Dragon's Tongue (The Demon Bound) (45 page)

“I am not a child, Alaric Braidwine, thought I may look younger than my years,” she said in a steady voice. “And you are not a callow boy, though you look quite young and vulnerable just now. But we have every right to decide for ourselves what is right and moral…And I love you.”

Alaric looked startled. “I…” Words escaped him.

“My, my, a speechless bard,” Vagner chuckled from his corner.

“Oh, get out of here!” Alaric snapped at the demon.

“About time,” Vagner said. The demon opened the door and crouched to pass under the lintel. “I’ll whistle if I see the others.”

Alaric closed his eyes as the door shut again. Horns!

He felt Shona’s touch again and opened his eyes to look at her.

“You don’t find me attractive, do you,” she asked, though it sounded more like accusation.

Alaric tentatively took her hand. “I find you very attractive,” he said. “More attractive than is good for me, I imagine. But…”

“You don’t love me,” she said.

Alaric glanced away. “No, that’s not it either, Shona. I could very easily say I love you too, but this is not the time or place. I don’t want Etienne to think I can’t be trusted with you. I know she must believe I am following in Fenelon’s footsteps where women are concerned. I just don’t want anyone to believe I took advantage of you.”

Gently, Shona forced his gaze back. “Seems to me,” she said, “I’m the one taking advantage of you.”

“Well…now that you mention it.”

She smiled, and that radiant vision sent his heart pounding hard in his chest. He didn’t exactly know when her fingers found the laces of his tunic, or his hers, because she was kissing him in a way that made everything else easy to forget. What he was aware of was the warmth of her skin when his hands breached the fortress of her clothes, and the taste of her tongue on his own. And from somewhere beyond all sense of awareness, a faint whistle, like the agitated twitter of a bird.

FORTY SEVEN

Vagner didn’t remember the mist being so close as he stepped out of the hut. The wind dragged it in, reducing the visibility. Odd… Wasn’t the wind moving from the other direction before?

His contemplation of this fact was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a snow hare. The white-furred beast sprinted out of the mist, racing in an erratic pattern as if fleeing some predator. The sight of it tempted demon reflexes into action. Though Vagner’s belly was full of dead flesh, here was live meat and warm blood.
Desert!
the demon thought and pounced on the hare.

But the hare spun and leapt off to the side with such fluid dexterity, the demon was taken by surprise. Vagner shifted and followed. Once more, he lunged almost cat-like in his grace. The snow hare issued a tiny shriek at feeling jaws close around it. With a single gulp, the demon wolfed it down, fur and all. Its heat radiated in him. Vagner rose feeling even more sated than before.

It was then that Vagner turned and realized he could no longer see the hut.
Balls and barbs!
he thought and stretched demon senses. The little master’s essence made a good beacon, especially since it was filled with passion’s fire and glowed more brightly than before. The demon grinned and started towards the source when he sensed something else. The stealthy approach of others brushed demon senses.

The Greenfyn and his woman back so soon? Vagner thought. He began to whistle like a Mountain Finch…

But it then occurred to the demon he was not sensing the Greenfyn or the woman Etienne, but a musky, masculine presence. More than two stalked across the snow. He stretched senses. An even dozen bodies were striding quietly through the mist. The demon sniffed and picked up the odors of unwashed men in filthy bearskins.

Haxons!
But what were Haxons doing in these mountains?

With a hiss, the demon became as part of the mist, gliding rapidly towards the hut. If there was to be trouble, he wanted to be first to the door. But even as he reached the hut, war cries cut the air, and a dozen Haxons armed with axes, swords and bows charged out of the mist.

Vagner shifted into his most hideous chiropteran form.

At least four of the Haxons looked surprised at the sudden appearance of the demon and pelted off to either side with shouts. The rest charged at Vagner as though fear had no place in their hearts. Yet as he roared and lashed out with claws, they shied away then came back. Blows did not actually fall. They would swing at him, then leap back and laugh, taunting him as too slow and stupid.

