Old Magic (24 page)

As I think about this, he continues explaining, “Of course, the fool boy may still decide to challenge me, even after you have convinced him of your desire to stay at Blacklands. Either way I will uphold my end of the bargain. I won’t produce the curse if you stay. It will be up to you to stop Jarrod from issuing the challenge. If he does, then so be it—I will have no choice but to kill him anyway.”

Wordlessly I stare at him. He asks too much. My life, sacrificed to this madman, in exchange for not putting the curse on Jarrod’s family. Either way, Jarrod could still die. Not fair.

Rhauk watches me carefully. “I want your answer by sunset. In the meantime, come,” he offers his elbow. “Let me make your decision easier. I will show you Blacklands, the wonder of it, the power that can be ours.”

I shrug off his offer of an elbow, and take a long swig of the wine instead. When the chalice is empty I toss it to the floor.

He seems pleased, a knowing smile slices his face. “Ah, that spirit. You present to me my greatest challenge. But you will be mine.”

I hate him even more. But as I have the day to think on his proposition, I decide to make the most of my situation. Maybe the more I see of Blacklands, the better chance I have of spotting its weaknesses. “Show me the curse.”

“Come,” he says softly, appreciatively.

I follow him down a long dark corridor to a spiral staircase that climbs halfway to heaven. The solar tower is circular, unusual for this period in history, and bright, yet cold and draughty. Windows, many of them, open arched slits, surround us. I start to shiver in my thin nightgown, the chill breeze blowing through to my bones. Rhauk seems oblivious of the icy wind.

My feathery acquaintance, the crow, this one the smaller version, sits perched on a bar suspended on chains from the sharply pointed roof. Rhauk fishes something out from his tunic. The crow nibbles at it, then swallows greedily, inclining its head for a caress from its master as if saying thank you.

I glance around the room, dazed at the chaotic mess. It’s stuffed with benches and haphazard shelves, containers overflowing with powders, crystals, and stones of all colors including black obsidian, all shades of red and brilliant blues. There are strange colored liquids and wizard’s tools—an assortment of bells, wands, a dagger that has an unusually long blade. And of course the traditional work book—the Book of Shadows. There’s an assortment of crude brewing apparatus as well, but I presume it’s sophisticated equipment for this period in time. The floor has small holes and burnt areas where dripping chemical combinations have left their marks, probably during one of many of Rhauk’s experiments.

One particular cauldron interests me. I feel drawn to it. Rhauk’s eyes follow me around the room. I sense I have the curse at my fingertips, and wonder how difficult it is to brew, what ingredients stir inside it. Jillian would be able to tell me.

I step right up to the cauldron for a closer look. At first I’m disappointed. It’s only red wine. Rhauk is making red wine up here. I look at him. “Where’s the curse? You said you were brewing it.”

“You are looking at it, my dear.”

I point into the cauldron. “That’s red wine.”

“Ah, yes, so it is.”

My brow furrows deeply as I study his smug attitude. I look again at the wine, and it hits me. “My God, it’s the wine. You brewed the curse into the wine.” It stuns me.

He laughs with boyish excitement. “You are clever. But never as clever as me, my Lady. This wine will quench the thirst of Thorntyne blood for generations. It’s the quality you see,” he explains, gloating. “Ahh, it is so smooth, so sweet, only Lord Richard himself, his immediate family, and perhaps a few treasured guests along the way, will be honored to drink it.”

I know this plan will work. After all, this is the curse that goes on to haunt Thorntyne generations for more than eight hundred years. Its simplicity is superb. The wine at Thorntyne Keep is rough and very dry. Lord Richard will treasure this brew, hoarding it for himself and the only other thing he loves—his family. There’s just one thing I want to know. “What makes you think Lord Richard will accept this wine from you? Won’t he be suspicious?”

“My dimwitted half-brother will think this wine is a gift from the king.”

“You have everything covered, don’t you?”

He arches one eyebrow high, tilting his head at me. “Everything.”

He’s including me. I turn away to one of the many windows. This one looks south, Thorntyne Keep directly in its view. I wonder what Jarrod is doing right now, what he’s thinking. He was outside the gatehouse early this morning. I crane my neck to see, but there’s no one there now, the long track to Thorntyne Keep empty of travelers, disappearing into thick woods. I try a mind probe, needing to feel Jarrod’s strength, assess his condition, but distance has me draw a blank. The thought occurs, maybe he died, from the wounds the crow inflicted last night. They could have festered and poisoned him. I remember in a sudden panic how much blood is on my nightgown. My fingers automatically trace the now dry stains.

