Dragon's Tongue (The Demon Bound) (34 page)

“True enough,” Etienne agreed. Like all mageborn, she knew Mallow’s swampy heart had a rift that opened into the demon realms. “Morrigan’s Tower, then.”

They headed back up, fetching Shona and opening a gate to Spaewood. Fenelon knew a croft where they could borrow horses to ride north to the tower.

~

The pain kept Vagner from sleeping. The demon wanted to go into the cells and fetch the ointment for its own wounds. But Tane’s word was law, and by True Name, Vagner was forced to remain here and watch the young bard who had fallen asleep. Head drooped forward, his blond hair hid his face. Only his regular breathing gave the demon a clue.

Slowly, Vagner unwound from the knotted position he had held for what seemed like an eternity and crept across the room. Crouching, the demon looked up into the pale face, wanting some distraction…any.

“Why must you fight him,” the demon whispered.

Alaric’s eyes flickered under the lids from the rapid motion of one dreaming. He stirred and grew still, a bare ripple of human reaction. The demon wished his power were still free. It would have been interesting to see what the young bard dreamed.

But Tane had taken that. Taken all the demon cared for. Oh that Vagner had never fallen for that sweet musical bait, though now as Vagner thought back on it, the bait had been no where near as sweet as this young man’s voice and songs.

You are a thing of beauty.
You have an immortal gift that I can do naught but envy.
Vagner shook the child’s head. What a shame it would be to see this youth die. Oh, Tane would not keep his word, not now. Why should he? Once the bloodmage had achieved his goals, he would have no use for the demon or this bard…not even for the bandits. Yet Vagner had a feeling
they
would be allowed to live and go about their unlawful business.

Vagner did not care about the bandits or their fate. They were base, callow men. Most unworthy of pity in any form.

This bard, however—this mageborn youth—he was another matter in the demon’s eyes. Vagner might not know love, but he knew joy and pleasure.

To destroy this bard would be to destroy joy and pleasure and a multitude of old songs. To save this bard, though, would just as likely lead to Vagner’s demise.

If I had my old form…

The demon frowned and looked up at the youthful face.

There must be a way we can live.

Cautiously, Vagner rose. The demon gently pushed a hand through Alaric’s hair, then retreated to a dark corner to squat and wait.

There had to be a way.

THIRTY FIVE

I do believe Morrigan’s Tower is occupied,
Etienne thought. This fact became evident as the trio reached the edge of the heavy forest that protected this tower from the world. Tangled vines encrusted the weathered stones, turning the tower into a green monolith with a tree growing from the very top. Etienne couldn’t help but wonder who had planted the tree there and why.

Evidence someone had tracked through the growth recently before them lay about. Signs of a horse’s passing were everywhere. Hoof prints and other less pleasant spoor decorated the ground. Even Shona’s keen eyes found small broken branches and other items that escaped Etienne’s attention.

And, of course, the dim flicker of firelight visible in the gloaming gave it all credibility.

Horns,
we should not be out in the forest at evening. Not with faint hints of magic traceable in the air. Old magic, by the feel of it. The sensation reminded Etienne of the catacombs beneath the King’s palace in Caer Keltora, a secret place once believed to have been an underground city built by the Old Ones. A number of these were to be found under the main cities of Ard-Taebh. But where those catacombs had a haunting beauty, this felt cold.

Morrigan, according to the tales Etienne heard, had been one of the three Morrigu, the battle sisters of ancient times. While Babh and Memhain were still believed to be the goddesses of war who came to the battlefields as ravens that came to flock and feed on the dead and wounded and the frenzy that drove men to berserker madness, Morrigan was said to have turned to darkness. The Phantom Queen had betrayed Cernunnos, deceived him into fathering her child. She had given birth to a treacherous son and ended her days imprisoned in a place where magic could not be found.

Etienne looked at the tower and could not supress a shiver.
Blessed Lady of the Silver Wheel, I do hope Alaric is not in here.
She hated to think of him being held and likely tormented in such a dreadful feeling place.

