The Lord of Illusion - 3 (25 page)

Camille blinked. It had happened so fast—

Back around again, to meet the blade of Pockmark. But he had come closer than she realized, and must have some elven blood running through his veins, for he struck out with his leg to trip her with a speed she could not counter. She spun and fell face-first into the snow, arms out… but she did not loosen her grip on her sword.

Camille heard snow crunch as Pockmark took a step forward to plunge his blade into her back. Her entire body cringed, waiting for the feel of cold steel breaking her skin.

Her sword spun her over, nearly tearing her arm from its socket, and slapped the other blade away, surprising the man and making him stumble.

He fell onto her blade.

Camille held on with both hands, pushing him over to her side as he fell.

She might have no magic, but she held enough elven blood to allow her body to move quickly enough when required. She was on her feet before Pockmark hit the snow, twirling to face the other man. But that one blow had felled Tom. He lay on his face in a bloody circle.

Camille’s legs trembled, and she just breathed, the sound loud in the sudden silence. She stared at her bloody blade. The sight of it should have repelled her.

She glanced at the dead bodies staining the white snow, walked over to the nearest, and cleaned her sword on his ragged clothing. She should feel horrified. Disgusted. Instead her heart soared as she sheathed her blade. These men had wanted to touch her, to take from her. And she had stopped them.
He
had given her the means to not only take her freedom but to keep it.

“Drystan,” she breathed.

It took Camille two leaps, using all the elven strength she possessed, to scramble over the log. She blessed her breeches, for she would never have managed it in skirts. She ran through the path of snow her horse had already broken, her heart pumping wildly.

He could not die…

A horse and rider appeared over the rise of the road, and she stopped, hand on the hilt of her sword. Had one of the bandits stolen his horse? For they had all been on foot…

But she soon caught a glimpse of ivory hair, of pointed ears and golden eyes. Relief swept through her, leaving her body too weak to move. So Camille just stood and waited for him.

Drystan pulled up his horse a few feet from her, vaulted out of the saddle, and within a blink had his arms around her, kissing her hair, her cheeks, her mouth.

“I saw them go after you,” he said. “I fought like a demon to follow. I feared I would be too late. My love, my love, I thought I had lost you.”

His concern for her held Camille immobile. She could feel the intensity of his emotions, and it touched her somewhere deep inside. Even when Molly fussed over her after a beating, she did so quietly, without passion. Slaves could not afford the emotion.

Drystan pulled back. “What is it? Are you hurt? Did they touch you?”

“No, I am…” Camille took a deep breath. “The sword protected me. They… the two bandits… they are dead. But my horse. It is in pain.”

He nodded. “Stay here.”

Camille heard his footsteps crunching in the snow, the thud of his boots as he leaped over the log. The shot of his pistol. She mourned the loss of the beast more than she did the two men who lay near it.

He returned quickly enough.

“We will have to ride double. ’Twas a poor lot of thieves. They did not have a single horse among them.” Drystan took her hand and led her over to their remaining mount. “Which was fortunate for me, as a mounted man always has an advantage in a fight. Are you sure you are well?”

Camille nodded. His calm, authoritative manner soothed her.

He leaped into the saddle and held his hand down to her, pulled her up in front of him. He felt solid and warm against her back. She could not resist the impulse to melt into him. He kissed her hair, the back side of her ear. “If I lose you, I lose my heart.”

He spoke so low, barely a whisper. But his words rang in her head while he guided the horse around the log, having to pick their way through the trees at the side of the road before getting back on it.

They topped a rise, and the woodland faded; a vista of rolling hills covered in snow spread out before them. A smudge of gray off in the distance told of a chimney and farm. A few birds flew low beneath the ice covering the sky. A frozen pond reflected the glow of Roden’s illusion above it. The peaceful view looked entirely at odds with the dangerous elements afflicting England.

Although Camille enjoyed the feel of Drystan’s mouth kissing her while they rode, the cold soon made her pull her hood back over her head, wrap her cloak tighter around her body. The shield of ice hanging over the land hampered the sunlight, making the still air seem even colder.

Apparently, Drystan did not like the barrier of velvet and fur between them. He transferred his reins into one hand, removed his glove from the other, and slid his hand beneath her cloak, reaching into the baggy waist of her breeches to slide his warm palm against her hip.

“You are being foolish,” sighed Camille, not really caring if a swarm of bandits descended upon them. His touch made her feel so alive.

“Perhaps. But I must assure myself that you are real. That I have not lost you. You have been only a dream for so long that sometimes I have to make sure you are truly flesh and blood beneath my hand.”

His fingers gently stroked her hip.

The road forked, and Drystan took the less-traveled one, their overburdened horse trudging tiredly along. Although their mount had to break a new fall of snow on the main road, traffic had already carved paths within the underlay. Not so on this smaller road. Their progress slowed to a crawl.

Camille did not have to concentrate on staying in the saddle, not with Drystan’s arms firmly about her, and lost herself in her thoughts. If they made it to Firehame, what then? She could not imagine Drystan allowing the Rebellion to decide what to do with the key, and returning with her to Wales. He would want to help, if he could. Would he try to send her away without him?

She had only an enchanted sword to aid the cause. What use would they have for her if she argued she must stay?

Camille hugged her cloak more tightly about her. It did not matter. She would convince Drystan she must stay, despite his intentions to keep her safe. She would not leave his side. Not now, when she had discovered…

What?

That she cared for him more than anyone she had ever known? That her feelings might even run deeper? Deeper than she thought they ever could?

Was this love?

She wished she knew.

