Master of Swords (9 page)

“Go right ahead!”

“Please do,” Lark agreed.
It'll distract Diera from her obsession with my love life.

He slid into a chair next to his mentor, all dark, catlike masculine grace, the perfect foil for Diera's fairy princess beauty. As his gaze went to her face, intent with longing, a blush climbed Diera's cheeks. She glanced away, clearing her throat.

Caroline cut her eyes at Lark, who fought a smile.

Antonio leaned toward Diera. Before he could purr whatever bit of seduction he had in mind, a rising, scandalized murmur rose, very different from the reception he'd received.

Someone called, “Gawain, what the hell are you doing in the Ladies' Club?”

“Looking for a lady,” the knight's deep voice shot back. “Haven't found one yet.”

Someone catcalled a friendly insult in return.

“Damn,” Caroline breathed, saying exactly what she was thinking. “He came into the club after you! He must be pissed.”

Lark craned her neck and spotted him scanning the restaurant. His eyes narrowed as he saw her, and he started in their direction, his strides long and determined.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Diera tense. Antonio frowned.

Reaching their table, Gawain loomed over Lark's chair. “I'm sorry, were Morgana's instructions not clear enough for you?” His deceptively pleasant tone provided a sharp contrast to the angry snap of his eyes. “You're my responsibility. If you gallivant off somewhere and get yourself killed, I can assure you Arthur Pendragon is
not
going to accept, ‘I was asleep,' as an excuse!” His voice climbed perilously close to a shout.

Lark stared up at him, astonished.

“You'll have to excuse him, dear,” Diera said into the ringing silence. “He's not used to waking up alone. Usually he's the one who sneaks out in the middle of the night.”

Lark's jaw dropped as she turned to stare at her friend. Where the hell had that come from?

“Diera…” Antonio said in a warning voice, his narrowed dark eyes snapping.

Gawain studied him, then lifted a brow at Diera. “This must be your apprentice. Shouldn't you be off training him?”

Diera merely smiled, catlike and taunting. “Actually, he needs very little training. He may not be as experienced as some, but he makes up for it with enthusiasm.”

Gawain's smile was downright icy as he looked down at the stunned young Magus. “Do
you
think you've had enough, Antonio?”

A muscle flexed in his jaw as he stared at Diera with angry eyes. “At the moment, yes.” He rose from his seat and strode toward the door.

Diera stared after his broad back, her face stricken.

Caroline gave her a pitying look and leaned in close to whisper, “Go after him, dumb ass.”

The Maja rose, threw down her napkin, and hurried in her apprentice's wake.

Gawain turned his attention on Caroline with a coolly lifted brow. “I imagine you're Galahad's assignment. Does
he
know where you are?”

“We're Truebonded, Gawain,” Caroline snapped, referring to the deep psychic link married couples formed. “Of course he knows where I am. And he says he's known you since Jesus was a little boy, and you've never been this big a jerk. What's eating you?”

“Morgana called me this morning with a mission, and I had to tell her I'd already lost my new apprentice. She wasn't exactly thrilled.”

Lark winced. “Sorry.”
Way to go, McGuin—you haven't been partners with the man two days, and you've already managed to embarrass him.
“What mission are we talking about?”

“There's been a murder Morgana believes was the work of one of our sorcerer friends. She wants us to check it out and see if we can track down the bastard.”

Lark nodded and tossed her own napkin aside. “All right, let's go.”

As she rose from her seat, her gaze met Kel's over Gawain's shoulder. The little dragon shrugged its metallic wings in an I-don't-know-what's-gotten-into-him-either gesture.

 

Diera hurried from
the Ladies' Club, following her apprentice. “Antonio! Wait. Please.”

He finally stopped in the club's courtyard, shoulders squared as he stared out over the wrought-iron fence at the moon just rising over Avalon's gleaming skyline. He did not look around.

She stopped there, suddenly at a loss. Remembering the things she'd said, shame stung her so hard, she winced. Taking a deep breath, she stepped beside her lover and stared up into his profile. He looked as handsome and stony as a Roman statue.

“I suppose I owe you an apology.” Diera forced a laugh. “Gawain has always had a talent for turning me into a little witch.”

Antonio turned to look down at her. For a man with such warm eyes, his gaze could go remarkably icy. “Considering your extensive experience, I'd think you'd be beyond blaming others for your behavior.”

She winced again. “You're right, of course. It's just…I did love Gawain once, very deeply. When he left me, I wanted to die.”

“Do you still love him?” Vulnerability and pain flashed across Antonio's face, sending a stab of regret through her.

“No.” Diera blinked in surprise, realizing that she meant it.
When had that happened?

