Soul Magic Page 4

  Darrick made a sound deep within his throat. It might have been a growl. To Geoffrey it sounded much like the sound of a man drowning.

  `Twas Darrick who asked the impossible. “Could this child be his son?”

  “Morfran’s?” Though his tone indicated doubt, the rider shrugged. “All know he has sired no children. Still, anything is possible.”

  Wanting to set the record straight, Geoffrey stepped forward. “’Tis well known that Morfran has no sons. Nor daughters either, for that matter.”

  The rider gave him a gap-toothed smile. “His lack of children is truth and has vexed him sorely over these past many years.”

  Once again Darrick’s profile seemed to have turned to stone. But this time, instead of watching the mud-splattered messenger, he watched Alanna.

  Noticing Geoffrey’s scrutiny, he grimaced. “I believe you may be wrong about Morfran’s lack of children.”

  “If he had sired a babe, we would know of it. Morfran himself would trumpet the news far and wide.” Geoffrey shook his head. “Nay, Morfran Mortimer has no offspring, bastard or legal.”

  “He does now.” Darrick jerked his head at Alanna, whose emerald-colored eyes had gone smoky. “This child Morfran has taken is hers. Alanna bore the man a son.”

  The messenger’s mouth dropped open.

  Stunned, Geoffrey felt himself do the same. Closing his mouth with a snap, he stared at Alanna, as did all of the men who’d gathered.

  Color high, she jerked her head in a nod.

  “Darrick speaks true,” she said. “I have a son who was stolen from me. Caradoc is his name. And Gorsedd is well-known to me. He is of my people. He was the one who took him.”

  Geoffrey found his voice. “Why should we help her?” He looked at Darrick as he spoke. “She betrayed you. Now you tell us she bore the heir of your enemy.”

  Reasonable questions. The rest of the men muttered, agreeing with him.

  But Alanna did not appear cowed, though all hint of color had drained from her face. She locked gazes with him, and Geoffrey felt a moment of shame before his righteous anger reasserted itself.

  “He raped me,” she said, spitting the words at him. Chin held high, she looked at each man in turn, daring them to speak. When none did, she turned to Darrick, eyes blazing.

  “Now you have one more reason to make haste for Morfran’s keep. Not only must we regain my son, but your own mother as well.”

  Squelching pity, Geoffrey stepped forward. “Morfran is Rowena’s brother. Surely she is in no great danger.”

  The messenger’s throat moved as he swallowed, gaze darting from Alanna to Darrick, then to Geoffrey.

  “The Lady Rowena,” he swallowed again. “Her suffering is mighty.”

  Darrick made an inarticulate sound of rage as his men began again to murmur among themselves. “Go on.”

  Encouraged, the messenger elaborated. “Morfran keeps her in a damp cell under the keep. There is a dirt floor and starving rats and all other manner of crawling creatures. Because she must wear chains, she is not able to fend them off. But that is not the worst of it - Morfran visits her, sometimes as much as twice a day and forces himself upon her.”

  Darrick snarled out loud.

  Geoffrey himself felt like vomiting. “Her own brother?”

  The messenger nodded. “She is fed,” he continued, “though her meals consist of a watery porridge and hard bread. She fears she will die there, in the dampness and darkness, her body eaten by rodents, unless you can free her.”

  Alanna uttered a wordless cry. Glancing at her, Geoffrey saw that even she looked nauseated. Then he remembered that she too had suffered at Morfran’s hands.

  “The man is a monster.” The messenger, having finished his tale, slumped on his horse’s back, his exhaustion plain to see.

  “Take your horse to the barn at the southern end of the keep. There she’ll be well taken care of. You yourself need to rest.”

  Nodding, the man and his tired horse moved off.

  Darrick clapped his hand on Geoffrey’s shoulder. “I would ride out now to rescue my mother and,” he inclined his head towards Alanna, “her son.”

  “Now?” Geoffrey did not bother to hide his dismay. “The men have battled long and hard this day. They need food and rest and--”

  “Now,” Darrick interjected, his tone brooking no argument. “And I want you to go with me.”

