Secrets of the Deep (49 page)

Isabelle bowed her head obediently, but Dani searched the Elder witch’s lined face in worry.

“What are you going to do, ma’am?” she ventured.

Her Ladyship let out sigh. “Something I shall probably regret. But so be it.”

When the baroness glanced discreetly at Jake, Dani marveled at the penitence she read in the old woman’s eyes. Her Ladyship always seemed so proud and invulnerable.

But it was obvious–to Dani, at least–that she was genuinely sorry for keeping the news of Derek’s capture from him.

Whatever it was that Lady Bradford planned on doing tonight, it seemed to be her way of trying to make up for it.

The moment of vulnerability vanished, however, and she lifted her head once more, the very picture of intimidating dignity. “Good night, then, children. I shall see you in the morning. Do not enter my chamber,” she added darkly, “no matter what you may hear.”

With that, Her Ladyship pivoted and marched away again, hobbling a little on her stiff old joints over the deep, powdery sand.

Her ominous words had left the kids silent, staring at each other.

This was serious. It sank in then that perhaps the situation was even more dangerous than they’d realized. Because everybody knew Lady Bradford had sworn off the use of her most powerful magic except in cases of direst emergency.

Dani felt sick to her stomach to have confirmation that, indeed, this was one of those times.

CHAPTER 25

Elder Witch

S
ummer’s lingering twilight had turned the sky violet, but the full moon shone through the window of her chamber, dimly lit by white candles all around.

Ramona cleared her mind. On the table before her, her crystal ball waited like an old friend perched on its silver stand. A few of her most important grimoires lay open around the room. Not that she expected to need them.

It had been a long time since she had engaged in High Magick, but one never really forgot such skills.

Besides, she had already checked, cross-referenced, and calibrated her incantations for tonight as carefully as young Nixie would’ve done. The little mage-in-training reminded her so much of herself…

In any case, everything was ready.

The water-clear quartz of her gazing ball would help her to project and amplify her powers over the astral distance. Cedarwood incense burned on the dresser, carefully chosen to provide strength and protection.

A glance at the clock revealed, as well, that it was time.

She closed her eyes and took a breath, reaching deep within, delving down to the most profound inner pools of her power. Her heartbeat quickened with undeniable excitement for the taste of battle.

How long had it been? Fifty years? A hundred? There had been no need. As an Elder, she had sat back behind the lines for ages and merely counseled. She preferred it that way, working spells only when she had to.

Even the protective spells she had cast over the villa and the town employed a simpler form of her craft. What she was attempting tonight would test her.

Her only real misgiving, though, was the thought of encountering
him
.

The possibility seemed remote, but when it came to Zolond, one simply never knew.

She pushed him out of her mind. To think about him at all was to risk attracting his notice, as bound as they once had been. Zolond was her enemy. And he always would be.

He and he alone had killed her beloved Geoffrey back in the days when King Henry VIII had been chopping off his unfortunate brides’ heads.

Casting him out of her thoughts, she flicked her eyes open suddenly and stared into the crystal ball, lit up by the white candle she had placed behind it.

With the chant on her lips and her intention forceful in her mind, she stared into the globe’s depths, well familiar with every shading of the stone, every crack born into it when the quartz had been formed deep in the earth.

In some places, the candle’s light gleamed through more strongly, teasing her with glimpses of shapes, faces, figures. Given her expertise, however, it was only seconds before the ball began to warm to her familiar energy, resonating in tandem with the frequency of her will.

It knew her well.

The stone soon began showing her what she wished to see, the shapes within its depths curling and moving like smoke. Still chanting her spell in a low tone, she homed in on the images in the smoke, her awareness focusing down like tunnel vision into a sharp crystal point.

As her awareness began to merge fully with the gazing ball, a series of swiftly changing images flowed through her mind. Her hands and feet tingled, always the sign that the separation was about to take place.

She felt weightless, and then, suddenly, zoomed up out of her body. In the next instant, her awareness was transported high above; she heard the sound of rushing wind, deafening her as her consciousness flew with the speed of the mere thought to where she wished to go. Travel on this plane was effortless—provided, of course, that one did not require one’s body.

