Soul Magic (8 page)

The fine hair on her arms rose.  Alanna swallowed.  She bit her lip and tried again to probe the dark aura, this time without Sarina’s hand and magic to aid her.  When she connected with the spell, this time someone or something noticed.

Sentient?  Not possible.  But a strong mage, Fae or human, watched from a distance.

A shock rocked her back in the saddle.   Power coiled around her, wrapping her as securely as chains of metal, keeping her immobile while a whisper invaded her mind.  She began to struggle, feeling the backlash like a whip.

Sarina gasped and turned to look at Alanna.  So wide they showed white, her eyes held stark terror.  “Alanna?”

“No.”  Alanna’s shriek sounded like a moan.  “No.”

Trapped, Alanna sat frozen.  Her feeble attempt to reach out had ensnared her, as the magic locked around her, holding her prisoner.  Captured by the spell, she could not respond.

“Darrick!”  Sarina called for help. 

“What is it?”  Darrick rode up, grabbing Alanna’s horse’s bridle and putting himself between her and the keep.  He touched her arm.  “Alanna, what’s wrong?”

His touch – or his solid form blocking her from view – loosened the magical grip and Alanna was able to wrench herself free.

Gritting her teeth, she let Darrick see the agitation in her gaze.  “Great evil fouls this place.”

Darrick nodded.  Long had his family dealt with the Fae.  Of all men, he alone truly understood.  “What do you sense?”

“Powerful spells.”  Licking suddenly dry lips, Alanna reached for her water bag.  Only after several swallows, did she feel the cool water ease her parched throat.  “There is magic here.  Black magic, of such strength and power as the Fae have not seen for a millennium.”

He raised a brow.  One thing she’d always admired about Darrick was his easy acceptance of all things magical.

“How is this possible?  You have told me your magic is fading.”

Caradoc
.  For a moment she fancied she heard the wind whisper her son’s name.  She shuddered.  “I do not know.”

Gaze intent, Darrick continued to study her.  Beyond, his men watched both of them.  Geoffrey’s closed expression proclaimed his distaste.

“Do you know who?  Or why?”

She shook her head.  “Nay.  Though I suspect Gorsedd, he cannot do this alone.  Morfran may have had no part in it.”

“Do you think your son--”

“Caradoc is not here.”  She let him hear her fury, her impatient resignation.  “If he was, he is no longer.  I do not sense Rowena either.  No one tarries here.”

“Look!”  One of the men pointed. A shape wavered in the dust.  The man made a sound of delight.  Then, spurring his horse on, he rode forward and vanished into the open maw of the keep.  Two others immediately followed.

Alanna sucked in her breath with a gasp.  “`Tis not safe--”

“I must go after him.” Loosing her bridle, Darrick rode towards the rest of his men, clustered together before the gate.  He did not look back at her before giving the order.  With a clatter of hooves the small group rode inside.

“What do you think?” Sarina asked quietly.  “Can we ride through it?”

Straightening her shoulders, Alanna applied her heels to her mount’s sensitive sides.  “I know not,” she said.  “But it appears we have no choice but to face it.  Though Caradoc is not here, perhaps some clue remains as to where he has been taken.”

Sarina’s gaze searched her face.  “Think you that Gorsedd toys with us?”

“`Tis possible.  I would like to know who or what is capable of creating such a spell.”

“We need to alert Wynne.  This can be a great danger to Rune.”  Sarina rode close behind her.  

Alanna didn’t turn.  “Aye, that too.  But right now I am afraid that this dark power is controlled by an evil Fae who watches us even now with dark plans.  An evil Fae who has my son and Darrick’s mother.”

The horse’s hooves clattered as they rode across the wooden bridge.  Alanna glanced down and noticed the moat had run shallow, and the green-tinged water appeared stagnant and foul.  An oily film coated the top of the dank water, and all vegetation around the moat’s banks had withered and died.

“Poison?”  Sarina rode up beside her.

“Mayhap.  Or residue from the dark energy required to create such a spell.”

