The cauldron effect, p.46
The Cauldron Effect, page 46
Almost doesn’t count, Mary. That’s what her father always said when she insisted that she’d almost finished her homework.
She shifted to a more comfortable position on the wooden seat and her bruised knee protested. A quick check showed it bled steadily, wetting her gown.
He noticed her concern and shifting the reins to his left hand, placed his right over the wound. The ease with which he continued to make such intimate touches was still startling, but definitely welcome. However, she didn’t want him to overextend himself.
“It’s all right. It will heal on its own.”
Without listening to her protest, he built warmth beneath his fingertips and in moments her pain vanished.
“Are all warlocks capable of such miracles or are you alone a healer, my lord?”
“Hugh.”
She considered the offer and countered with, “Mary.”
A smile lifted the side of his mouth, but was as quickly dropped. He did nod in acquiescence. “Mary, in your company, I’ve had lots of practice.”
He shook the gown above her knee. When he released the cloth, it looked as pristine as when she’d come down the Blue Swine Inn’s stairs in search of him.
“An adequate dressmaker, too.” She gave him a teasing smile.
“Only adequate?”
She laughed. “I love the lacework. Rose, too, is good with lace.”
“It’s an old talent we brought with us from Wyhca.”
Mary’s interest shot up. Her role was to gather details of Wyhcans from Demelza Talon but Flint, too, could tell her a great deal about his people that could prepare her for her eventual talk with the lore witch. The lines of tension and strain on his face quelled her questions. This was not the right time to pester him. The sooner they found shelter and he gained a few uninterrupted hours of sleep, the better.
They drove in silence until suddenly he took a sharp turn off the main road. “Sorry. That came up quicker than I’d expected.”
Mary placed her hand on her right forearm to check the direction. Hugh was leading her directly to where Demelza Talon would be found. Not in Scotland but in the wilds of North Yorkshire. Did he know that?
“Hugh.” The name felt right, better than Flint, which carried a harsher note that didn’t match the tenderness with which he had healed her. “Where does Atalie lead us?”
“She says there is shelter this way. Also, female company.” He gave her a side-glance. “You need a chaperone, Mary, now that my mother is no longer with us.”
Of course. How could she have forgotten that vital social requirement? Circumstances became so frightening, that concern about being caught alone with a man had not even occurred. She now trusted Flint. Hugh. With the Wyhcan records. With her reputation. With her body.
She clasped her hands as the enormity of this realization sank in. Growing up, she had spent more time studying than mooning over boys. She’d been too busy gathering facts instead of beaus.
Before it came time for balls and courtships, her father had passed away, leaving her too heart-sore to care. Recently, instead of thinking about who she should marry, she had been busy staying alive. Soon, however, this adventure would end and she would return home.
Marcus would marry Rose.
She glanced at Hugh, an unspoken hope trying to fly but finding little wind to give it lift.
Don’t.
Despite her mark’s contradiction that this man wanted her, Mary suspected he would stick by what he’d said. Meaning, he would not, or could not, offer for her. He may wish to, but for some reason he felt he must not. Because he was a warlock?
Witches didn’t seem to have any compunction about marrying humans. Rose’s only objection to Marcus was his continued safety. Hugh’s father had married a human. Why not Hugh?
His unhappy childhood? His mother’s abandonment of him? Did he believe that once she gave birth to a Wyhcan, she would abandon him or her? Never. How to convince him of that when any talk of them was forbidden?
Just as light showed in the distant darkness of the narrow pathway, wing beats sounded overhead. Loud ones. She glanced up in concern but the clouds hid the moon, and the sky was a sea of black.
The horses neighed and slowed their pace, as if they, too, sensed something.
She touched her mark. Trouble?
The band shivered on her arm in a hot stream, raising her hairs. TROUBLE.
Chapter 15
Wantley landed at Demelza Talon’s cottage. He went straight to the back garden where she had a small pond guarded by ancient willows.