In the twinkling of an eye, Ramona was whizzing over the English countryside, rocketing past the Long Man etched into the chalk hill, and then slipping silently, invisibly, through the veil into the Fey Realm, where Merlin Hall sat.

Swift as an eagle, she flowed over the castle grounds. Her awareness poured in through an open window, then went careening through the palace corridors, until she found the Elders finishing up their meeting.

One wall of the oak-paneled chamber where they conferred in low tones held a huge mural of
The Last Days of Pompeii
. Intent as they were on sending off the fighters, only one of them even seemed to notice her presence. The old, bearded wizard, Balinor, a dear friend, glanced around, but then he was distracted when the affable Sir Peter Quince, in his scholarly black wizard robes and tortoiseshell spectacles, asked him a question.

Sir Peter was the youngest of the Elders. Barely middle-aged, he looked more like the bowtie-wearing university professor than the excellent wizard he was.

As the lowest-ranking Elder, for now, he was mostly in charge of running Merlin Hall, coordinating the many important events of the magical world that took place here, everything from the Fey Parliament to the Assessments for the young folk. He had the easygoing personality for the job, too, but could not have managed all the details without his devoted, non-magical wife.

Hovering somewhere near the ceiling, Ramona had to concentrate harder to hear what was being said. Remotely viewing a distant scene was easier, but the sound always seemed muffled.

“We have our rescue squad assembled. We should go without delay,” said Sir Peter.

“How many have volunteered?” Balinor asked gravely.

“Sixteen—two teams of eight. We’re going with two Lightriders. We don’t want to get stranded out there if anything should happen to either one of them.”

“See that it doesn’t,” the irksome Lord Badgerton said with a frown. “We’re losing them right and left these days.”

“Here is the rest of the list if you wish to review it. Most of the others coming along are Guardians, of course, but we’ve got three shapeshifters, two centaur warriors, a minotaur, and, of course, the gryphon, Crafanc. Turns out he’s quite fond of Derek Stone.”

“Ah,” said Balinor. “You certainly seem to have everything in order.”

“If Your Excellencies have nothing more to add, then it’s time,” Sir Peter replied.

They dismissed him, and Ramona followed in spirit as Sir Peter marched out to the vast marble entrance hall, where he joined the heavily armed group of volunteers going on the mission.

The fighters were waiting around restlessly, no doubt wanting to get the grim business over with, yet the mood in the giant lobby was surprisingly light. The little gnome servants of Merlin Hall bustled about at knee height, doing whatever they could to help the team members prepare.

Over there, the twins, both dressed for battle—Ramona rather cringed to see Miss Helena wearing breeches and boots like a gent. Henry was eagerly questioning his sister about how each of the children were doing, and if Archie’s submarine had actually worked.

Nearby, Janos was laughing merrily with his trusty German friend, Urso, while a gnome helped the big, bearded shapeshifter lace up his thick, clompy boots. Janos had done away with the black vampire cape that Ramona suspected he only wore in irony. He was dressed all in black, but the other Guardians wore their customary brown.

Guardian Ravyn Vambrace stood with them, armed to the teeth and glancing about with the same fiery, dark eyes as her son. Pacing in her long duster coat, she looked eager to go. Ramona could sense the fury that her trainer and friend had been taken pouring off the ruthless female warrior.

But the fourth Guardian standing around with them was also grinning at whatever joke Janos was telling. The towering, muscle-bound Ebrahim Sly had a bald head and skin as dark as night, but his white teeth flashed as his famous laugh boomed, resounding through the marble hall.

That was the thing about Guardians, Ramona thought, marveling at their good mood upon going into battle. The warriors of the Order shared a magnificent esprit de corps.

Over by the bottom of the grand, red-carpeted staircase, Ramona spotted little Gladwin and a few of the other royal garden fairies cooperating as they flew a heavy-looking armored saddle over to Red.

