Shadow Magic (16 page)

             
Again he made a sound, that of a wild beast in pain.                With her mouth she caressed him, suckled him, loved him. How she knew to do such a thing, she could not have said.  She only knew that it felt right, and made her yearning so much more sharp, inevitable.

             
“Stop.”  He pulled her to her feet. “`er I spill my seed wantonly, like a green and untried lad.”

             
She moaned as he slid into her, taking her standing, lifting her with his strong hands so that she straddled him at the same time as he straddled her.  With swift, sure strokes he plunged in to her, and she took him and melted and burned and the night sky seemed to explode.

             
Then he lifted her, cradling her in his arms as he lay with her on the soft, cool grass.  Instinctively she arched against him, taking him fully into her, thrilling as he entered her again and again and again.

             
Skin to skin, heart to heart, they were one.

             
As she gasped out her pleasure, quaking with the force of it, she felt him reach his own summit, felt the heartbeat and pulsing of him as he filled her with his essence. 

             
Neither spoke as he held her close to him, still joined inside.  He pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead and she shivered.  Unexpected tears stung her eyes. She wondered if he realized that more had passed between them than the mere slaking of passionate desire.

It took every bit of self-control she possessed to keep from leaning into his hand like an affectionate kitten.  Instead she kept utterly still, swallowing and raising her gaze to meet his.

Another shock ran through her, at the warmth she saw in his azure gaze.

“Your eyes are like the colors of the sly and sea,” she foolishly blurted, before she thought to guard her tongue. 

Then, as she mentally kicked herself, he gave her one of his devastating grins and she felt herself drowning.

             
“Yours are the color of fresh meadow grass,” he told her, “though the clouded moonlight makes them dark.  Now come, we waste time, for I have news of an encampment of wanderers who lay claim to a potent charm.  It could be that the Amulet of Gwymyrr is but a few hours walk away.”

             
Stunned, she could only gape at him, while her riotous emotions threatened to overwhelm her.

             
He rolled away and pushed himself to his feet, turning his back to her while he adjusted her clothing.

             
Deirdre sat up and did the same, pushing away the trace of faint embarrassment that made her skin feel rosy.  Would she never feel at ease with his lovemaking, with her own desires?  This was Egann, after all, her companion, her friend.  The man that she—

             
That she what?  Mentally, she shied away from finishing the thought.  Thinking of such things was more than foolish, for true danger and heartache would follow were she to give her heart to one such as he.  She didn’t need magic to tell her that. 

             
Raising her face, she found Egann watching her, his own expression shuttered. 

             
“Let us go,” she told him, making her voice carefree and untroubled.  “If the amulet truly is kept within the camp you mentioned, then let us make all haste towards it.  Perhaps the darkness will aid us this time, and we shall arrive with them sleeping and unaware.”

             
Still he watched her, tilting his head to study her as though he found her words strange.  

             
If he were to comment on what had just passed between them, she did not think she could bear it. Not now, not knowing that if the amulet truly was obtainable this very eve, then their journey together would reach an immediate end.

             
How she would deal with this, she could not say.  Yet she had pledged to help him find his talisman, and a Shadow Dancer always kept her word. 

             
“Come,” she repeated, leaving the fragrant orchard and stepping out onto the rutted road blindly, hoping that she went in the right direction, “let us go with all speed.”

             
He did not correct her, so she kept going, lengthening her stride so that he would not immediately catch her, so he could not see the foolish tears that streamed like rain down her cheeks. 

CHAPTER EIGHT

             
Furious at both Deirdre and himself, Egann seethed as he strode towards the nomad camp.  That the mortal woman had seduced him so easily, then all but ran from him in apparent revulsion, told him that she too suffered under the same enchantment that ensnared him.

             
When he found the one who had dared to cast such a spell…

             
As it had when the mysterious horse/beast appeared in the village, the back of Egann’s neck began to prickle.  Pushing his anger away, he became instantly alert.  In a few short strides he caught up to Deirdre, placing his hand lightly on her shoulder.

             
She jumped, her pale skin coloring.  “Sorry,” she muttered, eyes downcast.  “I was lost in thought.  What is it?”

             
“I don’t know.  Something - All of his senses told him that they had no time.  Something was about to happen.

Again the back of his neck prickled, more urgently.  Faintly, he heard the roar of several horses galloping.

              An instant later she heard it to.  Lifting her head and scenting the wind, Deirdre tensed.  “What is that?”

             
“Riders.”  He grabbed her arm.  “We must hide.”

             
“Where?  There is naught but open ground on both sides of us.” 

             
Cursing, he glanced around them.  Not even a thorny shrub graced the side of the dirt track.  They were out in the open, exposed.  They had no choice but to meet the riders face to face. He pulled Deirdre close to him.

             
On the exposed road behind them, a cloud of dust moved,  murky gray in the dim moonlight.

             
“I will protect you.”  Low-voiced, he gave her his oath.