When they rode across the bridge, nothing stopped them.

Darrick and Geoffrey waited inside the deserted courtyard.  The man who had chased the vision sat ten paces from him, head downcast.

“All appear to have fled,” Geoffrey was saying.  He frowned and placed his hand on his sword.  “And not because of our coming.”

Darrick watched Alanna approach, his chiseled features expressionless. 

“What think you?”

She inhaled, forcing herself to take more than the short, shallow breaths her body wanted.  This time she did not bother to hide her words. “Dark magic is at work here.”

After a startled look, Geoffrey crossed himself.  Tugging at his neck, he pulled a heavy chain free of his tunic, making sure the large cross was visible against his chest.  Noticing Alanna watching him, he lifted the icon to her as though warding her off.

“Protection,” he said.

She nodded.

His eyes narrowed.  “Where is yours?”

Sarina and Alanna exchanged glances.  “I do not have such a talisman,” Alanna said. 

“I have one extra.”  One corner of Geoffrey’s mouth lifted, as close to a sneer as he could manage without giving offense.  “Will you wear it?  Or will the touch of such a holy object burn your skin?”

His words rang with challenge.  Darrick started forward.  With a slight shake of her head, Alanna stopped him.

“Burn my… You think me a witch?”  Alanna grimaced. She couldn’t truly blame him.

In response, Geoffrey only held out his hand.  She saw a flash of silver in his palm.

Beside her, Sarina sniffed.

“Such talismans are meaningless to me.”  Alanna kept her voice soft.

Ignoring her, Geoffrey rode closer, his hand still outstretched.  “Here.  Take it.”

“I have no time for games.”

He did not lower his hand.  “Take it.  Or I will think the holiness of the cross brings you great danger.”

Alanna clenched her jaw.  With a frown, she held out her hand.  “Fine.  Give it to me.  I will take your token, since my doing so seems to carry great importance with you.   But I will not wear it, as the religion the cross signifies is not my own.”

Since many in the land were still pagan, her words should have reassured the man.  But the glint in his hard gaze told her otherwise.

Geoffrey dropped the necklace into her palm.

She closed her fingers around it, deliberately forcing a smile.  “Thank you.”

If Geoffrey was disappointed that she did not wither and die, he hid it well.

“Geoffrey?”  Darrick’s voice contained a question.  The reprimand in his sharp tone made it clear he had not liked Geoffrey’s insult to Alanna or her cousin.

After a moment of silence, Geoffrey’s lips twisted in a wry grin.  His gaze slid over Sarina to Darrick, then back to Sarina.  “I apologize,” he said.

Sarina dipped her chin.  “Accepted.”  She winked at him.  His olive complexion darkened again. 

Sarina’s amused laugh should have lessoned the tension.  Instead, Alanna only felt it increase.  She glanced at Darrick.  Lifting one shoulder in a shrug, he shook his head.

Sarina rode her palfrey next to Geoffrey, effectively trapping him between her and Alanna.

“So you like to play games?” she purred, touching the back of his arm lightly.  “A man with such depths intrigues me.”

Geoffrey jerked away with such force that he startled his horse.  Bringing the beast under control, he glanced  first at Darrick, then Alanna, coloring. 

To Alanna’s amazement, Darrick threw back his head and laughed.  The warm, rich sound of it made her remember the past - a time when they had laughed much together.  Such times would never come again.  Shivering, she wished she could find a smile of her own. 

Sarina, her expression carefully blank, laughed as well.  “Take what I offer, Geoffrey,” she mocked.  “Or I will think such passion is dangerous to you.”

Though his color remained high, Geoffrey did not respond.  Instead, he kept watch on Alanna, glowering.

Sarina continued to chuckle, shaking her head.  Alanna could tell from the way the corners of her mouth turned down that Geoffrey’s actions had bothered her, though she would hide this from the human man.

Alanna tucked the cross into her girdle.  Her longing to find her son had once caused her to override caution this day.  Such lack of prudence could get her killed and then who would help Caradoc?  She would be more careful in the future. “What now?”

