Not Magic Enough (10 page)

“You just missed him,” she said. “He left only hours ago, heading south and west. If you leave now you can probably catch him.”

With a roar, the leader burst into laughter.

“I like you,” he said. “You’re a feisty wench. It must be the red hair. You must be the bitch he speaks of? His wife?  Is that you? Are you his wife?”

“There’s nothing for you here,” she said, evenly, in answer, “just go.”

Behind him, she saw Morlis reach out for the door to the hayloft and draw it closed. At least they wouldn’t fear fire.

“Kort owes my some money,” the leader said.

“A pity,” Delae said. “He should know better than to lend it to drunken gamblers. There’s no money here, Kort took it all.”

The leader looked around at the homestead, only then noticing doors that had once been open were now shut and Dan standing guard at the forge.

“As I said,” Delae repeated. “There is nothing for you here. Kort has every coin we had. If you leave now, you might catch him.”

It would serve him right to face the consequences of his actions for once. Or perhaps he could ride fast enough to outrun them.

Eyeing the closed and barred courtyard, the leader turned to her. “Somehow I don’t think so. You seem a smart woman. Too smart to let him take it all.”

Delae swore softly in her mind but took a page from the Elves - from Dorovan - and kept it from showing on her face.

If they took the money, it was die now or starve later. Even if they sold all their stock - if these didn’t take them, too - barring a miracle they would simply starve the next winter instead. And Kort would still be out there between waiting for more…or coming back for what little remained.

There was nothing else to do but brazen it out.

“I repeat,” she said, “there is nothing for you here. Just go.”

With a shrug, the leader said, “There is always you. Better a bird in the hand. Sell you to the slave markets and we’d get something at least. You’re a little thing but bold and pretty enough with that red hair. If nothing else, you’ll fetch a hefty price.” He smiled. “I’d be first in line to break you in. You’ve got spirit.”

Just the thought sent a shudder through her although she didn’t show that either. Or how utterly terrified she was.

She would fight, though, because she must.

With a shake of his head the bandit signaled to his men.

“Get the doors down,” he commanded. “Take her.”

Delae looked at Dan, holding one hand low, praying he’d listen as his muscles bunched.

It was likely they’d both die here but those they loved might not.

The riders dismounted, pushing their horses out of the way. Delae never took her eyes off the leader as two of his men headed toward her. The others gathered together laughing and shoving each other as they turned toward the doors to the great room.

If they did break in, they’d be sadly disappointed to find only two old men and two old women inside. Kort’s mother and Delae’s servant.

But they were Delae’s. Her responsibility. She set herself as the two men neared and then she nodded.

Dan charged with a shout, mallet and heated iron swinging.

It was a distraction and all she needed.

Delae ran and spun, her wrists locked as Dorovan had taught her. She felt the impact of steel against flesh and bone, as sharpened steel sliced effortlessly through flesh. Her mind shied away from the thought and from the shower of blood that drenched her skirts even as she turned to the next, ducking beneath a swing that might have taken her head off.

A blade flashed in the late afternoon sunlight as the second drove his sword down at her head. She took it on her own with both hands. The force of the blow made her hands sting but she didn’t drop the blade, only her shoulder as she slid out from beneath it and danced away. Even as she spun and turned she drew the sword after her and felt it bite into flesh as the man shouted in pain.

It was the movement of mass, the sudden beat of hooves that made her turn, spinning and ducking as the leader spurred his horse at her, grabbing for her hair.

He missed.

Setting his horse on his heels, the leader turned it and swung even as a third man charged toward her.

Her long hair flowing around her like liquid fire in the sunlight, Delae fended off one blow even as she arched to avoid another, the smith Dan swinging his mallet mightily, encircled by swordsmen.

As Dorovan rode toward the gate that was what he saw - he set heels to Charis’s ribs unnecessarily as the sound of battle rang in the air. Charis was stretched full out but the gallant Elven-bred reached farther.

His heart nearly stopped even as a part of him admired the wonder and beauty, the grace of Delae, her courage as she fought, always, against impossible odds.

Then his swords were in his hands. He spun the blades around them, bright Elven steel sending shards of light coruscating to splinter against the buildings.

It was that light that startled the raiders; it caught their attention, even as he shouted, “Delae!”

Hope against hope, Delae heard Dorovan’s familiar deep voice and cried, “Dorovan!” even as she spun away from the third raider, dodging the leader as he rode down on her.

The leader turned at the shout, his eyes widening as he looked up to see an Elven warrior bearing down on him.

In an instant, two of his men fell to the Elf’s swords as the Elf’s horse spun, its feet lashing out to send one of those battling the smith flying.

With a roar, the leader set his spurs to his horse and charged as his men scrambled to rally themselves.

At the last minute he threw himself off his horse - dodging the Elf’s blades - scrambling out of the way as his horse slammed into the huge Elven-bred.

Prepared for the impact, trained for it, Charis braced, staggering only a little as he drove the lesser beast off with teeth and hooves.

Dorovan was off the horse in one smooth motion, striding across the quadrangle as the bandit leader ducked behind the shelter of his men. They came at him.

