The Lady of the Storm - 2 (32 page)

It must.

At first Giles could see little of the room—damn his human eyes. A low fire burned in the hearth of a stone fireplace to his left, a few candles lit a tall pedestal on his right, but the main source of illumination came from across the long room, from massive doors opening onto a balcony flooded with moonlight.

As his eyes adjusted, he regretted the sight. The walls of the room shifted in iridescent patterns that made him look quickly away in dizziness. Hairy plants surrounded a pond decorated with statues of giant squid, arms spread out to reveal the sharp teeth within the carved, round suckers. Water flowed down a wall behind a bed shaped of a clamshell and circled it by means of a trough carved into the very floor.

Moss grew on every stone surface, glowing a sickly blue with a luminescence of its very own. Giles watched his footing as he crept forward, sword aloft and breath shallow in his lungs. A mosaic of seashells covered the floor like Fletcher’s room, but the moss hid whatever pattern it had been designed to represent. Giles glanced behind him. A pattern of his bootprints lay behind him, the glow of the moss extinguished by his weight.

Creepy place for an elven lord to live in. It made Breden of Dewhame seem even more alien to Giles. How could he defeat an opponent he could not hope to understand?

But as he rounded a pillar of moss he realized that he would not have to fight the elven lord. Only his champion. For the room lay empty except for Fletcher and Cecily, who stood near the balcony doors, next to a slab of striated crystal. Cecily appeared to be trying to remove something from within the stone, the tip of it as vivid a blue as her eyes.

“Hurry up,” hissed Fletcher. “He could return at any moment.”

“It’s stuck,” she replied, giving another tug. “You should just be grateful that it allows me to even touch it.”

“Fie, I can do as much. And once it’s within my hands I know it will respond to me.”

Cecily turned and gave him a withering look. Good girl. “You do not have the power of the storm.”

“You do and deny it. I daresay that makes you a coward, Cecily Sutton. And if you want to see your friend again, I suggest you try har—”

“Get away from her,” growled Giles.

The coxcomb turned and arched one white eyebrow at Giles, then made a show of adjusting the lace at his sleeves while those faceted eyes studied Giles from head to toe, finally centering on the green blotch marking his face.

Cecily breathed his name but Giles did not take his gaze off his enemy.

“And what have we here?” said Fletcher. “The barbarian from the soldier’s barracks, if I recall. It would be difficult to forget such ugliness. Don’t tell me you have some sort of designs on the chit?”

Giles took a step forward.

“Because I doubt any act of heroics will overcome that ugly face, soldier. And I would think that mark would have taught you to leave powerful magic to your betters.”

“He’s calling his magic,” warned Cecily. “Giles, do not—”

With a curse, Fletcher backhanded her with as little regard as he would have given a mosquito buzzing about his ear. Cecily spun and smacked her head against the crystal, making Giles fear for her very life.

Giles roared and leaped, swinging his too-quiet blade. Indeed, his sword had seemed to balk at even entering the room. But the moment Giles struck, slicing open Fletcher’s silken waistcoat and drawing the other man’s thickly laced elven blood, his sword rang with delight and eagerness.

Giles had the satisfaction of seeing shock replace the arrogance on the general’s face. Then a wet noose wrapped around Giles’s throat and lifted him off the floor, holding him suspended in midair.

“A magic blade,” muttered Fletcher as he clutched his bloody chest with one hand, the other wielding a whip of half-frozen liquid. “You’ve brought me a prize, you bastard.”

Giles cut through the tendril of water, gasping for breath as he fell to the floor with a roll to break his fall. He flipped to his feet. “You’ll have to take it from me, first.”

Fletcher’s mouth dropped open and he released his torn waistcoat, calling another tendril of water from the stone troughs, weaving his magical weapons before him like some mad street performer. “It can cut through my magic? Egads, I wonder if it could kill Breden? The possibilities boggle the mind!” And he laughed a laugh that made Giles wonder if the other man had lost a portion of his sanity.

Giles’s sword followed the movements of the whips with a speed that surpassed even his own natural ability. The translucent tips did not venture past the point of his blade, but Fletcher pressed Giles backward, and he allowed it so enough space stood between their battle and Cecily’s fallen body.

Fletcher stood next to the pond, draining the water from it as he continued to make his weapons thicker and heavier. He stood close to one of those hairy trees, and damn if their tentacle-like arms didn’t appear to tremble just like his blade.

“I regret that I can’t play with you longer,” continued the general, apparently oblivious to the reaction of the plants. “But you see, Breden may return at any moment. And I really
must
have that sword.”

Fletcher spread his fingers and those two thick bands suddenly fractured into thousands of curling, twisting coils. Giles’s blade whipped into a fury of action, the like of which he’d never witnessed before. But too many slithered past his guard, twining around his ankles and creeping around his neck.

Giles waited, struggling to breathe. But he would have only one chance. He must close with Fletcher, allowing him little room to maneuver those magical whips. And if those trees were anything like his devil-blade…

He gambled on the depravity of the elven lords’ creations.

Giles sliced through his watery bindings and made one prodigious leap. Straight at Fletcher. It took the general by surprise and he staggered backward, his gaze only for the devil-blade, the ropes of his magic mingling to form confused tornadoes above their heads.

But Giles had no intention of using his sword. He lunged sideways and pushed Fletcher into the grasping branches of the tree.

It did not take long for Giles to find out if he had guessed aright. Like the tentacles carved into the squid statues that surrounded the pond, the branches greedily wrapped around Fletcher and squeezed.

A deluge of water fell around them as the general lost control of his magic.

Giles blinked the water from his lashes, watching as Fletcher shriveled before his very gaze, until nothing lay within the branches but the husk of the man.

