How to Stop a Witch (29 page)

“Dark Magic,” said Mordred. “This is—”

King Peter silenced him with a single wave of his hand, as if he held a magician’s power. Nathan continued chanting, and the thunder grew stronger. So much lightning streaked across the sky that the day grew bright again in spite of the heavy clouds blocking out the sun.

Kristin was patting the same spot of grass over and over, her eyes fixed on Nathan. “What’s happening?” she asked when Priscilla’s flowing hair began to lift away from her ears.

Priscilla’s hair rose until it stood fully on end—even the longer strands that had not been hacked off in the Netherworld. Her eyebrows raised, and her eyes somehow gave the impression they were wide with fear, even though they were closed. The turmoil of lightning above rivaled any fireworks Kristin had ever seen. She suppressed a scream as her own hair began to rise as well.

Throughout the yard everyone paused in the search to see what was happening. Suddenly the sky burst open with a thunderous boom. A single bolt of lightning shot into and through the amulet resting on Lucky’s chest, lighting the boy up like a light filament. Electricity surged up his arms and into Nathan and Priscilla, lighting them up as well. Panicked screams and gasps of horror rang out through the yard, but the lightning remained, a steady stream flowing into Lucky’s chest like a roaring waterfall.

Kristin turned away and hid her eyes under her arm, as the image was just too bright, but even then the intensity of the light managed to pierce her flesh and bones. The incredible roar of thunder shook her to her very core, until she just knew she would collapse.

And then it stopped.

The intense roar cut off in an instant. Overhead, the thunderclouds began to dissipate. Within seconds they’d completely disappeared, letting back in the light.

With hope in her heart, Kristin whipped her head around, but all that had changed was that now there were two more dead bodies lying next to Lucky’s. The scream she released spoke for all of those present.

King Peter fell to his knees, his wife at his side, and dropped his head to his daughter’s chest. Mordred checked on Nathan, and Melvin and his father struggled to hold up Princess Penelope’s limp form.

“Fool!” Mordred nearly spat. “He got what he deserved for messing with Dark Magic.” But Kristin could see there was a tear in his eye all the same.

The hundreds of thousands of spirelings looked on uncertainly. It seemed quite pointless to find the other amulet now. But then Melvin released his hold on Penelope to point at Lucky. Norman struggled alone against the princess’s limp form for a few seconds before toppling backwards with her on top of him.

“He moved,” said Melvin. “I saw him.”

All eyes turned toward Lucky. Smoke drifted up from the boy’s chest, where the Amulet of Tehrer, now gone, had rested. The material of his robe and the tunic he wore beneath had been dissolved away, and a black stain the size and shape of the amulet was burned into his chest.

He opened his eyes slowly and blinked against the bright sunlight. “Where am I?”

A cheer rose up throughout the yard, but neither King Peter nor Queen Pauline joined in. The queen hugged her daughter against her chest with the same ferocity Priscilla had hugged Lucky’s hand.

And then Priscilla began to stir as well. Queen Pauline gasped, and a second cheer rose up through the yard, even louder than the first.

Nathan opened his eyes and pushed himself up on trembling arms. “Did it work?”

Mordred, who had been holding his hand and doing his best not to weep, made a show of throwing it down. “Fool!” he spat. “You could have been killed.”

Nathan didn’t notice. Having spotted Lucky sitting upright, he rolled over and hugged the boy, stroking what should have been Lucky’s hair.

They’d have probably gone on this way for some time if Kristin hadn’t brought them back to reality. “What about Greg?” she cried.

“The other amulet,” said Nathan. “Has no one found the Amulet of Ruuan?”

The multitude of spirelings jumped back to the hunt, sifting through every blade of grass with a speed only one born to the Canaraza race could manage. But no one seemed capable of finding the second amulet.

Rake scurried through the crowd and crawled up onto Lucky’s legs. Lucky seemed somewhat shocked, as the shadowcat had never shown him much affection.

“It’s okay, Rake. I’m fine.”

Rake bared his fangs and shrieked with such intensity, Lucky scrambled backward, sending the shadowcat flying.

“There it is,” Priscilla moaned, as she was too exhausted to shout.

All turned to see the Amulet of Ruuan lying in the crumpled grass where Lucky had been lying. Queen Pauline grabbed it and extended it out by the chain toward Nathan, but stopped in mid reach, the smile on her face dissolving.

