The cauldron effect, p.18
The Cauldron Effect, page 18
Braden halted halfway up to look at her with mounting suspicion. “Else he would have what, Miss Pendraven?”
Oh! We are back to Miss Pendraven are we? She glared at him in silence but since he made no move to go on she gave a huff of impatience. “Else he would have known how much Jonas meant to me and realized that harming him was something I could never forgive.”
Merryn turned away, unable to keep tears from falling. Braden ran down the few steps that separated them and put his free arm around her. Pulling her close, he kissed her forehead.
Why must she love the way he held her? Kissed her? Cherished her?
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sounding miserable.
She swiped at her tears. “I’m glad to remember, for it fuels my anger at the monster upstairs.”
“Good girl, that’s the spirit.”
“I don’t wish to speak about that horrid proposal ever again,” she warned him as they continued their ascent.
He gave her a silent look, obviously unwilling to promise any such thing.
They came to the first landing and another closed door. This one opened easily. Finding no one inside, they continued up. It was only on the third landing that they came across a door that would not open.
Braden stood back and gestured for Merryn to use her spell on it. She pointed. “Open,” she commanded and it flew inward.
The door had opened to open air and a sheer drop off the mountain. Braden swiftly grabbed Merryn and drew her back, muttering curses at the warlock.
“We’re inside his tower, he controls what happens here,” she said, shaking in his grip.
“I almost lost you,” he whispered, holding her tight.
“His power here is strong.” She took a deep breath to level her tension. “He’s probably less hampered inside by the chanting spell.”
“How are we to find the boy then? Trystan could be anywhere. He could have been hidden in plain sight in any of those rooms we passed on our way up. We could even have walked through that entry room below past hounds and simply not known it.”
Merryn shivered at that horrendous thought. “If so, why didn’t the hounds attack us?”
“It’s as I said before, Dewer doesn’t mean you harm.”
“If all this is illusion, he could be behind that door.” Merryn pushed away to look up at him. “We just can’t see it.”
He nodded, obviously having come to the same conclusion. “I’ll go first,” he said, and handed her the torch. “In case I fall, you’ll be in a better position to cushion my drop than I yours.”
“Of course,” Merryn replied, her eyes lighting with appreciation of that plan. She stepped aside and he reached for the door. Her hand touched his and he glanced at her with surprise. “I’m glad you trust me to keep you safe.”
He nodded. “I trust you with my life, Merryn,” he said, and opened the door. “Though I’m unsure about my heart.”
BRADEN BELIEVED THAT if he fell, Merryn would save him. Still, he drew his sword and had to muster the courage to take that first step. The crags below looked sharp. He gulped past the fear choking him. Then he stepped into the abyss.
His right foot hit a floor and he jerked back. For a moment, he was baffled for he stood in mid-air, then the room swerved into view. A cozy, carpet-covered solid room.
Dewer turned from the window. “I didn’t think you had that in you, my lord.” The warlock’s gaze exposed a flash of respect, or was it worry? Whatever the emotion, it was swiftly masked behind a condescending smirk that Braden would have loved to wipe away with a swift left punch.
Merryn stepped to Braden’s left and Dewer’s gaze, as if drawn to a shooting star, flew toward her. For a timeless moment, neither said a word, simply staring at each other. Then Dewer gave a deep bow. “Welcome to my home, Miss Pendraven.”
He sounded abjectly humble. How often had he practiced saying those words?
However much she objected to the concept, every male instinct in Braden screamed that this man desired, adored, worshiped, Merryn. Dewer acting the polished adoring madman only flung fuel onto his jealousy.
Instinctively, he drew Merryn closer, wanting to establish his claim. His free hand intimately curved around her waist. To her credit, she didn’t start at the highly improper hold or withdraw from his possessive touch.
Dewer’s gaze veered to him with a brooding speculation tinted in peril. A chill swept up Braden’s back and plunged into his lungs, trapping his breath. His chest tightened, his fingers cramped and his body froze in place. Yet, Dewer hadn’t twitched a finger.