Darrick’s expression turned grim.  “We will search the keep.  It may be that my mother – or some other prisoner – was left behind when they fled.”

But a search of the deserted castle turned up nothing.  Not even a starving cat skulked on the grounds.  The place had been utterly abandoned.

“I don’t understand this.”  Geoffrey’s words were puzzled.  “Not even a chicken or a hog, no dogs or cats or even kitchen pots.  Nothing remains to show this place was ever lived in.”

“Yet we know full well that it was.”

“And recently.”

Again Alanna glanced at her cousin.  Sarina lifted one shoulder in a shrug.  Alanna knew what she meant.  She could try and tell these humans about the darkness of the spell, but with the narrow-mindedness of Geoffrey’s religion, to do so might prove foolish.  Already he mistrusted her.  `Twas enough that she had told the man magic lingered here. 

In the distance a hawk shrieked. 

“A bird!”  Bart pointed at the gray sky.  In the distance a black speck soared.   “A Hawk, and hunting. Not all is dead here.”

Inhaling, Alanna sent out a tentative search for the bird.  An instant later, she recoiled.  But she had her answer.  “The hawk is how he watches us,” she said.

“Who?”  Darrick glanced around them, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“The one who haunts this place thru magic.  `Tis his black touch I feel upon the air.”

“Witchcraft,” Geoffrey hissed, again making the sign of the cross.

Both Darrick and Alanna ignored him.

Darrick withdrew his sword.  “Where does he hide?” 

“I know not.”  She sighed.  “Where might Morfran have gone?”

“He has few family members left.” Re-sheathing his sword, Darrick smiled grimly.  “And even fewer friends.  Yet he must have gone to visit--”

The attack came suddenly, without fanfare or fuss.

One moment Alanna listened to Darrick speak, the next her breath was sucked from her lungs.  Blackness, like the cloud that hung over Morfran’s keep, crowded the edges of her vision.  Darrick, his men, even the horses became blurry, unfocused.  She felt the weight of a huge, invisible fist trying to crush her into the ground. 

She heard only the rasp of her breath as she tried to take air into her lungs. 

Magic, stronger magic than she had ever in her lifetime seen or felt.  But the force that crushed her now was no magic of Rune, for the homeland of the Fae was a place of light and laughter and joy.  This magic carried with it the scent of blood and death and decay and had originated in some other, darker and deadlier place. 

She swayed, her sense of balance non-existent.  She felt, rather than saw, hands about her waist as she was lifted from her horse’s back and set gently on the ground.

Once there, she could not stand.  Sinking to her knees, she struggled to fight against the black force, to keep her consciousness from totally receding.  She would die, if the one who called forth this spell had his way.

Still weak from her earlier magical usage, she struggled to fight.  Ethereal tendrils clawed at her throat, choking her.  Then, through the roar of the magic’s strength she heard someone calling her name.

“Alanna.”

Darrick
. 

Blindly she reached out, her hands connecting with nothing.  Mist, damp and clinging, swirled around her, gray on gray.  A chill seeped into her bones, and still the crushing force continued to pummel her.

“You..will..not..prevail,” she forced out, her lips cracking.  With every fiber of her being she fought, still using her hand to try and seek the foundation that would keep her from crumpling.  The blackness receded, coloring only the edges of her vision.

Faces surrounded her, Darrick’s concerned, Geoffrey’s suspicious.  Bart, the most vocal of Darrick’s men, pushed them aside.  Though she could not hear his words, his mouth moved as he spoke.   She saw Darrick nod once, and Bart made a gesture over her. 

A larger hand, human, warm, covered hers.  Held on tightly, grounding her. 

Bart made another gesture over her.  With horror, she realized what he, a mere human, attempted to do.

Though pagan he might be, any petty spell he could possibly conjure would be powerless against the might of this dark force.  Worse than powerless, such an attempt could easily be turned against him and, with no defenses save his armor, he would become easy prey.