“Oh.”

Nathan stared weakly at the circular amulet in her hand. Comprised of five pieces, four identical pie-shaped wedges surrounded by a single ring, the amulet held more power than any artifact ever created in this world. But a triangle of light beamed through the amulet as it swung easily from its chain.

One of the inner sections was missing.

“No,” gasped Nathan. “This won’t do at all.”

“We must
. . . find . . . the other . . . piece,” Nathan gasped. He dropped back to the grass, too weary to speak.

Everyone, even King Peter and Queen Pauline, garbed in their elegant robes, dropped to their hands and knees, overturning every blade of grass, but try as they might, no one could find the missing wedge of metal.

King Peter paused when he noticed Mordred sitting upright and motionless, his eyes closed. “Mordred,” he scolded. “I know you and the boy have had your differences, but you must help in this.”

Mordred did not answer at first. Then his eyelids drifted open. “I think I see it.”

“What are you talking about?” King Peter asked.

“A spell, Sire. I began working on it when I was gathering the pieces of Ruuan’s amulet for Hazel a few months ago. It is not an easy task, as artifacts of this nature have a way of eluding magic, but I . . . well, let’s just say I called upon a bit of knowledge I learned before I came under your service.”

“You’ve used Dark Magic is what you’re saying,” King Peter said, hope lighting his eyes. “Well, it’s about time. Where is it?”

Mordred frowned. “I’m not sure. I need all these spirelings out of here.”

King Peter turned to the nearest spireling and commanded him to leave. The spireling paused, a distant look in his eyes as he consulted with Queen Gnarla through their silent bond, and suddenly every spireling capable of walking shot to the edge of the yard as if a huge spireling-filled bomb had exploded.

For the first time since the battle, it was possible to see all who had fallen. King Peter gasped as he took in the sight of the thousands of dead scattered throughout the yard.

A few of the injured tried crawling away, but with limited success. Mordred’s eyes had fallen closed again, and playing about his hood was an odd black light one witnesses would later describe as a hundred bats swarming to tear at Mordred’s face.

Mordred’s eyes popped open. He looked a few yards to the east, where a spireling warrior was dragging himself slowly toward the Enchanted Forest.

“There,” he said, pointing at the injured spireling.

The spireling’s eyes grew wide as several men swarmed on him to see why Mordred had singled him out. Marvin Greatheart helped him to his feet, oblivious of the fact that both his legs were broken, but the spireling didn’t cry out until Mordred ran toward him, his magician’s robe fluttering out behind, and reached toward his face.

Mordred’s hand extended past the rows of razor-sharp teeth to the spireling’s shoulder, where lodged in his chain mail, nearly hidden from view, was the tiny wedge of metal they sought.

The spireling’s eyes grew wider still. As he witnessed Mordred pry loose the tiny section of amulet, so did all of his kind. From the edge of the yard in all directions erupted a roar of approval, and the implosion of spirelings back to the center of the yard was a sight no human or spireling was likely to ever see again.

Mordred rushed to Nathan’s side and pressed the tiny wedge into the hole in the amulet Rake had helped them find. In an instant the metal flashed and fused together. Mordred helped Nathan to his feet and over to where Greg lay unmoving in the grass. The two of them knelt beside Greg’s body, and Nathan struggled to take Greg’s hand in his own.

Mordred reached out to stop him. “Nathan, are you sure you want to go through with this?”

Nathan nodded, clearly too drained to speak. No one voiced the fear, but all wondered how the magician could possibly survive a second experience like the first.

“You’ll be killed,” Mordred warned. “And what of the Amulet? The last was destroyed. Do we really want to lose an object of such power?”

Nathan’s eyes softened as he took Mordred’s hand in his own. “We . . . must. You and I.” He tightened his grip on Mordred’s hand and stared into his eyes, as if seeing into the man’s soul.

Mordred looked confused, but then their two hands began to glow, and Mordred’s lips separated in a silent gasp. The two magicians remained that way a long time while the others looked on, wondering if they should be doing something . . . anything.

Finally Nathan’s eyes rolled up into his head. Mordred pulled his hand back and shook it, staring wide-eyed at Nathan’s unconscious form. Obviously he didn’t know what to say at first, but then he placed one palm on Nathan’s heart and took up Greg’s hand in the other, pressing it against his own chest.