I am neither, you fools!
the demon thought as he charged after them. One of them took great pleasure in teasing Vagner more than the rest. This Haxon jeered, threw his axe and wagged his arse at Vagner.
I’ll show you!
Vagner charged, bearing down on the man who turned to run. But demons are quick, and Vagner was no exception. He pounced with a roar. The Haxon dropped and rolled, and Vagner was on the man as swift as he had caught the hare. The demon pinned the Haxon in the snow, and raised the tail barb to strike a death blow.

A club slammed into the side of Vagner’s head. Snarling, the demon turned to see another fly at his face. He dodged that one and the next, and snarling in vexation, Vagner threw himself at the perpetrator.

Damn these Haxons. They were as irritating as gnats, leading the demon this way and that. He would eat every last one of them if it took all day.

He lunged after them, screaming in rage, determined to make good his vow.

~

The first Haxon war cry brought Alaric up so fast, he dragged Shona with him, and they bumped noses like a pair of ill-trained acrobats. Horns. It sounded like a full scale battle. Shona had been in the process of unlacing his trews, and now her fingers fumbled free, leaving him to jerk on his shirt and she her own…

He was halfway into his tunic when a great weight slammed the wooden door. Boards tore and four unfamiliar bodies crowded the gap, howling like madmen.

Oh, Horns! Haxons!

Alaric quickly shouted
“Gath saighead buail,”
throwing a mage bolt that smacked one of the Haxon’s in the chest with enough force to knock him back. Shona scrambled for her staff, and Alaric took advantage of the momentary confusion at the door to run for his sword.

He wanted to push Shona to safety and defend her. Heroics, however, often depended on not getting caught with one’s trews unlaced. And on having the company of a woman less brave than himself. As one of the Haxons reached for Shona, she thrust the end of her staff into his stomach, doubling him then swung the staff around to crack him across the head. He fell to his knees and moaned.

After that, Alaric had no time to marvel her skill and determination. A large Haxon closed in on Alaric who lashed out with his own sword. Alas, he had not stopped to consider the Haxon would be able to execute a swift parry with anything as big as a broad axe. But he saw the folly of his action too well as the ax slammed his blade from his hand. The blow left Alaric’s fingers numb as he watched his sword skitter across the floor. Alaric dove after it, only to be hauled up short by a meaty grasp on his arm. The Haxon jerked Alaric back like a whip and slammed him against the wall. Pain shot through Alaric, and his senses wavered with dizziness. He nearly slid to the floor, but a hand took his throat and pressed him to the wall. The Haxon laughed then yelled as a flailing staff whapped him across the back. With a snarl, the barbarian snapped his axe around and knocked the staff from Shona’s hands. She shrieked in anger as his attention came back on Alaric. With a howl, Shona clambered up on the Haxon’s back and tried to gouge his eyes. All the while, Alaric struggled to free himself from the hand that pinned him by his throat.

There’s two of us, and only one of him!
Alaric thought.

Well, actually, there were more of them, he regretfully recalled. One of the other Haxons seized Shona from behind, plucking her off her victim and practically throwing her down on the skins. She balled a hand to cast a spell. Alaric could feel her draw power. But the Haxon cracked her across the face, leaving her too dizzy to fight as he straddled her and started to tear off what few clothes she had on.

“NO!” Alaric shouted and fought to no avail against the greater strength of his opponent.
 
He tried gouging with fingers and thumping with fists to no avail. Alaric even brought up one foot and slammed it into the Haxon’s belly, but the bristling warrior must have possessed a gut of steel. The blow did no more than rock him back. He laughed and reared back with the butt end of his axe.

“He said not to harm him!” the third Haxon at the door shouted.

Alaric took no comfort in that, but he used the moment to shout, Vagner!” as loud as he could.

The Haxon apparently thought Alaric was casting a spell because the barbarian’s hand closed over Alaric’s mouth, cutting off what little air he breathed. Then releasing his throat, the Haxon drew back a fist that looked bit enough to cave in Alaric’s face, and he felt with certainty that he would be unable to stand against such a debilitating blow.

