Shadow Magic Page 6

"You there, warrior." A man stepped into the clearing, hands up to show he did not bear arms. At first glance he appeared to be a monk or priest of some sort. Clad all in black, his gaunt face and ascetic features belied the sharpness of his gaze. A rough rope of some homespun cloth belted the robe that hung on his lanky frame. All in all, he looked harmless, a human monk or priest.

  But Egann knew better than to trust appearances. He gave a mocking smile and inclined his head, wondering how long it would be before the stranger realized that he too wore no sword and was not in fact, a warrior of any kind.

  Unarmed - it would seem that they were evenly matched, proving again that appearances could deceive.

  "I seek a woman in these woods," the stranger said, his tone cordial.

  Immediately, Egann's senses sharpened. Still, he maintained his expressionless stance and skirted as close to the edge of the truth as he dared. "You would have better luck in a pub or tavern. There are naught but wild creatures here."

  "Nay." Stepping closer, the man's intent gaze tried to peer inside Egann. "I have heard that a lost female roamed the forest this very morn, crying out in some distress or agony. It may be that I know her - and I only seek to see if I may help her. "

  It may be that I know her.

  The back of his neck tingled. Absently, rubbing it with one hand, he kept his gaze on the stranger. He lied, that much Egann knew, but to what end?

  "Who are you?" His tone sounded cold and blunt, but Egann did not care.

  He had accepted the charge of protecting Deirdre and would do so no matter the cost.

  Blinking, the other spread his hands, palm up, holding them out before him like he sought benediction of some sort. "I carry no weapon and have no wish to fight you.”

  “Your name.”

  “My name I give to no man. Most call me Monk."

  "But you are not."

  "Nay, I am not."

  Monk sounded so agreeable that Egann nearly relaxed. Nearly.

  "I have seen no woman here on this day." Not a lie. Since the sun had risen over the forest, he had seen no sign of the missing Deirdre.

  "How came you to these woods?" Monk asked, still in that pleasant tone, which now began to irritate Egann like the screech of metal on metal.

  "I might ask you the same question."

  With a look of infinite patience, the human tilted his head and studied Egann. Slowly, he shook his close-shorn head.

  "I am a seeker of lost souls," he declared. "And I travel where my spirit leads me. So have I come to these woods, directed to find this woman and bring her forth into the light.”

  “Directed? By whom?”

  Smiling, Monk moved closer. “By a purpose greater than the sum of this mortal life.”

  Maccus. This man could be no other. But how had he known that Deirdre was here? Did he have some sort of magic of his own, used to aid him in his dark task of hunting hapless Shadow Dancers?

  Quietly Egann reached out with his mind, searching for the vague tendrils created by magic, pretending to merely watch the other while he sought information. Finding nothing, indeed less than nothing, for a blank wall of blackness blocked him, he pondered his next move. He could not actually harm this Monk, but perhaps he could confuse and enchant him, sending him far from where Deirdre slept even now, hopefully protected in darkness. His people often delighted in playing such tricks on humans, though he himself had never done so.

  Under his breath he began to mutter the words to a simple spell.

  Monk straightened, his gaze alertly sharp. "What is this?" He cried, no fear, only curiosity ringing in his sharp tone. "I sense the shifting of the veil, so lightly does it part in this very place where we stand."

  Stunned, Egann broke off his spell. How did this mortal know of such things? Mayhap this was no mortal who stood before him, but rather his own kind.

  "Are you human or fae?" Egann demanded. If this Monk were actually some sort of renegade Faerie, there would be nothing to bar the use of magic to vanquish him. Only against mortals was the use of magic forbidden, unless used in self-defense.

  "What a curious question." The other man laughed. "And one I might just as easily ask of you."

  Twice now had Monk tried to turn the question back to Egann, and once more would Egann refuse to answer. He did not know whether the Maccus hated all who had magic, or merely those that danced in shadow.

  "Curious, mayhap.” Egann fixed the other with an intent glare of his own. “Yet you did not answer. So I ask again, are you mortal or fae?"

