Shadow Magic, page 21
Hark’s gaze widened. “How was it that such a large portion of the Fomorii were returned to Underworld?”
“It does not matter, it is done.” Garran maintained his regal position. “What is important now is that the Drow are prepared to fight the Fomorii who remain. It has been divined by the D’Anu witches that a great battle will take place. We will honor our promise and fight by the sides of those we are pledged to.”
“A pledge you made without consulting the Directorate.” Sepan’s voice had a sharper bite to it than was appropriate.
To make his point even clearer, Garran firmed his expression and hardened his tone as he spoke to Sepan. “Lest you have forgotten, I am king.” The burn in Garran’s chest had spread along his skin. “Make no mistake, Sepan, the Directorate is here to advise should I require it. But the final decisions lie with me.”
The older Drow did not back down. “You never gave us the opportunity to advise.”
“That is correct.” Garran inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I sought counsel with the Great Guardian.”
Another silence filled the room and Garran could imagine the crystal walls ringing with that silence. Shock registered on every face in the room.
“You would seek counsel with one of the Light Elves before your Directorate?” Sepan finally sputtered as he leaned back in his chair. “She, above all, could have changed the Elders’ minds before they placed the curse over us.”
“I still have much respect for the Guardian.” Garran kept his temper in check, holding back the fire in his gut. “She requested my audience. I accepted and I chose to follow her wisdom.” His eyes remained on Sepan. “All of the Directorate is well aware that when the Great Guardian speaks, it is best to listen.”
“That is so,” Hark said in his calm tone, as Sepan snapped his gaze to the other member of the Directorate. “She above all is revered.”
If it were not for her insistence that he tell no one of the “gift,” he would have explained it to his men, but she had made it clear that was not an option.
Garran looked to the two leaders of his Directorate. “Now I must speak to my First and Second, if you will excuse us.”
Sepan still had an entirely unacceptable angry glint to his eyes as he stalked out the door. Garran would deal with him later. Hark merely bowed and left the room.
While the two members of the Directorate exited, Garran allowed himself to mentally touch the link established between himself and Hannah. Now that they had traded essences, Garran could feel Hannah, sense her deep in his gut. But at that moment the link seemed weaker than it had before he had entered the Drow realm. He brushed aside the weakening as a result of his trip back to Otherworld.
When only Carden and Vidar remained, Garran eased back, rested his elbows on his chair’s arms and folded his hands on his belly. “What has occurred in my absence?”
As Vidar was First in Command, Carden did not speak—the warrior looked to Vidar to give the report.
“The legions wonder why you left the Drow realm and why we are going to war,” Vidar said, his black eyes narrowed.
Garran’s chest tightened and he could barely leash the fire in his body. He leaned forward and braced his arms on the table again, this time making no pretense of his displeasure with Vidar.
“And who would have informed the legions of my activities?” Garran nearly bared his teeth. “As my Steward it is your responsibility to keep the legions battle-ready and confident in their leader and his choices.”
Vidar raised his chin. “My lord—”
“It is unacceptable that the legions should feel any other way.” He narrowed his brows. “You and I have much to discuss after Carden reports to me.”
The angry spark in Vidar’s eyes wavered. “Yes, my lord.”
Garran turned to Carden. “Tell me of the legions’ preparations.”
Carden was a confident yet respectful warrior, who was several centuries younger than Garran. Carden’s blue eyes met Garran’s. “All have been practicing for battle daily and are fit and ready to do as you bid.” He described the activities of the Dark Elves in detail.
“Good.” Garran gave him a nod of approval. “You and I will converse later. For now leave us. Wait in the great hall and I will call for you.”
Carden stood and bowed before striding out of the room. Garran excused the guards as well, instructing them to remain out of the throne room but to stay beside the doors.
Garran pushed his chair away from the table, the scratch of the legs against the granite floor loud in the silence. He got to his feet and began pacing the room, his gaze landing on Vidar’s arrogant one from time to time.
“My king—” Vidar started when Garran said nothing.
“Silence.” Garran’s voice was a low roar as he stopped his pacing and riveted his attention on the other warrior. “I have failed. Not only in training, but in choice. You are not fit to serve as Steward in my absence or serve as king should I die and pass to Summerland.”
Shock crossed Vidar’s features and his skin tinged to a paler shade of blue. He pushed himself up to stand and opened his mouth.
Garran held up his hand, silencing the warrior at the same time he gave him a fierce look. “Sit.”
Vidar dropped back into his seat, the thump of the chair loud enough to echo in the chamber.
“These past days, you have proven to me you are not capable of leading our people.” Garran walked up to Vidar, resisting the urge to grab the man by the throat with one hand and bring him to his feet. “Carden shall serve as my First and as Steward. I will reassign you to a position more befitting your temper and your failure to respect the needs of your people and the wishes of your king.”
Vidar shoved back his chair and stood, his eyes flaring. “You cannot do this.”
Garran let another low growl rumble out of his throat. “The gods bear witness to my word and you will not question it any further. You will return to your quarters until my decision has been made as to where you will now serve.”