“You won’t win this battle!” Merryn’s bold statement drew the warlock’s attention.
Braden’s breath gushed but that was the only release. He still couldn’t move. He shook with the knowledge of his helplessness. Merryn must sense his vulnerability, which would be why she issued those deliberately challenging words. A tiny part of him was grateful though the largest portion screamed that it should be him protecting her.
What a joke he was. Despite his mighty blessed weapon in his grip, he wasn’t able to budge his sword arm. Then he remembered. He’d forgotten to pray.
Braden sent up a silent apology to God for the neglect and humbly requested His holy assistance.
Nothing changed.
A lick of panic slid up his spine. Please, dear Lord? he added.
Nothing.
He shut his eyes as terror swamped him. In the midst of that torrent of worry, came what Archbishop Manners drilled into him as a lad. For the good of all God’s Children, I lay my life in your service.
Braden repeated that phrase, releasing his anger and fear in order to mean every word.
Instantly, every nerve in his body tingled. Like a gushing stream, vibrant energy rushed to his extremities. Along with that blessing came one word, Listen.
Agamore, though still not glowing, came alive in his grip. The sword had more surprises than a chameleon. If the need arose now, Braden felt certain he would be more than a match for this nonchalantly powerful warlock.
He blinked and turned to Dewer with a new perspective, one born of confidence but also clarity unsullied by jealousy. That negative emotion had been swept aside like wisps of mist and replaced with an unshakable notion. If I listen, I’ll hear something of import in this darkest of towers.
He released his tight hold on Merryn and lowered his sword arm.
Dewer and Merryn were so intent on their conversation that neither noticed the warlock’s control of Braden had ended.
The warlock spoke in earnest. “I did not win the last time. Your brother’s death was as much a loss to me as you.”
“Don’t you dare speak about Jonas!”
“We can’t avoid the conversation forever. Don’t you want to know what really happened to him?”
“I know what happened. He died trying to escape from you. Now give me Trystan!”
“I will not waste my breath in denials again.”
“Good.”
Every time these two talked, the warlock’s gaze on Merryn softened. It was obvious Dewer did indeed have tender feelings for her. If the man genuinely cared, why had he harmed her brother? Her parents? Not the most cordial way to court a woman, killing off her family.
Another surprise was the state of this room. Shelves brimmed with books, scrolls and rolled maps. A table had nubs of candles as if the warlock frequented this room, perhaps reading late into the night, as Braden often did at home.
“If I had the boy,” Dewer said with infinite patience, “why did I bother burning the Fishguard coven? Not that the infernal child was there either. Else he would have come screaming out along with the rest of those witches when you broke through my fire spell.”
“Your spell?” Merryn sounded as shocked as Braden by the admission.
“Who else?” Dewer asked. “Trystan’s father refused to act against the witches, so I had to do something to get the boy to come outside. Those witches had placed too many wards around the house for me to get in.” He gave Merryn an admiring look. “Clever of you to detect the fire was not natural, Miss Pendraven.”
Braden frowned as something pricked his mind. “Wait a moment. If you came to Fishguard and burned that coven in order to get the boy, then you really mustn’t have Trystan.”
“Exactly what I’ve been telling you.” Dewer sounded triumphant.
It was Merryn’s turn to look confused. “Then where is he?”
“Time for us to leave,” Braden had no intention of discussing their next move in front of this scoundrel who’d just admitted he was indeed searching for the boy, too.
Merryn looked as if she would argue, and then her gaze fell on Dewer, who watched them with avid interest.
“Yes,” she said. “We’ve outstayed our welcome.”
“Not at all,” Dewer protested. “All that effort to get in and you’re not even going to stay for tea?” He snapped his fingers and a table beside him covered with open books and candles cleared, to be replaced by a plate of fresh sandwiches that made Braden’s stomach growl with hunger. Beside the plate was a steaming tea service with matching cups and saucers.