  Geoffrey swallowed back the rest of his protest. “Of course.” As if there would be any doubt.

  Several others stepped forward. “We would ride with you as well, my lord.”

  Considering, Darrick shook his head. “I cannot leave Thorncliff unprotected. I will take four, plus Geoffrey.” He singled out the men he wanted. “The rest of you must stay here in case Morfran and his army try again.”

  Alanna lifted her head. “I will go.”

  About to protest yet again, Geoffrey held his tongue when Darrick slowly nodded.

  “We will ride hard,” Darrick said, frowning.

  “I can do it,” she responded. “I can also climb and fight and win.”

  Now Geoffrey had heard enough. “But can you follow orders?”

  The green gaze she turned on him felt like ice. “Whose orders?”

  Darrick interjected. “Mine. He is right. You must agree to do as I say. Blindly rushing into battle can get us all killed.”

  To Geoffrey’s disbelief she lifted her chin stubbornly. “I want my son.”

  “You are no good to him dead. You must have patience.”

  “Patience?” She came closer, so close Geoffrey could smell the light floral scent she wore. From the stricken look on Darrick’s chiseled face, he noticed this as well.

  “How can you ask that I have patience when my son needs me?”

  “Methinks `tis more that you need your son. I’m sure Caradoc is well-tended.”

  “Well-tended, you say? Knowing what kind of man this Morfran is?”

  “He will not harm his own son.”

  “He rapes his own sister.”

  Gaze stricken, Darrick swallowed. Watching him, Geoffrey stepped forward. “The man is vile, `tis true. Still, for decades he has desired an heir. Now that he has one, he will take pains to assure nothing endangers him.”

  Her gaze swung from Geoffrey back to Darrick.

  “He will not harm his own son,” Darrick repeated. “Truly I believe this.”

  “Assuming he knows Caradoc is his.” She pursed her lips. “He has no reason to know this.”

  Darrick shook his head. “Why else would he have taken him?”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it. “There is a legend, an ancient riddle.” Reluctance colored her voice. She looked at Geoffrey and the other men and lowered her voice. What she said next made no sense to Geoffrey.

  “Most interpret it to mean that a changeling son can restore the fading magic to my people.”

  Darrick however, seemed to understand perfectly. “And you think Caradoc might be this son?”

  “No,” she sighed. “If you and I had a child, the lines of Reagan and Tadhg would have blended. This would be the bloodline necessary to bring about such a magical birth, an exceptional child. Born of violence, Caradoc is not the one.”

  Geoffrey rubbed his suddenly aching head. Her strange words with unclear meanings leant further credence to the rumors he had heard before she left. He became more certain Alanna was some sort of witch.

  But her words, incomprehensible as they might be, seemed fine with Darrick. The other man, God bless his soul, appeared to know of what she spoke. Not only know, but he seemed to accept it as truth.

  This time Geoffrey did cross himself. Several of the men, though unable to hear what was said, saw and did the same.

  Darrick took no heed of them. He watched only Alanna. Geoffrey’s stomach turned.

  “Explain why else Morfran would take him if he is unaware that Caradoc is his?”

  “Gorsedd.” She spat the word. “Gorsedd is from R
une, and he believes Caradoc to be the child of legend.”

  “Gorsedd does not know that Morfran is not descended from the Tadhgs?”

  “No.” Her faze softened. “He knows not Morfran’s blood, nor yours. He has only heard that the father must be one of your line.”

  Turning away, Darrick made a sound. Well might he have uttered a curse, or made a war cry to vent his anger. These things, any warrior, Geoffrey himself included, could easily understand.

  “What is it?” Alanna’s tone sounded worried.

  Darrick spun to face her. “`Tis this. Every time you speak of your child, of Caradoc, I picture Morfran’s hands on your porcelain skin.” Spoken low-voiced so that the others could not hear, the words seemed wrung from him. His face contorted in the throes of some unknown pain.

  Geoffrey gasped and took a step forward. “Darrick--”

  Alanna held up her hand to stop him. Then she nodded, as though she understood.

  Fury mingling with concern, Geoffrey sought words to comfort his friend, but could find none. He made a helpless gesture, wanting to interrupt the conversation, but Alanna spoke again.

