even Varden had missed her.

  But for himself, Geoffrey had secretly rejoiced. He was glad she was gone. He’d never felt comfortable around her. Though some might have thought it was because of her astounding beauty, Geoffrey knew it was not.

  Geoffrey disliked her because she was different.

  For years it had been whispered that Alanna was Fae or witch. Geoffrey believed the latter to be true. After all, he’d seen with his own eyes how she’d ensorcelled his best friend. Normally a steadfast man, Darrick had been prone to more laughter than was seemly in a warrior, more smiles than a serious man of his stature should display. That too had changed for the better once Alanna’s betrayal had been complete.

  But after she’d left, seeing Darrick fight fiercely for Christ, Geoffrey had paid no more heed to the oft-whispered stories of the Tadhg’s association with magic. He knew Darrick, had known him since they’d been children fostered together. Geoffrey felt unshakable certainty the man to whom he’d sworn his fealty would do nothing immoral or blasphemous.

  Whatever else he was, Darrick of Thorncliff was human. When Alanna had disappeared, his family’s luck had vanished with her. If that were the penalty for having nothing else to do with the devil and becoming a God-fearing man, so be it. If Alanna was of the Fae, then her people, with their magical influence, had left Darrick’s life for good.

  Until now. Geoffrey’s gut twisted. If he’d ever disbelieved the tales of magic and sorcery, he doubted no longer. Now he’d seen irrefutable proof.

  This day, Darrick and his men had been overtaken by Morfran’s invading army. Though they’d fought fierce and well, all knew `twas was a losing battle. All knew their lives would be forfeit. Then Alanna had appeared like a wraith from the past. In the blink of an eye the threat was gone and the invaders disappeared in a puff of smoke. Vanished.

  As did Darrick of Thorncliff and the demon woman.

  Magic.

  Though their lives had been returned to them, Geoffrey now worried about their mortal souls.

  With no enemy left to fight, Geoffrey’s men milled about, some wounded, some not, but all confused, in a deserted, ruined keep. All alive. All together, save one.

  Darrick? What of him? Where might he have gone?

  Geoffrey barked an order and his men fanned out. Their wary expressions made it clear that none of them trusted the eerie calm of the formerly blustery day.

  The siege of the keep seemed to have been abandoned. Not a single invader, alive or dead, remained.

  “It’s like they were taken by magic,” one of his men muttered.

  Magic. Geoffrey crossed himself. Noticing, a few of the other men did the same.

  “The storm,” another said. “So mighty it might have come from the bowels of hell itself.”

  “What has become of Morfran and his army?”

  Geoffrey heard the fear in their voices. Because of this, he pushed away his own doubts and called out another order in a firm voice.

  “Find Darrick.” The sharp winter wind carried his words to the farthest wall. “He must be here somewhere.”

  With only minor hesitation, the men began to move, keeping in groups of two or three.

  Waiting until they had all gone from his sight, Geoffrey climbed up to the southern wall where the rampart was intact. From this vantage point he scanned the courtyard below. He saw his men searching in the muddied ground. Here and there a plume of smoke rose from recently extinguished fires. A hog, oblivious to the commotion, rooted in a haphazard garden near the ruined wall.

  No sign of the invaders. No sign of Darrick or the woman.

  Suppressing a shudder, Geoffrey kept his expression blank as he took in the deserted keep. There were no bodies, no blood, no enemies. `Twas as if a giant hand had swept the place clean.

  A movement to the west caught his eye. There. How had he missed it before? The brilliant blue of Darrick’s tunic shimmered in the weak sunlight. Next to him, Alanna’s scarlet cloak appeared the color of fresh-spilled blood.

  Geoffrey scrambled down the steps, making his way through the puddles and charred timbers towards his leader and friend. And the woman, Alanna.

  Both turned to silently watch his approach.

