The cauldron effect, p.16
The Cauldron Effect, page 16
Ignoring Merryn, Braden hurried to his horse’s side, as if greeting an old dear friend. Now he had access to his steed, Nadeem, he planned to ride the rest of the way.
Merryn released the spell on the carriage doors.
The pixie was the first to spy her through the window. Cri cried out in excitement and flew to encircle Merryn in obvious joy. “I said they’d both be all right,” she called back to Aunt Gwen. “They’ve brought friends!” With excited claps, the pixie flew over to say hello to the odd grouping of animals and birds.
With the groom’s assistance, Aunt Gwen stepped outside. Merryn gave her a fierce hug.
The old woman held her just as tightly for a good long while. Finally releasing Merryn and cupping her cheeks with trembling fingers, she said, “I thought I’d never see you again.” There were tears in her faded blue eyes. “It felt as if I were saying goodbye to your mother all over again.”
“I’m sorry to have worried you.” Merryn added, “Thank you for sending Lord Braden after me. He helped us all to survive.”
He nodded to her, surprised pleasure in his eyes at her acknowledgement.
“Did you find that troublesome warlock boy?” Aunt Gwen asked.
“Not yet. We’re headed to Black Mountain to look for him.”
“Dewer’s tower?” she asked in a frightened voice and changed into a wren.
Merryn picked her up and soothed her aunt’s feathers, muttering soft comforting words. It took her aunt a few moments to gather herself, stop chirping in a fretful way and return to her human self.
“Merryn, dear.” Her aunt’s chin still quivered. “That’s where your mother died. I will not have it be your grave, too.”
“I have to stop him.”
“Your parents couldn’t.” Aunt Gwen sounded uncharacteristically angry. “What makes you think you can?”
“I have help. Lord Braden and all these witches are coming with me. This time, we will be successful. I will return.”
“I refuse to wait here while you go off on your own again. If you’re going to Black Mountain, so am I.” She snapped her fingers at the groom and ordered him to harness the horses.
Her aunt’s lips were set in a determined line. The groom wrung his hands with obvious uncertainty about what to do.
Merryn exchanged a worried look with Braden.
“There’s no point talking over my head with his lordship either,” her aunt said. “I’ll not listen to either of you, I shouldn’t have listened to your parents when they insisted on going off after that rogue. I’m coming and that’s final.”
It was a good two days ride between here and southern Wales. Too far to fly or they’d arrive in no shape to face Dewer. Better to take the longer route, perhaps even fool any watching warlocks into thinking they were returning to Cornwall, then arrive refreshed at Black Mountain.
In the interval, perhaps, she could also talk her aunt into waiting somewhere safe instead of traipsing into the Devil’s lair along with the rest of them. “Very well, Aunt. We shall all go.”
She gave her nod of agreement to the hesitant groom who swung around and pulled the post boy along with him toward the horses.
“Where are you all going?” The pixie flew over. “May I come, too?”
Merryn rolled her eyes and gave up on the idea of accomplishing this without stragglers.
Even Braden’s shoulders sagged as if in defeat. He came over and rubbed her back with a sympathetic hand. That felt good.
He leaned closer and whispered in her ear. "I don't like all this company. I preferred it when we worked alone."
Merryn's cheeks heated at his seductive tone. The company of her aunt, the pixie and the Fishguard witches might prove to be the best chaperonage she’d ever had. Wasn’t he the one who’d once insisted she needed such protection? The irony of it made her smile.
Under Aunt Gwen’s interested stare, Braden took the hint he trespassed too close. Instead of quickly withdrawing, the impudent man furtively skimmed his hand sensually down Merryn’s back before he stepped away.
Aroused and then bereft, frustration descended to curdle in her belly. “I’ll ride with my aunt in the carriage,” she said, sounding shorter than she’d intended. She looked at the gathered milieu and softened her tone. “Anyone care to join us?”
Two of the rabbits, a few cats and a rodent took up her offer, while to the dismay of the groom, several birds landed on top of the carriage.
