Susan Spencer Paul - [Enchanter 01] (34 page)

“It’s not a fake,” Niclas said softly. “You can feel its power.”

The only sign that this was true was the way Cadmaran’s fingers clutched the arms of his grand chair. His face, however, was admirably schooled into nonchalance.

“You wish to trade the Tarian for Miss Linley? Very well, it’s agreed.” He sat forward and held out a hand. “Let me have it and you can both go in peace.”

Niclas shook his head. “I can’t part with it that easily. The Tarian is far too valuable. I brought it because I knew you’d never fight me for Miss Linley otherwise. But you’ll fight for the Tarian.”

Cadmaran managed to drag his gaze away from the necklace. He looked at Niclas with amazement, and then he laughed.

“You wish to fight me?
You?
” He eyed Niclas up and down and clearly found him lacking. “For the Tarian? Oh, come now. You must think me a dunce to fall for such a jest.”

“For the Tarian, aye,” Niclas said, “but Julia is to be the prize. If I win, I keep the Tarian and Julia comes away with me, completely free of your spell, but if you win—”

“I understand,” the earl of Llew said rather breathlessly, slowly standing. It seemed to take forever for him to gain full height, and when he did, he was even more imposing. Niclas swallowed and wondered why he could never remember just how tall the man was. “If I win, I get the Tarian.” He began to descend the steps one by one, ignoring Julia completely as he passed her, his eyes fixed
intently on the glowing necklace. “The Tarian,” he whispered. “I shall possess its power, as will my heirs to come. The Seymours shall bemoan its loss for generations, and your name will be cursed as the feckless fool who lost it simply because you were so weak as to put a woman above your family. And not even a woman worth thinking of, but a common mortal.” As he came closer he lifted a hand, reaching his fingers toward the Tarian, as if to touch it. “A mortal of middling beauty and ordinary character, with nothing in the least superior to recommend her to our kind. For this,” he said as Niclas stepped back to avoid his touch, “you would lose so valuable an object?”

“You don’t know that I’ll lose it,” Niclas said.

“Oh, yes,” Cadmaran murmured. “I do. And should Malachi challenge me for it, it will be too late. The Tarian will make me far more powerful. He shall never again be able to defeat me.”

His hand, which had yet been reaching out toward Niclas, suddenly waved away toward one of the walls.

“How shall we conduct our battle, then? Which weapons do you prefer? They’re all here,” he said, indicating the various weapons mounted about the hall. “You’ve but to name your preferred manner of defeat.”

“You agree to my terms in full?” Niclas asked. “You must speak them out loud, so that the guardians have a record in case I should—”

“What?” Cadmaran asked, smiling. “Fail? As indeed you will. I have no trouble speaking it aloud. I will fight you, Niclas Seymour, for the Tarian and Miss Linley. Winner takes all.”

“There is one thing you must know before we begin, however,” Niclas said. “The Tarian cannot be taken from
the one who possesses it unless that one freely removes and gives it away, or,” he added, “unless that one is dead. If that is the case, it may be removed, and becomes the sole property of the new possessor.”

“And?” Cadmaran said. “Did you think me unaware of its properties?”

“No,” Niclas said, and was unsettled to feel his palms starting to sweat. “I merely thought you should know that I don’t intend to give you the necklace, and that you cannot remove it if I’m merely insensible. If you intend to possess the Tarian, you must kill me.”

That gave the earl of Llew a moment of pause. He gazed at Niclas for a long, considering moment.

“I see,” he said at last. “Then I must necessarily refrain from using magic, lest I call down a curse upon my head. That is indeed a fate to avoid at all costs. But,” he went on, circling Niclas slowly, “if I gain the Tarian, no curse will be able to dim my powers. The earl of Graymar would be allowed to call me out to avenge your death, but if I possess the Tarian, he can have no hope of success. Either way, the risk is well worth taking.” He came to a halt and faced Niclas. “I confirm my agreement to the terms, and the guardians are my judges. Choose your weapons.”

It occurred to Niclas, briefly, that the other man had shown shockingly little regard for the taking of another’s life, but perhaps he’d expected too much from the earl of Llew.