  Barely sparing the woman a glance, Geoffrey clasped Darrick’s arm. “By all that is holy, if she has bewitched you…”

  At his words Darrick grimaced. He wore the same expression a prisoner might if a knife had been pricked against his neck. But the woman stood two paces off, both her hands in plain view. Exceptionally pale, she appeared beautiful and harmless. Suppressing the urge to cross himself again, Geoffrey knew better.

  “Have a care what you swear.” Darrick inclined his head, his jaw set in grim lines. “We owe Alanna much this day.”

  Not sure what to make of the words, Geoffrey opened his mouth to ask. But one of the men on the northern wall gave a shout. “A rider approaches.”

  Darrick shot the woman a glance. Geoffrey did not like this, nor the way she shrugged as if `twas no concern of hers.

  Darrick ran for the wall. Geoffrey went after him, happy to note that the woman remained below.

  “With no gate or wall, he can ride right in.” Glancing again at the ruined stones, Darrick’s tone sounded grim. “He carries no flag. Let’s take a couple of men and go meet him.”

  “You wait here.” Geoffrey forestalled his friend with a hand on his shoulder. “I can assess the threat.”

  “Threat?” Darrick laughed. The sound was wild enough to make Geoffrey’s gut clench in worry. “After the day we’ve had, what damage can one lone rider do?”

  From below the woman made a sound as though she’d heard. Impossible. Geoffrey stared down at her. Darrick did too.

  “What damage indeed.” Forcing a laugh, Geoffrey had to nod. “Your point is well-taken.”

  Together they climbed down and went to meet the rider. Picking up her long skirts, Alanna trailed after them.

  The man slowed his mud-splattered horse when he reached the ruined gate. As soon as he entered the courtyard, he dismounted. Leading his mare, he staggered forward, splashing through several puddles until he reached Darrick and Geoffrey.

  �
�What news do you bring?” Darrick greeted him with a stern voice.

  “Darrick of Thorncliff?”

  Wanting to be a decoy to deflect danger, Geoffrey would have stepped forward, but Darrick spoke before he could.

  “I am he.”

  The man took several shallow breaths. “I bring news of your mother.”

  Darrick narrowed his eyes. “Does she not reside with her brother, Morfran Mortimer? My enemy.”

  “Aye.” The man glanced once at Geoffrey, then kept his gaze fixed on Darrick. “But not by choice. She is held prisoner there. Rowena Tadhg, Lady of Thorncliff, has bade me ride hard and fast to find you.”

  “Prisoner?” Darrick snarled. “He is her own brother. What of Morfran? How came you to escape his notice?”

  At Darrick’s question, Geoffrey found himself holding his breath. The man and his army appeared to have vanished.

  But the rider knew naught of this. “Morfran has been otherwise occupied. If he were to discover me, my life would be at peril. But your mother suffers greatly.”

  Geoffrey saw how pinched and white Darrick’s mouth became. “He keeps her by force?”

  The man nodded. “Yes. She has tried twice to escape. He keeps her under lock and key, as he does the boy.”

  “The boy?” Darrick became, if possible, as still as stone. Once before in the holy land, Geoffrey had seen Darrick in this particular kind of stillness. At the time they had been held captive, to be executed that very day. Hatching a daring plan, Darrick had led an escape. Three guards had died by his hand. Geoffrey and he had escaped, along with numerous others. Many of these same former prisoners had expressed their thanks by becoming Darrick’s loyal men. They had helped defend Thorncliff on this very day.

  “What news of the boy?” Alanna came boldly forward, eagerness in her husky voice. Geoffrey waited for Darrick to push her away, but he did not.

  The messenger nodded, exhaustion showing on his grimy face. “Morfran has taken another captive as well, a small boy of maybe four or five summers. For what purpose, no one knows. His advisor, Gorsedd brought the child there and bade Morfran keep him. Perhaps he likes young boys.”

  Geoffrey winced. “Morfran’s reputation has not carried that particular accusation before.”