Shadow Magic Page 9

  “Nay? `Twas not the fault of poor Mordred, who only nicked the boy with his sword. Such a small cut would have barely wounded a mortal lad – how could Mordred know that Banan was not human? Nay, my lady, never doubt that the fault is all mine. I failed to protect my brother.”

  Now it all became clear to her. “And this is the reason you will not be King?”

  He gave her a grim smile as he nodded. “Do you not see? If I failed my own brother, how could one such as I protect an entire people? They are better off without me.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Once the words had been said, Egann continued walking. He knew not how Deirdre would react to his truth, how she would respond to the knowledge that the one she trusted to keep her safe was and always had been nothing but a failure.

  He could not blame her were she to seek another protector.

  Yet as he walked, so did she, still at his side.

  In silence they moved, while a thousand memories went through his mind. He had loved Banan greatly, as had all of his sisters, some of whom had never stopped mourning. He supposed he himself would carry the grief – and the guilt – with him for eternity.

  For now, he had to deal with the probable rejection of his mortal companion. He deserved, he thought wryly, whatever scorn or disgust she directed at him.

  Yet as they continued towards the village, she did not speak. The silence, normally welcome, began to feel oppressive as he waited.

  The mist-shrouded moon, a silver orb, traveled slowly across the evening sky. The air, cool and clear, smelled of heather and fern and fresh cut hay. Though he listened, he heard no sound that any one followed, nor approached; indeed it seemed to him that all of mankind slept.

  Except Deirdre, the nocturnal Shadow Dancer.

  When she finally spoke, it was only to call his name. Her voice was soft, reflective, and he had to strain to hear it.

  “Egann?”

  He could feel her gaze upon him. Because he did not trust his voice, he settled for a brusque nod.

  “Misfortune and mishaps occur in the lives of everyone.”

  Fiallan had said as much, once. But Egann knew better.

  “The death of your brother was not your fault.”

  He would not argue the point. What was done, was done. Banan had died. Whose fault his demise might be mattered only to him.

  “Please look at me.”

  This request he could not deny. Reluctantly he slowed his steps, halting finally and bringing his gaze down to meet hers.

  Her eyes were now a brilliant emerald, gleaming in the silver moonlight.

  She tilted her chin up in obstinate certainty. “Even if you do not believe me, even if you go through the rest of your years thinking that you and you alone were the cause of Banan’s death, hear me now. This time, with me and with the amulet, you will not fail.”

  His heart stuttered, then began to pound. `Twas only with the greatest of will that he kept his expression implacable.

  “Your confidence, though touching, might well be misplaced,” he drawled. Though he kept his tone light, he hoped she would understand that he gave her a warning. `Twas only fair that she know he might not be the best choice to protect her.

  Their gazes locked and held. Once again he felt the strength of the seductive spell luring him to touch her.

  This time, he would prove his self-control was stronger. He would prove that he could touch her as any other man, touch her and not give in to the sweet temptation she presented.

  “Come,” he held out his hand, releasing breath he had not even realized he held when she took it. Such a little thing, the feel of her small hand resting so trustingly in his, but it warmed him all the same.

  Someday perhaps, he would tell her how much. For now, he kept his tone light. “Let us continue onward. We will talk no more of this. Instead, tell me of this new dream you have had of the Amulet of Gwymyrr.”

  Her stride did not falter, though she squeezed his hand.

  “Yes. `Tis a powerful talisman, this amulet of yours. Though I did not see the sparkling jewels nor the heavy silver chain, I felt the strength of its force even in the mournful song it made. ”

  “The amulet mourns still?” He should not have been surprised. Would guilt and sorrow haunt him forever?

  She nodded. “Aye. Though great crowds of people surrounded me, I heard the mournful song and it seemed to me that the amulet called out to you with this lament. I know not why I felt this.”

  He did, for the amulet had called to him once before - on the day he’d refused to become King of Rune.

  Now however, it called to him no more. He had but touched it briefly, before being robbed of its energy. If the talisman were to let him hear it, he could find it and return it to his people, to Rune, where it belonged.

  “You did not recognize the city?”

  “Nay, for never until now have I left the cliffs. Yet there was stone on all sides, great walls made of rock, so tall they blotted out the sky.”

  “There are many cities like that in the world of men.” Disappointed, he could only hope that somehow the amulet would show him where to search.

  “It sings so seductively,” she mused. “As if the charm seeks to tempt me with its call.”

  “Then why have I not heard this song?” He let his bewilderment and anger resonate in his voice. “I do not understand - why has not a vision of the amulet come to me in my dreams? Why you?”

  The breeze ruffled her long black hair, sending silky strands to caress her shoulders, as it did when she danced.

  Watching her, his mouth went dry.

  “I cannot fathom the connection,” she said, “though I know that one exists.”

  Dragging his gaze away from her with an effort, he shrugged. “In time perhaps it will make the reason known.” He must stay focused on the task at hand.

  “We must keep on the move, if we are ever to find it, and avoid the Maccus. Since you have not been told in which direction the amulet lies, we will head West, in the direction of the setting sun.”

