Old Magic (27 page)

I can guess what this means. As soon as this business with Jarrod is over, Rhauk will probably murder Malcolm, whom he no doubt sees as another threat to securing his inheritance. Can’t Malcolm see this? Obviously his fear over Jarrod claiming his inheritance blocks his mind to other dangers. The man isn’t only a traitor, feeding Rhauk inside information about Jarrod’s emerging powers, no doubt informing Rhauk of Jarrod’s strengths and weaknesses, but Malcolm is also a fool. He’ll most likely die for his mistakes.

Well, it will be a just death.

The meeting breaks up, and I stumble in a mad panic to get out of sight. I don’t go back to my room though. I can’t. Somehow I just have to warn Jarrod that he has a traitor in his camp. A man that cannot be trusted. So I decide to give it one more try. Escape. I find my way to the stables. Ebony Prince neighs restlessly in his stall, several mares snicker as I pass their stalls. But I have to take this risk. The horses are the only things I haven’t already tried. I’ve never had an opportunity like the one that’s about to present itself. And Ebony Prince took me once to Thorntyne Keep, perhaps if I can convince him, he will again. I’m counting on a lot going my way. It all hinges on the gates. They won’t open without Rhauk’s request. But they’re about to when Malcolm leaves.

I hear noises behind me and my body jerks. It’s Malcolm. And he’s on his own. I see the opportunity in my mind. Quickly I slide into Ebony Prince’s stall, climb on to his bare back, crooning sweet calming words into his ear, probing his mind gently to keep his thoughts disorganized. I have never tried to mind probe an animal; it’s a strange experience. At least he lets me climb on, shaking his head in an oddly bewildered way, and I sense my probe is working.

I hear the gates swing on their hinges. Without a second thought for the way I’m straddling the horse, or how my skirts have ridden halfway up my bare thighs, I dig my knees into Ebony Prince’s thickly muscled stomach. He bolts through the outer stable doors, and with a little further probing, heads straight for the open gates.

Malcolm hears the pounding hooves and jumps out of the way. What I don’t count on though is Malcolm’s quick recovery. He is, I realize a short distance out of Black-lands, a trained knight. He jumps onto his own waiting horse and starts chasing me through the woods.

Low branches, sharp twigs, overgrown berry bushes catch at my clothing, my hair, my arms. I ride low to the horse’s back, my arms tight around his thick neck, urging him to go faster and faster. The hooves pounding behind me grow too close for comfort. Malcolm is catching up fast.

Even though it is still daylight I find it more and more difficult to see where I’m going. I try to convince Ebony Prince to head in the direction of Thorntyne Keep, but the woods are thick around me, and I can’t tell if my probe is working anymore.

Malcolm is so close now, I can feel his horse’s grunts near my back.

I see the fallen tree only seconds before Ebony Prince leaps. Having nothing but the horse’s neck to cling to, I’m not surprised to find myself flying through the air. I land on my back in a small patch of green meadow.

Momentarily stunned, all I can do is watch as Malcolm rides his horse right up to my face. “Well, well, such an interesting riding style you have, my lady.”

Not ready to accept defeat, I struggle quickly onto all fours, with the intention of making a run for it. But Malcolm is with me in a flash, his superior knight’s training undoubtedly the reason his reflexes are so sharp. He drags me back, tossing me to the grass. I land on my rear, looking up at him.

“He’s going to kill you too!” I scream at him, hoping to make him see the reality here.

“Don’t worry about me, Lady Katherine. I know what I’m doing.”

“No, you don’t know him like I do. He lies, he makes promises he has no intention of keeping. He’s using you just as he used me. He tricked me into staying with him, and now he’s tricking you. Only when he has complete control of Thorntyne Keep will his lust for revenge be satisfied.” I lunge for breath. “He has no reward in mind for you, Malcolm, except your own death. And in a way that would be a reward. Far better dead than spend the rest of your life as Rhauk’s mind slave. Believe me.”

He stares at me, his green eyes narrow, thinking. An awkward silence stretches between us, then Malcolm glances quickly over his shoulders. With his attention back to me he reaches out a hand to help me up. I feel a fleeting moment of hope, and put my hand in his.

“You found her. Good work!”

Oh no. It’s Rhauk, riding one of the mares from his stable. This one an elegant gray. He’s even taken the time to saddle her. His arrogance has me seething.

Malcolm yanks me up harder than is warranted, twisting my hand behind my back. I force myself not to cry out. Just as suddenly he pushes me toward Rhauk. I fall against the gray mare who bucks in protest. “Irons, I think Rhauk, to keep this wench inside your castle walls.”