Braden mounted his horse. “Let’s be off then.”
MERRYN’S CARRIAGE MADE several stops at local inns along the way. To Braden’s surprise, at each break, while the number of animals and birds present caused a stir, it did not seem to frighten anyone.
In London, at the very least, the constabulary might have been called out at such an odd event. As in Cornwall, the Welsh seemed to take unusual occurrences with a pragmatic rather than hysterical approach.
Could this acceptance be partly due to the presence in the region of witches and warlocks for the past three hundred years? They probably already believe in “the gentry.” Wouldn’t have been much of a leap to believe in witches and warlocks, too.
During their flight, Merryn said her people were well hidden, always present but imperceptible to humans as anything more than a neighbor, a friend, a fellow worker. With each stop, however, Braden’s doubt about that assertion grew.
It was close to midnight on the second day when they arrived at a small farm situated on a plateau half way up Black Mountain. All the way there, Aunt Gwen refused to allow Merryn to go on without her. Braden approached the farmer’s house to ask for shelter and food. The hope was to use this farm as their base, while they explored the mountaintop backing it.
A sheep farmer lived here with his wife and two sons. The sleepy fellow greeted Braden with a raised eyebrow and a loaded blunderbuss. Braden, despite having difficulty understanding the man’s accent, managed to impress the farmer with his correct gentlemanly manner and sufficient coin. He soon put him at ease enough that the farmer offered a room in his home and use of the barn.
Braden accepted the room on behalf of Mrs. Truscott and the Fishguard sage, who had agreed to share a bed if one were available. He, Merryn, Branwyn, the groom, post boy and all the animals and birds then headed for the barn.
The farmer, apparently delighted with the coins Braden paid him, agreed to bring out bread and cheese to tide his guests until breakfast.
They’d posted the groom outside to await the farmer with the promised food, so the poor man wouldn’t receive the shock of his life at seeing a dozen transformed witches encamped in his barn. Even Braden had a difficult time with that fact, not to mention the floating ball of light near the ceiling illuminating the building as if the moon itself had been enticed inside to light the place.
The groom returned with their meal. Merryn stood in line to take her portion without looking at Braden once. She’d made a place for herself in a stall he couldn’t get to without passing all the other witches. There wasn’t a hope of him being alone with her tonight.
With a dissatisfied grunt, he took his meal and, along with the groom and post boy, climbed to the loft. He found a quiet place away from the two who leaned over to gape and argue about the attributes of the various witches. While eating their fare, they discussed their chances between winning favors from a witch and being turned into a toad.
Braden rested his sword beside him, within easy reach in case of trouble. This close to the rogue warlock they tracked, he didn’t feel at ease no matter how many wards Merryn said the witches had placed around the farm. To his mind, Agamore trumped any number of spells.
So much could go wrong. While everyone slept, Dewer could discover his mountain had been invaded. The nervous farmer could at this moment be racing to fetch the local authorities. Though Braden trusted Merryn with his life, what did he really know about these Fishguard witches? Most troubling of all, the lingering disagreement between Merryn and himself was like a sharp stone in his boot.
Despite his deep exhaustion, Braden munched on the bread and cheese. Once everyone else settled, would Merryn come to see him? With his back to a straw bale, he pondered various ways of separating Merryn from her witches. Footsteps sounded on the ladder. The other two men scrambled away from the ledge but Braden edged over to see who came.
Merryn, balancing three tin cups on a platter, climbed up to the loft.
Yes! His heart sang out. A warm glow filled him at her thoughtful gesture of bringing them drinks. Lit by a divine glow, she moved with unassuming grace up the ladder.
He then frowned, wondering how she avoided spilling a drop or tipping her tray. A look at her feet showed the rim of her skirts rising before each step. The tray, too, floated, with her hand merely skimming its underside.
Since discovering the truth about Merryn and her people, Braden had reassessed his beliefs about magic. He no longer thought of the source of magic as evil. Agamore alone testified that power could come from good, too. If indeed lines of magic were all around them, then learning to tap that bountiful source had its advantages.