  Monk shook his head. As he opened his mouth to speak, the sound of pounding hoof beats echoed through the forest.

  Instantly alert, Egann looked away. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Monk did the same.

  A rider burst into the clearing, the dark coat of his horse lathered with sweat. Seeing them, he reined to a sliding halt.

  "You must help me," he gasped. A young human, his eyes were shadowed and exhaustion and pain had carved fresh lines in his young face.

  Stepping forward, Monk laid a hand on the horse's wet neck. "What has happened?"

  "My family - my village - we were attacked. Riders of the Mist entered in darkness, and by the strength of some dark magic, killed many while we slept. Woman, children, pets - it mattered not to these demons. I know not how many still live - I rode away with the roar of the fires and the screams of the people echoing in my ears."

  "Shadow Dancers," spat Monk. "It had to be they, since the attack came with the darkness."

  But to Egann it sounded much more like the attack of the Maccus on the people of the cliffs. In a moment the young human confirmed it.

  "Nay, for they came to slay our own Shadow Dancer. We know not why, but this seemed to be the reason for the invasion."

  Eyes burning, Monk went utterly still. "And did she live?" His voice sounded malicious somehow, full of evil intent.

  The sound of it sent a jolt of warning through Egann. This one spoke with the voice of a madman or a fanatic. Both, combined with bloodlust and rage, were extremely dangerous in fae and mortal alike. He had no doubt that, if the answer were in the affirmative, Monk would travel to this village and attempt to slay the Shadow Dancer himself.

  "Did she live?" Monk hissed again, when the rider did not answer.

  The horse sidestepped nervously and it took a moment for the young man to regain control. Looking at the face of the rider, Egann saw that he too regarded Monk with a combination of horror and revulsion.

  "I do not know."

  The simplicity of the answer bespoke of truth. This one, having ridden for aid, had left in the heat of the onslaught. He truly did not know the fate of his Shadow Dancer.

  "Will you help me?" The plea was directed at Egann, though Monk stepped forward, causing the skittish horse to move again.

  "Of course I will." His smile, no doubt meant to be soothing, seemed full of malice and cunning.

  Egann stepped forward as well to offer his own assistance, though he pulled back before he had gone more than a few paces. As much as he might wish it, of course he could not help in this fight.

  "I cannot help you." Speaking with regret, Egann turned his head to eye the one who called himself Monk. "And if I were you, I would not allow this one access to your village."

  With a feral snarl, Monk spun to face Egann. Something in his hand - a flash of metal, alerted Egann to the fact that the man was now armed.

  "Have a care what you say, stranger." Still grinning, Monk's expression, like the look in his eyes, radiated madness. "I live under orders from one much higher up than yourself."

  The man on the horse spoke, perhaps unwisely. "Speak you of the Christian God? Or the red and angry one?”

  Monk's answer was a snort of laughter. He tossed the knife from hand to hand, the sharp blade glinting in the light. "I pay homage to no God, nor do I follow this new belief that poisons our land. I am Maccus, and as such we are gifted with a lofty mission, to cleanse the stain of evil from the face
of this world."

  Because he knew that he could destroy the foolish man with a single word, Egann decided to question him. "I would know what evil you find in those that dance in shadow."

  "Aye," the young human spoke also, his face hard, his own weapon - a battered sword - held at the ready. "I would know this as well."

  Monk glanced from one to the other, disbelief making his brow furrow. He did not seem overly worried by the other's sword, nor by the fact that he was outnumbered two to one.

  "You do not understand?" His voice was a harsh whisper, the sound seeming to hiss like the sibilant warning of a snake, or the low and howling wind that slides through the cracks in the walls immediately preceding a storm.

  Neither Egann nor the rider answered. Instead they both stared, waiting.

  "Think on it," Monk urged, his eyes glowing. "Have you ever seen a Shadow Dancer move seductively under the light of the full moon?"

