Sword's Call (11 page)

His magical senses surged, jerking him in his saddle.

A great source detected his magic and immediately shut him out. He couldn’t probe further.

Something wasn’t right. He’d been shut out?

Unheard of.

He tried again, asserting more energy, but was once again rejected. Lucan’s temples throbbed. It wasn’t often he had to work so hard with his magic. He squared his shoulders, narrowing the scope of his energy, concentrating solely on breaching the magic inside the castle.

Body thrumming, his head pounded. Lucan’s chest ached with the effort to breathe normally, and he ignored the burning in his lungs as he pushed one more powerful surge of magic against the spell. He was, yet again, shut out.

I’m getting nowhere.

The protection spell was very powerful, thick with control. Whoever had put it in place had a great deal of skill. It’d take an amazing amount of power to breach it, and only if he and the other three shades cast together. He wiped the sweat from his brow and forced a few deep breaths. How could he tell his master?

He’d seen firsthand that anyone could outlive their usefulness to the man, and it scared him to death
.

Lucan wanted out.

But how could that ever be possible?

Lord Varthan never had him far from his side.

He’d do his best
always
to be useful to him.

“The city is deserted, my lord,” Lucan said.

“I can
see
that,” his master snapped.

“There is only one place I sense magic. In the castle.”

“It won’t be a problem,” Lord Varthan said. Statement, not question.

Lucan heart’s galloped in his small chest. “My lord . . .” He winced.

“Go on.”

Swallowing hard, Lucan forced himself to sit still in his saddle. His knuckles were white from his tight grip on the reins. “Whoever it is . . . is very powerful. There’s a very complicated protection spell cast over the castle. My probing could not penetrate it.”

Lord Varthan laughed.

Long and Hard
.

Lucan froze as he unwittingly met his master’s dark eyes.

“It looks like the bitch’s family is playing for keeps.”

Gulping, a tremor shimmied down his spine. He didn’t answer his master.

****

The other three shades met them in front of Castle Lenore, exactly as instructed.

“What did you find?” Lord Varthan barked.

Athas sneered at Lucan before bowing to their master from in his saddle. “I did not come across so much as a dog, milord. They cleaned out the whole Province—Main, Upper and Lower to the south.” He inclined his head and looked at his two younger companions.

Lucan had felt the disdain Athas had sent his way, but he couldn’t retaliate.

Athas was older and bigger, and would clobber him even if he’d had the guts to try anything. His magic was much more powerful than Athas’s, so Lucan took quiet victory in that.

“Even the inns, no smoke in the chimneys to the west,” Markus said, but failed to bow.

Lord Varthan will smack him for sure.

“I also did not encounter anyone, or feel anything, my lord.” Dagonet inclined his head as Markus should have.

The lord scanned their group, but this time Lucan was not a part of his master’s all-encompassing gaze. He cleared his throat. “Lucan, brief them on the shield.”

Nodding, he closed his eyes and broadcast his memory and feelings into the minds of Athas, Markus and Dagonet. Showing them was easier than telling them, and they’d be able to judge the power of the spell if they experienced his memory of it.

All three of the older boys looked at him, astonishment written in their expressions. They’d comprehended the complexity of the spell over the castle.

“That is a great deal of power,” Dagonet mused.

“It will not be a problem,” Lord Varthan said, but his tone called for the shade’s opinion.

“No, my lord,” Dagonet said. “It’ll take effort and strategy to break through it, but I don’t see that it’s impossible.”

Lucan looked Dagonet up and down. The older boy was almost as powerful as him.

What would it take for their master to consider him as invaluable as Lord Varthan currently saw Lucan?

He was envious that Dagonet could get away from their master as he saw fit.

“Athas, did you see a proper inn?” Lord Varthan glanced away from Lucan and Dagonet.

“Yes, deserted, of course, but not far from here.”

“Lead the way.” Varthan kicked his horse.

“Milord?” Dagonet inquired.

“We will need to rest before you take the spell down,” Varthan growled. Their master did not like to be questioned.