Rhauk leans down and drags me up into the saddle in front of him. The feel of him at my back has bile jumping into my throat.

Rhauk nods at Malcolm, whistles to Ebony Prince, who trots faithfully, looking a bit disoriented, beside us. Then we are riding back to Blacklands. I swing my head around for one more look. Malcolm hasn’t moved. He just stands there staring, the strangest expression on his face.

Strange, that is, for a traitor.

Kate

The challenge is delivered by a white dove just before sunset. I’m with Rhauk in the tower, my hands shackled together with irons as Malcolm suggested, watching with a sickening dread, as Rhauk finishes his cursed wine. He searched out the final ingredient, a winter-flowering herb, and in his laboratory extracted the oil he needed from the herb’s own roots. As he blends this oil into the wine, his facial expression is one of complacency. It’s as he glances across at me with a sickening, self-satisfied grin, that the white dove makes itself known.

It has Rhauk’s attention straight away. “What is this?”

We both stare at it while it hovers over a window ledge, looking reluctant to land. The crow, which is sitting on his usual perch, squawks at it, attempting to chase it away, but Rhauk holds up his hand and the crow falls into a silent sulk.

Finally the dove lands on the window ledge. Rhauk picks it up in one hand and examines it. There’s a message attached to one of its legs. Rhauk takes the tiny piece of parchment and drops the bird. It flaps its wings, losing a couple of feathers, regains its balance, and flies away.

I watch Rhauk’s eyes as he reads the parchment. They widen with surprise, which he covers quickly with boyish excitement. Not once does he show fear. Why should he, now that he has Malcolm to watch his back? His eyes find mine. “The fool boy has dared to challenge me.”

Dread and nausea hit me full on. Is this really happening? How can Jarrod possibly beat this maniac? Jarrod is just a gawky, clumsy kid, who can’t see properly without his glasses. I wonder who helped him write the challenge. I doubt Jarrod’s eyes would have managed the tiny script. And even if he has trained these past weeks, Rhauk’s powers are as natural to him as breathing. What chance can Jarrod have? If only the odds were fairer . . . If only I could be there to help him . . . Maybe, our talents combined . . . Maybe, if we caught Rhauk in an unguarded moment . . .

Rhauk interrupts my thoughts. “He requests a duel.”

“Duel?”

“By sword, on neutral ground.”

This is terrible news. Swords are heavy; it takes years of training to be able to handle one with any form of skill.

“And since Jarrod named the weapon, I get to choose the ground.” He glances outside thoughtfully. “Minneret Cliffs, I think.”

My eyes bulge at this. Minneret Cliffs is a dangerous stretch of coastline, almost the exact center between the two peaks—Blacklands and Thorntyne. There are no tumbling sand dunes, only incredible sheer white cliffs.

“Tomorrow’s dawn.”

“No!” I exclaim. “This can’t happen.”

“Ah, but it is, my pretty.”

Pleading, I decide, is the one thing I haven’t already tried. “Please, Rhauk, think this through. You have the things you want. Let Jarrod go unharmed.”

His lips twitch, watching me. “Yes, I do have you, and the curse. But it’s not my fault that boy-man has no foresight. Obviously he can’t see his own death looming in the coming dawn. I shall make it a vivid reality.”

“I want to be there.”

“Of course you do. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” His eyes narrow, assessing me. “But, I will have to do something to stop you from interfering.”

“Noooo!” God, he’s one step ahead of me every time. How can anyone beat this logic?

I watch, sickeningly, as Rhauk excitedly starts gathering bits and pieces from around his lab. An herb, a vial of blue liquid, a mix of powders.

My head swivels from side to side. Grinning, he comes at me with a frothing liquid mixture. It’s a drug, of that I’m sure.

“Something to drain your energies, it won’t taste too bad.”

“No, I won’t—”

“You only need a few drops.” He grabs my chin with his free hand, gripping it with the force of a steel vice, his grin disappearing.

“No!” I scream, my hands useless and heavy in the chains. Quickly, I shut my mouth, adamant that not one drop of the drugged mixture will so much as touch my lips.

But I’m not prepared for Rhauk’s tactics. He removes his hand from my chin, forms a fist, and punches me just below my ribs. My mouth flies open in exclamation as I struggle for air—shock and pain startling me. He throws the vile mixture into my mouth. It chokes me, burns all the way. I lurch forward at the blow to my stomach, doubling over with pain, and spit as much of the liquid out as I can.

