Shadow Magic (10 page)

             
"I do not know." 

             
The simplicity of the answer bespoke of truth.  This one, having ridden for aid, had left in the heat of the onslaught.  He truly did not know the fate of his Shadow Dancer.

             
"Will you help me?"  The plea was directed at Egann, though Monk stepped forward, causing the skittish horse to move again.

             
"Of course I will."  His smile, no doubt meant to be soothing, seemed full of malice and cunning. 

             
Egann stepped forward as well to offer his own assistance, though he pulled back before he had gone more than a few paces.  As much as he might wish it, of course he could not help in this fight. 

             
"I cannot help you."  Speaking with regret, Egann turned his head to eye the one who called himself Monk.  "And if I were you, I would not allow this one access to your village."

             
With a feral snarl, Monk spun to face Egann.  Something in his hand - a flash of metal, alerted Egann to the fact that the man was now armed.

              "Have a care what you say, stranger."  Still grinning, Monk's expression, like the look in his eyes, radiated madness.  "I live under orders from one much higher up than yourself."

             
The man on the horse spoke, perhaps unwisely.  "Speak you of the Christian God?  Or the red and angry one?”

             
Monk's answer was a snort of laughter.  He tossed the knife from hand to hand, the sharp blade glinting in the light.  "I pay homage to no God, nor do I follow this new belief that poisons our land.  I am Maccus, and as such we are gifted with a lofty mission, to cleanse the stain of evil from the face of this world."

             
Because he knew that he could destroy the foolish man with a single word, Egann decided to question him.  "I would know what evil you find in those that dance in shadow."

             
"Aye," the young human spoke also, his face hard, his own weapon - a battered sword - held at the ready.  "I would know this as well."

             
Monk glanced from one to the other, disbelief making his brow furrow.  He did not seem overly worried by the other's sword, nor by the fact that he was outnumbered two to one. 

             
"You do not understand?"  His voice was a harsh whisper, the sound seeming to hiss like the sibilant warning of a snake, or the low and howling wind that slides through the cracks in the walls immediately preceding a storm. 

             
Neither Egann nor the rider answered.  Instead they both stared, waiting.

             
"Think on it," Monk urged, his eyes glowing.  "Have you ever seen a Shadow Dancer move seductively under the light of the full moon?"

             
Still neither spoke, since Monk had to know that each man, by virtue of his questions, had seen such a thing, at least once.

             
"Shadow Dancers call up evil from within the core of the earth.  Evil magic, beguiling and confusing men so that they only think of how they want to lie with the Dancer, become her slave so that she can use her evil powers to wreck havoc upon the world."

             
Egann laughed.  "You are wrong, old man.  I have seen this dance you speak of, and while the magic generated was of the earth, yes, it was good and pure and whole.  It was used to help her people, and because she worked so hard to bring it forth, they honored her by taking care of her and making certain that the sunlight did not find her skin.  No slaves were they, but caretakers."

             
"Lies!"  Monk cried.  He had stopped the tossing of his knife and now clenched in his hand.  "You have been enchanted, and so cannot see the evil."

             
"Maccus, he speaks truth," the young human said, shaking his head in disgust.  "And I have no time for your mad notions.  I need to find those that can help - my village
and
my Shadow Dancer."

             
“None can help those so cursed.”  Monk’s words carried the ring of prophecy. 

             
“Cursed?”  The young rider tensed.  “Say you that my village, my family,

are under some spell?”

              “If they harbored such evil as a Shadow Dancer, then they were tainted by sin.  Their deaths were necessary.”

             
With a snarl, the young rider leapt from his horse, sword in hand.  “You are wrong.  My people did not deserve such a fate.”

             
Instead of reacting to the obvious threat, Monk threw back his head and laughed.  The cackling sound rang out in the small clearing, causing the horse to shy nervously, and a cluster of startled birds to take raucous flight from a nearby tree. 

             
The villager charged.

             
Pivoting, Monk easily evaded him.

             
Watching with interest, Egann stepped back, ignoring his own swell of anger .  He would have done the same thing, in the mortal’s place. 

             
The lad raised his sword for another strike. 

             
Monk sang out an unintelligible phrase. 

             
The air shimmered with power.

             
And the human – sword, horse, and all – disappeared.

             
Stunned, Egann froze.  He had felt the disturbance in the breeze, slight though it might be, and knew this Maccus at least, had command of a small bit of magic.  Though it had not seemed enough to do such a thing.

             
But the mortal was gone, leaving Egann alone with the madman, one armed, one – at least with visible weapons, not.

             
He felt a twinge of curiosity – then Monk lunged forward.

             
With no time to speak a spell, Egann lifted an arm to defend himself.  The knife slashed downward, but Egann blocked this with a blow to the other’s arm.

He grabbed Monk’s wrist, twisting hard, and Monk let out a low howl of pain and fury.

              “Think before you touch me, evil one.”  Egann twisted further, harder, and the knife fell to the ground.  “With a few words I can destroy you, though I have little taste for ending a life, even one so worthless as your own.”