Fenelon suddenly took her hand. She met his blue eyes and felt the rush of his excitement filling her with his essence. “
Can you feel that?
” he said and wrinkled his nose. “
Pure Old One
…”

“
Feels more like Dark Ones
,” she thought back.
Or Dokkalfar.
Her own great grandmother once told stories about the dark kin who lived in the old realms to the north before the ice came. “
Morrigan wasn’t one of the Shadow Lords, was she
?”

“
I don’t think so,
” Fenelon quipped. “
But she did use dark magic to deceive Cernunnos into fathering Morhred
.
That’s why she was imprisoned in a Void
…
to keep her from using magic ever again
.”

“
And Morhred
?
Could he still be around
?”

“
Oh, no
.
If I remember the story right, Morhred was killed by Cernunnos…cut off his head with some all-powerful sword
.
Then Arawn stole Morhred’s head from the pike at the gate to the Summerland, and some say he used it to create the Cauldron of Doom
.”

“
Oh
,” she thought and sighed. “
Then we only have to worry about an angry trapped goddess and not her treacherous son
?”

“
I don’t think this is the place where she is being held
,” he said. “
She’s supposed to be buried for all time in a cave beneath some mountain in Carn Dubh
.”

“
Then why does this place feel so dark
?”

“
That’s what I intend to find out
,” Fenelon said. “
Come on
.”

He released her hand. The horses were secured away from the track and downwind from the tower and the trail to keep other horses from detecting them. Then the three of them, using scattered boulders and scrub trees as cover, crept cautiously towards the tower. They were but a few meters away from the outer moat that ringed the tor on which the tower sat when Fenelon froze and motioned for Etienne and Shona to hide. They flitted into the shadow of a boulder, and not a moment too soon. Someone was climbed out of the rock and vine filled depths of the moat. A scruffy-looking man in ill-kept armor adjusted his lacings and looked around.

A guard
! Etienne let out a controlled breath and waited for Fenelon to decide what course they should take.

Fenelon carefully groped the ground and picked up a small stone. Staying low, he pitched it so it clattered among the shrubs to their far left. The guard turned that way. He seized up the small axe dangling from his belt and looked puzzled at first. “Who’s there?” he called. When no answer came, he frowned and started towards the sound. Fenelon slid around the opposite side of his natural barrier so he came up behind the guard. Fenelon’s cat-like stealth impressed Etienne. The guard never knew what hit him before Fenelon made use of his pommel. The guard dropped without a cry. Fenelon swiftly dragged his victim into the brush, and Shona and Etienne bolted out to lend a hand. Within moments, they had the man stripped of his armor and trussed to a tree and gagged.

“One down and no telling how many to go,” Fenelon whispered as he pulled on the bits of armor. Etienne wrinkled her nose. Some of the leather stank of old sweat. She didn’t understand how Fenelon could bear it.

“Just what are you doing?” she asked.

“It will be easier for me to get in if they think I’m one of them,” he said. “With all this dark magic floating around, it might not be safe to use our own until we’re inside. Tane’s likely to have traps tuned to magic…”

“And what about us?” Etienne said.

“You’ll have to get your own armor, love,” Fenelon teased, but when Etienne fixed him with a morbid scowl, he shrugged. “All right, I’ll help you get some armor too.”

Etienne rolled her eyes. “Not if it smells like that, you won’t…”

“Shhhhh, someone’s coming,” Shona hissed.

Simultaneously, Etienne and Fenelon headed for the tree where Shona kept watch. Mage sight revealed two figures moving across the landscape. One carried a crossbow at the ready. The other had a sword out. Both looked around them in the manner of men who were nervous, twitching at every little sound.

“Are you sure you heard Arn call out?” asked the one with the sword in a whisper only mage ears could hear.

“Aye, I heard him,” the crossbow’s owner replied. “He said, who’s there, and by the time I got around to his post, he was gone.”

“Gone? Like vanished?”

“Aye.”

“Bet it was the Shadow Hag,” sword said, visibly trembling as he picked his way closer.”

“Yer daft. That’s just a story…isn’t it?” crossbow insisted, though he sounded none too sure in Etienne’s opinion. That could be to their advantage. She looked at Fenelon, and he back at her, and his smile was too full of mischief for her liking. Etienne sighed as he motioned her and Shona closer.

“My granny saw the Shadow Hag in these woods when she was a lass,” sword said.