The convenience factor alone made magic a useful talent. No doubt the witches sleeping below were lying on comfortable beds, ones that didn’t poke one in the back or itch at the neck like his bed of straw.
Still, on closer inspection, Merryn looked tired – all the power she’d expended recently must have exhausted her.
Once she reached the top, she nodded to him but went over to the other side of the loft. The two rapscallions who’d been ogling the witches sat up and graciously accepted the offered beverages.
Finally, she came his way. “Braden.”
She knelt and extended the last cup to him before setting down her empty tray.
Milk never tasted so good. The thoughtful woman had added a drop of brandy.
He imagined drinking a cup every night in bed; the delicious taste shared between kisses. Merryn smiling at him, as she did now. A sultry smile.
He swallowed convulsively and blinked to keep her face in focus. The cup in his hand was half drained. “That’s good brandy.”
“I thought it might help you forget your worries and assist you to sleep,” she whispered. “You’ve had a harrowing day.”
“We’ve all had a harrowing day.” He leaned forward to steal a kiss. This was the tastiest milk he’d ever consumed. But the drink was slowing his thoughts. He drew back, swaying. “Merryn, how much liquor did you put in this?”
At her guilty look, he tossed away the rest of the milk, but too late, for he’d downed most of it.
“What else... besides brandy?”
She backed away saying, “Are all earls so suspicious?”
“Church guards are.” He swore as his head tipped backward, heavy as a boulder. He straightened with difficulty and made a grab for her but she easily evaded his reach. He fell forward. Barely able to hold himself up. Past her, the groom and post boy were flat on the ground, snoring.
“Can’t go...night...alone.” The words come out in an incoherent slur.
“I won’t be alone,” she said. “You must not accompany me.” Her hand brushed against his hair, gentle as a lover’s touch. He grabbed for it but she moved out of reach.
“Braden,” she whispered, “he’s the powerful son of an underworld fae queen and a warlock. As magnificent as your sword makes you, he can still twist your thoughts without you realizing he’s doing it. You could hurt us thinking you’re attacking Dewer. Or if he attacks you, I might become distracted from my work. I’m sorry, but you have to stay here. Stay safe.”
“Have you told him yet?” The pixie popped onto Merryn’s shoulder. She gave a startled squeak as his face dropped into the straw. “You’ve killed him!”
“I have not. I gave him a little something to sleep.”
He heard the pixie and Merryn argue in low tones. Their words echoed in his head like bubbles colliding and popping.
“Dangerss,” he mumbled and got a mouth full of straw for his effort, which made the words seem even more slurred. “Blsss!”
“He swore!” the pixie said in a shocked tone.
“Are you coming?” From below. One of the witches? She spoke the truth. Not going alone. He was infinitely thankful for that, but why didn’t she want his help? Didn’t she trust him? Had she ever?
“Shall I stay with him?” the pixie asked.
“If you wish, but he’ll be fine and we could use your help.”
“I don’t like the dark fae,” the pixie muttered, flying by Braden’s head before flitting out of his line of sight. “They have no conscience. They will rip at a girl’s clothes, never mind how pretty it is.”
Leaving. Must stop. Can’t move, can’t talk, can’t help.
Chatter from below and above, like bees from a hive. Then a sharp order, like a whip cracking.
“Silence!”
Merryn. She would die. Like her mother. He would have to console Aunt Gwen. Console himself. No!
The barn door closed. How long would this drug incapacitate him? Minutes? Hours? Days?
His gaze flicked around the loft and fell on Agamore, resting beside the bale he’d leaned against. Only a short distance away. It might as well have been a league.
Even if it was within reach, he couldn’t lift his hand, let alone the sword. It was blessed, God’s special gift to him. It could perform miracles. It had come magically once before when he needed it. He opened his right fist and called with his mind, Agamore.
The sword remained still, an inanimate object.
Useless.