“Good day,” Braden said, afraid his empty stomach might unwisely accept the tempting invite. He gestured for Merryn to precede him out the door.
Before they reached it, the door slammed shut ahead of them and the bolt locked.
Braden’s heart hammered in reaction and his grip tightened on his sword
“We could find the boy quicker if we worked together,” Dewer said, still using that conversational tone as if the door slamming were not a terrifying threat.
“I think not,” Merryn said. One gesture and the door swung back open.
Dewer came forward and took her gloved hand and kissed it. “’Till next time?”
Merryn withdrew, frowning at the warlock. “You’ll allow us to leave in peace?”
All the fun vanished from Dewer’s expression as he murmured in a grave tone, “On my life, Miss Pendraven, I would never harm you.”
With a hand at her back, Braden urged her out of the room before the contrary warlock changed his mind. He tipped his head slightly in farewell.
Merryn went ahead. Braden looked back to check on Dewer.
The warlock shrugged, a calculating smile on his face. The look made the hairs on Braden’s neck quiver, for it was obvious they were in a race with this dangerous villain to find that boy.
As the door eerily shut of its own accord, Braden sprinted after Merryn. She raced down the stairs as if she was indeed in a sprint to save Trystan’s life. They both came to a crashing halt at the base of the tower.
The room that had been bare when they entered was now filled with fae hounds and the barguest. That lead beast lounged by the doorway, a wicked look in its red glowing eyes.
Braden pushed Merryn behind him and held out his sword. One of the fae hounds gave a whimper and backed away from the stairwell. The others stood to face them, growling a warning. The barguest sprang to its feet, fangs bared, hackles raised.
So, they had been here all along.
“They didn’t attack last time.” Cautiously, he took the last step off the stairwell.
The hounds backed up.
“Perhaps they won’t bother us this time, too.” Keeping his sword raised, Braden eyed the pathway to the door. “Stay behind me,” he cautioned and took another step forward.
“Why is Dewer letting us see and hear them now?” Merryn whispered.
“He likes to be unpredictable,” Braden replied.
They were a good seven steps from the doorway. The distance, however, wasn’t the problem. Though the other hounds retreated as he and Merryn approached, the barguest refused to give ground, standing to block their path to the door.
“Any suggestions on how to deal with that one?” Braden pointed with the tip of his sword to the drooling and snarling barguest.
Merryn was silent a moment and then said, “It will let us pass.”
“Any reason for your certainty?”
The silence was longer this time but finally she muttered, “If Dewer wanted to kill me, he could have tried any number of times today. He didn’t.”
Her reluctant admission about Dewer’s intentions, both elated and deflated Braden. He gave a nod, kept the sword poised to strike and took Merryn’s hand. He led them through the treacherous terrain with fae hounds on one side and the barguest on the other.
He wasn’t sure if his heart pounded worse now than when he had stepped off what had looked like a precipice. Three steps and they were closer to the pack of snarling hounds.
The barguest tracked them, its hot breath brushing the back of Braden’s left hand. Unlike the hounds that backed away from Agamore as if afraid its presence could end their existence, the barguest inched closer, daring Braden to strike. Either this beast had a terrible death wish or it knew something he did not.
For its part, Agamore once more glowed. It vibrated in his hand as if urging him to attack the barguest. Braden resisted. With Merryn so vulnerably close, he would not risk starting a fight. His priority was to get them both safely out of the tower.
The barguest, however, would not give an inch. It positioned itself at the door, leaning its great weight against the handle, as if daring them to reach for it.
“It hungers for a fight,” he said, seeing clear hostility in the hungry gaze that followed his every movement. “I don’t think it cares what its master wants.”
“Then why does it not attack?” Merryn asked.
“Good question. Perhaps it’s under a compulsion not to. Perhaps it needs me to instigate the clash, so it can retaliate, defend itself.”