Trailing fairy dust, they fluttered over to the Gryphon and carefully set it on his back. Gladwin got her friends to help fasten and adjust it, and Ramona was pleased. Jake never used a saddle, but not everyone could ride a gryphon as skillfully as that mad, moody boy.

She winced a little at the thought of her great-great nephew, well aware that he was still furious at her. Well, just because she was an Elder witch who had already lived for far too long hardly meant she was perfect!

He was part of the reason she was here. Once she saw how angry he was, she had felt so bad about keeping the secret from him that she had decided to join the rescue effort, albeit remotely.

In any case, the saddle would make it easier for Red to transport the wounded out of harm’s way. The watchful fairies, though, went a step further and put some gryphon armor on Red, made of tough padded leather—strong enough to give him some protection from enemy fire, but not so heavy that it would weigh him down when he went to fly.

Ramona perused the rest of the fighters who’d be going on the mission. The centaurs were warming up their legs. Untamed as they were, most of their kind had a mean streak that could be very useful in battle.

She was also surprised to see the minotaur who’d volunteered, twirling his spiked club restlessly. They were rare in this day and age, and usually quite solitary creatures. In truth, only a few chose the path of good, but when they wished to cooperate, they made mighty fighters. Loosing one on the enemy was easy; snapping them out of their famous battle rage afterward was the hard part.

Aleeyah the Djinni sat on the stairs, barefooted, her belt and anklet of little magical silver bells tinkling softly with her motions as she sharpened her curved knife on a handheld whetstone. Her kohl-lined eyes were secretive and full of worry.

No wonder, considering she had barely escaped the Black Fortress herself, and now she had to go back.

Finnderool was also keeping to himself. Eyes closed, the Lightrider was silently saying his elvish prayers before conducting the party to who-knew where. It was a lot of responsibility to get all these brave volunteers to their destination and back again alive. Armed for battle like the others, he wore a shimmering coat of fine elvish chain mail, his bow slung over one shoulder and a full quiver of arrows over the other.

She was pleased to see that the second Lightrider going on the mission was the unflappable Ranjit Singh, looking stately as ever in his dark red turban and white, long-sleeved, neatly tailored Punjabi kurta pyjama. The dark-eyed Sikh stood motionless, arms folded across his chest, feet planted wide, his serene gaze traveling patiently over the gathered company.

Ramona was quite fond of Ranjit. He was a very sensible fellow with the polished manners of a maharajah, fearless as most Sikhs, and not without a few mystical tricks up his sleeve, as well.

The other two were Hanley Fletcher, a curly-haired wizard with black robes and wand, and a pointy-eared she-elf with a doctor bag, obviously a healer.

Ramona didn’t know her name, but thought it prudent of them to bring a medic along. She spotted an Inkbug nervously peeking out of the elf’s doctor bag. Another sensible addition; if anything changed out there in the field, they’d be able to get a message quickly to the Elders.

Sir Peter squeezed his wife’s hand as he drew away from her in tender parting. The neatly coiffed blonde managed to smile, barely hiding her terror. After all, as an Elder, Sir Peter would be a particular target of the Dark Druids once the battle was joined.

It didn’t seem to bother him, though. Of course, his self-deprecating charm masked the full extent of his powers.

Ramona ought to know; she had judged his Assessment decades ago, when he’d been only Jake’s age.

Black robes swishing, holly wand firmly in his grasp, Sir Peter strode to the front doors of the palace and turned to the company. “Ahem! People, shall we?” He opened the door and marched out onto the sprawling moonlit lawn.

A pair of gnomes held the double doors open as all the rest followed him out. Gladwin and the other fairies also zipped outside to see them off. Their sparkle trails glimmered in various colors. They all looked worried, but Gladwin went over to Red and petted him a little before it was time to go.

Ramona overheard her telling the Gryphon she would go back to see Jake with him when all this was over. The children would like that, no doubt. Still, she knew that Gladwin’s duties as a courier for the Queen kept her very busy these days.

Finnderool and Ranjit quickly caught up to Sir Peter, walking right behind him. Elder and Lightriders exchanged a few discreet murmurs.