Why won’t you work? Then he remembered. Prayer. Each time before it flared, he’d been praying.
Please Lord, allow me to help her, he pleaded. I can’t bear to lose her. I love her.
The sword blazed like the North Star, lighting the loft brighter than the witches’ magic ball of light. His mind cleared like clouds in a night sky dispersed by a fierce wind to allow starlight to shine through.
Slowly, he sat up, testing his strength and mobility, shocked by the sword’s power, yet accepting of it. Agamore floated over to rest its hilt in his grip.
You don’t think I’m capable of defending myself, eh, Merryn? Of protecting you? Standing, he whipped the sword sideways. The bale beside him fell apart, sliced in two perfect halves.
You think Dewer can cloud my judgment?
Agamore proved it could conquer her drugs, so why not warlock mind magic as well? He grinned with supreme smugness. Let us see who needs saving tonight.
He sheathed the sword at his back. The action dimmed the glow from the sword but still gave him enough light to see by. Feeling fully capable of defeating any warlock or witch who barred his way, he straddled the ladder and slid straight to the ground. He whistled for Nadeem.
The black stallion whinnied in acknowledgement from down the darkened corridor. A sharp kick and a stall door crashed open and then the stallion cantered along the corridor to meet his master.
Once he’d saddled his horse, they rode out of the farm on the lookout for a pathway. Everywhere appeared the same in the dark. He considered his options for a moment and then touched his hand to the sword’s hilt. Which way?
The hilt shifted. Left.
He nudged Nadeem in that direction. “We must be quick, my friend. For the lady is in need of our aid, whether she will admit it or not.”
Before this night ended, he intended to prove he was not a liability. You will never mistrust me again, Merryn Pendraven.
The light from the sword was akin to carrying a lantern at his back. Despite that illumination, and Nadeem’s sure-footedness, the path was still treacherous. He wondered how Merryn and her witches made it up here on foot and then remembered her climbing that ladder with her platter of doctored milk.
Now he’d regained his strength by his own wits and God’s grace, the memory of her careful climb with the intention of keeping him safe while she walked into danger no longer irked. In fact, the memory made him chuckle. Merryn Pendraven was an enchantress in every sense of the word. She was a conundrum. A powerful witch who could lift her skirts without touching them and change herself into a raven at will, yet she was unable to change herself back to human form with her clothes intact.
His humor dimmed when he pondered their future. She was a witch. How would he introduce her to his family? His hand tightened on the reins and Nadeem stopped short.
Braden gave a gentle kick to his steed’s rump. “One worry at a time, my friend. First save the girl. Then introduce her to mother.”
When the path became too steep to ride, he dismounted and led Nadeem. A heavy mist made it feel as if he were climbing blind. He prayed all the way that he wouldn’t topple off the edge. The only thing guiding him onward was the touch of his sword, which never wavered when he asked for direction.
He didn’t question Agamore’s guidance. The answers felt as natural as the urgings of his instinct, and had the sense of feeling right. As if a divine hand guided him.
After an hour’s strenuous climb, he topped a rise and came across a dark slab of rock. As right as his sword felt, this rock had the sense of being wrong. He halted so abruptly Nadeem bumped into his back. Every inch of Braden’s soul repelled him from going closer to that black tablet. He gave the slab a wide berth.
Nadeem, too, hugged Braden’s other side, keeping away from that rock.
“I don’t like it either, Nadeem,” Braden murmured soothingly. “Come along, boy, let’s quit this area as quickly as we can.”
The next curve in the bend went upward again and the mist drifted away, giving a clear view of the summit.
At the mountain’s pinnacle, a lone black tower rose into the sky where it ended in closely spaced crenelations, as if a raised arm reached up to heaven with a clenched fist.
Witches surrounded the building.
“Wait here,” he said to Nadeem, and raced up to the landing to find the Fishguard witches holding vigil around the tower. Each extended a broom, until they linked one to the other, forming a complete circle. Their chant created a shield that enclosed the tower.