  “Caradoc knows nothing of how he was conceived,” Alanna said. “He is much like any boy of nearly five summers.”

  With a stoic look of resignation, Darrick nodded. To Geoffrey’s relief, he appeared to have regained the iron control he was known for far and wide.

  Still, Geoffrey himself could not understand the way she spoke of the child. When she would have walked away, he touched Alanna’s shoulder to detain her.

  “I listen for disappointment in your voice, but hear only affection,” he said. “That you could love a child created in such violence astounds me. I imagine most women would cast such an offspring away.”

  “I am not most women.” She shot him a glare. With her harsh words, she too had reverted to the woman Geoffrey knew and disliked. She continued to glare at him as she asked her next question. “Have you a horse I might use?”

  Geoffrey glanced from her to Darrick and back again. “She is unchaperoned,” he said finally, seizing on the excuse with desperation. “She cannot ride with us,

  without some sort of companion.”

  “We can get someone from the village.” Another man piped up. “Assuming we can find a woman willing.”

  “And one who could keep up with us.” One of those chosen to go, Bart glowered at Geoffrey. “You know well there is no one like that near here.”

  Ever since Darrick’s father had been killed and Morfran had occupied Thorncliff, most of the farms and cottages in the fields nearby had been abandoned. Geoffrey knew Darrick meant to find out whether this had been voluntary, or some punishment Morfran had meted out. All that remained were the elderly or the infirm.

  “A chaperone?” Alanna sounded disbelieving.

  With a stubborn glare, Geoffrey nodded. “Aye. Unless you want to be mistaken for another kind of woman.”

  The insult, though indirect, hung in the air.

  Instead of taking offense, Alanna straightened her shoulders and gave a regal nod. “I will provide my own chaperone,” she said. “One of my own women from my home travels this way even now.”

  Geoffrey shared a skeptical look with his men. “You do not have time. We leave this night. Now.”

  She lifted her chin. “She is already on her way.”

  He scratched his head. “By what means?”

  “Magic.” Alanna did not smile as she said the word. No doubt she knew none would believe her. A chill ran down Geoffrey’s spine.

  Most of the other men laughed. But Geoffrey crossed himself, his expression hard.

  Darrick cursed. “Enough of this. How long until your woman arrives?”

  “How would she know?” Geoffrey spread his hands. “She has no way of knowing.”

  The other two ignored him. “Her arrival should be within minutes.”

  “Good.” Darrick raised his voice. “Alanna’s woman will arrive momentarily.”

  “We have no time,” Geoffrey protested.

  Alanna glared at him again. “As I said, my cousin Sarina should be here any moment.”

  Geoffrey wondered if she meant to conjure the woman from the night air. He’d met Sarina once. Vaguely, he remembered her cousin as a gangly young woman, all legs and elbows. Hell of a chaperone.

  Some of the men looked dubious, a couple eyed Alanna with suspicion. Geoffrey tugged at his ear, a nervous habit he’d been, despite numerous attempts, unable to defeat.

  They all waited, as though they expected her woman to appear in front of them. No one spoke. Darrick and Alanna avoided the other’s gaze, a fact which gladdened Geoffrey’s heart. Now the woman would be proved a liar.

  “Does she ride alone?” Bart finally asked, breaking the silence.

  “Listen.” She gestured at the broken wall.

  They all did as she asked.

  Geoffrey heard nothing, save the steady thump of his heart. Into this quiet came the clip-clop of hoof beats outside the ruined wall.

  “Is anyone there?” a feminine voice called from outside the keep. “Alanna, where are you? Where is everyone?”

  Darrick sighed. “Sarina. Last we saw her she was still a gangly teen.”

  A moment later she rode around the corner and Geoffrey saw that little Sarina had grown up. A cloud of unbound hair the color of raven’s wings floated behind her, kept in place only by a circlet of polished silver. With her heart-shaped face and delicate bone structure, she bore a remarkable resemblance to Alanna, though her eyes were brilliant blue rather than green. Both women had the same rare, haunting beauty that stopped men cold.