For a moment Vidar stared at him, his hand twitching at his side. Garran rested his palm on the hilt of his sword. He could best Vidar and ten other warriors at one time if it ever proved necessary.
Jaw tensed, Vidar gave a stiff bow, whirled, and strode from the room.
As soon as the warrior left, Garran felt a lessening in the tightness of his chest. He did not doubt his decision to make Carden his First. But what he deplored was his own arrogance in not training a suitable replacement immediately after Naal’s death, and in not recognizing earlier, or perhaps admitting, that Vidar would have been a poor ruler.
Garran summoned Carden. When the younger warrior walked into the room, his stance was proud, and his presence powerful, but respectful.
Carden lowered his eyes before returning his gaze to Garran’s. “My king.”
“You will now serve as my First.” Garran faced away from the warrior as he climbed the small dais and sat in his throne. Carden’s stunned expression greeted Garran when he turned around to recline in his throne.
“My lord?” Carden said.
“I will convene the Directorate immediately and notify them of my decision.” Garran reclined in his throne and rested one elbow on the chair’s arm, stroking his chin with his fingers. “I will have them see to furthering your training so that you might serve in my stead if something should befall me.”
Carden looked too shocked to speak.
“What do you have to say to this duty that I bestow on you?” Garran asked, waiting to gauge Carden’s reaction.
The warrior gave a bow before straightening and facing Garran. A noticeable change came over the younger Drow—one that reassured Garran he had made the right decision. Not that he had questioned it once he had realized what had to be done.
Carden’s voice was deep, confident. “I will serve our people well during your absence and as your First when you return.”
Garran gave a low nod. “Instruct one of the guards to summon the Directorate to convene at once.”
His new First in Command obeyed immediately and it was not long before the Directorate gathered around the strategy table. For the most part the expression of each member of the Directorate was serene, noncommittal, non-judgmental, despite what each man may have truly been feeling. Only Sepan’s face was openly disapproving.
Carden was the sole warrior in the room and he remained standing at Garran’s side when he seated himself at the head of the table.
Garran announced his decision to make Carden First in Command and Steward in his absence. “I shall have you each swear fealty to him should something befall me and I pass on to Summerland.”
The silence only lasted a moment before Hark looked directly at Garran. “A wise choice, my king.”
While everyone in the Directorate looked on, Hark stood. He withdrew his sword, went to Carden, knelt and laid his sword at the warrior’s feet. “You have my loyal service and guidance as Steward in King Garran’s absence. If he should pass on to Summerland, I will serve you when you are King of the Dark Elves.” He retrieved his sword, sheathed it, and returned to his seat.
Garran looked on in approval as every member of the Directorate repeated the action. The rightness of his decision flowed through Garran like a smooth river that cooled the heat that had burned under his skin since arriving back in his realm.
Carden looked every bit the leader. Tall, proud, yet accepting each man’s sworn fealty with a graceful nod.
Sepan was the last to approach Carden. Sepan’s expression was unreadable, which pleased Garran. It would not do for any member of the Directorate to show disapproval.
Sepan finished, and all of the Directorate seated themselves. Garran opened his mouth to speak when a sudden feeling like a knife slicing into his gut caused him to grip the armrests of the chair so tightly his knuckles make cracking sounds.
He steeled his expression as sweat broke out on his face and the room faded. His connection to Hannah felt as if it were being stretched so thin that it would be ripped from him. He sensed and felt her anger, fear, pain, anguish, and he was nearly blinded by it.
“My king?” Carden’s voice jerked Garran back to the present even though Hannah’s emotions roiled through him as if they were his own.
“I must go.” Garran pushed his chair back, and everyone stood with him.
“My lord—” Sepan started.
Garran cut him short. “See to Carden’s training at once. And find a suitable position for Vidar, one that will not humiliate him, if at all possible.”
Before anyone could respond, Garran turned his back on them, strode across the room and through the black granite door.
He slammed it behind him, stood on the transference stone, and focused on his tie to Hannah and her emotions to take him to her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
AFTER PAYING THE TAXI driver and watching him until the red of his taillights vanished, Hannah walked alongside the road in the darkness.
Small rocks shifted and crunched beneath her running shoes and she hefted her pack higher on her shoulder. She continued until she reached the hidden road that would take her to the sacred stretch of beach known only to the D’Anu witches.
City lights glittered behind her, and to the north stretched the beautiful Golden Gate Bridge as it carried its much lighter than normal traffic to and from Marin County. To the east of the bridge was Alcatraz, but right now she didn’t want to think about the horrors that had manifested below it. Or the fact that the demons weren’t all gone from the city yet. Somehow the rest of the demons had to be eliminated. If only she knew how the first bunch had been sent back to Underworld.
Right here, right now, breathing in the salt of the ocean, smelling the nearby cypress, feeling the clean air blowing in off the water across her face and lifting her hair, and hearing the slam of waves against the shore, all seemed so ordinary, solid, real. How could bizarre and horrible things be happening while such normalcy surrounded her?