“I’ll do what I can, old friend,” he whispered to Nathan. His eyes darted around the yard. “I need someone who loves the boy.”

King Peter, Queen Pauline, Priscilla and Lucky all fought to be the first to Greg’s side, but Kristin won in the end. She knelt beside him and took his other hand in hers without being asked, pressing it firmly to her chest.

Mordred’s eyes dropped closed. He began to chant as Nathan had done. Nothing happened for a long while, but then the telltale clouds began to coalesce, and the day darkened. Thunder rolled in. Lightning flashed and darted across the sky.

Unconsciously those in the crowd edged away from the spot where Greg lay, figuring Mordred’s skills in the Dark Arts were likely not as polished as Nathan’s.

The intensity of thunder grew, just as before. Those in the crowd took another step backward. When the expected bolt shot from the sky to strike Greg in the chest, everyone screamed and dove to the ground. This time the electricity traveled up Greg’s arms into Kristin and Mordred, and on into Nathan, as Mordred still held one hand over his old friend’s heart.

The others cowered away from the sight and sounds for what seemed an eternity, and then just as before, the lightning cut off suddenly, and the thunderous echoes rang out through the kingdom for several long moments.

All looked to where Greg lay, his tunic and even the spireling chain mail burned away, his chest smoking from a circular hole etched into his skin. At his side, Kristin lay, unmoving. Priscilla scooped her up in her arms and tried to revive her, to no effect.

Nathan and Mordred lay at Greg’s other side, looking no less dead than Greg.

“What’s wrong?” shouted Lucky. “Why didn’t it work?”

“Wait,” King Peter told him. “It took a moment before.”

They waited, hundreds of thousands of them, without a sound, barely breathing. Moments passed. Then, a slight movement in Greg’s eyelids.

A roar erupted throughout the yard like none that had ever been heard before, for Greg was a hero of unequaled measure to the spirelings, and his loss would have been impossible to accept.

“He’s alive!” Lucky shouted. He leaned forward to wrap his arms around Greg.

Princess Penelope looked torn between hugging Greg and holding Kristin, who still hung limply in her arms. Then Kristin began to stir, and Priscilla squealed with glee. She hugged the girl so tightly, her mother had to pry her arms away so Kristin could breathe.

Mordred was the next to stir. Then all waited to see some evidence of life from Nathan. The magician did not move.

“I was afraid of this,” Mordred gasped, and even in his current state, his impatience was clear. In his mind he probably jumped to his feet. To everyone else it looked as if he slowly erected himself out of spare parts.

“Come,” he squeaked.

While the few who managed to hear him stared back, not knowing what he wanted, every one of King Peter’s magicians pushed past the crowd and took up hands in a circle around Nathan’s unmoving form. They bowed their heads in silence, and Greg could swear he saw a faint blue light passing between their fingers, though after what he’d just been through, he was seeing odd lights no matter which way he looked.

When Mordred’s legs began to shake, Marvin Greatheart stepped forward to help him stand. A hush had fallen over the crowd once more. They waited in silence, until finally Mordred opened his weary eyes.

“What’s wrong?” asked King Peter. “Is he going to be okay?”

Marvin tried releasing Mordred, but immediately the magician began to sink. After a brief frown, Marvin raised a fist. In it he clutched the cloth of Mordred’s robe. Like a puppet, Mordred raised his head and spoke, and more than a few in the crowd checked to see if Marvin’s lips were moving.

“I—I don’t know,” admitted Mordred. “While all of us are skilled in the art of healing . . . there’s something . . . not right . . .”

“Yeah, he looks dead,” said Melvin.

“Quiet, son,” said both his father and King Peter.

“I’ve never witnessed . . . someone in this state before,” Mordred said, panting. “I have a partial understanding after what I just experienced, but . . . I’m afraid this is an area unknown to me. It has something to do with the . . . Dark Magic that was cast here today. I’m afraid, it’s quite possible we can do nothing to revive him.”

“No,” Greg cried. “I’m the one who was supposed to die, not Nathan.”

“You did die,” said Melvin. “Your part in the prophecy is over.”

“But Simon never said anything about Nathan dying,” argued Lucky. “This isn’t right.”