             
“Magic.”  The word came out in a hiss.  Monk’s eyes darkened, narrowed to slits.  “I have –“

             
With another horrible laugh, Monk vanished.

             
Egann staggered, losing his balance.  Clutching empty air where seconds before had stood a man, he spun around. 

             
There had indeed been magic at work, stronger than it first appeared. 

             
Surely not all of the Maccus, who seemed to despise the very word, possessed their own magic? 

             
This would add a new layer to the danger that surrounded Deirdre.

             
Shrugging, Egann left the clearing, moving deeper into the forest.  He would find Deirdre’s hiding place and stand guard until the sun had set and she awakened. 

CHAPTER FIVE

             
Head spinning, Deirdre glanced around the shadowy glen.  Was this Rune?  It felt no different.  And if it was Rune, then where had Egann gone?

             
She saw no others, no shimmering Faeries watched her with curiosity shining from their bright eyes.  Even the creatures that surely inhabited such an untamed place seemed oddly absent.  

             
For the first time in her life, she felt totally alone.

             
Dead leaves crunched under her bare feet as she moved cautiously forward.  The air felt still, hushed with an alarming lack of sound.  Her skin tingled, and she smelt the musky odor of rich, damp earth.

             
Deep within a forest she was, and as her eyes adjusted to the dim gloom she knew not if it were day or night.   

             
This could not be Rune.  For some reason, Egann had gone on without her.  Still, she should count herself blessed.  She had not been left to die in the burning blaze of the sun.

             
Turning, she surveyed her surroundings.  If it were day, this grotto, though small, was blessedly dark and cool.

             
Something or someone was looking out for her.

             
A wave of drowsiness made her yawn.  With a sigh she’d curled into a ball and tried to sleep.  She could not get comfortable, aching with an unfamiliar emotion which she soon identified as loneliness.  As Shadow Dancer, her people had always surrounded her, protected her, and taken care of her.  And briefly Egann, in his quest for his precious amulet, had done the same.

             
Now she knew not if she should relish or regret the novelty of being alone.

             
Finally, sleep claimed her.   As always, her dreams were vivid and startling.

As they sometimes foretold the future, she had trained herself to remember them, storing them in her mind and trusting that her instincts would reveal to her when the time had come to use what she had learned.

              This day she dreamt of the amulet – that precious thing that seemed to matter more to Egann than anything else.  She saw it, all shimmering gold and fire, the gems blue and green and red, the hue of sky and earth and blood.  Ancient, it fairly gleamed with power, even as it swung with the movements of the one who wore it. 

             
She tried to see more, a face perhaps, or a landmark that would give a clue as to the location.  But in the way of dreams, the amulet faded and another face, both handsome and familiar, took its place.

             
And so she dreamt of Egann.

             
He did not speak, but rather came to her with the savage intensity of passion.  She dreamt of his hands on her skin, the moist heat of his mouth as he tasted her skin, gliding down her throat, finally suckling her nipple and making her arch her back and cry out from sheer pleasure.  Of joining with him, she who had always avoided such temptations, joining and welcoming the feel of him deep inside her.   Thrilling to the ancient dance as their bodies moved together, delighted then enchanted in the way that the full moon enthralled her. 

             
Yet this was heat, molten gold instead of cool silver, and when she woke with a start her body still shuddered with the blossom of fresh release.

             
Stunned, Deirdre lay still until her heartbeat slowed and she could catch her breath.  That the mere thought of Egann could make her feel such things…  it made her wonder what the reality of his touch in truth would be like.  One could become enslaved by such pleasure and, for the first time she understood why the women of her former village had often snuck out into the night for moonlit trysts with their lovers.  If not for the very real possibility of conceiving a child, Deirdre would not be adverse to such a tryst herself, were Egann her lover.  Such a thing, alas could never be.

             
Egann wanted only to find his amulet, to clear his name, and to escape into the vast world and experience his prized freedom.

             
It was time to think about what she, Deirdre of the Cliffs, wanted.

             
The familiar tug of the moon startled her.  Looking instinctively towards the absent sky, she counted back to the time of her last Shadow Dance.  Not enough days had passed for the full moon to be upon her again. 

             
But then who knew how much time magic had stolen, with Egann’s attempt to bring her to Rune and her subsequent arrival at this dark and empty place.

             
Still, the first notes of the moon’s siren song called to her.

             
Spinning in the small clearing, she tried to calm the pounding of her pulse, to clear her mind enough to send her thoughts outward, seeking Egann before the moon-magic claimed her.  Her confused senses, overwhelmed from the intensity of her dream, refused to cooperate.

             
Drained already, she forced herself to try harder.  She must find Egann before she left her body unprotected. 

             
Yet her overwhelmed senses told her that she also should gather her energy to aid her in the dance.

             
Unfortunately, all she could think about at the moment, with her body still vibrating with the power of her solitary release, was how badly she wanted Egann.