“It’s so nice to be remembered,” Tane said and raised his hands.
Fenelon reacted quickly. The hum of multiple magics filled the chamber. Vagner wanted to sing for joy as essence was drawn. Power swelled about them, riding the currents of the air. Both mages reached for the essence of fire and jerked it into the room. Flames billowed into a raging column between them, lashing back and forth as each one shouted words of spells to bind fire to their wills. Tane was good with the element, but the Greenfyn mage proved to be its true master. Fenelon pushed the column of fire closer to Tane, and the bloodmage began to tremble in his efforts to keep himself from being burned. Struggle as Tane did, he could not shove the flames back.
Tane’s glance flickered only briefly towards Vagner then shifted back to concentrate on Fenelon again. The demon arched brows in disgust.
And just what are you expecting me to do?
Vagner thought.
You sealed my magic within me, and I cannot touch it…
But the demon did have hands.
Vagner grinned and crept over to the sideboard, seizing one candlestick. Then light as a feather, the demon slipped up behind the Greenfyn mageborn.
One good blow and Fenelon went down. The fire swelled, then vanished. Tane started swiftly towards the door, wearing a mask of disgust. He paused only for a moment to snatch the candlestick from Vagner’s grasp and return it to the sideboard.
“Come on,” Tane said and continued on with rapid strides.
“Come on?” Vagner repeated and glanced at the prone figure in blue and white. “But aren’t you going to…”
“This is neither the place nor the time,” Tane said. “Klling a member of the Greenfyn family is a complex matter. If we don’t leave now, others will come and attempt to stop us.”
“Others?” Vagner followed Tane out into the corridor where the bandits were waiting with the trunk. They leaned against the wall, fanning their faces and sweating profusely, but at the sight of the bloodmage, they lurched upright.
“He sent a summons to Dun Gealach just as he started the fire spell…damned Greenfyns are able to cast more than once spell at a time.” Tane gestured at the others as he started for the main doors. The bandits rolled their eyes and struggled to collect the trunk and follow. “I clearly heard him calling to another as he reached for the essence of fire,” Tane said. “Now, we must get loaded and leave before this place is crawling with members of the Mage Council. I’m not a god yet, Vagner, and until I am, I know my limits. Now lets go! I need to be well away from here before I gate us to the border keep.”
He marched out the main doors and into the stable yard where the carriage was waiting. Vagner cast one last glance back towards the room where Fenelon lie unmoving. With a shrug, the demon raced after Tane and his prisoner.
Time to worry about killing Greenfyn mages later then. Alaric Braidwine was theirs for now, and soon enough Tane would have the young man’s knowledge, and Vagner would have his form back.
Vagner just hoped Tane would leave enough life in the youth for the demon.
TWENTY SEVEN
Etienne Savala prided herself on being a stable and practical woman. It did no good to display such a emotions as panic or fear when teaching young mageborn to calmly manage their budding and erratic powers. Besides, the years of her trying relationship with Fenelon Greenfyn had taught her much more about patience and fortitude than healer training ever could. One could not share the bed of such a man without those skills.
Even so, when she felt the frantic hum of a ley line buzzing with a summons from Fenelon, she lost a little of that composure, enough so the sphere of water she concentrated on holding to teach Tobin the spell shattered and sent water splattering everywhere.
“Horns,” she hissed. “You three, stay here. I must go…”
Her students looked startled, but they knew better than to ply her with questions. This whole affair irked Etienne just a little. She could tell Fenelon had focused his summons on her alone.
If this is some foolish prank of his…
Etienne seized her staff and threw her cloak about her shoulders, and marched for the outermost yard of Dun Gealach. Any who saw her flying past would have compared her to the battle maidens of old. She reached the outer bailey unchallenged, and there, without so much as a good-bye or a glance at the guards who watched the entrance, Etienne stepped into the circle marked on the flagstones and opened a gate, honing in on the place from which the summons came. Not the wisest use of the spell, she briefly admitted to herself since she had no idea where the gate would open and leave her. Surely Fenelon would not give her a trail that would sit her in the middle of a stone wall or in the midst of danger. He knew well enough she would never forgive him. He was far too precise to make that mistake for which Etienne was grateful.
The spell spat her out in a shadowy corridor next to an open door. Battle magic lingered in the air. She spread mage senses about her, seeking life. Only one could be felt. Her eyes were drawn towards the center of where the power struggle had taken place…
Fenelon sat on the floor, holding his head between his hands.