One that never came. For even as Alaric tightened every muscle in anticipation of the pain to come, his attacker suddenly stiffened. Alaric felt a spray of warm blood and saw inches of a barb thrust out of the Haxon’s chest before the barbarian dropped Alaric into a heap on the floor. He looked up in time to see the demon stretch its jaws and swallow the man whole. Then, there was a scream.

Alaric scrambled across the room to rescue Shona. He seized up the dead Haxon’s dropped ax, and nearly fell over from a weight greater than he had expected. Still, anger had his adrenalin up. Vagner was chasing the other Haxons from the hut with snarls of glee. The warrior trying to violate Shona was oblivious to his companions’ plights. Shona had rousted enough to start fighting again, but she was no match for his strength.

So Alaric heaved the axe, butt-end first, and slammed it into the Haxon’s head. Enough weight and force followed the blow. Alaric heard the snap of a human skull shattering. The Haxon dropped like a stone.

Outside, noises had changed. Alaric was too busy trying to free Shona from the dead man’s weight to care.

It was then Alaric heard two very welcome voices shouting, “Horns!” simultaneously. And suddenly, there were more hands than his shoving the dead Haxon aside.

Shona gasped as air finally reached her lungs. She shot up and reached for Alaric, but Etienne wedged between them and pulled the lass close. Alaric sat back on his haunches, realizing he was shaking hard.

A reassuring hand took his shoulder. The other seized his chin and pulled his face around. Blue eyes full of concern took stock of Alaric’s face, then the obvious jumble of his clothes.

“Just what in the name of Cernunnos happened here?” Fenelon asked, and there was more than a hint of merriment in his gaze.

Had Alaric not been so exhausted, he would have given in to the urge to slam a fist into Fenelon’s wicked, sly smile.

FORTY EIGHT

“I knew everything felt wrong,” Etienne said as Vagner devoured the last of the Haxons. By Balgoran’s Barb, the demon felt full as a tick…and very happy. He hadn’t eaten this much since Tane massacred that farmstead in Mallow for power.

“Are you sure about what that Haxon said?” Fenelon asked Alaric. The little master was still visibly shaking from exhaustion. He had related his tale, but not in detail. Vagner almost laughed aloud when Alaric said that he and Shona were just talking—and she said nothing to refute him—when all the noise started. At the moment, Etienne was too concerned with cleaning their various injuries to notice their lack of complete clothes, and Vagner could only assume she thought the Haxons were responsible.

“Quite sure,” Alaric said. “One of them was going to hit me with his axe, and the other said very clearly,
He said not to harm him
…”

Fenelon shook his head. “That does not sound good,” he said.

“Just who do you suppose this
he
could be?” Etienne asked.

“Unfortunately, the possibilities are endless,” Fenelon said. “I can think of a dozen or more mageborn who have consorted with Haxons in the past, and who might have heard there’s a price on Alaric’s head. For all we know, Turlough contacted them himself.

“But how would they know we were here?” Etienne insisted.

“Admittedly, that’s the part that puzzles me. I know these cloaks and their spells are working, because when we went out, I scried back and got the impression Alaric was leagues away from here.”

Alaric frowned. “But you looked here,” he said.

“Well, yes, because I knew you were here…” Fenelon made a face. “And if the mageborn had the skill and knowledge to find this place and felt you elsewhere…”

“They would know I was cloaked in misdirection and come here first,” Alaric said.

“Brilliant, Father…just brilliant!” Fenelon muttered. “Misdirection with a side effect. Might as well put a sign over the hut that says, hey, look here! We’re really here!”

“He meant well,” Alaric said.

“Alaric’s right,” Etienne said, folding up the last of the bandages to pack them away and gesturing to Alaric that it was okay to put his shirt back on. “Your father could have refused to offer any help and left us on our own. He was under no obligation to hide his own son from the Mage Council.”