  She laughed, a sad little sound. “I will have to take your word for that, since I have never seen the sun set. But I must ask you, do we not have need of your horse?”

  More relieved than he should be that she would follow his lead and talk of the task at hand, he gave her a grim smile.

  “Not yet, though I too have thought of Weylyn. He is not all that he appears, and wearing the form of horse is not pleasant to him. I have promised him time to hunt, and cannot call him yet, though I will summon him when it is time. For now, we will walk.”

  A quick glance at Deirdre and the stubborn set of her chin told him that she did not agree. But, though he waited for her to tell him so, she did not, only squeezing his hand once more.

  “Where do we go?” she finally asked.

  “We head for the village of Bodmin. There, I will question the hunters, to see if they have noticed anything unusual or strange.”

  “How many days will this take?” Though she kept her tone even, Egann could hear her trepidation to meet others who were strangers to her.

  “We should reach Bodmin before sunrise.”

  “I see.” She nodded, her head held high, breathlessly trudging along at his side. Though he had shortened his stride to match hers, he could see that she tired rapidly. Perhaps he would have to call for Weylyn sooner than he had thought.

  “Can you not keep up?” Once said, he nearly winced, for he had not meant to ask her so brutally. But she appeared to take no offense, glancing up at him with a half-smile on her full lips, her eyes glowing with amusement.

  “I do not think so,” she replied. “Though I will try. I find I am uneasy to travel so exposed, with no place to take shelter when the sun rises.”

  His heart sank. Once again she thought that he had failed to consider her curse. He could not blame her for believing him irresponsible. Had he not warned her, just moments ago? Still, he had no intention of letting her believe she might be in i
mminent danger.

  “Worry not, Deirdre of the Shadows. As I have said, we shall arrive at Bodmin long before morning.”

  She nodded, the faint glow of the moon making silver strands in her midnight hair. “Do you find it so easy to walk among men?”

  He halted so suddenly that she, unprepared, continued a pace farther without him, until his grip on her hand yanked her to a stop.

  “Why do you ask?” Puzzled, he tilted his head to study her. “Do I appear so different than other men?”

  It seemed to him she waited entirely too long before she gave him her answer.

  “Since my experience has, until now been limited to my small village only, I am not certain how to best reply. But I will try. Are you different, you ask?” She let her verdant gaze slowly travel over him, heating his blood and making him wish he had continued to walk.

  “Though you may desire it not so, you are unlike other men I have known. You appear noble perhaps, though I believe most of the nobility do not walk, but ride.” She said this with a toss of her head, reminding him that she had asked for his horse. “Oh, and you are taller than other men I have seen, and more broad of shoulder and chest. Some might find the sheer size of you frightening.”

  “Nonsense.” Though he dismissed her words with a brusque shake of his head, he gave her a small smile of his own to let her know that she had pleased him. “`Tis only that you have not seen many warriors, in your remote caves there on the cliffs.”

  “True. And never have I seen a warrior of Rune.” She smiled back at him, lighting up her small face with such transcendent beauty that his throat began to ache. Wisely, he resumed walking, keeping her hand entwined in his.

  This time when they walked in silence, it seemed companionable to Egann. Though he should not, he found himself at peace, for the first time desire for her did not consume him.

  In a short while they came to the outskirts of the village. Under the starlit sky, the place lay sleeping. Even the taverns had closed, so late – or early - was the hour. Striding with Deirdre down the empty road, Egann felt the back of his neck begin to tingle. He’d learned well to heed this warning, though it never cautioned good signs.

  Halting, he held his hand up for silence and listened. Ah, there it was. From a distance, he heard the quiet clop of a metal-shod horse moving steadily towards them. A far-off dog began to bark an alert. Someone approached on the road from the East, from behind them.

  “Quickly.” Yanking her with him, Egann pulled her around the corner of a deserted church, onto a darkened side road, keeping her close.

  “What is it?” she asked, her voice muffled against his chest.

  “I am not certain. I know only that whoever or whatever it is means us no good.”

  The clattering of the hooves grew louder. Deirdre peered out from under his arm as the rider less horse came into view.

  “It’s Weylyn!” Excited, she struggled against his grip. “You summoned him after all.”

  Egann brought up his arm, encircling her with it.

  “Why don’t you go and greet him?” she hissed.

  “Nay.” With his grim tone, he warned her. “That creature is not my horse. I have not called him to me. I know not what manner of beast that is, but it is not Weylyn.”

  Immediately her struggles ceased. “How do you know?” she whispered. “It bears a perfect likeness to your stallion.”

  “Remember that iron is deadly to my kind. That one’s hooves are shod in it.”

  She shifted against him, the restless movement of her lush body against him feeling sensual to his already overcharged senses. Somehow he found he now cupped the full breast that had been pressed against his arm.

  As the massive horse tromped past, Egann found himself caressing Deirdre, stroking and squeezing, despite the warning that sounded in his mind.

  He felt it as her heart began to race, his body quickening as her nipples pebbled and hardened, his own breathing coming as shallow and as fast as hers.

  “The beast is gone.” Little more than a gasp, she leaned into him, even as she shook her head in agitation.

  “Aye. We should continue on.” Absently, he agreed, even as be bent his head to take her mouth in a deep kiss.