“Fenelon?” she said.
“About time you got here,” he moaned. “Where are they?”
“They?” Etienne repeated. She crossed the chamber and commanded her staff to stay upright while she knelt at his side. The healer training of her youth took over. She seized his chin and pushed back his forelock of burnish copper to look into rich blue eyes. His pupils were dilated. Not good.
“Tane Doran,” he groused. “Ahhhh…”
Her probing touch found a bruise on his forehead, the sort one might get from striking the floor with one’s head, she mused. Not serious enough, however, to explain the eyes. “Tane Doran?” she repeated and continued to examine him, following the contours of his skull. “The bloodmage you were rattling on about the other day?”
“The old man was really Tane Doran,” Fenelon said and hissed again when she found the more serious injury at the base of his skull and came away with blood on her fingers.
“Mistress Miranda needs to see this,” Etienne said. “Come, I’ll help you.”
She pulled him to his feet, no easy task since he didn’t seem to be able to get his legs under him at first. But Etienne prevailed. She slipped an arm around Fenelon’s waist and pulled one of his arms over her shoulder, and pushing with her legs, she heaved both of them off the floor.
“I’ve got to find Alaric,” Fenelon said and tried to pull away, nearly unbalancing both of them. “They’ll hurt him if I don’t…”
“Alaric is not here,” Etienne said.
“Are you sure?” Fenelon said groggily, glowering at her.
“I’m positive,” she said. “I’ve already scried the place, and yours is the only life essence I detected when I arrived.
“Then they’ve taken him with them,” Fenelon said and tried once more to pull free. “I’ve got to find him before they tear Ronan’s secret from him and find the sword…”
“What sword…?” she asked.
“The sword that will kill Na’Sgailean…or give her life. I’ve got to go…”
He nearly collapsed again. Etienne tightened her grasp and commanded her staff to leap into her hand.
“Oh, no you don’t” she said. “You’re going straight back to Dun Gealach and the infirmary if I have to throw you over one shoulder and carry you.”
“Oh, I do love a strong woman who knows how to keep a man in line,” Fenelon said with a half grin as he leaned more heavily into her.
Well, that was more like the old Fenelon Etienne knew. She opened a gate spell back to Dun Gealach where there were enough guards present to help her get Fenelon to the infirmary when he fainted in her arms.
~
The rocking of the carriage was mild compared to Vagner’s excitement. They had Alaric Braidwine, and surely Tane would feel generous now that the quarry was his. The demon bounced like an enthusiastic child, occasionally stroking the ornate trunk filling the floor space between them, treating it as though it were the most precious prize in the world.
There had been no time to tie it in the back. Tane was eager to be well away from the city with his escort of bandits in livery before he attempted any form of magic.
I shall be myself again,
the demon thought.
And I shall have new songs…
“Will you stop that impatient gamboling about,” Tane snarled. “There’s barely enough room in this carriage as it is.”
Vagner flung the child body into the opposite seat, legs crossed, and looked petulant. “I was merely celebrating.”
“Celebrating?” Tane repeated.
“We have him,” the demon said with a smile and leaned forward to pat the trunk. Soon, you shall have what you want, and so shall I…”
Tane cocked his head, his mouth thinning into a cold smile. “And just what do you want, demon?” he asked.
Vagner hesitated. What game was this? Tane wore that expression that often made the demon uneasy with dread. “You… promised to give me back my true form…remember?”
“Not so fast, creature,” Tane said, his face growing malicious. “I have yet to be satisfied you have learned your lesson in humility. And until I am so satisfied, you shall remain as you are…a powerless, but pretty child.”
“What?” Vagner lurched forward, leaning over the trunk and trying to look fierce. Very difficult in this form, he sadly noted. “But you swore if I helped you capture him…”
“I swore nothing,” Tane said with a sneer…
“You said if I did as you asked…”
“We do not know yet if he truly possesses the knowledge I seek,” Tane said. “So the debt for your folly has yet to be paid in full…”
“Yet to be paid!” Vagner shrieked. “Were it not for me, manling, the Greenfyn would have defeated you! You would be nothing but a memory, were it not for me! I saved your wretched life back there! You owe me my freedom and my form!”