“Then why are you letting such old resentments poison your life?” He searched her expression, then shook his dark head. “You're the most beautiful and giving woman I've ever met. There's nothing I love more than touching you, being with you. But unless you can let go of the past, there will never be anything between us except stolen kisses in the dark.” Catching her chin in one strong, warm hand, he lifted it until she met his eyes. “Is that enough for you?” His beautiful mouth firmed. “Because it's not enough for me.”

Releasing her, he turned and walked through the wrought-iron gate.

Blinking, Diera watched his broad back move rapidly off into the moonlit night. Suddenly she realized if she let him go, she'd lose something precious.

“Antonio?” she breathed. “Antonio!” He didn't stop. Diera broke into a run. “Wait!”

Wheeling, he reached for her even as she threw himself into his arms. His mouth crashed down on hers, hot and possessive with relief and hunger.

Diera closed her eyes and kissed him back.

 

Gawain silently gritted
his teeth as he stalked from the Ladies' Club, acutely aware of the amused stares that followed him. Caroline was right—he'd acted like an idiot.

Finding Lark with Diera had put the finishing touches on a rotten start to the night. Like Tristan, his former lover had probably spent the afternoon regaling Lark with tales of his recklessness, faithlessness, and general lack of morality. Never mind that Diera herself hadn't exactly been blameless in their romantic debacle.

“Is there a reason you acted like a jerk?” Lark asked, her tone almost matter-of-fact despite the temper he could hear simmering in her voice.

“As I'm sure Diera told you, I don't need a reason.”

“Actually, he's always got reasons,” Kel put in. “Sometimes he acts like a jerk because he's pissed, sometimes because he's scared, and sometimes just for the sheer orgasmic joy of pissing off everyone he knows.”

“Shut up, lizard.” Reaching into a pocket of his jeans, he pulled out the folded front page Morgana had sent him. He handed it to Lark. “Take a look. Grim thinks there's a high probability this is death magic.” Merlin's Grimorie was a sentient book, and the repository of the wizard's magical knowledge. Among other things, Grim could display every newspaper on the planet within his pages. That ability had come in particularly handy during the Magekind's sorcerer hunt.

Gawain watched as Lark unfolded the paper and read over it before looking up at him. “So where do we go from here?”

“There's a good chance our vampire friend's magic has left a trail,” Kel explained. “I should be able to cast a spell on the body and track him.”

She frowned. “But you're going to need the body first.”

The dragon nodded his small head. “Yes, but that won't be a problem. Watch…”

Through their link, Gawain felt Kel call the magic. It rose in a glittering psychic tide and spilled into the paper Lark held.

An image floated off the page, a ghostly photograph of a smiling, dark-haired woman who looked about thirty-five. According to the newspaper article, Candice Sanders had been a wife, teacher, and mother of three who had been kidnapped from a mall parking lot in Daytona Beach, Florida, two nights before. She'd been found nude and butchered in a vacant lot yesterday, thrown away like so much garbage.

Looking at the floating photo, Gawain felt his fury increase. “I hate these bastards,” he growled. “We've fought a lot of assholes over the centuries, but these guys…”

“Concentrating here,” Kel interrupted. Gawain fell silent, simmering. The image floated away. He and Lark hurried after it.

Just ahead, Kel conjured a dimensional gate that grew from a tiny glowing point to a magical doorway in the space of a blink. The photo flew through the opening, and they followed.

The three emerged in utter darkness that smelled of formaldehyde, disinfectant, and an underlying reek of death. “Lights!” Lark snapped.

Overhead fluorescents switched on, obeying her spell.

They stood at one end of a small room with walls and floors covered with green ceramic tile. In the center stood a metal table with grooves around the edges and a set of big lights overhead. The opposite wall held ten metal doors, each about three feet square.

“Is this a morgue?” Lark whispered, looking around uneasily.

“Looks like it.” Gawain watched the photograph float toward one of the metal doors and disappear. A surge of Kel's magic opened the door. Tiny wheels squeaked as a sliding metal table rolled out.

What was left of Candice Sanders lay on it. Lark gasped, the blood draining from her face. Gawain didn't blame her. He'd fought on more battlefields than he could count, seen men chopped up like cord wood or blown apart by explosives, but this kind of blatantly sexual butchery was different. “You okay?”

She straightened her slim shoulders and nodded curtly. “I saw some nasty stuff when I was a firefighter, but this…These guys really are monsters.”

“Yes, well, they'll shortly be dead monsters,” Kel said. “At least, as soon as we track them down. This kind of magical viciousness leaves a trail.”

“If they didn't erase it,” Lark pointed out.