Long ago, after he first shared his More horror story with Dem, she had offered her pond as a safe haven for his drinking place. She embedded the willows with wards to keep out strangers. Their deep roots filtered the water that fed the pool with a charm to keep it sparkling clean so he could be certain that even Jinny Greenteeth, who loved to wallow in filth, wouldn’t disturb him while he drank.
His neck didn’t even twitch as he lapped at the cool mountain drink.
Once his thirst was satisfied, instead of knocking at her door, he howled to signal he’d arrived with disturbing news.
Dem rushed out the back door, her long black hair loose of its customary plait and flying about her wrinkled face. She’d shrugged a cover on over her nightgown that billowed behind her like wings. In height, she came to no higher than his elbow – tiny by dragon size, tall by human standards, and huge by pipit proportions.
“What’s happened?” she asked.
By the time Wantley finished with, “there was a warlock, a demon, a woman AND a cat,” his chest hurt from lack of air. He took a big breath and let it out in a puff of smoke that unfortunately came out like a burp.
Recounting that long tale had also left him dry-mouthed again. While Dem pondered his and the pipits’ dilemma, he set to drinking a little more.
Dem was a good witch. Best Wyhcan that Wantley had ever met. Being of the same race as the warlock coming their way, she was sure to know what to do about him, even if Jinny Greenteeth flummoxed her. Demons flummoxed everyone.
Dem paced beside him deep in thought. When she finally spoke, it wasn’t about the warlock or the demon. “One of them is a cat, you say? I bet it’s a familiar. Warlocks love their familiars. It didn’t used to be so, you know. Animals were rare on Wyhca. By the time we were forced to leave, there weren’t any animals left.”
Wantley’s ears pricked. That was Dem’s storytelling voice. She was the only one who was better than Peter at relaying a good tale.
“Would you please tell me about the Coming Days?” He sat up in his listening pose; tail tucked around his hind legs and wings respectfully folded. “I love hearing about the Coming Days.”
“No time, Wantley. I’m to have visitors. When word first came that a warlock planned to bring a human to consult with me, I rushed here, hoping to elude them. The very idea of sharing our precious Wyhcan history with a human! What was the High Sage thinking?”
“This warlock must be clever to have found you.”
“Indeed. I even set a false trail to Scotland. Yet, here he’s come, to the very home I chose as my ...never mind. Do you realize what this means, Wantley?”
“What?”
“It means the End Days approach, my friend. If so, I’ve some preparations to do.”
The sad smile stretching her lips made Wantley’s wings quiver, then she hurried back into her home.
End Days? What could she mean by that? Then his ears perked. He had great hearing. He’d been honing it ever since a certain villain surprised him near a well.
Definitely carriage wheels rolling on the roadway. Someone was trying to sneak up on his friend.
Wantley’s wings stiffened and his temper flew into the boughs. He hadn’t felt this miffed since More surprised him.
Spreading his wings, he took flight.
“SOMETHING TRACKS US overhead.” Hugh slapped the reins and sent the horses sprinting for the beacon in the darkness. “Go!”
The carriage flew along the narrow dirt road toward the clearing ahead that bordered a cottage.
A gigantic creature landed at that opening, boxing them in.
The horses neighed and reared.
No wonder. It was as if the monster they had spent half the night running away from, suddenly confronted them.
The creature spread its wings and roared, vibrating Hugh’s eardrums.
The horses, without room to turn, backed away.
Mary’s fingers dug into Hugh’s arm. “A dragon?”
The remarkable woman sounded more awed than alarmed.
Hugh shoved the reins into her hands and standing, summoned his staff. It blazed into his grip and he built a barrier between the dragon and the horses. The shield went straight up a good three yards over their heads and around the carriage.
Hugh made the shield opaque to keep the horses calm.
Their frantic retreat slowed, and then stopped.