The older boy gave a curt nod.

Lucan urged his horse to follow, saying nothing and making sure he was between Dagonet and their master so Athas couldn’t have open access to him.

No shade other than Dagonet actually questioned Lord Varthan and escaped punishment.

He glanced over his shoulder to find Dagonet’s hazel eyes steadily regarding him.

Lucan looked away, shifting in his saddle.

He was relieved their master was allowing them to rest. Although he’d not gotten anywhere when he’d probed for magic, exhaustion from the energy he’d expended was paramount. And their master was well aware magic was stronger if a body was rested.

Lord Varthan had pressed the shades hard to get to Tarvis, and they all could use a hearty meal and a real bed.

Not that Lucan ever complained, but he would be happy to lay his head on a real pillow. It’d been quite a while.

Hopefully his master would let him have his own room.

Or at least a room away from Athas.

“There will be no people there, milord,” Athas said.

“Less coin to pay for the room.” Lord Varthan gave a humorless laugh.

Markus and Athas exchanged a nervous glance and Lucan gulped.

Dagonet was the only one that seemed unbothered, but that just made Lucan shift in his saddle even more.

****

Braedon rode hard.

He was worried he was asking too much of Roan, for his stallion was rather elderly. He
had
to get there.

Patting the horse named for his color, he urged him to greater speed.

If he pushed Roan, he risked taking longer; the old stallion wouldn’t survive injury, but he didn’t want to stop. He was a good hard three days’ ride away from the center of the call’s location.

“I’m sorry, lad, but we’ve a call to answer. It’s important, I promise.” He leaned closer to Roan’s neck to ease his horse.

The stallion was dear to him. His horse was two turns older than his son and had accompanied him when he’d fled Aramour.

Roan was the only sense of home that remained with Braedon every day.

When he’d left his family, he’d honestly believed he would never see them again. His heart beat faster. He’d see his son, after all these turns.

He kicked himself for questioning the call for two days.

Dreams had continued to haunt him, so Braedon had blamed it on that. Meditating to clear his mind, he’d seen it. Like a slap in the face.
Obvious.
And Braedon was an idiot.

Very clearly . . . three magical auras . . .
calling to him.

The first was familiar. Hadrian, his mentor and very old friend.

The second had a magical trail not so different from his own. Jorrin
had
to be at the center of the call.

Braedon wasn’t familiar with the third, but the call was being simulcast, so it couldn’t be hostile magic.

The desperation in the call was palpable.

What in the Blessed Spirit’s Name could be wrong?

He needed to get there
now.

The call didn’t come from Aramour. It was from somewhere due east—near Berat the best he could figure.

Why aren’t they in Aramour?

He hadn’t been that far east in turns.

Braedon had learned how to mask his trail with more skill than Hadrian had ever been able to teach him.

The first spell covered his trail for almost two turns. Then they’d found him again, but hadn’t caught him.

He’d improvised even more with his magic afterward, learning to devise even more powerful masking spells. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have survived.

Braedon had tried to cast an answer to let them know he was on his way, but the magic was closed, a signal only.

The call was surrounded in a protection spell that carried the signature of the first presence. Hadrian had left considerable power in it, not even friendly magic could enter.

Generally if magic was closed, it was so dark magic couldn’t intercept the energy or harm the sender.

Nature of the spell mattered not.

Is Hadrian afraid of dark magic?

The situation had to be dire, because his old friend was usually not afraid to open cast.

Why had they left Aramour?

Was Vanora with them?

Was she all right?

Was Jorrin?

His heart thundered in time with Roan’s hoof beats.

What the hell could be going on?

Chapter Nine

Jorrin was waiting.

Blessed Spirit, he was
sick
of it.

Four days since they’d simulcasted the spell to call his father.

Braedon hadn’t turned up.

Hadrian assured him Braedon would sense it; that he’d come to find them, but how could they be sure?

Less than three days before they would have to recast. He’d have to dig deep to muster the energy. Getting over the initial disappointment was hard enough.