“He lives,” Rhauk suddenly says, startling me. For a second I think he can read my mind. But then I realize my emotions are there on my face as I gaze across to Thorntyne Keep. I glare at Rhauk, hating him with my eyes. He ignores me. “But the fool boy wasted his energy trying to reclaim you this morning after he lost so much blood last night. Richard should have warned him there is no way into Blacklands without an invitation.”

My anger simmers over. “You did this to him!”

“Tsk, tsk,” he croons, stroking the crow’s face lovingly. “It was not me, my lady, but the crow. You must remember.”

“That crow last night was you!”

He pretends a shocked look, his mouth hanging open. “Surely you jest.”

“How did you do it?” My skin prickles with the knowledge that only the most powerful sorcerers of legend have this ability. Even though I grew up with magic, just thinking about the art of shapeshifting makes me shudder. It isn’t human. “How did you transform into the shape of a crow?”

His black eyes glow eerily for a second. “Stay with me, Kate, and I will show you. No! I will teach you.”

I shiver at the mere thought. “I don’t want to turn into a bird, or anything else thank you.”

“Ah, well, ultimately the choice will be yours.” He turns his back and reaches for something on the bench top. It’s a full length brown cloak. He throws it at me. “You have till sunset to make your decision. For now,” he bows down at the waist, extending his arm in a mock gesture of greeting royalty, “you are my honored guest. Let us break our fast, then I will show you the rest of Blacklands.”

Numb, I follow, throwing the cloak around my shivering shoulders, grateful for its warmth and protection as I accompany Rhauk.

It’s not until much later that I find myself alone in my room. There are clothes laid out on the bed, a simple blue gown, but elegant in its simplicity, the fabric soft and silky. There are underthings as well, and soft leather boots. I’m reluctant to put anything on that belongs to Rhauk, but I need the clothes, if only to make myself more comfortable in Rhauk’s presence.

I change and lie down on the bed, weary. I spend the last part of the day reflecting on everything I have seen and everything Rhauk has said. The man is not only a talented magician, he is tainted with madness. The proof of his magic is everywhere. I can’t dismiss it. His gardens are unbelievable, rows upon rows of exotic fruits and vegetables, most of which grow out of season, some that have no rights at all growing under a cold British sun. And how clever to invent a cursed wine. A sweet wine for a stingy Lord; Richard’s own greed the family’s eventual downfall. Thorntyne family members will drink the wine regularly for the rest of their lives, oblivious to the fact that it has in it the ability to affect their very genes, causing inherent clumsiness in generations to follow. But the real power in the curse is its ability to lie dormant until the seventh-born son. That is the magic in it, and the misfortune that accompanies that child and all his family members.

It’s this very reason Jarrod and I are here in this time period. But what price will we have to pay to stop this curse? Our lives? Jarrod will surely die if he challenges Rhauk. And I, well, my whole life will be a total waste. I’ll never be able to return home. Never see Jillian again. The very thought of living the rest of my life at Blacklands, with Rhauk, is so unbearable it brings tears to my eyes. I blink and sniff them away.

The sun is rapidly sinking behind a distant gold-streaked horizon. Rhauk will soon come for my answer. I have to make a choice, but what choice do I have really? In my heart I realize there is only one way. I just have to convince Jarrod to return home to Jillian—without me. At least this way the curse will be stopped, and one of us can continue with our normal lives.

A part of me inside dies with this realisation. But what other way is there to stop this dangerous curse? Rhauk’s powers are too strong for either Jarrod or me. But choosing to stay here at Blacklands satisfies Rhauk’s need for revenge.

He will not give the gift of wine.

The price for Jarrod’s freedom is to be my imprisonment.

Jarrod

Richard is right. He warned me that Blacklands is protected by Rhauk’s witchcraft. Still, he did accompany me this morning, along with Malcolm, Thomas, and a dozen of his best knights. But it turned out a pointless exercise. Blacklands’ gates will not open without Rhauk’s permission, the gates and walls are warded under a protective spell.