  Still neither spoke, since Monk had to know that each man, by virtue of his questions, had seen such a thing, at least once.

  "Shadow Dancers call up evil from within the core of the earth. Evil magic, beguiling and confusing men so that they only think of how they want to lie with the Dancer, become her slave so that she can use her evil powers to wreck havoc upon the world."

  Egann laughed. "You are wrong, old man. I have seen this dance you speak of, and while the magic generated was of the earth, yes, it was good and pure and whole. It was used to help her people, and because she worked so hard to bring it forth, they honored her by taking care of her and making certain that the sunlight did not find her skin. No slaves were they, but caretakers."

  "Lies!" Monk cried. He had stopped the tossing of his knife and now clenched in his hand. "You have been enchanted, and so cannot see the evil."

  "Maccus, he speaks truth," the young human said, shaking his head in disgust. "And I have no time for your mad notions. I need to find those that can help - my village and my Shadow Dancer."

  “None can help those so cursed.” Monk’s words carried the ring of prophecy.

  “Cursed?” The young rider tensed. “Say you that my village, my family,

  are under some spell?”

  “If they harbored such evil as a Shadow Dancer, then they were tainted by sin. Their deaths were necessary.”

  With a snarl, the young rider leapt from his horse, sword in hand. “You are wrong. My people did not deserve such a fate.”

  Instead of reacting to the obvious threat, Monk threw back his head and laughed. The cackling sound rang out in the small clearing, causing the horse to shy nervously, and a cluster of startled birds to take raucous flight from a nearby tree.

  The villager charged.

  Pivoting, Monk easily evaded him.

  Watching with interest, Egann stepped back, ignoring his own swell of anger . He would have done the same thing, in the mortal’s place.

  The lad raised his sword for another strike.

  Monk sang out an unintelligible phrase.

  The air shimmered with power.

  And the human – sword, horse, and all – disappeared.

  Stunned, Egann froze. He had felt the disturbance in the breeze, slight though it might be, and knew this Maccus at least, had command of a small bit of magic. Though it had not seemed enough to do such a thing.

  But the mortal was gone, leaving Egann alone with the madman, one armed, one – at least with visible weapons, not.

  He felt a twinge of curiosity – then Monk lunged forward.

  With no time to speak a spell, Egann lifted an arm to defend himself. The knife slashed downward, but Egann blocked this with a blow to the other’s arm.

  He grabbed Monk’s wrist, twisting hard, and Monk let out a low howl of pain and fury.

  “Think before you touch me, evil one.” Egann twisted further, harder, and the knife fell to the ground. “With a few words I can destroy you, though I have little taste for ending a life, even one so worthless as your own.”

  “Magic.” The word came out in a hiss. Monk’s eyes darkened, narrowed to slits. “I have –“

  With another horrible laugh, Monk vanished.

  Egann staggered, losing his balance. Clutching empty air where seconds before had stood a man, he spun around.

  There had indeed been magic at work, stronger than it first appeared.

  Surely not all of the Maccus, who seemed to despise the very word, possessed their own magic?

  This would add a new layer to the danger that surrounded Deirdre.

  Shrugging, Egann left the clearing, moving deeper into the forest. He would find Deirdre’s hiding place and stand guard until the sun had set and she awakened.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Head spinning, Deirdre glanced around the shadowy glen. Was this Rune? It felt no different. And if it was Rune, then where had Egann gone?

  She saw no others, no shimmering Faeries watched her with curiosity shining from their bright eyes. Even the creatures that surely inhabited such an untamed place seemed oddly absent.

  For the first time in her life, she felt totally alone.

  Dead leaves crunched under her bare feet as she moved cautiously forward. The air felt still, hushed with an alarming lack of sound. Her skin tingled, and she smelt the musky odor of rich, damp earth.

  Deep within a forest she was, and as her eyes adjusted to the dim gloom she knew not if it were day or night.

  This could not be Rune. For some reason, Egann had gone on without her. Still, she should count herself blessed. She had not been left to die in the burning blaze of the sun.