             
“I know.”  With an utter lack of fear, she smiled up at him.  Complete trust shone from her emerald eyes. 

Trust that he greatly feared was misplaced.

              “I can only act against them once they attack me.”  This was the truth of the Fae; never would they seek to harm a human, unless the human sought to harm them first.

             
“Mayhap they mean to ride past.  What would they want with two road-weary travelers?”

             
“Though they ride West, as we do, if they are from the nomad camp, they may seek to keep us from retrieving the amulet.”

             
“How would they know?” she asked.

             
It was a reasonable question.  Unfortunately, it was one that would require a lengthy explanation of magic. 

             
“The amulet may have let them see,” he told her, simplifying his answer.

             
As the roar grew louder and the riders drew near, Egann braced himself.  Most likely these men, be they knights or bandits, would have weapons, swords made of metal, deadly to his kind.  His only hope was that he could somehow find the right words that would convince them to move on without violence.  For if they were mortal and threatened him, he would have no choice but to use his magic in defense.

             
Magic he did not want to use, for magic caused a alteration in the fabric of the world.  This would attract the attention of any who sought to hide from him, telling his exact location. 

             
The dust cloud shifted, forming into blurred shapes.  There were three riders, approaching at a full gallop.

             
The road seemed to waver, the air to darken.  A sudden ripple in time, an instant burst of energy – had he not been attuned to such things he might have missed it.  He saw a flash of light, bright and quick, like a streak of lightening - then it vanished.

             
The thunder of horses’ hooves, the swirling dust – they too disappeared.  One minute the earth trembled with the fury of their approach, the next – nothing.  Not even the warning cry of a hawk broke the utter stillness of the night air.

             
Magic
.

             
“Did you do that?”  Deirdre’s stunned question let him know that he had breathed the word out loud.

             
“Nay.”  Disbelief mingled with impotent anger, he stared at the place where the riders had been.

             
“Then from where did this magic come?”

             
“I do not know.”  Slowly turning, he tested the immediate area with his mind, widening the net until he went far into the distance, far enough to have reached the camp of the supposed nomad tribe.

             
He found nothing.  Not even a trace that any sentient being, mortal or Fae, had traveled.  Neither behind nor ahead of them.

             
A ripple of apprehension skittered up his spine.  One glance at Deirdre’s worried face showed him that she shared his feeling.

             
She looked up; he did too.  Clouds scuttled the moon, dimming its silver glow and dimming the light to a solemn gloom. 

             
“Perhaps it is time to summon Weylyn,” he told her quietly, smoothing her silky hair with his hand.  “Until we know exactly what we are up against, `tis best that we give the appearance of normalcy.  A warrior on a war horse is much more commonplace that one on foot and would not be remarked upon.”

             
“Do you feel that the danger is that great?”  Lifting shadowed eyes towards him, the alarm in her lowered voice spoke of her fear.

             
“Perhaps.”  He glanced around them, at the empty ribbon of road as it wound off into the murky distance, “I know not what manner of man seeks to control the amulet.”

             
Again she inclined her head in concurrence.  So shaded was her face, he could not read her expression.

             
“No harm will come to you,” he promised, though he had no right to promise her anything.

             
The moon above broke free of the murky sky, brightening their path once more.  Egann could see the uncertainty in  Deirdre's lovely eyes.

             
“What of the nomad’s camp?  Do we still travel there?”

             
“It lies ahead.”  Taking her arm, he urged her forward once more.  “Yet I fear it too has vanished.”

             
Though she continued walking beside him, he felt her stiffen.  “Vanished?  Then the nomads were not human?” 

             
“Nay.” 

             
“And they were not Fae.”  More of a statement than a question, quiet resignation sounded in her voice.

             
“No, they were not my people.”  He sighed, dreading the telling of his suspicions, for they were only that, unfounded until proven.  Yet she, who had the most to lose, had a right to know who he believed the riders to be. 

             
Already she tilted her head up at him in inquiry, her gaze dark and intense.  The moonlight kissed her upturned face, streaking her black hair with silver. 

             
“I fear they were the Maccus.”  Reluctantly he said the words, knowing her quick mind would leap ahead to the obvious conclusion.  She did not disappoint him.

             
“The Maccus are not magical?” Stammering, she swallowed and then shook her head, as if to clear it.  They walked on a pace or two, he letting her think, while he kept himself alert for any differenced in the bleak landscape around them.

             
“You believe the Maccus have magic then?”  she said, her tone flat and unhappy.

             
“I know that they do.”  Though he did not want her to carry more fear on her slight shoulders, in order to protect herself she had to know the truth.  “The Maccus I met in the forest, one who called himself Monk, could make himself vanish at will, much like those riders.”

             
He heard the quiet hiss of her breath as she heard his words.  Glad they still moved forward, he increased the pace slightly.

             
“The nomad encampment should be ahead, over that small hill.  `Twill be safe for you, as I sense they have already abandoned it.”