On returning to Thorntyne Keep, Richard talks me into breaking our fast in the Great Hall. I have no appetite but last night’s battle has left me weak. Morgana stitched the wound in my neck where the Rhauk-Crow dug his beak, and put herbal antiseptic on the talon scratches on my back.

I’m so worried about Kate in Rhauk’s castle, my stomach can’t stop churning. I can think of nothing except getting her back. Food is like cardboard in my mouth. But I force myself to eat to build my strength. Of course I know that physical strength alone is not going to be enough to get Kate back. I need the strength my gift can give me. And it has to be more than just the ability to create strong wind. I need magic.

Kate believes I have it. It’s time now for me to face the truth, accept my gift, and train. And for this I must have Richard’s understanding. These people are deeply suspicious of the paranormal. It’s part of the reason they hate Rhauk so much. Besides the fact that he wants their lands, they know he’s an accomplished sorcerer of the black arts, and this terrifies them. I don’t want to end up in their dungeon, or worse, dead, leaving Kate stranded at Blacklands forever.

I begin tentatively. “I have to challenge Rhauk.”

Richard thumps his fist on the table while still holding a pig’s shank. “Impossible! Do you think we have not tried?”

I sense his concern for me. I’m family, and that means a lot to him. I hope he remembers this after I explain. “With your help, my lord, I can beat him at his own game.”

“Rhauk is a sorcerer!” Malcolm is sitting on his father’s other side. “How do you suppose to outwit him, cousin?”

It’s the opening I need. “With his own fire. Magic.”

The table goes dead still. Even Isabel, who joins us for some conversation, looks startled. “Surely, you jest.”

I look at both Richard and Isabel. Even though Richard is the lord, he looks to his wife for many decisions. “I don’t mean to frighten anyone. I understand my gift now and I would never harm you. I just want to fight Rhauk and get Katherine back.”

Malcolm pushes out from the table and glares at me, pointing a long finger. “Sorcerer! You’re the one who caused the windstorms! One time here in the Hall, and last night in the tower.”

“Yes,” I agree, struggling to explain before Malcolm stirs up trouble for me. “But I didn’t understand my powers then. I do now. Please, I need your help. I want to destroy Rhauk. I have to destroy him.”

“And destroy us in the process!” Malcolm’s voice now has the attention of others still lingering in the Hall.

“No! I only want Rhauk.”

Malcolm’s hand flies to his sword. Only Richard’s quick action stops him from withdrawing it. “Stop, Malcolm. As your father and lord, I command it!”

Malcolm seethes, his eyes emerald daggers.

Richard looks thoughtful. “What are you capable of?” he asks me.

I shrug. “I’m not sure, that’s the problem. I need to find out. But I don’t want to frighten anyone. If you understand that what I do is not meant to harm, then I can go ahead and train myself.”

“I may be able to help.”

“What! Father, are you mad?”

“Be quiet, Malcolm! I’ve lived in Rhauk’s shadow all my life, and one day, as lord of this manor, you will too. Only another adept in the black arts has a fighting chance with that devil.”

My pulse is racing, but Richard’s support is encouraging.

“What say you, my dear?” he asks his wife.

She is thoughtful for a long time, looking at me with a frown. “I have come to trust in Jarrod’s good manner and loyalty. I think you should give him all the support he needs.”

I smile a relieved thanks.

“My lady, this is an outrage!” Malcolm yells at his mother. “You are giving this heretic my inheritance on a platter! If we help this scoundrel, and he becomes powerful, more so perhaps than Rhauk, what’s to stop him taking Thorntyne Keep for himself?”

Both Lady Isabel and Lord Richard anxiously await my counter-reply. I try to keep my voice calm and confident. “You have my word,” I say. “As a Thorntyne.”

I hope it is enough.

Kate

I start out for Thorntyne Keep at dawn the following morning on the back of Rhauk’s black stallion—Ebony Prince. He is a massive animal, but, incredibly, easy to ride. He has a broad, powerful back, yet is surprisingly calm and steady. As if programmed, he knows exactly where he’s going, and leads me straight to Thorntyne Keep’s gatehouse.

Malcolm is on guard, with several other soldiers including Thomas, who can’t hide his relief, assuring himself I’m unharmed. A very tense Malcolm announces he will take me to Jarrod. I follow him into the bailey to a private courtyard where Jarrod, bare to the waist, stands quietly staring at the drifting petals of a purple rose.