  All of his men, including Geoffrey himself, stared in open-mouthed awe.

  Prancing, Sarina’s mount seem to glide up to them. A second, rider-less horse, tethered by a single, shimmering rope, trailed behind. Both snowy white palfreys were so alike they had to be twins.

  Such a well-matched pair would cost the earth. “Welcome.” Still unsmiling, Alanna greeted her cousin with a regal nod. Then she turned to Darrick.

  “May we go now?” she asked. Her gaze slid to Geoffrey, who narrowed his eyes. “I have my chaperone.”

  Why did no one ask how the woman had managed to reach them, riding alone and unprotected? Geoffrey looked to Darrick, who had not yet given her full leave to go with them. His leader had never been one to give in easily, especially not since they’d gone to fight the holy war. But to Geoffrey’s dismay and disbelief, Darrick simply nodded once more. He waved his arm, encompassing them all, even the women.

  “Let’s go. We ride for Morfran’s keep, to regain my lady mother and this woman’s son.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Shortly before dawn, they arrived at Morfran’s keep. After riding straight through the night exhaustion showed both in the weary men’s faces and the labored breathing of their lathered mounts.

  Reining to a halt, they stared in silence at the stone monstrosity that was Morfran’s keep. In all her travels in both Rune and earth, Alanna had never seen such a forbidding place. Morfran’s keep made even Thorncliff look cozy. It might have been the starkness of the roughly chiseled rock from which it was constructed, or the neglected and dead fields which surrounded the place.

  She inhaled deeply, wrinkling her nose. Even the gentle silver light of the moon did not soften the harshness of the place. Evil radiated from the structure. Malevolence and foul darkness; the fortress was the embodiment of all that could be corrupted in men.

  She shivered. She’d always had a fertile imagination. Striving to remain calm, she pushed away thoughts of her little boy’s certain terror at being held captive in such an unclean place. Catching her breath, her heart thudding hard in her chest, she studied the keep with as dispassionate an eye as she could manage.

  Wickedness. Abuse. She took a shuddering breath. The sense of evil emanating from mere rock put her so off-balance she swayed on her horse’s back.

  Magic? Couldn’t be. Perhaps the sens
e of wrongness came from the air of utter decay which permeated the immediate area surrounding this bleak and dark keep. Twisted trees raised blackened, skeletal limbs skyward, a portrait of haunting supplication. Around them, the earth bled, ash-filled sores a testament to suffering. The untended fields had been burnt to mere stubble. As though someone, trying without success to cleanse this blight from the earth, had used fire and wind and rain as their weapons.

  Again she thought of magic. Only magic, the kind of sorcery the Fae had been capable in decades past, could have caused such destruction.

  Taking care to hide her apprehension, Alanna glanced at the others. Darrick studied the fortress, his lips pressed together, his strong brow knitted in a frown. Noticing her interest, Geoffrey glared at her before riding to Darrick’s side.

  “No guards are posted at the gates.”

  “Aye.” Darrick continued to frown. “Something has gone greatly amiss.”

  Sarina maneuvered her horse closer to Alanna. She spoke low, so as not to be overheard. “Foulness travels the air of this place.”

  “Aye. Though I cannot determine the source. Lend me your hand.”

  Without hesitation Sarina did as requested. Then, grasping her cousin’s fingers, Alanna used their combined strength to try and magically probe within the stone walls. Still feeble, she was unable to penetrate them.

  “The place looks abandoned,” Bart mused, scratching his beard. “Empty.”

  Sarina and Alanna exchanged a glance.

  “Caradoc?” Sarina asked.

  Shaking her head wildly, Alanna felt panic rise like bile in her throat. “Bart is right. No one is here.” She swallowed, gripping her hands together to keep them from trembling. “My son is not here. Nor your mother.”

  “Find her.” Darrick demanded. “And her tormentor.”

  “I sense no one.” Alanna shook her head, concentrating on keeping her voice level. “The keep is abandoned.”

  Even Sarina fell uncharacteristically silent, though her grip on Alanna’s hand tightened.

  The horses pawed the earth and shifted on their tired legs. Everyone stared at the imposing walls of Morfran’s dark keep.