Atalie dropped onto the carriage roof from a nearby branch, the only one who could cross his shield with ease. She stalked over to inspect her master’s work. Nicely done.
Once Hugh was certain the spell was stable, he expanded the shield higher so it domed over them and only then set his staff – now as innocuous as a walking stick – beside him, and retrieved the reins. He gave Atalie an over-the-shoulder glare. You could have warned me.
Busy.
She sounded unrepentant as she made a seat for herself on Mary’s lap and lay down. What could she possibly have been doing that was more important than giving him a head’s up about a dragon attack? He made a mental note to have a talk with her about setting correct priorities. Later.
Just then, the dragon whipped the barrier with its tail. Whomph!
The clash rocked the carriage and sent the beast spinning into the darkness of the woods on the left. Cracking branches and a thump denoted its landing and then growls and snarls hinted at the creature’s scramble to return to the fight.
The Winged Avenger will not give up, Atalie said.
“Perhaps I could speak with him,” Mary said, absently petting Atalie.
He gave her another startled look.
She shrugged and pointed to the dragon. The glow of the barrier reflected on the dragon, which had lumbered back onto the roadway. With a heavy sigh, it sat in the middle of the road as if to contemplate its next move.
“Hugh, his gaze never leaves you. He seems not as concerned with the horses, Atalie or me. Whatever you’ve done to anger him, he might listen to me.”
“Men might be pliant under your persuasions, Mary, but how do you even know this creature is a he? It’s too dark for such clear anatomical observation.”
Under the lantern light she blushed delightfully. “He exhibits all the characteristics of a male. Stubborn in the face of impossible odds. Confrontational before other males. Also, appears partial to women.”
“Hah!” He had to laugh at that. “I will give you your first two assumptions but pray explain the third. How could you possibly know he is partial to women?”
“A feeling.” Her chin tilted up, but she rubbed her right forearm.
More than just a feeling then. He’d vowed earlier that before this night was over, she would disrobe that sleeve for him. Recent events merely cemented his intent.
The Wise One is correct, Atalie said. Aside from pipits and felines, the Winged Avenger is also partial to women. He likes the witch in the cottage ahead.
“A witch is in there?” he said in surprise “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Mary replied. “How did you know?”
“Atalie confirms it. Apparently, the dragon thinks I mean the witch harm. How do you know there is a witch in the cottage?”
“She’s the one I’ve come to see. While walking in the rain, you asked me where I was going. Do you recall my answer?”
“To see Demelza Talon, the lore keeper.” She hadn’t been delusional?
“Yes. I was as certain of that then, as I am now that this creature will listen to me.”
“I cannot allow it. For all its ineptness, that is a dragon. It could roast you with one breath.”
“Hugh, your magic cannot last forever and this dragon appears in no rush to leave. Neither is Mistress Talon in a hurry to come to our rescue. We need another option. While he distrusts you, he might listen to me.”
“No, but we can back away, get onto the main road and find somewhere else to shelter.”
Mary placed a restraining hand on his. “We cannot leave, not now that Mistress Talon is so close. Besides, I think I can convince this creature to let us pass. I shall tell him that we mean his friend no harm, because we don’t.”
She set Atalie on the seat between them and turned to descend.
He caught her arm. “If you must do this, I’ll come with you.”
“You cannot. It is you he distrusts.”
“Don’t be foolish!”
“Trust me.”
He didn’t argue further but she had to pry his fingers off her wrist before she could climb down.
“Mary.”
“Yes?” She’d barely taken two steps.
“Atalie says the dragon’s name is Wantley.”
“Thank you both.” Gauging the ground at about two feet below, she took one foot off the step and jumped backward. With a splash, she landed in a puddle on the wet dirt road. The jar and her hemline catching under her shoe made her heart skip before she found sounder footing on dryer ground.
The absence of slurping suggested Wantley had heard her descent. He leaned past the horses to look at her, ears perked.
Straightening her spine and strapping on her courage, she approached him.
