Powerful Magic (25 page)

CHAPTER NINE

          
Stunned, Kenric realized Megan trembled not from fright, but from rage.
 
What was this?
 
She'd always seemed such a sweet, docile little thing.
 
What a time for her to choose to exhibit this side of her nature.

          
Luckily for them, the mercenaries found humor in her words.

          
"He seems about the same size as me."
 
One of them pointed at Kenric, his eyes crinkling with laughter.
 

          
"Or me."
 
Said Kern, no humor in his voice or expression.
 
           
“We will fight you, whelp.
 
Step down.”

          
"Four to one are not fair odds."
 
To her credit, this time Megan kept her voice low-pitched, so that she might pass for a green boy. But her next words were so totally feminine that Kenric didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.

          
"For shame."
 
She scolded, even going so far as to shake her finger at them.
 
"What would your mothers think of your actions?
 
My guess is that they would scold you."

          
After a moment of stunned silence, the four mercenaries exchanged looks.
 
Kenric tightened his fingers around the hilt of his sword, certain now that he would need to use it.

          
"Our mothers?"
 
This from Kern, his voice ringing with disbelief.
 
"I have not seen my mother since I was about your size."

          
The others laughed.
 
All except the man with the dead eyes.
 
A coldness settled around his features, an utter chill that spoke of death and winter.
 
When he spoke for the first time, Kenric knew his instincts had been right.
 
The man was trouble.

          
"Something is not right here."
 
The dark man intoned, his voice as flat as his expression.
 
"Tell the boy to step down from the horse."

          
Kern did not hesitate one second before seconding the other's order.
 
"Step down.
 
Now."

          
Kenric had no choice, he could not defend her if she was on the ground while he stayed astride.
 
When Megan would have obeyed, he put a hand on her arm to stay her.
 

          
"He will not."
 
Letting his gaze linger on the man with the dead eyes, his voice rang with challenge.
 
He was done with the verbal sparring.
 
If they wished to fight, he would have it over with.
 
"Let us pass."

          
Behind him, Megan clutched at his shoulder.
 
With an effortless motion, he shifted his weight so that she was once again hidden behind him.
 

          
"Let us pass."
 
He repeated.

          
Kern laughed.
 
"I think not."

          
Megan leaned around him, ignoring the warning glare he shot her.
 
"The other men we met a few days, er - a few months ago, left us alone once they found out who Kenric is."
 
Though she spoke bravely, her voice trembled.
 
“He is Kenric of Blackstone.
 
Now will you leave us alone?”

          
Kern looked at them, then at the man who reeked of evil.
 
"What say you?"

          
The dark man narrowed his eyes.
 
"Kenric of Blackstone."
 
His voice seemed layered, somehow profane, the threat thinly veiled.
 
"I have waited a long time to find you.
 
We have unfinished business, you and I."

          
"We want no trouble."
 
Kenric elbowed Megan, sensing she was about to speak.
 

          
"What of the others, the men you met earlier?"
 
Kern sounded puzzled.
 
"We have been in this place for a fortnight and have encountered no others."

          
"They were Welsh."
 
Dismissing them with a wave of his hand, Kenric kept his eyes on the other man, the man who, he now recognized, was the biggest threat.
 
"They had no stomach for a fight."

          
Again Megan opened her mouth.
 
Again he sent her a warning jab, this time his elbow in the ribs.
 
Behind him, she gasped.
 
         

          
Kern glanced at his men, his gaze lingering overlong on the man in the back.
 
"Mayhap we want to fight."

          
Kenric did not respond.
 
Instead, he dug his heels in the war horse's side and rode around them.
 

          
Though he now doubted they were much of a threat, except for the evil one, still he kept his hand on the hilt of his sword.
 
He would not entirely trust these men until they had ridden off and were but specks on the horizon.

          
They nearly made it past.
 
Nearly.
 
But as they rode by the man Kenric had deemed the most dangerous, the man with the dead eyes reached out and, with one swift blow, knocked Megan from the back of the horse.

          
She cried out, forgetting in her terror that she was supposed to be a boy, and her shriek was undeniably female. Kenric spun the war horse about, too late, and could only watch helplessly as she was nearly trampled under the other man's stout beast.
 