But the pack over Hannah’s shoulder felt alien now that her scrying tools had been destroyed. The pack weighed her down enough that she felt as if she would tip over. And she knew that feeling wasn’t from the extra contents now filling it.
She hadn’t wanted to touch the pack, but she needed it to carry the other tools for the ceremony she had to perform. The vial and the broken, empty frame remained buried at the bottom of the bag—apparently put there by Cassia. Hannah hadn’t been able to get herself to pull them out and throw them away—to even touch them.
Dragons had always been with her, especially Fire Dragons. Why then had her mirror Dragons left her? Why had the mirror shattered?
Hannah spun a ball of green magic in her palm to help light the way as she took one step after another down the short twisting road. She missed Banshee, and would have sneaked him out with her if it wasn’t for the fact that a taxi driver wasn’t likely to be too happy with a falcon in his cab. It had been all she could do to take the necessary supplies from the kitchen and slip out of the warehouse without waking up any of the other witches.
The D’Danann who’d guarded the doors leading outside—she’d been shocked her glamour worked against them because a witch’s glamour normally only worked with humans. But apparently Garran’s magic infused with her own allowed her to pass by the warrior Fae undetected.
Hannah tried to force down the hard lump that had taken permanent residence in her throat as she came to the footpath veering away from the hidden road. Even with only the gentle light of her magic, she was sure-footed, walking without conscious thought. Instead, images of her scrying mirror shattering and the Dragons leaving battered her mind.
The time she had spent with Garran was the only thing that had soothed her. She had wanted to give to him, to protect him, but he wouldn’t take without giving back. Had he lost any of his personal magical strength? She hoped to the goddess not.
Hannah had shared enough of her magic that she’d weakened herself, which was one reason why she had come to this place of power. Not only did she need to convene with the goddess and the Elementals, she needed to rejuvenate.
Sand shifted beneath Hannah’s running shoes and made soft sounds as she walked across the smooth beach that looked completely untouched. No other D’Anu had been here recently. Gentle waves rolled in from the ocean, licking the shore before curling back in on themselves and striking again. Kelp and seashells lay scattered on the shore just above the waterline.
Garran’s dark magic stirred inside her as she approached the place where she would perform her ceremony. She didn’t fully know how to use it, wasn’t sure she should, but his magic was there, waiting.
For a moment she could almost sympathize with Rhiannon, who had fought so long, so hard, against the Drow magic she’d been born with. The dark Elvin power inside Hannah was frightening yet exciting all at once as it stirred like a living thing, churning in her soul and infusing her with its warmth.
When she reached the middle of the beach, Hannah sucked in her breath and dropped her pack. It felt good to be here, to stand beneath the night sky with the new moon hiding behind the fog. The power of the place hummed through her heart and soul.
Hannah set her ball of light on a boulder so that it illuminated the mostly dark beach and she kept a little of her magical focus on it to keep it glowing. She crouched and dug inside her pack for the tools of her craft, making sure not to reach too low and brush her hand over her former scrying mirror. She’d thrown an extra robe on top of both it and the vial of salt crystals, just so she wouldn’t have to touch them.
First thing that came to her hand was her small ceremonial sword. She set it on the sand and drew out six candles. Four to set at the cardinal points of the circle and two to perform the ceremony.
She followed that by filling a chalice with water from the ocean, offering a prayer for the Water Dragon’s permission. She then filled a vial with sand, asking the Earth Dragon’s permission.
She asked the Fire Dragon to light her myrrh incense and for a moment nothing happened, causing an instant of panic to rise within Hannah. Then the cone of incense began to burn in its Dragon holder, the scent of myrrh rising up to meet her, and she blew out her breath in relief.
Lastly, Hannah coated her body with the frankincense oil and asked the Air Dragon to bless it. A wind whipped up like a small zephyr, flowing over her body in response.
When she was finished, Hannah felt a little relief as she drew out one of the two robes she had brought with her. Her heart clenched again and she held the robe crunched in her fists as she stared out at the ocean. Her heart pounded so hard she felt it throughout her body. Even her eyes ached.
What if the Dragons didn’t come? Even though they had graced her by fulfilling her requests in preparing for the ritual, that didn’t mean they would actually come.
What if they were to forsake her, too?
Fear had never been a feeling Hannah had allowed. She’d worked too hard to become who she was. Strong. Confident. Controlled.
Right now she felt anything but. At this moment it was like she was that same scared young girl with fear pounding in her veins as she waited for her mother to turn her over to her birth father.
But that had ended up being the best thing that had happened to that point in her life. She had been introduced to her D’Anu heritage and had been embraced like family.
Hannah took off her socks and shoes, careful to avoid getting too much sand in them. She did the same as she stripped out of her clothing, folding everything neatly, until she was naked. She shivered in the cold wind off the ocean, but being a D’Anu witch took away some of the chill, and Garran’s magic reduced it even further.
She reached for her red robe and wrapped it around herself, the material soft and smooth against her skin. The moon and crescent armband felt cool against her upper arm, the band the only other thing she was wearing.