“This lot usually doesn't have that much skill or power,” Kel told her. “Certainly not enough to cover up something like this.”

Again, the dragon's magic spilled toward the body. The spell hit the corpse and began to glow in a storm of furiously swirling crimson sparks. It shot upward…and splashed, as if hitting some kind of magical barrier.

“Huh,” Kel said, craning his neck past Gawain's ear. “Somebody has power.” He started to chant in Draconian, the words sibilant. The sparks of his spell spun faster, beating frantically against the shield, which began to glow, as if it were heating under the bombardment. But it didn't crack.

“Oh, no, you don't, you bastard,” Kel growled. “You're not beating me.” More power, a hot river of it, so much Gawain felt his knees buckle. The dragon was drawing from the very essence of his life, but Gawain didn't protest. They had to find whoever did this and make sure he never did it again.

Suddenly a delicate hand reached up and closed around Kel's hilt. Lark lifted her voice, adding her chant to his as she poured her magic into him. Gawain grunted in relief and straightened as the pressure eased.

With a soundless psychic explosion, the shield burst. Quickly, the Maja summoned a gate, and the spell hit it, redirecting it toward the killer's location.

“Armor up,” Gawain ordered, drawing Kel as they started toward the gate. He wasn't surprised when the armor took longer to form than it normally did—that spell had taken a hell of a lot of magic.

Which might come back to bite them on the ass when they actually had to fight the bastard who had cast it. Unfortunately, they didn't have a choice. The killer had probably spotted their gateway by now. They had to strike before he could escape.

They had to make sure Candice Sanders was his last victim.

Lark, Gawain, and
Kel stepped through the gate into a small, astonishingly dirty living room. Clothes lay on the floor, and beer cans and empty boxes of Chinese takeout lay on a cheap pressboard coffee table, but there was no one in sight.

“I'm not sensing anyone home,” Kel said, a frown on his tiny muzzle. “I don't understand. The spell should have taken us to the killer's current location.”

“I don't think this is it,” Lark said. “Don't sorcerers live better than this?”

“Usually.” Gawain frowned as he studied the chaos.

“But that spell worked,” Kel growled. “I felt it work.”

“One thing's for sure. Whoever lives here is a pig.” She toed a pair of dirty skivvies away from her foot. “This place literally smells like shit.”

Gawain's eyes widened. “And blood.” He started across the room to an open doorway where he stopped, startled.

A man lay sprawled spread-eagle on the unmade bed, gutted, his vacant eyes staring at the ceiling. He was dressed in familiar crimson robes.

“Well,” Kel drawled, “Looks like somebody beat us to the punch.”

Steeling herself against the smell and horror of death, Lark followed Gawain to the bedside.

If anything, the sorcerer's corpse looked even worse than his victim's. He was covered in blood, dark and coagulating. More of it soaked the bed and splashed the walls, flecked here and there with stomach-churning chunks of meat.

“This isn't Magekind work,” Gawain said, frowning. “None of us would have left the body like this.”

“If nothing else, we'd have cleaned up,” Lark agreed, stepping closer and dropping the magical shields she'd learned to maintain at scenes of violent death.

Suddenly she could see patterns of energy—not bright and glowing, like that used by Magekind, but the dark, pulsing forces of death magic. The traces seemed concentrated over the bloodied, hacked chest. Which she realized, was empty. “His heart was cut out.”

“Well, given that he's dead and his head is still attached, that does stand to reason,” Gawain pointed out.

“No, I mean that it was cut out as part of a ritual. I saw something like this before on another mission. Somebody worked death magic on him.”

Gawain frowned. “A sorcerer?”

She shot him a look. “Well, it certainly wasn't a Maja.”

“Are we sure he's the one that killed Candice?”

“Yes,” Kel said promptly. “The spell wouldn't have led us to him otherwise.”

“Besides, this guy's native magic is the same as the magic around Candice.” Lark frowned, studying the patterns of energy swirling around the corpse. One set of mystical fingerprints were dim, fading—the sorcerer's innate power, which had been largely drained away. The other…“Kel, doesn't his killer's magic have the same pattern as the shield we destroyed?”

The dragon's head cocked, considering the suggestion. “I think you're right. That's odd.”

Lark frowned, working it through. “Whoever killed the sorcerer put up that blocking spell around her.”

“…before coming here and executing Candice's killer.” Gawain moved closer to the bed, examining the corpse. “He must have a hell of a lot of power. It's virtually impossible for one of us to catch another asleep. For this guy to be in bed, spread-eagle like this, suggests his killer put him there. And since our boy had just committed mystical murder, he would have had more than enough power to fight back.”