Avery had also been disappointed. Each morning with no sign of Jorrin’s father, Cera’s cousin withered even more.

Cera wasn’t taking the waiting any better, but at least he hadn’t had to witness any more tears. He didn’t want to think about her tears. Didn’t want to remember what it was like to hold her, and definitely banished the memory of her kiss. Especially the last one.

Damn, he’d botched things with her.

He’d not tried to kiss her again. Nor had they discussed it. Both were striving for normal. And although Jorrin ached every time he looked at her, he was dealing with it . . . pretending he’d not drowned against her sweet lips, felt her luscious body against his, and melted into her gorgeous gray eyes.

Liar.

Jorrin couldn’t get her out of his head. Or his dreams.

With a heavy sigh, he dropped Hadrian’s axe.

He’d been helping the elf wizard by halving firewood logs. Bigger and stronger than Hadrian, he could accomplish twice what the wizard could in about half the time.

Jorrin smiled to himself, remembering Cera’s shock that Hadrian didn’t have some magic spell to do it for him.

“He’s got something for
everything
else,” she’d remarked, eyes wide.

The redhead had laughed out loud when the elf had told her that magic for chopping wood just wasn’t practical.

“But it is for doing dishes?” she’d asked.

Jorrin laughed just as he had earlier. Obviously, she’d no idea Hadrian was pulling her leg.

“Almost done?” Her sweet voice pulled him from his memory.

He looked up, meeting Cera’s gray eyes. She smiled and his sense of gloom dissipated.

“I guess so.” He surveyed the neat stack of firewood he’d made for the elf wizard. “This should last him quite some time, so I can probably stop.”

She looked him up and down. “You look hot. Want some water?”

He was suddenly hot all right, but it had little to do with his chopping wood. Heat crept up his neck. Jorrin ordered his body not to respond any further to that stare of hers. “Nah, I’m all right.” He swallowed hard, glancing over his work again, desperately needing a distraction.

Cera hadn’t acknowledged his dismissal. She disappeared into the cabin.

“Here you go.” She handed over a large mug of iced spice tea. “It’s not water, though. Avery fixed it, it’s my favorite.”

“Then you drink it.” Jorrin shook his head and attempted to hand the mug back to her.

She put her palm up. “No, it’s for you. C’mon, Avery would be upset.”

He studied her for a moment, stomach fluttering.

She was reaching out to him?

Maybe
normal
wasn’t so bad if she’d talk to him, spend time with him.

Had she made the drink?

Cera was being awfully insistent with him.

“Well, Lady Ryhan, you shouldn’t be serving me, a lowly half-elf. It should be the other way around.”

Making a face, she stuck her tongue out.

He laughed. “That was very
un-lady
like.”

“It was?” She giggled. “Then I shan’t do it again.” Her tone and manner were haughty. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Weren’t you going to serve me?” She bowed gracefully.

Somehow, it looked wrong since she was clad in breeches, and not the long skirts a lady would normally wear, but then again, she was not like any highborn lady Jorrin had ever met.

He chuckled and gestured to a log big enough for a seat, not far from the chopping block. “By all means, my lady, have a seat.”

She sat on the log, overacting, but still graceful. “Not the best accommodations for a lady of my rank, I have to mention,” she said in the same haughty tone, and then looked away from him.

Their eyes met after a moment and they both laughed.

His heart ached. Jorrin wanted more with her. He pushed the thoughts away, clinging to what he had with her at the moment.

Not nearly enough, but it would have to do.

For now.

But the banter was a welcome distraction from the seriousness of their situation.

Before he’d met Cera, life held a simplicity he’d been missing lately. On the other hand, his purpose had been lacking.

Which did he prefer more?

No purpose at all, or one that affected the very lives of people—people he was starting to care a great deal about?

Nothing he’d asked for, but a role that could fulfill his greatest desires and his greatest fears at the same time.

“Thank the Blessed Spirit you’re not really like that.” Jorrin ignored his train of thought.

It’s for the better.

She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t be able to stand myself. Though I know many a
lady
who really is.”