One of the hounds behind them suddenly sent out a howl and Braden jolted in alarm.
The lonely sound filled and echoed inside the confined tower. Braden’s heart gave a shudder, as he remembered a similar occurrence in London.
This time, footsteps pounded down the stairs before that call died. Dewer stood at the top landing and took in their predicament. Of course, the villain would smile.
Braden clenched his teeth and said, “Your dog seems unwilling to vacate its spot by the door.”
Dewer leaned his forearms on the railing and gazed at them with a grin that contradicted the pounding hurry of his steps when he first rushed in. For a moment there, he must have been worried. Had he been concerned that his precious Merryn had been hurt?
“Call him off,” Merryn said, and then with reluctance added, “please.”
“Of course, Miss Pendraven,” Dewer said. “Your wish is my command.” A flick of his wrist and the barguest went flying across the room to smash against the opposite wall. It staggered to its feet with a growl while the other hounds scurried out of its path.
Braden reeled again at the casual power the man wielded. How lucky they were to leave this tower unharmed. He bowed his own reluctant thanks, and opened the door to usher Merryn out. The faster he got her away from here, the better.
Shutting the door behind them, he sagged against the wood and breathed a silent sigh of relief. Then he muttered a heartfelt, “Bloody blazes!”
Chapter 12
As the door shut behind the guard and witch, Alaster’s spiked fur settled on his twitchy spine. Outside, that infernal chanting died, to join the silence from Farfur's infernal howling that had summoned their master. The air, which had been thrumming with magic, quieted. He stretched out his hind legs, tightly clenched muscles slackening. They’d made it through another crisis.
A flash of light blinded him and then darkness descended. By the time his eyes adjusted, he found himself outside the tower, surrounded by large statues. He’d been transported onto the master’s chessboard, in back of the tower. No doubt to avoid the witches out front.
The next instant, Farfur appeared beside him, knocking against one of the people-sized chess pieces.
The bishop tipped alarmingly, looking as if it would fall, then it righted itself and turned a mighty stone frown on Farfur. “GET OFF THE BOARD!”
Farfur skittered sideways and bumped into the queen. She crashed to the ground and rolled.
“OFF!” the bishop snapped again.
The queen righted herself, smoothed down her gown and slid toward Farfur with murder in her eyes.
“Blimey,” Alaster said. A nearby pawn scooted across the board toward him and he sprang back.
Farfur raced between the knight and castle, heading for the edge of the board. Just as he reached the grassy verge, Alaster jumped over him to land on his other side.
“AND STAY OFF!”
As if to emphasize the bishop’s order, all the chess pieces rearranged into orderly rows that faced Farfur and Alaster.
“Now what?” Farfur asked Alaster.
“We await the others?”
After several minutes, it became obvious no one else was to join them.
Farfur gave Alaster a worried look.
“Follow the witches and bring me that boy!” Dewer’s voice rapped like a thunderclap inside Alaster’s head.
Farfur yelped beside him.
“Shush!” Alaster warned, heart racing.
Farfur swallowed the remainder of his whine. “This night goes from bad to worse. The only good news is Sax isn’t with us.”
“Sax went against orders to confront the witch and guard,” Alaster said. “I thought that would be the end of us all.”
“He’s crazy, that one,” Farfur agreed. “Think the master knows Sax can’t be trusted?”
Alaster gave a nervous look over his shoulder at the black tower, a dark angry projection in a star sprinkled sky. “Why else is Sax not with us?”
“Good point.”
“Let’s go before we lose the scent.” He headed down the mountain after their prey.
“This reminds me of the last time the master stole a boy,” Farfur murmured.
“Shush,” Alaster snapped, looking over his shoulder as if the Queen of the Light Fae had returned to incinerate him. That powerful fae had no mercy in her soul. Out of a dozen hellhounds, only he, Bartos and Farfur had escaped and then only because they had wisely cowered behind some bushes when the magical blasting began.