The cap she'd crammed over her shorn locks went flying, as did the small pack she'd clung to ever since he'd found her nearly frozen in his cave.

          
Rage filling him, Kenric's first inclination was to attack them all.
 
His second was to vault off his horse and assist her.
 
Since this would give him a worse disadvantage than he already held, he simply kept his sword arm ready.
 
With the other he directed Megan to a small rock outcropping nearby.
 
"Wait for me there."
  

          
Her expression grim, she did as he asked,
 
hobbling away quickly, looking rather like a wounded sparrow.
 
There was no possibility that the other men might mistake her for a young boy now, not when her vulnerable femininity was exposed for all to see.

          
The choice had been taken from him now.
 
He would have to fight.
 
Hell, he
wanted
to fight, to avenge the insult that had been given.
 
As long as he could reign in his magic.

          
With a warning look at Megan, he drew his sword.
 
The silver blade gleamed in the bright sunlight.
 

          
Kern grinned, drawing his own blade.
 
After a moment's hesitation, two of the other men followed suit.
 
Only one man, the man who had dared to knock Megan to the ground, did not.

          
"Draw your sword."
 
Ignoring the others, Kenric challenged this man.
 
If he had to die fighting, he would kill this one first.

          
"I have no sword."
 
The other replied, a gleam in his cold gaze.
 

          
This gave Kenric pause.
 
No man, if he wanted to live past the first flush of youth, went swordless in these times.
 
What kind of fool was this man?
 
Did he wish then, to die?

          
"Borrow one."
 
Kenric inclined his head towards the others, all with their blades drawn.
 
"Defend yourself."

          
"He has no need of a weapon."
 
Kern boasted.
 
"Myrddin can kill with a wave of his hand and a word."

          
From the ground, Megan made a strangled sound of

agitation.
 
Kenric watched her as she stared at Myrddin like she had seen the devil himself.
 
Did she know this man?
 
Perhaps he had fought for her Lord Roger.
 
Though if he were a well-known mercenary, Kenric would have known it.
 

          
Myrddin.
 
Though not a mercenary, the name seemed so familiar.
 
Kenric couldn't remember, but he could swear he had heard Rhiannon mention that name before.
 
Perhaps this Myrddin had locked horns with her, in some sort of magical contest.

          
A mage then.
 
With a Faerie Queen for a sister, Kenric did not doubt that this man knew many powerful spells.
 
But, from the look in this man's face, he also knew that the other drew his strength from the dark, not the light.
 
           
Like the renegade Faeries who had murdered his family.

          
Eyes narrowed, he wondered if this Myrddin had been part of it.

          
One of Kern's men, overeager, spurred his horse forward.

          
"Halt."
 
Sharp and deadly, Myrddin's voice carried a

hundred times more authority than Kern's.
 

          
Instantly, the warrior halted.
 
As if frozen.
 
All of them, Kern included, looked toward the mage and waited.

          
"He is mine."
 
Myrddin hissed, the words seeming to echo off the rocks.
 
"He seeks to steal my birthright, thus he is mine alone to kill."
 

          
The breeze, formerly light and airy, gusted.
 
It seemed to carry a chill.
 
From the west, dark clouds rolled in, turning the bright blue sky the color of slate.
 
A storm was brewing.
 
Kenric could not help but wonder if the dark man had somehow conjured it up for his own nefarious purposes.

          
Magic.
 
How he hated even the thought of it.
 
Unlike his sister and her people, the magic this one used was dark and foul. Kenric could sense it in the roiling air, heavy with evil.

          
Magic.
 
Good or bad, somehow he seemed unable to escape it.

          
If he would but acknowledge it, Kenric had protection; evil spells could not harm him, not with his faerie blood.
 

          
Faerie blood
.
 
He'd never before accepted it.
 
Never wanted to, never needed to.
 
He'd only wanted to be human, like his father and his half-brothers.
 
Well he could remember them taunting him as a child, calling him
changeling
and worse.
 
How he had hated that.
 

          
Nay, he would be no changeling, no magical thing.
 
Not ever.
 
Especially not since his family had been killed because of what he was.
 
Nay, he would fight as a man and, if necessary, die as a man too.
 
This he had solemnly sworn after burying the bodies of his human family.