Remnants of Magic (12 page)

He moved to another pair of outlines. A set of men’s work clothes half covered a smaller, more feminine pair of slacks and blouse. “He tried to protect her. To shield her with his body. They both perished.” As he pointed, Donovan named them. “Bryce and Trip.”

“And this one would be Malcolm.” The outline he indicated sprawled in the center of the room. Bullet holes punctured three places across the center of the shirt. With his foot, Donovan nudged at the sword just beyond the end of the sleeve. “Fighting to defend his friends, but dying just the same.”

Donovan crossed to the youth and pointed to the remains at his feet. “Will that be you, Kieran? Standing there. Shutting your eyes. Denying that you could have prevented this? Doing nothing while everyone around you is slain?

“Is this clear to you now? When you spare a predator, you condemn the fey. London murdered these people. You let her escape. Who will she kill next time?” He waited until the lad met his eyes. “You kill. Or we all die.”

Chapter Eleven

The next evening, Donovan teleported himself and the earthborns to the churchyard. In the ambient light straying from the village, the church and its commanding bell tower rose before them as a ghostly, grey monument at the late hour. The dark building appeared even more desolate and abandoned than in the daylight, too well built by generations past to crumble under the neglect of contemporary indifference.

Turning back to the earthborns, he reiterated the mission briefing. “The sluagh are the responsibility of the Unseelie Sidhe and always have been. The darkness of Trip’s magic should tame them sufficiently to wrangle. There shouldn’t be more than half a dozen of them. Malcolm will locate them and ensure that we collect the entire nest. Their cries are fierce, but Kieran will shield against them. That leaves teeth and claws. They can shred a man in an instant. Killing them is near to impossible, but if Trip can’t ensnare them, we’ll have no choice. Bryce, you’re here in case things go bad. Dawn, you’re here in case things go worse.”

The young Sidhe shifted with nervous excitement, eager to prove themselves. Donovan gave them a slight smile and a nod of approval. Glancing back up at the dark building, he said, “Malcolm.”

The bloodhound tilted his head back, scanning the behemoth of a chapel with its Gothic bell tower. “Right. Bet those ghosty things are the sluagh. They’re all bunched up in the belfry. The dark elf is a couple floors below. Is that the loft for the bell ringers? That’s where he’s at.”

“Dark elf?”

“Yeah. Just there.” Malcolm pointed to the closed wooden shutters midway up the tower.

Only now that Donovan examined it more specifically did he notice the weak sliver of light between the shutters. The sluagh would never tolerate someone trespassing so close to the nest. “What else do you see?”

“He’s got a dark…” Malcolm gestured haphazardly toward his heart. “Star thing. Just here. Wicked strong magic. Darker even than Trip on her best day. All swirly and stuff. But just there.” He tapped his chest again. “All the rest of him is just like other dark elves. A bruised-looking, purply-black glow.”

“Change of plans.” Donovan pointed to Dawn. “You stay here unless you’re needed. Be prepared to defend yourself.”

A Glamour formed about her and she vanished from view, blending into the pattern of the stone wall surrounding the churchyard.

“The rest of you listen in.” He nodded to Kieran, since he’d be the one to make certain of it. “You’ll hear my orders. Follow them. No questions.”

When he was certain they were ready, Donovan teleported to the ledge outside the bell tower’s shuttered window. In the darkness, his jet-black hair, loose dark shirt, and slacks camouflaged him. Abandoning stealth, Donovan pushed open the unlocked shutters and climbed in the window. His boots banged down on the wooden floor, announcing his presence.

The dark elf jerked up from his dinner table, hand curling around an amulet that hung in the center of his chest, exactly where Malcolm had indicated. The black onyx disk in the center was nearly as wide as a man’s hand span. A filigree gold setting twined around the stone.

He was a survivor of the Mounds, given his clothing. The long, damask tunic and silk stockings in a style that had barely altered in the past six centuries wouldn’t have been out of place in the Mounds, but certainly would garner comment on the surface. At one time, all the dark elves lived in the Mounds, since their grayish skin required constant use of Glamour to disguise and their pride rankled against hiding their beauty. A long, sleek braid whipped against the back of his ankles, a symbol of status. Panic strained his voice. “Crom?”