“He could have remembered the source of the misdirection spell needs to be cloaked so it cannot accidentally be invoked by a random scryer,” Fenelon said. “That’s what he always told me, at any rate. Horns. We’ll have to leave at first light…In fact, we should leave now…”

“That would be both foolish and dangerous,” Etienne said. “It gets dark early in these mountains, and the magic hidden in that fog makes for far too much uncertainty. For all we know, our spells will not work in it. And the essence is too ancient and inaccessible for us to use safely.”

Fenelon looked displeased. “Fine. We’ll post watches, then. But the sooner we get down there, stop Tane and get rid of that demon…” He jerked a thumb at Vagner as he spoke. The demon raised an eyebrow in response. “…the sooner we can prove Alaric innocent of all charges and put an end to Turlough’s manhunt.”

“So we shall rise and leave with the dawn,” Etienne said.

“I could keep watch outside,” Vagner offered. “I do not feel the cold in my true form…and that way, all of you could sleep.”

Four faces turned in Vagner’s direction. Three wore contemplative masks as though they liked the suggestion. Fenelon, however, looked far less pleased. Distrust masked his features.

Vagner merely smiled and hurried out the door.

~

Alaric had been sleeping peacefully when a chill swept him. He awoke with a start, sitting up on the furs. Mage eyes quickly adjusted to the faint embers glow, letting him see the whole hut. On the far side of the chamber, Etienne and Shona shared a pallet, huddled together for warmth in spite of the warming spells. Fenelon was in a chair by the door, heels resting on a bench, head bowed. The rise and fall of his chest would seem to indicate that in spite of the self-imposed duty, he dozed.

Some guard,
Alaric mused and started to lie back down. But the chill came on him once more.
What?
It was not from the air around him. No, it seemed to have an unnatural source. Alaric closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stretched mage senses.

Something was wrong. Something was missing.

But what?

He felt as though some part of him had gone away.

And then it struck him. He could not feel Vagner at all.

What?

Alaric rose quickly. He pulled on boots and drew his ensorcelled bearskin around his shoulders. For a moment, he considered waking Fenelon.
And have him chide me as foolish for worrying about a demon.
Oh, no, that was not an embarrassment Alaric needed at the moment. Quiet as the snow fall, he picked his way across the hut to the door. Fenelon did not even stir as Alaric lifted the bar across the magically restored door.

Dark shadows flooded the snow, and yet with the trickle of moonlight peeping down from the sky, it glowed as bright as day. Alaric stepped out, leaving the warmth at the door. He moved several times his own length across the snow which showed signs of Haxon trampling and Etienne’s conjurations.

“Vagner?” Alaric whispered.

Even that subtle call hissed and echoed, but no answer came. Alaric took a deep breath, drawing icy air into his lungs. He shivered, and his teeth chattered together, but he fought the discomfort and honed in on the part of himself the demon carried, as well as the essence of the demon he now harbored within. Sweetly, Alaric let his mind sing Vagner’s True Name.

Cold snapped through Alaric, almost like being slapped. He staggered, then tumbled to his knees.
Horns!
What was that?

“Be still,”
he heard Ronan whisper.
“Do not move, do not cast.
Be as still as stone.”

Alaric paused, holding his breath, waiting as icy fear and worldly cold chilled him from within. Horns. What was he to do? What had happened? Questions raced about in his head.

And then, the demon’s mark on his hand began to burn like a firebrand. Alaric hissed and drew the hand before his face. The mark was raw and oozing pus as though newly infected. At the sight of it, Alaric cried, “No!” as its pain ate into him. He thrust it deep into the snow, biting sobs of pain, but still it burned.

Calm…Stay calm…

Was it Ronan’s voice? His own? Alaric could not say. His awareness focused far too much on the pain.

And then it was gone, and only the burn of the cold remained. Icy tears trickled down Alaric’s cheeks, freezing to his skin. He slowly withdrew his hand.

A white scar in the shape of the demon’s rune met his gaze. No pus, no raw inflammation. Just the healing pink of an older wound.

“Alaric?” Fenelon’s voice startled Alaric who jerked around. Fenelon stood but an arm’s length away, looking concerned. “Horns, Alaric, what are you doing out here?”