“At this pace,” blurted Drystan, his deep voice heavily laced with annoyance, “we shall never reach Firehame.”

Camille blinked. She could still see the smudge of smoke from the farm she had spotted earlier.

“Too bad your dragon did not think to give us a ride to Firehame.”

“He is not
my
dragon,” replied Camille softly, “and you know he had to leave Dreamhame immediately.”

“Grimor’ee could have chosen to hide in Firehame.”

“I think not. He was already sickening from defying the enchantment. What might have happened to him if he helped us even more? If he went to Firehame and was forced to choose to aid us yet again? No. He had already risked too much.”

“Perhaps you are right,” he conceded. “I just wish I was not forced to expose you to bandits and who-knows-what-else we might encounter before the end of our journey. Time presses upon me and tries my patience, for I do not know how long Verdanthame and Firehame can withstand a siege. We must reach Firehame before Roden does. Illusions that can kill, added to the magic already hounding them, might push the scales in the rest of the elven lords’ favor.”

Camille could feel his frustration, and laid her head back on his shoulder, turned to look into his golden eyes. “I did rather well with the bandits, thanks to your gift. And together we shall face whatever lies ahead.”

He relaxed his scrutiny of dangers hiding within their surroundings, and gazed into her eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. “You did do rather well, didn’t you?” And then he leaned over and swept his mouth across hers, but quickly pulled away before the kiss could deepen, his gaze once again alert to danger.

“Still,” he continued, “I would rather be on the back of a dragon instead of this poor, tired beast. I could bring you to safety—”

The breath left his lungs as their seat shot up in the air several feet, Drystan’s hold on Camille tightening almost painfully. She swallowed, forcing her heart back into her chest, and looked down.

Their horse had disappeared to be replaced with… the golden scales of a dragon. Wings spread out beside them, tentatively batting the air. The long neck in front of her turned, blinking limpid golden eyes devoid of the red lines that distinguished Grimor’ee. Indeed, the creature did not come close to matching the sheer size of her friend, but it was truly a dragon, nonetheless, and much taller than their horse.

“Damn,” exclaimed Drystan.

“Did you do this with your magic?”

“I… I think I did. I feel drained and exhilarated, all at the same time. I am not used to having magic, you know. It never occurred to me to try to change our mount.”

Their seat wobbled as the beast took two steps forward, equaling perhaps a dozen of the horse’s strides.

“It would not occur to most half-breeds, Drystan. It takes powerful magic to create an illusion this strong. It is not just a semblance of the creature. We sit upon its back. We can feel the breath of its lungs and the rhythm of its walk.”

“Do you think it will truly fly?”

Camille glanced up. “It does not matter, for Roden’s illusion still holds. We cannot gain the higher sky.”

Drystan grunted.

The dragon continued walking, trudging along as the horse had done, but covering much more ground. Camille adjusted to the rolling gait of the larger beast much more easily than she had to the horse’s shorter one. She relaxed against Drystan’s warm chest, his hand on her hip making her feel connected to him despite the silence that fell over them both.

It seemed as if the land held its breath as they traveled through it.

The dragon’s head almost reached the top of the trees. Its legs had little difficulty treading through the snow, and a slight vibration shook the ground from their passage. They saw neither man nor beast, and Camille imagined that the sight of their mount would send anything running in the other direction.

They had finally gained some measure of safety for their journey, so it surprised her when she felt Drystan’s muscles tense.

“What is it?” she murmured a bit drowsily.

“Do you hear that?”

Camille stiffened and cocked her head. A slight tinkling sound met her ears. The trees began to thin, steep snow-covered cliffs replacing their evergreen branches. Then short pillars of ice grew alongside the road, rising in height the farther they progressed.

“Wild magic,” whispered Drystan.

The pillars grew until they seemed to almost reach the sky. Then they curved overhead, meeting at their tops, creating an archway over the road. A layer of crystal ice stretched from one to another, forming a canopy of what looked like translucent lace. Icicles dripped down from that canopy, making them duck their heads more than once to clear some particularly large ones.

The vibration from the dragon’s gait shook the ice and made it chime like tiny bells.

“Danger?” hissed Camille.

She felt him shrug, look up. “We might want to avoid any loud sounds. Those icicles look pretty sharp.”

She nodded. They could fall upon them like a million sharp daggers. Indeed, one broke off just to her right, plunging into the snow point-first.

The dragon’s stride shifted, as if it too sensed the danger. If a dragon could tiptoe, their mount surely did.

Camille narrowed her eyes at the pillars lining the road. It seemed as if… yes, odd creatures had been encased within the ice. A scraggly-haired beast with red eyes and matching claws. A man half-covered in green rot. A woman with a tail and wings, emaciated arms and legs ending with pointed barbs.

“Drystan, do you see them?”

“Aye. They cannot hurt you.”

“Indeed? What if they break through the ice imprisoning them?”

“It looks like they have been here for a long time. There is no reason to suspect—”

The icicles shuddered behind them, and they both turned to see the end of the dragon’s tail bounce off one of the pillars. A crack zigzagged its way up the icy surface.

“Damn,” said Drystan, leaning forward toward the dragon’s head. “Have a care with your tail, beastie!”

The dragon turned its head, those golden eyes blinking innocently at them.

“How much of it do you control?” asked Camille.

“What do you mean?”

“It is your creation. Surely it would respond to your will, like Ann’s little golems respond to hers.”

Drystan’s beautiful eyes widened, and he cocked a grin. “My tutor said something of the sort—blast my inexperience with magic! I fear Giles may have been right. I am ill prepared for this world of enchantments.”