  Turning, she surveyed her surroundings. If it were day, this grotto, though small, was blessedly dark and cool.

  Something or someone was looking out for her.

  A wave of drowsiness made her yawn. With a sigh she’d curled into a ball and tried to sleep. She could not get comfortable, aching with an unfamiliar emotion which she soon identified as loneliness. As Shadow Dancer, her people had always surrounded her, protected her, and taken care of her. And briefly Egann, in his quest for his precious amulet, had done the same.

  Now she knew not if she should relish or regret the novelty of being alone.

  Finally, sleep claimed her. As always, her dreams were vivid and startling.

  As they sometimes foretold the future, she had trained herself to remember them, storing them in her mind and trusting that her instincts would reveal to her when the time had come to use what she had learned.

  This day she dreamt of the amulet – that precious thing that seemed to matter more to Egann than anything else. She saw it, all shimmering gold and fire, the gems blue and green and red, the hue of sky and earth and blood. Ancient, it fairly gleamed with power, even as it swung with the movements of the one who wore it.

  She tried to see more, a face perhaps, or a landmark that would give a clue as to the location. But in the way of dreams, the amulet faded and another face, both handsome and familiar, took its place.

  And so she dreamt of Egann.

  He did not speak, but rather came to her with the savage intensity of passion. She dreamt of his hands on her skin, the moist heat of his mouth as he tasted her skin, gliding down her throat, finally suckling her nipple and making her arch her back and cry out from sheer pleasure. Of joining with him, she who had always avoided such temptations, joining and welcoming the feel of him deep inside her. Thrilling to the ancient dance as their bodies moved together, delighted then enchanted in the way that the full moon enthralled her.

  Yet this was heat, molten gold instead of cool silver, and when she woke with a start her body still shuddered with the blossom of fresh release.

  Stunned, Deirdre lay still until her heartbeat slowed and she could catch her breath. That the mere thought of Egann could make her feel such things… it made her wonder what the reality of his touch in truth would be like. One could become enslaved by such pleasure and, for the first time she understood why the women of her former village had often snuck out in
to the night for moonlit trysts with their lovers. If not for the very real possibility of conceiving a child, Deirdre would not be adverse to such a tryst herself, were Egann her lover. Such a thing, alas could never be.

  Egann wanted only to find his amulet, to clear his name, and to escape into the vast world and experience his prized freedom.

  It was time to think about what she, Deirdre of the Cliffs, wanted.

  The familiar tug of the moon startled her. Looking instinctively towards the absent sky, she counted back to the time of her last Shadow Dance. Not enough days had passed for the full moon to be upon her again.

  But then who knew how much time magic had stolen, with Egann’s attempt to bring her to Rune and her subsequent arrival at this dark and empty place.

  Still, the first notes of the moon’s siren song called to her.

  Spinning in the small clearing, she tried to calm the pounding of her pulse, to clear her mind enough to send her thoughts outward, seeking Egann before the moon-magic claimed her. Her confused senses, overwhelmed from the intensity of her dream, refused to cooperate.

  Drained already, she forced herself to try harder. She must find Egann before she left her body unprotected.

  Yet her overwhelmed senses told her that she also should gather her energy to aid her in the dance.

  Unfortunately, all she could think about at the moment, with her body still vibrating with the power of her solitary release, was how badly she wanted Egann.

  She knew she had no choice but to resist such a desire, was halfway towards convincing herself that she could do so without any real effort, when Egann himself strode into the grotto, lifting her unresisting body in his arms. As she stared at him in shock, he lowered his head, covered her mouth with his and kissed her.

  It reminded her of a drowning man seeking air, the stark hunger in the way his lips moved over hers. As if he couldn’t get enough.

  Newly awakened from the sensual haze of her dream, Deirdre reveled in the kiss, her mouth instinctively opening to him, her tongue mating with his in a way that made him pull her closer with a low-voiced growl of approval. Her body vibrated still, increasing the intensity of her need, seeking more than a mere dream this time.