“What if it was a woman?” Lark pointed out. “Maybe she seduced him, and then….”

He considered the idea. “Possibly. But why?”

“Why do lovers ever kill each other?”

“I don't think so,” Kel said. “For a woman to kill a man she's just banged, she has to be pretty pissed off. Look at the body—that's not a rage killing.”

Lark lifted her brows. “Sure looks pissed to me.”

“Not as much as you'd think.” The dragon pointed at the body with his muzzle. “The edges of the wound are too clean, too deliberate. His hand was steady.”

“His?”

Kel shrugged. “Or hers.”

“Or theirs,” Lark suggested. “If there was more than one of them, that would explain a lot, too.”

“No,” Kel said. “The magic here is too uniform, too solid. If there was a group of sorcerers doing this, there'd be more than one magical signature.”

“Either way, why would one sorcerer kill another?” Gawain asked.

“Power,” Kel replied promptly. “There's more power to be had from sacrificing a being of magic than in killing a mortal. They're just harder to kill, so most of Geirolf 's lot don't attempt it.”

“Which implies that this particular bastard is one we need to stop
now
before he gets any stronger,” Gawain said. “I think it's time for another tracking spell.”

He drew the sword and held it out over the body. Lark wrapped both hands around his and closed her eyes.

Again, she felt the hot, alien rise of the dragon's magic, flavored with Gawain's life force. She sent her own to join it, pouring herself into the spell, letting Kel use the power she gave him.

The spell poured outward with a psychic roar. Hastily, she opened a gate and watched it slam through, warping the doorway toward a new destination as it went. For a moment, she felt resistance—a set of magical wards on the other side. Kel snarled another chant, and she gave him more power without being asked. The barrier exploded under their combined strength, and the gate popped through.

Gawain pulled away from her and leaped into the opening. Taking a deep breath, she followed.

 

The little blonde
had quit struggling and started dying. Richard Edge purred in pleasure against her torn throat as he fed on her blood and life force simultaneously. Compared to the sorcerer he'd killed two hours ago, she was barely a magical appetizer. Still, sacrifices always made him horny, so he'd stopped at a bar on the way home to grab a girl. He'd snatched her from the parking lot and gated back to his sanctuary before she even had time to scream.

She'd done plenty of screaming since then, though…

Boom!

Richard jerked his head up, ignoring the blood that flew from the girl's throat as he tore his fangs free. Something had just hit his wards. Something powerful and pissed.

Knowing he had seconds at most, he rolled off his victim, grabbed a knife from the bedside table, and buried it in her heart. She jerked and died, and he syphoned off the last of her life.

He was going to need all the power he could get.

Calling his armor, he sprinted for the library. Gate spells tended to head for the largest uncluttered space, and in his sanctuary, that was it. Considering that his home was buried a good two hundred feet down in solid bedrock, they certainly didn't want to chance gating anywhere else.

Richard charged into the room just in time to see an armored figure leap through the dimensional gate. Instantly, he recognized the distinctive snarling dragon of the knight's helm.

Tilting up his visor, Richard gave his visitor his best chilling grin. “Why, hello there, Uncle Gawain.”

He had the pleasure of seeing the knight's eyes widen before he charged. With a roar, Richard swung his sword in a blow intended to take off Gawain's head.

Automatically, Gawain parried the sorcerer's attack, though the impact reverberated in his bones. He knew that face.

Merlin's balls, it was Richard Edge!

Edge had been only a teenager when Gawain had last seen him, and he was in his forties now. Still, there was no doubt at all he was Bors's son. He had the same dark hair, the same large brown eyes and angular looks paired with a broad-shouldered, almost bullish build.

But the vicious light in those eyes was nothing Gawain had ever seen in Bors's.

He struck out in a vicious return blow that forced Edge to leap away with a vampire's speed.

“How the hell did you fall in with Geirolf?” Narrow-eyed, Gawain fell into a combat crouch and began to stalk the sorcerer. From the corner of one eye, he saw Lark hanging back, assessing the situation, looking for an opening to strike.

Good girl. Use your head.

Edge curled his lip, hate blazing in his eyes. “After Daddy banished me from Avalon, I had to do something to occupy my time.” Wheeling, he swung his sword in a deadly arc right at Lark's head. She jumped back with a yelp of alarm, barely avoiding a beheading.

Growling in rage, Gawain jolted forward, but Edge was as fast and agile as his father. The sorcerer spun aside, parrying his thrust and sending a blast of magic into his face. Even through the Dragon Helm, Gawain felt the burn.

Damn,
Kel said in their mental link,
the little prick has power
.

