Shadow Magic

              Where another man might have felt pride at this, his own King-Making, Prince Egann of Rune knew only regret.  That, and the disquieting feeling that he had somehow already departed, that only his richly clothed body stood rigid on the ceremonial stage and bravely faced the assembled mass of his people.  His spirit had long ago fled.

             
If not for the lump in his throat and the too-loud pounding of his heart, he might have convinced himself that what he meant to do was necessary and right.  As it was, he could only keep his shoulders back, his head high, and pray that his people would one day understand.

             
Yet how could they, when he did not understand himself?

             
If only Banan had lived.  Though a younger son, all knew that his brother had been destined to be King.

             
Fiallan The Wise stepped forward, the silver-chained Amulet of Gwymyrr dangling heavy in his hand.

             
How the jewels sparkled and glittered, even though the morning light seemed dim, and the ever-present silver mist covered the sun like a thin layer of faded cloth.

             
“Long has Rune waited for this day.” Fiallan lifted the amulet, holding it high so that the people of Rune might see. 

             
The collective silence held as Fiallan began to say the primeval words of the spell that would bind it to Egann forever.

             
Now Egann must interrupt.  For if he did not, he would be robbing his people of much more than merely a King.  The power of Rune, contained in the amulet, would go with him.              “Hold.”  His voice rang out, strong and loud and unshakable, despite his inner quaking. “Do not say the words of binding.  I cannot accept the Amulet of Gwymyrr, for I cannot sit upon the throne of Rune.”

             
The crowd’s silence broke as shock rippled through them.  Of them all, only Fiallan did not appear startled.

             
“You were born to wear the medallion—“

             
“Nay,” Egann said, low-voiced so that no other might hear.  “`Tis what you wanted, not I.  Well you know that Banan should have been King.”

             
At the mention of Banan, Fiallan swayed.  “Do not dare speak of your brother.  Not now, not today.”

             
“How can I not, when sorrow at his loss is one of the very reasons I must leave?”  Egann raised his voice, knowing that each new word would strike at his people like a blow.

When he had chosen this course, he had known then that he would break his teacher’s heart, and the heart of his people as well.

              “I will not rule Rune,” he said, his voice cracking yet still carrying out over the now-restless crowd.  “I will leave it to you to find another King.  Your new King should rightly wear the Amulet of Gwymyrr.”

             
How he had planned this speech, laboring over every word, so that on this coronation day that was not to be, he might strive to make his people understand.

             
But the clever words and pretty phrases had vanished now and he found that he could remember none of them.

             
The crowd erupted, surging forward to rush the platform.  With a simple gesture, Fiallan halted them.  The amulet, glittering and twirling, still hung from his hand.

             
“Listen,” Fiallan ordered.  Instantly the people quieted, for the amulet had begun to sing.

             
The sound began low, a melodic hum that built in intensity until it became both lament and hymn.  How could any that heard it fail to be beguiled, especially one such as Egann, for whom the spell of binding had nearly been said?

             
Though it felt uncomfortably like retreat, Egann took a step backwards. 

             
Fiallan lifted the amulet higher, as though despite Egann’s wishes he still meant to drape the talisman around Egann’s neck.

             
“You cannot so easily evade your destiny,” the wise one said. 

             
The amulet continued to sing, softly and mournfully.  `Twas a powerful lure that Egann knew he must resist.

             
He took another step back.  “You know what can happen to one who attempts to wear the amulet for the wrong reasons.”

             
“Aye.”  Mysterious and full of secrets, Fiallan’s smile gave away nothing.  “All who touch its magic see what the amulet wants them to see.”

             
Beyond them, unable to hear, the crowd grew agitated. 

             
“Leave us,” Fiallan ordered, his normally quiet voice a bellow.

             
As one the people obeyed, vanishing with the blink of an eye, leaving Egann alone with the man who had guided him all of his life.

             
“You speak your heart, I see.”  Fiallan’s gray eyes darkened with emotion.  “You mean to abandon your people, and the future for which you were born.”

             
Egann opened his mouth to reply, then closed it.  He had no ready answer.  Cloaked in pretty word or no, it all meant the same. 

             
He would not be King.  Could not be King
.  One who could not even save his own brother could not possibly protect a nation.  His people deserved better. 

             
“Will you guard it then?”  Words carrying the weight of his disappointment, Fiallan held out the silver pendant, which fell silent as though it waited to hear Egann’s answer.

             
How its magic enthralled him.  Keeping his gaze fixed on it, Egann shook his head.  “I cannot.”

             
“`Tis but a small request I make.”  The wise one stepped forward, dangling the amulet before him like a lure.  “I but ask you to keep the amulet with you, until another steps forward to accept the throne.”