His devil-blade whined jealously at its stolen feast.

Giles ignored it as he staggered to Cecily’s side. He feared to touch her. She looked as still as death. Faith, he could not lose her. She had become a part of him…

He knelt and placed a shaking hand against her neck.

Her pulse fluttered and Giles felt his eyes burn. He laid his mouth atop Cecily’s head and breathed in the sweet scent of her. “My love… my love… please wake up.”

As if his words held some very magic of their own, her eyelids flew open. “Ellen.”

“Hush,” soothed Giles, staring into those brilliant eyes, his heart nearly soaring with relief. “Ellen is safe. Fletcher is dead.”

Cecily blinked. “What happened?”

“I rescued Ellen from the water demons and Jimson will take her to Firehame where they will be safe. As for Fletcher… I helped him stumble into one of the trees.”

“Trees… around the pond… Jimson told me about them. He said they were squid trees and have suckers on their branches, and that Breden of Dewhame boasts of how they can drain a man’s blood dry in a few heartbeats.” Cecily sat up, wavered a moment, pressing a hand to the side of her head. “Jimson also swore that Fletcher did not have a lick of sense.”

His mouth twitched. “The lad was right.” Then he pulled her hand down. “Let me see.” And leaned forward, feeling her scalp through the mass of her silken hair. “No blood, but quite a good-sized lump. Can you stand, or should I carry you?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I’m perfectly all right.”

Despite her protests, he helped Cecily to her feet, and she leaned against him for a moment.

“You have saved me once again,” she murmured into his chest. “I fear it has become a habit with you.”

His chest tightened at the contrary thought that Fletcher had indeed managed to lay a hand upon her. That Giles
had
allowed her to come to harm, and that he’d been lucky it was only a bump on her head. And he could not speak for a moment.

Cecily pushed away from him with a frown.

“Now,” she said, taking a deep breath, “the scepter.”

“No,” commanded Giles. “You’re leaving this place.”

“Not without the scepter. Isn’t that what we came for?” And without another word she strode to the crystal and began to tug at the thing.

Giles grumbled a curse, stepped past her to the balcony, and scanned the night skies. A dark, winged shape passed in front of the moon. He returned to her side. “We don’t have enough time, Cecily.”

“I don’t know who is worse,” she panted as she tried to wiggle the scepter free. “Fletcher, who enjoys the torture he inflicts upon people, or Breden of Dewhame, who views humans as little more than animals and dismisses their suffering. We cannot turn our backs if we have a chance to strike a blow for the Rebellion, Giles.”

He could not help but smile. It appeared that Cecily Sutton had become as much a part of the Rebellion as Thomas had been. As Giles would always be.

“Then get out of the way,” he muttered, hefting his sword in both hands.

Cecily quickly stepped aside and put her hands upon her hips. “We tried that once before…”

Giles swung his blade at the crystal. His sword skimmed off the stone with an indignant squeal.

“Damn,” he muttered. Cecily was right. They had tried this before. Stupid sword had a will of its own. It had managed to shatter Thomas’s tomb, but it had refused to touch the mountain of crystal… but Thomas had said the sword showed some sense, so perhaps harm would come to the blade as well if it cracked this stone…

But Thomas
had
managed to open a portal to the mountain with…

Giles reached into his pocket and pulled out the crystal flute etched with music that he had taken from Thomas.

Cecily’s eyes widened in understanding and a healthy dose of admiration. “Do you think it will work?”

Giles shrugged and sheathed his sword. “If I try and it doesn’t, will you leave off? I thought I saw a dragon’s shadow pass in front of the moon.”

Cecily glanced out the open doors and trembled. It seemed she feared the dragon more than the elven lord himself. “Yes. Hurry.”

Giles nodded and tried to memorize the pattern of circles on the side of the flute before lifting it to his lips. He had played a similar sort of instrument as a young lad, but had never been very good at producing music from it.

He blew one cautious note. He had not dared to play the thing until this very moment, for it reeked of magical power. And he had been right, for the one note that he blew had such force—such a haunting otherworldly sound—that the hair on the back of his neck rose. As he moved his fingers in the rest of the pattern, he wondered if the tune had come from Elfhame itself, for it resembled no musical composition that man had ever devised, filling the large chamber with a resonance that bounced off the walls and trembled the very air.

But the slab of crystal did not respond.

Then he remembered that Thomas had played it backward to shatter Sebastian’s coffin and studied the pattern again. What issued from the flute when he played it once more grated upon his nerves, lacking any sort of harmony.

But a crack appeared in the side of the crystal.

As fissures spread out, Giles blew harder into the instrument, this time with confidence behind the discordant notes.

The crystal shattered into a hundred shards, the blue scepter coming to rest upon the top of the remains. Cecily reached for it without hesitation before Giles could issue a word of warning.

Touching it, and holding it within one’s hands, might be an entirely different matter.

But the scepter seemed to sigh and settle more securely within Cecily’s grasp.

“It feels so strange,” she whispered. “As if it knows me somehow… No! You cannot make me!”

“What is it?”

For a moment, the top of the scepter crackled. Tiny flashes of jagged light danced about the triangular head. But then it faded and Cecily let loose a sigh of relief.

“It tried to call up all of my magic. The power of the storm. Oh, Giles, get me out of here so I can get rid of this thing. I… I do not want it.”

He nodded, casting one last glance over her shoulder before grabbing her arm. This time he
knew
he saw a dragon’s shadow cross the moon.

“This way.” And he ran, Cecily keeping stride with him.

When they reached Fletcher’s chambers, the dead body of the nymph still floated in the pool, but Cecily gave it only a brief glance. Her eyes glittered with satisfaction.