“Not Crom.” Donovan stepped closer to the candlelight, allowing the dark elf to better make out his features.

“Jhaer.” Though Donovan didn’t recognize the dark elf, surely this one had seen him before and knew enough to whisper his former name with fear.

“You’ve claimed husbandry over the sluagh?” Donovan stalked closer. “That’s not your place.”

“The Sidhe have no more dominion here.” The dark elf gripped the amulet in his fist as though it granted him courage as well as dark magic. “Far too few of you to hold all your old claims. The dark elves have risen to replace the noble elves. We’re to be the new Sidhe and rulers of the fey.”

“You have no power over the sluagh, save some trinket of Crom’s that you stole. I recall your face now. You were nothing but Crom’s lackey. Your master should have eliminated you the first time you drooled over his domain.” Donovan snarled, squaring off with the elf. “Submit.”

The dark elf laughed. “Even the Unseelie fear the sluagh. They’ll tear apart your bones before they feast upon your flesh; I promise you that!”

“You might send the sluagh after me, but the Unseelie will come for you and strip you of that amulet. Without that stolen Sidhe magic you have no power over the sluagh. You, nor your dark elf brethren, could ever replace the supremacy of the Sidhe.” To ensure that the dark elf did indeed send the entire flight after him, Donovan sneered each word with the venom of insult. “You are lesser.”

One vicious scream from the tower above ignited the rest. Like banshees, the song of the sluagh clawed at the sanity of their prey, threatening to overwhelm the senses with nightmare terrors. It was the least of their weapons. Donovan braced himself, gritting his teeth, holding his ground against the onslaught as the fury of beating leather wings echoed through the tower. Only when the first of the flight swooped down like demons through the trap doors overhead did he finally run, drawing them away with him.

Bashing open the shutters with the force of his body, he leapt through the bell tower’s side window before plunging down twenty feet to the angled roof below. Donovan hit and rolled. The slick tiles and the slanted pitch of the roof threatened his balance. Only through his fey agility did he manage to reclaim his footing without losing much momentum. Arms pumping, he raced the length of the roof. The furious screams tore at him like claws. The sluagh swarmed ever closer, faster than most could imagine. At the roof’s edge, Donovan leapt, freefalling toward the ground several stories below.

Chapter Twelve

The moment Donovan ducked into the tower, Kieran created what Malcolm thought of as a tornado of magic. No one else could see it, not even Kieran, but it reached like a cobra up into the sky and slipped its flared opening into the tower window behind Donovan. Through this, they heard every word. Malcolm watched the glow of the dark elf and the brownish swirl of magic building around Donovan. When the ghostly creatures high in the rafters stirred, icy fear dragged like fingers down Malcolm’s flesh. He whispered, “Oh, shite. I think there are loads more sluagh than he thought.”

That’s when the screaming started.

Horror-movie shrieks sliced through the still night, carrying blazing red knives of magic. Covering his ears, Malcolm spun away. It didn’t matter. The knives of terror shredded through him anyway. He collided into Trip and Bryce, whose screams couldn’t drown out the dismay that pierced them.

Kieran grappled at his head, growling. A burst of magic billowed out of him with enough force to ruffle their hair and clothes. The bubble of sound magic expanded, shattering the magic knives and shielding the earthborns from the sluagh song. Malcolm scrambled back around, cursing himself for losing focus for even a second when Donovan counted on them.

“What’s happening?” Trip jerked on Malcolm’s arm.

“Donovan’s holding his ground against the screams!” The knives Malcolm saw in the screams were magic, not ‘real’, not physical. They swooped and flowed through the screams like a school of fish, swirling and cutting through Donovan over and over, tearing through him with each pass. “Kieran, can’t you shield him?”

“I can’t see him.”

The transparent blaze around Bryce flickered wildly. “How can Donovan tolerate that?”

“Oh crap!” Malcolm stepped closer. The sluagh images shattered as they swooped from the belfry. “Here they come. Dozens of them! Crap!” He shouted as if Donovan might hear him, “RUN!”