The harsh back-hand blow caught Vagner by surprise. In true form, it would have felt like nothing more than a puff of a breeze caressing his cheek. But this child’s flesh had no resistance to physical pain. The cruel slap burned and threw Vagner across the carriage so he struck his head against the wall. Sickness seized the demon’s stomach. He coiled into a wad in the far seat and fought the urge to sob and gag. Tane reached across, snagged a handful of the golden hair, and forced the child’s face up.
“If you dare provoke me with such a tantrum again, creature, I will curse you by your True Name to wear this form for an eternity! Then I will sell you to the first drunken Haxon I find and let him teach you the humility of this useless flesh you wear. Do I make myself clear?”
Vagner nodded as best he could. The grasp on his hair broke with an abrupt snap that dropped his face into the seat cushion. He dared not move as Tane slowly reclaimed his own place, body stiff with superiority. The bloodmage stretched his legs, resting them atop the trunk and smiled.
“Good,” he said.
Only then did Vagner rise and cringe in the corner of the carriage. He did not dare meet Tane’s gaze.
But through it all, the demon vowed that by one means or another, he would have revenge.
~
Once Etienne saw Fenelon into Mistress Miranda’s care, she fetched Shona and went back to the house. Two calm heads, in Etienne’s opinion, were better than one, and two skilled at scrying would require less time to cover the territory. Besides, Etienne had already determined Shona was developing strong feelings for Alaric. Etienne had seen the looks the young lass cast Alaric’s way, and had overheard Shona confessing to Katriona that she found Alaric sweet and polite and very handsome. That youthful passion alone would sharpen Shona’s skill and desire to assist in finding him now. And this would be excellent practice for Etienne’s star pupil.
They gated back to the manse, stepping through Etienne’s spell door. The place felt more devoid of life than it had on her last visit. This, she thought grimly, was not good. What if they were too late to locate any hint of magic that would tell them of Alaric’s fate? What if the young mageborn was already dead? A twinge of guilt slipped through Etienne with that thought. She had not been on her kindest behavior towards Alaric these last few days.
I was as much to blame for his reaction that night as he
. If she did not wish for him to look into her bodice, she should have tied up the laces before leaning over him. Even now, she felt rather foolish over having been so callous over such a trivial matter.
“At least he only looked,” had been Fenelon’s amused response when she fumed about the matter later on. “I would have been more tempted to touch…”
Etienne shook those thoughts away. More important work lay at hand. She glanced at Shona who summoned a globe of mage light and attached it to the head of her own staff. Shadows scampered away like mice as the warm flicker of light grew strong. A good light, Etienne thought. Not harsh at all. Some apprentices conjured mage lights so bright, they hurt the eyes and were useless.
“Shall I start up or down?” Shona asked.
“Up,” Etienne said. “I want to examine the battle scene myself.”
“All right then,” Shona said and made for the stairs visible down the length of the corridor.
“And call out if you sense danger,” Etienne said, watching the younger lass’ progress. “I don’t want to have to take you to the infirmary as I did Fenelon.”
“Little chance of that, mistress,” Shona threw back. “Magister Fenelon
will
be all right, won’t he?”
“Don’t worry,” Etienne said. “Fenelon is too hard headed to be otherwise.”
A giggle floated down from the end of the corridor. Etienne smiled and stepped back into the great hall where the battle of magic had taken place. She stopped in the center of the room and closed her eyes, letting mage senses travel around her. The awareness spread, gliding like fingers across the currents of the air. Fenelon once told her he thought of using mage senses as being a lot like sitting in the center of a great web, and any vibration of a single strand, no matter how slight, would be felt. Etienne thought it more akin to finding patterns in the stars. One moment, they were bits of light, the next, pictures would form. Each mageborn felt such things differently, in her opinion. No two mageborn were alike in any way, be it strength or skill. There were mageborn whose senses were almost useless without serious focus and concentration, while others were sharp enough to know if a single speck of dust had been disturbed or a spell was being cast several leagues away.
“I should be so sensitive,” she mused as she examined the remaining hints of power.
Fire magic, to be sure. Fenelon had a fondness for dangerous pyrotechnical displays of power. His quicksilver aura filled the room, but so did another. The second held a strong blood taint. The mysterious Tane Doran, no doubt. Etienne pulled bits of his essence, giving it a thorough sweep so she would know it if she came across it again. She’d never had Fenelon’s privilege of meeting the man, and only knew of his reputation through the few clashes she’d heard Fenelon tell.