  Her response was heady and immediate.

  With reluctance, he forced himself to lift his head. “Nay.” Hoarse voiced, he nearly choked as he said the word. “Again the spell seeks to compel us. We need not this distraction, not now.”

  “You speak true.” She stiffened and moved away from him.

  He had to clench his hands to keep from reaching out to her. Inhaling deeply, he focused on the one thing sure to distract her. “Even now the Eastern sky grows lighter.”

  To his surprise she did not panic as she normally did.

  “I know.” Her voice as cool as the stream of Rangoine, she looked up at him with an almost impersonal expression. “I suppose we must find a place for me to take shelter and sleep.”

  “I suppose we must,” he agreed, setting his jaw and resolving to question her later. “There are crypts under this church. Let us look there.”

  * * *

  For the first time since she could remember, sleep did not come easily. Shifting restlessly on the cold stone of the altar she’d made her bed, she pondered the strange changes that seemed to be coming upon her. Not only had the prospect of the approaching morning seemed less threatening, but she sensed a difference in her body as well, a softening and rounding that she could only attribute to the continuing temptation of Egann’s presence.

  Having experienced his lovemaking, she now found that thoughts of his touch, his kiss, of him moving slowly inside her, consumed her thoughts, even as she merely walked at his side. Egann had said that he believed it to be some sort of enchantment, though who would do such a thing she did not know. Perhaps the one who had stolen the magical amulet tried to use it to impede their retrieval. That was the only reason that made sense.

  Or perhaps, a small voice whispered inside her head, it was not a spell at all.

  Deirdre shivered. How different all of this was from her old existence, her comfortable life with the people of the cliffs. She had longed for adventure, excitement, and had been given it, though she had not foreseen the constant threat of the Maccus. Nor her inappropriate longing for one whom, once their quest had been satisfactorily completed, she would never see again.

  Ah, so it was this thought that kept her edgy and unsettled instead of slumbering. She had come to care too much for the man, even though he seemed to dislike himself.

  Foolishly perhaps, she found much to admire in Egann. Though he did not believe he would make a good King, she could see him as nothing but a great one. Mayhap with time he would realize this as well. He did not belong here, in the ordinary world. He belonged in a realm she was forbidden to enter, belonged in the world of glittering magic, of daffodil sunshine and birdsong, not her world of darkness and shadows.

  Now that they had reached the village, he would move among the mortals while she hid from the daylight, without her. Conceivably he would even find the amulet without her help, and then what would become of her?

  Mentally, she shook herself. No good would become of such fears. Egann would not leave her until he made certain she was well protected. She had best think on something else, such as what she would do with her life once they had accomplished their task and re-captured the amulet.

  What she would do when she no longer had Egann.

  Her thoughts remained troubled as she finally drifted off to sleep.

  When she woke again, she knew instinctively that she could not rise. Though the crypts were below ground and thus windowless and dark, she instinctively understood that the sun had not yet set. Waking before darkness had never before happened to her, and she puzzled at the reason it occurred now.

  Mayhap the Amulet of Gwymyrr had something to do with it.

  If, as Egann seemed to believe, the mysterious amulet had a mind of its own, would it not
follow that it had its own plans and schemes? And what role, she wondered, did Fiallan play in all of this? Mayhap the former guardian of the amulet was not as innocent as Egann thought.

  When she next opened her eyes, it was to the scrape and grating sound of the granite door that led down to the crypts being moved away.

  Pushing herself to her feet, Deirdre met Egann half-way up the steps.

  “I have news.” Egann held took her arm, helping her climb the crumbling stairs. “I have spent the entire day roaming the village, and I have heard tales that lead me to believe that the amulet is not far from here.”

  The excitement in his deep voice made her smile. “Let us go into the fresh night air and find water first. Then I would hear what you have learned.”

  Keeping her hold on his arm, she let him lead the way up the stone steps. Once outside, she took deep, bracing gulps of the cool night air, careful to avoid looking at him. Foolish, she knew, but it seemed to her he might see in her eyes all the fears that had distressed her and kept her from a peaceful nights rest.

  Apple trees, heavy with fruit, surrounded the weathered church. The scent of ripe apples made her stomach growl.

  Egann handed her the water-skin, then folded his arms across his chest. She drank deeply, relishing the cool water sliding down her parched throat. She could sense the impatience rolling off him in waves as he broke a length of crusty bread in half and shared it with her.

  Too hungry to care about delicacy, Deirdre tore into the fresh loaf, accepting a chunk of yellow cheese with delight.

  From the tree overhead, Egann plucked two apples, handing one to her. Biting into the crunchy fruit, she closed her eyes, savoring the sweet and tart taste of it.

  “Deirdre.” His voice was a low hum, murmuring her name.

  Still chewing, she raised her gaze to find him watching her. Swallowing, she saw his jaw tense visibly as the piece of fruit slid down her throat.

  Again she closed her lips over the apple, never taking her eyes from his. The ripe fruit was juicy, and her fingers felt sticky. Feeling like a delightfully wicked cat, she let her tongue dart out and capture the juice, licking her fingers slowly for good measure.