His silence appeared to provoke Cadmaran, who was all eagerness for the contest to begin. As he removed the elegant black coat he’d been wearing, he said, “We can fancy ourselves medieval warriors and use swords, or stand firmly
in our modern time and choose pistols. Rapiers would be an elegant choice. Have you studied fencing? But of course you must have,” he said with a slight smile. “Your cousin is accounted among the greatest swordsmen in England. Surely you picked up a few tricks from him along the way.”

Niclas was an acceptable swordsman, but far too much time had passed since he’d practiced the sport. There was only one skill Niclas had excelled at in the past three years, and that was because he’d found it to be a way of relaxing and quieting the racket in his brain.

“Fists,” he said.

“Pardon me?” Cadmaran inclined his ear.

Niclas felt a flush of embarrassment. It struck him just how odd it was to have to repeat the method with which he was inviting Cadmaran to annihilate him.

“Fisticuffs,” he said more loudly.

He appeared to have genuinely surprised the other man.

“Fisticuffs?” Cadmaran repeated. “Boxing, do you mean? The London Prize Ring rules?”

“No,” Niclas replied, and began to remove his own wet coat. “I mean fisticuffs. No rules, save for no magic.” He thought with regret that he’d not be able to call upon his gift of supernatural strength, either.

“I don’t know why I should be surprised,” Cadmaran said, sneering. “It’s a common sport for a common wizard. This is what the Seymours get for marrying mere—”

Niclas was a good two inches shorter than Cadmaran, but he was able to land a solid blow to the face that sent the earl of Llew sprawling. The other man landed unceremoniously on his back, his expression a mixture of shock and pain.

“You talk too much,” Niclas told him, letting himself enjoy a brief moment of satisfaction. He’d only been able to land that blow because he’d taken Cadmaran by surprise. The moment his opponent gained his feet, Niclas knew he’d be in trouble. But that was precisely why he’d come. “No doubt because you love the sound of your own voice so dearly.”

He was right. Cadmaran came off the ground with a roar of fury and ran at him full force. He sent a fist flying toward Niclas’s face, but Niclas hadn’t spent so many nights brawling on London’s docks for nothing. He ducked the blow with ease and sent his own fist into the earl of Llew’s belly, keeping his knuckles tight to deliver the greatest impact. Cadmaran doubled over but managed to keep his balance, and by the time he’d swung about Niclas had moved away to the other side of the room.

“Julia!” he shouted as the other man gathered himself for a fresh attack. “I know you can hear me. I’ve come to take you out, but you’ve got to fight!”

Cadmaran didn’t run at him this time, but moved with greater care. Niclas backed away with equal caution, still speaking to Julia, who remained quiet and passive on the dais.

“You fought him once before,” he said aloud. “Do you remember? But that time you didn’t know what you were up against. Now you do, and you have the power to win.”

Cadmaran lunged and swung at him, and again Niclas easily bounced away, this time sending both fists into his opponent’s lower back, which he knew from experience was particularly painful.

It went on for long minutes; not once did Cadmaran manage to land a blow, but expended himself chasing Niclas about, while Niclas did little more than jump aside and take every opportunity afterward to strike. He knew the fight couldn’t go on like this forever, but while it did, he continued to address Julia, encouraging her to resist the spell she was under.

“Be quiet!” Cadmaran shouted furiously, breathing harshly now as they circled each other. “She can’t hear you and she certainly can’t obey you. She’s
mine
.”

“She
can
hear me,” Niclas told him. “She hears my voice because she is my
unoliaeth
, and nothing but death can break that bond. Julia! I know you’re listening! Fight hard! Come back to me!”

Cadmaran made the mistake of glancing toward Julia, and Niclas put his head down and ran forward, actually lifting the bigger man off his feet for a second or two before shoving him away. For the second time, Cadmaran landed on his back, sprawling in a most undignified manner, which Niclas hoped would sufficiently prick his pride. But just to be certain, he said, “No wonder you wanted to use weapons. You clearly need all the help you can get, my lord Llew. Do you wish to rest a little before going on?” As Cadmaran awkwardly pushed to his feet, Niclas raised his voice. “Do you see how easily he can be fought, Julia? There is nothing to fear in casting aside the spell he’s placed you under.”

As he rose, Cadmaran’s expression was tight with rage. His black eyes speared Niclas with a look of hatred, and he knew at last that the moment had come. He had pushed the earl of Llew over the edge, beyond sense or
reason. Niclas straightened and tried to ready himself for what was to come.