“Your granny was never a lass.”

“My granny says the Shadow Hag is still looking for the man who betrayed her so she was hanged from the gallows tree atop the tower. My granny says…”

“Shhhhhh!” crossbow hissed and motioned sword to stillness and silence. He scanned the dark.

“What?” sword whispered.

“I heard something. Out there…”

Fortunately, he was pointing in another direction, away from where the three hid. But Etienne’s eyes were drawn there all the same, and widened when she perceived a shape that moved among the trees. She touched Fenelon’s arm, and he looked as well, and his bemusement went away with startling speed.

Darkling!
Horns,
she thought. What was one doing in a forest this far from the swamps of Mallow? Like a small black fog, the creature drifted and moved among the trees. It headed straight towards the two men. Sword panicked and backed away only to trip over a root. Crossbow took aim for all the good it would do. Darklings had no solid form until they attacked or fed.

But suddenly, there was a flash of brilliance, and mage light filled the air, creating a wall. The darkling shrieked and backed off, twisting and seeking another route. Again light flashed, and the creature raged in anger and pain. Pacing back and forth, the darkling took on feline form. Etienne reached out with mage senses and realized the barrier was around the entire keep, one tuned to keep this creature of the night at bay.

At least we are inside the barrier.
Etienne froze and glanced towards where they had left the guard.
Oh, Blessed Lady of the Silver Wheel.
Their prisoner was outside the barrier. She turned her attention towards the darkling. It paused from pacing and sniffed the air. Then, with sudden resolution, it gave up its solid form and raced towards the thicket where they had left the guard.

“No!” Etienne cried and started towards him.

“Hey!” crossbow shouted and raised his weapon to fire. “Get back!”

It occurred to Etienne that the gruff guard was actually doing her a kindness by calling to her, but for the moment only one thing mattered. To save the life of the man tied helpless to the tree. All thoughts of caution and safety went away. The darkling was swifter than she. Its shadow form rolled at the man, then reared up like a black blanket on end. Etienne saw the maw open, and it looked so dreadfully large.

Too close for a fire spell.
“Solus!”
she shouted and sent a wide spray of magelight filling the woods.

The darkling screamed and fled, seeking sanctuary in the shadows of the forest. Etienne rushed to her prisoner’s side. Frightened eyes met her gaze.

“Are you all right?” she said.

He nodded, puzzlement claiming his brow. Behind her, Etienne sensed the swell of Fenelon’s spells. The air crackled with the static of his essence as he shouted, “Put down your weapons, lads, and no one will get hurt.”

A second scream of essence suddenly filled the air not far from where Etienne knelt. A spell gate suddenly tore open, and there was no mistaking the underlying anger in the caster’s aura. Etienne surged to her feet, reaching for the essence she would need to feed her own defensive spell. Before she could gather enough, the gate spell gouted a stream of flames that rushed at her with such pin point precision, she could not help but be amazed.

“No!” Fenelon shouted.

His concentration changed. Etienne sought to raise a wall of hardened air in her own defense, but while she sought to include their prisoner, Fenelon focused his spell to a narrower space, for which Etienne was grateful. She watched the grand display of fire splattering around her, leaving her unharmed.

At that moment, Fenelon charged, and an individual exited the gate. Etienne saw a woman of advanced years robed in greens. The newcomer stood nearly as tall as Fenelon, and possessed hair of the same coppery hue that seemed to run strong through the Greenfyn line. She cast an angry glower upon the part at hand as she clutched her staff like a weapon.

“Just what in the name of Cernunnos is going on here?” she demanded in a wintry voice.

Much to Etienne’s surprise, Fenelon froze and even blanched. He went from fierce rescuer to guilty toddler in an instant. “Uh…Auntie Katrina,” he said.

“Fenelon?” the tall woman said. Her pose relaxed, and the heel of her staff thumped the ground. The wild battle aura that had swirled around her faded, though not the expression of anger. “I might have known. What are you doing here, boy?”

Fenelon’s discomfort was apparent. He made no effort to correct the woman’s assumption that he was a child, which amused Etienne just a little.

“I was looking for a friend who’s being held prisoner in a void,” he said, then sighed as though gathering his wits. “Just what are you doing here?”