Against swordsmen of such little skill as these, it was hardly a contest. Dorovan was Elf, Swordmaster for Talaena. These were bandits with no skill and less training.

Spinning in, dropping low, Dorovan ducked one sword and parried another effortlessly before his longsword took one even as he went beneath the other man’s guard. His shortsword took that one as he turned another’s blade with a flick of his wrist. One staggered back, mortally wounded. The other two were already dead.

He advanced on the leader.

“Dorovan,” Delae shouted, seeing a bandit behind him, preparing to throw his sword like a javelin.

It was like watching a dancer, Dorovan was so smooth as he spun and turned to avoid the thrown blade.

To Dorovan’s alarm, he saw the leader smile.

From the corner of his eye he saw one of the men charge Delae, catching her around the waist from behind, lifting her from the ground. But the man hadn’t caught her arms. Or the sword in them.

She arched backward, driving her sword back over her head to glance off that of the man who held her.

With a shriek, the man released her.

Dropped to her feet, she spun, cleaving the man’s head from his shoulders.

His swords at ready, Dorovan advanced slowly as Delae ran lightly but swiftly to join him, waiting until she had his back.

The leader of the bandits and the remainder of his men charged.

Dorovan wove a curtain of steel around them, moving and turning as blood flew and men screamed - Delae fighting at his back, keeping it safe.

These, unskilled and untrained, were nothing against an Elven Swordmaster and his friend-of-the-heart.

Then there was only the leader left and Delae stepped away, however much her heart was in her throat, even knowing Dorovan was Elf, to leave this for him to do.

Once more she was caught by the beauty and grace of him as the leader of the bandits screamed and charged, hammering blows on Dorovan’s swords.

Dorovan simply parried and then his blade flicked. The bandit leader staggered. Dorovan stepped cautiously away, sheathing his swords as he reached for Delae.

Blood gushed but the bandit appeared not to notice it as he toppled.

Delae went into Dorovan’s embrace with relief, pressing her face into his chest.

“How did you know?” she asked.

Looking down at her, Dorovan said “You are the friend-of-my-heart, my only bond and you are loved. You were hurt and so I came.”

A little frown crossed her face. “But it would’ve taken days…”

Her breath caught, remembering, knowing what it was he’d sensed and she pulled away, color draining from her face, shame and horror piercing her…

Dorovan caught her, seeing the stricken look in her eyes. “What is it? Tell me…”

“Kort was here,” she said, softly, raising her hand almost involuntarily to the bruise on her cheek. Her voice sank. “I couldn’t stop him...”

It took a second before Dorovan understood. This was a thing of men no Elf understood. How could one gain pleasure from such a thing, to turn something of such beauty into ugliness…?

Fury nearly hazed his vision. “He
forced
you…”

She closed her eyes.

“He’s my husband…,” she said, miserably, tears streaming.

Taking her chin in his hand, Dorovan tilted her face up so she could see his eyes.

“He broke his oath to you a thousand times, Delae, yet you have never broken your faith to him. He married you to this duty, not for love or honor. You have done it and still do it. In honor you owe him nothing. Nothing! Do you hear me?”

Brushing her hair back from her face, he said, “Know this, Delae. What we have is a faith of the heart. It can be broken only by death and nothing else. We could not have it if you were faithless. As the friend-of-my-heart, I love you. I don’t care what he does or what the laws of men say. In your heart, you know honor and keep it. As I can, I will always come, as quickly as I may.”

Delae bowed her head against his chest.

It would be three months later before Dorovan could come again. Spring was in the air, the breezes had warmed and yet through their bond Delae knew he was coming and she came to meet him, walking through the long grasses and the early spring flowers.

She looked beautiful, her brilliant hair streaming in the breeze and he watched her face glow as she caught sight of him. Her feet were bare, as always. He smiled to see them. There was a picnic basket in her hand.

As selfish as it was, Dorovan couldn’t help being glad no other of men could love her and so he had this to himself. Had she had a true love, a soul-bond other than him, he would still have been her friend-of-the-heart but without this deep joy.

He knew she loved him - deeply and truly - but she didn’t pain for the day he might find his soul-bond, even knowing it would end this that they shared between them. She loved him enough to wish it for him, to see him happy. Parted as they must be, their love forbidden, if this was all they could have, then it would enough and more than enough.

It was risk enough to come here, an Elf alone. There were some of men who would kill him just to see him. Millennia of war between their two races carried its scars and its hatreds, although it hadn’t been his people who started those wars.

There was also this, his was the longer-lived race and so he wouldn’t age as quickly as she. Delae burned so brightly but she would burn so very briefly compared to him, while he would live on long after she was gone. He hated to think it, to consider a world without bright Delae in it.

Without needing to think about it, Dorovan reached an arm down to swing her up onto the saddle before him as her mouth lifted to his for a kiss, the picnic basket across her thighs.

Delae looked at him. “I have a thing to show you. A place.”

“All right,” he said, a little mystified, but looking in her eyes to see he saw the light of mischief there.

“Will Charis mind if I guide him?”