Let's see if he has the control to go with it.
He gave the sorcerer a taunting grin. “I always did have a bad feeling about you. Even Bors said you were a budding sociopath.”

Edge smirked, spreading his arms wide. Behind him, Lark gathered herself for an attack, magic building around her hands. “And now here I am, in full flower.”

Trying to keep the bastard's attention focused on him, Gawain sneered. “Well, I'm about to rip you out by the roots.”

“I think not. I've found another way to immortality than Merlin's Gift, and I've got more power now than you or dear ol' Dad ever dreamed of.” He lifted one blazing hand…

And Lark fired, blasting him with a roiling blaze of magic.

Which promptly struck Edge's shield and splashed harmlessly away. With an offhand gesture, he turned and blasted Lark full in the chest, slamming her into the bookshelves behind her.

Shit!
Heart in his throat, Gawain started toward her, just as the books exploded into flame and rained down on her head. Before he could take another step, a glowing shield formed over her, and she knocked them away.

As she struggled clear of the burning wreckage, Edge lunged at Gawain again, taking advantage of his distraction. His sword rang against Gawain's helm in a shower of sparks.

Cursing, Gawain knocked it away with his own blade, the two weapons clashing together, magic roiling around them like opposing magnetic fields.

“Mmmm.” Edge made a purring sound in his throat. “Once I've killed you, I'll drain Kel like a cheap battery. Doing you two will keep me in magic for months.”

“The only one who's going to die here is you,” Kel spat.

Edge gave them a smug smile. “We'll see, won't we?”

But as he lifted his sword, a flaming book struck him squarely in the helm.

Edge whirled with a growl of fury as Lark prepared to lob another book at him. “You little
bitch
! You're going to die for that.”

A huge fireball began to grow around his left hand.

 

Lark barely reinforced
her magical shields in time to absorb Edge's blast.

Jesus, he had more power than Fangface! Fear dug icy fingers into her heart, but she fought it down and sent another burning tome rocketing toward him.

Edge ducked away, then started to lunge at her, but Gawain headed him off. As the two men hacked at each other, Lark gathered the blazing books with a spell and sent them orbiting around the room. If nothing else, she could pelt Edge with them until Gawain had a chance to take his head.

Her hands were sweating inside her gauntlets, and the smell of burning paper hung acrid in the air. Even stronger than that was the stench of death magic. Edge had more power than any sorcerer she'd encountered before. Lark could almost taste it—roiling, oily, burning her skin like some toxic sludge. Even Fangface hadn't had that much raw magical voltage.

When Edge had hit her with that first blast, she'd thought the spell was going to eat right through her shields and kill her on the spot. Ironically, when she'd hit the bookcases, the raining books had absorbed some of that lethal magic and saved her life.

Watching the two men fight only added to her sense of being totally out of her depth. Edge moved like a cobra, lashing out with his sword in blurring attacks she could scarcely see. Gawain parried every blow and retaliated with his own breathtaking speed, weaving around his opponent and powering ringing blows against his defenses.

Edge is damn near as good with a blade as Gawain,
Lark thought grimly.

And it was past time she jerked her thumb out of her ass and did something to help.

Pouring more magic into one of her flaming missiles, Lark slung it at the sorcerer, but he deflected it with an offhand swat and launched another attack at Gawain.

She had the unhappy suspicion Edge was better with a blade than most of the younger Magi she'd seen. You had to train since childhood to attain that level of skill.

Spotting an opening, Lark sent another pair of flaming books shooting toward Edge. Again he spun aside. Gawain lunged after him, swinging Kel like a scythe. Edge parried and hacked back at him, forcing the knight to retreat.

Lark edged closer, waiting for an opportunity with her heart in her throat, hovering just out of reach of the flashing weapons.

As if in slow motion, she watched Gawain's booted foot come down on one of the half-burned books. His ankle turned. He started to go down…

Edge will gut him
. Forgetting her fear, Lark threw herself between the two men and sent all her power blasting into the sorcerer's face. He bellowed in pain, jerking back. She had time to feel a moment's satisfaction…

Edge's fist hit the side of her head with all the power of a vampire's arm. She saw stars as her body slammed painfully into the edge of a table, which toppled and threw her to the floor. Her head smashed into the inside of her helm with another stunning burst of agony.

For a moment, Lark could only lie struggling to draw a breath, distantly aware of Gawain's roar of rage and Kel's higher metallic screech. Power blasts volleyed across the room. Something exploded, raining heat over her armored body. Instinctively, she sucked in a breath and tried to roll to her feet, but her legs gave under her before she was fully erect. Reeling, Lark collided with the wall and caught herself. The room spun around her, darkening at the edges….