Warm hands clutched Alaric’s own, making him all the more aware of how cold he was.

“Come on, let’s get you inside before you become a glacier,” Fenelon said. Strong arms surrounded Alaric, hauling him cloak and all under Fenelon’s garb. A few staggering steps later Alaric was back inside the hut. He could not stop shaking now as he was bundled over to the hearth where Fenelon called forth flames to heat the air as well as the warming spells. He stripped Alaric of cloak and boots and tunic and breeches, all of which were soaked from the snow. Then he buried Alaric under many blankets and thrust hot liquid into his hands. Alaric kept trembling, unable to throw off the cold.

In desperation, Fenelon threw off his own shirt and tunic, slipped inside the blankets to pull Alaric close and pressed warm flesh against him with a curse. “Horns, Alaric, you’re colder than a Haxon’s wench.” Alaric coughed something of a laugh. At least, it had the proper effect and brought his blood to racing so that his teeth stopped chattering and his limbs ceased to tremble.

“Better?” Fenelon asked.

Alaric nodded.

“Good, because you’re a cold body to cuddle up against, Alaric,” Fenelon said, drawing back a bit. “Horns, I pity any woman who shares your bed…”

“Very funny,” Alaric muttered, and wished he had some way to push cold feet against Fenelon who was still wearing his trews.

Fenelon extracted himself from the blankets and yanked his shirt and tunic back on. “Want to tell me what you were doing out there?” he askd.

“Trying to find Vagner,” Alaric said.

“Why?”

“Because I think something is wrong,” Alaric said. “I think he is in danger.”

Fenelon looked dubious for a moment. Then he signed and said, “Have you tried to summon him?”

“That’s what I was doing out there,” Alaric said.

“Hmmm,” Fenelon said. “Try again.”

Alaric frowned, but he closed his eyes and sang the musical name in his head. Within moments, he felt a response, the answering song of the essence conjoined with his own. It grew strong swiftly, and Vagner practically flew through the door, though Alaric realized the demon had opened its gate.

“Little master, are you hurt? Are you ill?” Vagner asked.

Alaric fixed the demon with as hard a stare as he could muster. “Where were you?” he asked.

The demon frowned. “Out scouting around the mist,” he said.

“For what?” Fenelon asked before Alaric could.

“I thought I felt Tane,” the demon said, looking genuinely hurt by Fenelon’s accusatory tone. “I wanted to see if it was him…”

Alaric frowned and concentrated on the bond they shared. If it was a lie, he could not tell.
But would I truly be able to with Ronan tied to me as well?
he wondered. “Did you find him?”

The demon shook his head. “Confounded mist…It’s full of old magic. I lost my way until you called.”

Alaric sighed. All this felt like the truth, even if it did not satisfy Alaric as to why the demon had thought he felt Tane when Alaric could not.

“Well, don’t do it again without telling me first,” Alaric said.

“As you will,” the demon said.

Alaric caught Fenelon’s expression. Bemusement lit the master mageborn’s face with a smile. Alaric cleared his throat and huddled deeper into his blankets.

“You might as well take watch,” Fenelon said and patted Alaric’s back. “Dawn’s just a few hours away.”

Alaric merely nodded and reached for dry clothes. He dragged them on with deliberately slow gestures while Fenelon sank into the deserted pallet of furs. Wrapped in Fenelon’s white cloak since it was still dry and warm, Alaric took his place by the door. Vagner reached for the handle.

“Don’t,” Alaric said. “Stay here instead.” The demon hesitated, puzzlement masking his bat-like features. “Less chance you’ll get lost in the mist chasing phantoms,” Alaric added. “And I would be willing to bet you need to rest.”

“Very well,” Vagner said and settled onto the floor next to Alaric. “Demons do not sleep, you know.” His chiropteran form shimmered as Vagner shrank into a smaller and less imposing size. “But as you will, little master.”

Vagner coiled up like a large sheep dog at Alaric’s feet, eyes closed. Alaric leaned his head against the doorframe and sighed as he took one more look at the demon’s mark in his hand.