             
Suspicious, Egann studied the man who had been like a father to him, his confident and tutor and closest friend.  “Put it back in the Hall of Legends.”

             
“The stone door is sealed.  I was able only to retrieve the amulet, nothing more.”

             
“Perhaps it will open again, now that the amulet has been refused.”

             
With a sad smile, Fiallan said nothing. 

             
Egann glanced once more at the sparkling amulet.  Silent now, it seemed but a pretty bauble, nothing more.

             
“It does not compel…”

             
“Nay,”  Fiallan replied, letting Egann know that he had spoken his thought out loud.  “Though it contains potent magic, it cannot act of its own accord.”

             
A fierce longing seized Egann.  To wear the ancient amulet, to feel its power pulse with each beat of his heart.

Longing mingled with guilt and sorrow, and anger as well, for he sensed that he could not escape this final obligation. 

              “How long would you have me guard it?”

             
“Until one that would be King claims the throne.”

Not long then, for how difficult could such a task be?

              “I will take it,” Egann said gruffly, holding out his hand and bracing himself for the swell of power.

             
Fiallan’s serene expression told Egann that the wise man had known all along that Egann would do as he asked.

             
Stepping forward, Fiallan placed the heavy silver chain around Egann’s neck.  The metal felt both cool and warm as the amulet came to rest against Egann’s heart.

             
Immediately, the landscape changed.

             
Flash – A harvest moon, ripe and heavy with the season.

             
Flash – A woman danced, her long, black hair flowing gracefully as she swayed and spun.

             
A sensation of longing seized him, coupled with a sense of dread.  He felt great danger lurking, and an impression of betrayal, an awareness of need.

             
Fiallan’s voice, coming as if from a great distance, sounded alarmed, though the words were unintelligible. Egann tried to focus on his face, but Fiallan seemed to spin and his image to waver.  Then he – and Rune - vanished and Egann knew nothing more.

467 AD

The rocky cliffs at Carn Vellan

CHAPTER ONE

Long had the dreams come, always unchanging, now so customary that Deirdre of the Shadows welcomed them as one might a familiar friend. 
He
walked there always, never in the shadows, for he was the golden one, beloved and as bright as the forbidden sun.

             
Though such a man might not exist, except in her dreams, she embraced him gladly as soon as sleep claimed her. 

             
Far too long had she walked alone, untouchable.

Far too long hand she loved only dreams. 

              Of late the dreams had been more frequent, more vivid and strong.  Since her magic was small, Deirdre knew not
what this might mean – did such man truly walk the earth and if so, did he seek only her?

             
As the time for the full moon and the ritual of the dance drew near, Deirdre prepared as she always did.  And wondered.

              The haunting cry of an owl awakened him, echoing off the stone cliffs nearby, an eerie sound that both haunted and warned.  Egann came awake slowly, reluctantly, fighting for awareness.  This was unusual for him, since he had been well trained as a warrior and was usually more vigilant and instantly alert.

             
When he finally bolted up, heart pounding as if from a battle just fought, he knew immediately that he was no longer in Rune.  And worse – that the amulet was gone.  He felt its loss like a sharp sorrow, knew it by a subtle weakening of his strength and an instant of stunned disbelief.

             
Gone.  The talisman had been taken from him while he slumbered, stolen by some shadowy thief so skilled that he hadn't sensed any presence but his own. Instead, in the deepest part of the night, he had dreamt - startlingly vivid dreams of a mortal woman with ivory skin and long dark hair.  And Fiallan had appeared, speaking a warning – though Egann had not been able to make out the words.

             
Had the wise man’s dream appearance been a warning against this woman?  Most likely it was she who had beguiled him into such depths of slumber that he, even with his strong magic, had not sensed her. 

             
A beautiful thief with magic of her own.  Who now had the Amulet of Gwymyrr.

             
He had worn it only briefly, the powerful gemstone that was the symbol of his peoples' legacy, an ageless repository of magic. 

             
Once around his neck, he had felt the awesome pulse and power of it, until the beat of the thing became one with his own heart, and he no longer noticed its presence. 

             
The owl cried again, though this time the timbre of the sound had changed.  More feral than plaintive, it was the cry of a hunter about to triumph over its prey.

             
Egann smiled grimly.  The sound seemed fitting, since now he must go on a hunt of his own.  He had no choice.   More than his honor was at stake. Having refused the throne of Rune, he could not rid himself of the nagging guilt that he had failed them somehow.  The loss of the Amulet of Gwymyrr would only compound and confirm it.  Nay, he must search this world of mortals, search both here and in the magical realm of Faerie, if necessary.   Whether by magic or brute force, he would reclaim the amulet and when he did, beautiful woman or not, the thief would pay.