The swirl of ghostly images spilled from above and the brownish figure that was Donovan raced away from them. He flung himself out of the tower and onto the rooftop. Trip screamed when they thought Donovan might slip, but he recovered and ran like hell toward the other end of the roof. The flight of sluagh, like a cloud of giant bats, flooded after him.

“Oh, no! Oh, no!” Trip jerked Malcolm’s arm as she jumped around, freaking out. “No!”

“Oh, shite!” Kieran shouted. “Teleport! Teleport!”

Only Donovan didn’t teleport. At the end of the roof, he leapt outward from the building into the nothingness beyond, the flight of sluagh only a second from washing over him.

The earthborns all screamed as their leader dropped through the air. The sluagh overtook Donovan, blocking him from their view.

Then the ground beneath them trembled. A ramp of earth thrust up beneath Donovan, catching him. As he sprinted, the ramp behind him exploded, sending shards of jagged rock spraying at the sluagh, knocking them back. The flight raged above him, out of the way of the debris but still chasing. As Donovan reached the ground level, they swirled overhead, pursuing him into the cemetery.

“We have to help him.” Trip tugged at Malcolm.

“No! We do what he said. We get the amulet.” Malcolm jerked out his knife. “Up there. Now! No hesitation. Hit him hard. End this quick.”

“I got you, Mal.” Kieran gripped his shoulder. Because Malcolm couldn’t teleport himself, Kieran transported the two of them to the ledge of the open window. Not waiting for the others, Malcolm jumped inside. Attacking like Donovan showed him, he aimed straight for the elf’s gut.

But the dark elf spun around, breaking his quarterstaff across Malcolm’s side.

The blow knocked Malcolm hard to the ground. The shattering pain of broken bones exploded through him. He rolled onto his back, struggling to get control of his body through the agony, growling a scream between his clenched teeth.

Through the blur of pain-tears, he saw Kieran jump into the room with Trip and Bryce right behind him. Kieran raised a hand and Malcolm covered his ears against the piercing sound that rippled out.

The dark elf gripped his amulet. Blackness billowed around him with building power.

“Kieran!” Malcolm winced through the pain of his cracked ribs. “Look out!”

The other Sidhe couldn’t see the magic. Kieran didn’t even try to get out of the way of the giant fist of solid shadow that punched him with enough force to send him spinning through the air. He slammed against the wall, knocking a pained outcry from him before he dropped just as hard onto the floor.

The others didn’t manage any better. Bryce flung fireballs that burst apart into cinders on impact, barely scorching the elf’s clothing. Hesitating, Trip stayed back.

Damn it. They couldn’t see what he saw. They couldn’t see what he knew. Malcolm struggled to his knees, one arm curled protectively against his side. “Trip, you have the same magic. Stop the elf! Bryce, quit playing and incinerate him!”

The fire magic that surrounded Bryce surged, flaming up into an inferno around him. A spiral of flame manifested between his spread hands.

Even as Bryce’s fire built, the elf twisted the dark magic before him. He snarled at Malcolm, “You need to shut up!”

Just then, Malcolm understood what the elf meant to do. “Wait! Bryce, don’t!”

Too late.

A pillar of flame shot out from Bryce. It deflected off the curving mass of dark magic right at Malcolm. He flinched away as the flames washed over him.

“Malcolm!” Bryce staunched the fire stream. Rushing over, he shouted, “Your shirt’s on fire!” In a scramble, they both patted out the flames before the fabric got more than a few burnt edges.

Behind them, Trip shouted. Her tentacles of shadow grappled with the magic coiling from the dark elf. The magicraft from the amulet surged, overpowering Trip bit by bit. Her legs trembled. Grimacing with effort, she dropped to her knees. Her magic quavered, starting to fail.

Magic wasn’t enough.

Malcolm shoved past Bryce and jumped onto the dark elf’s back. As soon as he gripped the icy black disk of the amulet he flung himself backward. The force of his fall snapped the chain.

The elf let loose a string of curses, flinging himself down onto Malcolm.