It began slowly. Objects in the hall started to shake, mirroring the wrath of the master of Castle Llew. The curtains swayed and the torches trembled in their holders, causing the light in the hall to flicker violently. Cups, plates, tables, chairs, and all the fine ornaments began to rattle loudly. Candlesticks dropped to the ground and several of the vacant suits of armor fell over with a loud crash. Weapons mounted on the wall came loose from their moorings and clattered to the ground.

“Very impressive,” Niclas called out. “I shouldn’t wish to be the one to clean up this mess, however.”

Cadmaran again did that odd thing that Niclas had occasionally observed, and appeared to grow taller. He lifted a hand and pointed it at Niclas, clearly intending to strike him with some spell or other—but he had forgotten about the Tarian.

“Your magic is useless on me,” Niclas informed him with as much of a sneer as he could manage. “And since you can’t seem to fight as well as a mere mortal man, perhaps you should admit defeat now.”

“The Tarian protects you from the power of magic,” the earl of Llew managed between harsh breaths, “but it does not protect you from the results of magic. Those you must save yourself from”—a thin smile formed on his lips—“if you can.”

The earl tilted one long finger and a sword yet mounted on the far wall began to shake violently. The next moment it had come free altogether and shot directly toward Niclas, point out. He barely had time to throw himself aside before
it arrived, the blade skimming so close that it sliced through the upper part of his arm.

Blood began to seep before Niclas became aware of the stinging pain that followed and, rather than fear, he felt a resounding relief.

Blood had been spilled, and now Malachi would come. He would rescue Julia, regardless of what happened to Niclas. All he had to do now was stay alive long enough so that Cadmaran wouldn’t have a chance to inflict any harm on her before the lord of the Seymours arrived.

Objects began to fly from all directions, axes and knives and more swords. One of the empty knights lost his javelin as it became a spear aimed at Niclas’s heart.

Rolling, he leaped to his feet and ran, just managing to overturn a sturdy wooden table and hide behind it before the weapons struck with loud, angry thuds.

“Hurry, Malachi,” Niclas murmured aloud. An ominous clattering drew his attention. Two large shields mounted above him were about to strike. Niclas rolled tightly against the table, tucking his legs in as the heavy objects fell.

“I always knew he wasn’t very clever,” Niclas said, grabbing one of the shields to use for a cover as he ran out from behind the table. A number of things struck the shield, hard, but fell harmlessly away, and he could hear Cadmaran cursing from the center of the hall.

It seemed to take forever, but Niclas managed to get behind another table and push it over, too.

Now there was a curious silence. Niclas waited, striving to control his breath, listening intently for Cadmaran’s footsteps, but none came. But letting a powerful
wizard have too long to think was a mistake, for within a few moments he might devise any number of plans. Such as using Julia’s life to bargain with.

Grasping the shield, Niclas gingerly looked over the table’s edge, and saw that Cadmaran was indeed standing very still, thinking. Julia, however, had moved off the dais, and was standing in the far corner of the hall. She was watching the unfolding events without any discernible emotion on her face, but the fact that she’d moved anywhere at all of her own free will was, to Niclas, an extraordinarily good sign.

Cadmaran was standing quite still, blinking. He lifted a hand in front of his face and moved it slowly. Then, just as slowly, he turned toward the now empty dais, and kept looking, searching, most likely, for Julia.

Niclas shot up to his full height, purposely holding the shield away in order to draw Cadmaran’s attention, and shouted, “Ready to cede defeat yet?”

He never even saw the knives that struck him. Cadmaran had left a dozen of them, of various eras, lengths, and blades, drifting almost to the ceiling, ready to strike the moment Niclas showed himself. Four struck him to the hilt: one in his left shoulder, one in his right arm, one in his left thigh, and one almost in the center of his belly. He brought the shield up just in time to deflect one aimed directly at his heart. The others skimmed past, slicing a cheek, shoulder, and arm, striking the wall behind him with a loud clattering.

Niclas fell to his knees, then, as the pain began, collapsed onto his back. He lay there behind the table, feeling the shock and thinking, belatedly,
He’s not quite as stupid as I believed
.

He had three of the daggers out by the time Cadmaran’s face loomed over him, and had managed to pull the fourth from his belly before Cadmaran knelt.