Rhauk moves away, satisfied, and begins stirring the cursed wine. “After the challenge, I will begin bottling. A few more days, and Richard will have the King’s precious gift.”

I drag in several deep breaths, straightening carefully, trying to recover from the blow to my stomach. I wipe my mouth against my shoulder. The effect of the drug is immediate. The room swings away from me, becoming distorted. I sway, falling against a bench.

This distracts Rhauk. “You, my pretty lady, had better get to bed, for tonight Death will be your bedfellow. Do not be alarmed, he will not claim you, but simply take your strength.” Carrying me down the long twisting staircase, Rhauk laughs, wrapped in a blanket of his own self-confidence.

He drops me on the bed, where I curl into a ball. Rhauk moves back, tilts his head so that he can peer into my face. “Yes,” his velvety voice purrs. “You will be useless to the fool boy, drained of all your magic. Drained almost of life itself,” he adds as an afterthought.

As he steps farther from the bed, my eyes close, heavy, like lead weights are dragging on them. I feel myself sink down, down, spiralling down. It’s dark, black, it frightens me, but still I descend. I smell Death in this despair, grinning and sharpening his teeth, luring me even deeper.

Rhauk’s voice drifts, blurred now, distant. But even in the depths of this dark pit I can still make out his parting words. “And Jarrod will be satisfactorily distracted, when he sees his lover so completely under my control.”

And then I understand why he drugged me. Not only to stop me from helping Jarrod perform tricks, but to form a distraction, so Jarrod will lose his concentration during the battle. Rhauk is using me as a tool to help him beat Jarrod. It strikes me as ironic that my attempts to save Jarrod are now being used to murder him.

Moisture fills my eyes but I don’t care that Rhauk or the devil himself sees my tears. I’m too drained to stop them.

Rhauk leaves me with the bitter taste of hatred in my mouth, and Death for company.

Kate

He dresses me like a queen, all royal red and gold silk, my hair twisted into a coil about my head. Around my throat he hangs a heavy gold chain of miniature twisting snakes. He wears his usual black, the serpent gold buckle fixed at his waist. He looks compelling, all-powerful. I am nothing more than a rag doll, my limbs unnaturally heavy, memories of last night’s drugged nightmare-filled sleep slowly but thankfully receding.

It’s not quite dawn when we arrive on Ebony Prince’s back. Minneret Cliffs span alarmingly before us, the gray-pink streaks of early dawn shedding enough light to reveal stark white rockface. Rhauk drags me to the jutting point of a cliff edge, so close the breath of a seagull could tip me over. Earth and small chalklike rocks break free, collapsing under my fingers. I struggle to inch slowly away from the loose edge.

As well as my hands, Rhauk also chained my feet. I wonder why? In my drugged state I’m hardly a threat. Just concentrating is difficult. I haven’t the strength to move, let alone work magic. I half sit, half lie, aware of the salt spray rising up from the dark lonely ocean far below, its heart pulsing to its own eternal beat.

We wait. But it isn’t a long wait. Hooves pound the road descending from Thorntyne Keep as the sun cracks the horizon, spreading gray-gold fingers of light into this inevitable morning. Soon Jarrod rides into view.

He looks formidable and my heart, struggling to increase its pace, beats a little harder at the sight of him. He’s dressed all in gold, the Thorntyne crest with two white doves hovering over a purple rose, blazes on his tunic front. A gold chain looks heavy at his slim waist. He wears no armor, and more alarming, he has no sword. He is accompanied by Richard, Isabel, Morgana the maid, Thomas leading a half-dozen of Richard’s knights, Emmeline, and Malcolm the traitor, standing somewhat on his own, his head hanging low as if it weighs heavily with guilt. He glances up and I see his eyes are streaked blood red. I wonder why and look for signs of remorse, anything that tells me he has come to his senses.

In the end though, it makes no difference. No one here today will be able to help Jarrod, no matter how strong, or armed, or prepared. This duel is between Jarrod and Rhauk. Except Rhauk has the advantage, thanks to Malcolm’s inside information. Even Richard’s most able knights will be useless in this duel of magic.

Jarrod sits on the white and speckled gray stallion as if he were born on the creature’s broad back. He appears calm and confident. There’s no hint of the gawky clumsy kid I once knew. Red tints in his blond hair gleam brilliantly in the rising sun. Gracefully, he dismounts. His eyes travel over me thoroughly, searching for signs of mistreatment I guess. They narrow and harden when he finds my bruised and swollen jaw.