He observed her as intently as he’d glared at Hugh earlier. Then he rose up until he towered so high, her neck cricked in her effort to meet his gaze.
“Holorum.”
At a loss for words, Mary swallowed and touched her forearm.
Greetings, Llyr’s mark said.
She could communicate with the dragon! With a triumphant chuckle, Mary strode forward. Once she stood before the dragon, she gave her best curtsey. “Good evening, Wantley.”
The dragon dropped to all fours and backed up before he lowered his head to study her. Finally, he sat back and made a series of gurgle noises.
Mary held her forearm but there was no response. Had she reached the mark’s limit?
TOUCH.
Since she was already gripping her arm, the suggestion confounded Mary until she looked over at Wantley.
TOUCH.
Oh, dear. Hugh would not approve.
“Satisfied?” He sounded relieved that she’d failed. “It’s just a beast. Humans cannot communicate with animals. Now come back up here.”
Still holding onto her forearm, Mary tentatively extended her hand.
“Mary, no!” Hugh shouted and strengthened his barrier.
Too late. Her hand had passed through. The barrier constricted around her arm and then loosened. Her whole body tingled as she stepped forward and up to Wantley. Arm outstretched, she turned her palm up and opened her fingers.
The dragon looked at her offering and then into her eyes. He considered his choices and then extended his front leg and gently laid a sharp claw the size of Hugh’s entire long leg onto her palm. Hello!
She could understand him. Was the communication two-way? With a thrilled smile, she said, Hello. I’m Mary Bryght. Pleased to meet you, Wantley.
At his continued silence, she asked, can you hear me?
Yes! Are you a witch, too?
No. Mary chuckled at being mistaken for a powerful Wyhcan. I’m human.
How do you know my name?
Atalie told me.
The black kitty?
Yes. With us is Hugh. He is a warlock. We are looking for Demelza Talon.
Wantley withdrew his arm and gurgled some harsh sounds.
Mary left her hand extended.
He placed his claw back on her hand. Why do you wish to hurt Demelza? She is an innocent.
We mean her no harm, Wantley. We only wish to speak to her.
She says you herald the End Days.
Confused by that charge, Mary sought out Hugh for guidance and found him behind her. His hand landed on her shoulder and Wantley stepped back, drawing in a belly full of breath as if readying to spew fire.
“Wait,” Mary shouted, holding her arms up. “Please, he means you no harm. He’s just worried about me.”
The dragon ignored her.
Of course. They’d broken contact, so Wantley couldn’t understand her.
Atalie slunk forward and mewed to the dragon.
Cheeks puffed like a chipmunk with a mouth full of chestnuts, the dragon looked from the cat to Hugh and then to Mary.
Hugh squeezed her shoulder and whispered, “Atalie says hold out your hand again.”
Mary did as he bid and sent Wantley a pleading smile.
Puffs of smoke spewed from his nostrils. He coughed, sputtered and then shook his head as if to clear it. Finally, he laid his claw back on her hand.
“You must show me how you do this trick,” Hugh murmured.
Me, too, Wantley said. I wish to learn how to talk to everyone.
We’ll see. Mary sensed that as long as Hugh touched her, he, too, could hear her thoughts and the dragon’s words. A three-way conversation. A conference.
Hugh, she said, allow me to introduce Wantley. Wantley. This is Hugh Renfrew Price, Earl of Flint.
Hello, Wantley said. I don’t trust men. They lie.
I promise not to, Hugh said.
That could be a lie.
If he lied to me, I’d know, Mary said. As long as you speak to him through me, you, too, will know. Test him.
Wantley lay down, resting his elbows on the road and gave Hugh a narrow-eyed glare. Do you like kitties?
Without hesitation, Hugh said. I hate cats.
LIE. The apple red letters were broadcast so vibrantly, Mary blinked. Had the other two received the message?
“What was that?” Hugh pressed her shoulder ever so gently before relaxing. “Sorry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
