Sorceress Rising (A Gargoyle and Sorceress Tale Book 2) (23 page)

“I love you,
too.” She held him in her fierce grip for a few minutes more. “Would it be
naïve of me to hope the villains will take a break for a while, long enough to
figure out an action plan?”

Gregory barely
refrained from snorting in humor. Instead, he said, “Tell me more about your
family, and everything they said about the collars they gave you.”

****

After
questioning Lillian twice, he debated what he’d learned for some minutes. When
she talked about her parents, it was with a bitter tone, though it soften when
she mentioned the unknown brother.

Clearly, she had
come to the conclusion that her parents had, in the end, purposely betrayed
her.

Gregory was not
so sure now. Not after learning more about the collars. From the little he had
gathered based on his long experience with magic and his enemy’s tactics, the
physical collars were merely designed to carry the true enslavement spell—the
ones designed to merge with body and spirit. It was an ingenious way to insure
that the victim could not simply cut off or use magic to otherwise remove a
physical collar.

What made
Gregory think Lillian’s parents were innocent, was that the collars, at least
the physical ones, had disappeared within seconds of attachment. He could only
surmise that the solid collars were designed to return the wearer back to the
Magic Realm, probably to some dark chamber deep within the Battle Goddess’s
temple.

That he and
Lillian were presently still here in the Mortal Realm instead of enjoying the
dark twin’s hospitality, might mean that Lillian’s father had tampered with the
collars as he’d said, changing the spells woven into them, thereby preventing
Lillian and himself from falling victim to the Lady of Battles—at least not
this day.

Of course, they
still had the secondary spell burned into their skin like a brand. But that in
itself didn’t prove malicious intent on the part of Lillian’s father. In fact,
the spell was very similar to the type of magic his adversary had used to graft
the demon seed onto Lillian’s soul.

And
he
had very nearly missed that spell’s existence until it was too late. The other
gargoyle could have overlooked a well-hidden secondary spell.

However, he wasn’t
telling Lillian any of his theories yet. She’d already been hurt enough, he
wouldn’t intentionally give her false hope, only to cause her more pain later.

In the end, the
only way to learn the newcomers’ intentions was to confront them and use magic
to learn if they spoke the truth.

His plan had
only one glaring problem.

He couldn’t call
on his magic. It was walled off, out of reach for now. He had a sneaking
suspicion only Lillian’s command could now unlock that power.

They hadn’t
tested that theory yet. Gregory was reluctant to try, fearing any order might
open up a mind-link between them, which, with his thoughts so focused on her
parents, could only give away more about his theories than he wanted to risk at
the moment.

And that, as
Lillian would say, was a catch 22.

His eyes
narrowed in displeasure.

He hated human
sayings. They were more contagious than common ailments.

Looking over at
Lillian where she sat on a fallen log, he wondered if they dared risk finding
out what the ward spell would and wouldn’t allow them to get away with.

One of the first
things he found was that the spells wouldn’t let them travel more than twenty
feet apart, which suited Gregory fine.

Lillian wouldn’t
be able to get into trouble without him knowing about it, and the forced
proximity might allow him to find out just what Lillian was keeping from him.

She was still
visibly upset by today’s events. Her tale had been fairly detailed, except for
a few parts, like the times when she’d almost fallen prey to the siren’s song
and later when the collars activated.

By all accounts,
Lillian’s distress was justified but he still couldn’t shake the feeling
something was off.

What wasn’t
‘off’ about this situation?
With a mental shake, he
gave a great huffing cough.

Regrettably,
that action graced him with a big whiff of his own scent.

Mercy, that
stink certainly didn’t mellow with age. Even with the mud now mostly dry, it
was still breathtakingly terrible.

The sound of
distant hoof beats reached Gregory’s ears and they swung around to the south,
tracking the sound as it grew closer.

“Now what?”
Lillian asked, echoing his own silent thought.

Honestly,
Gregory didn’t know.

Though by the
sound, the hoof beats came from two different equines. His pooka and unicorn
allies seemed always capable of finding him, even when he didn’t particularly
want to be found.

This time, he
couldn’t assume they were coming to his aid.

From his hiding
spot in the deepest shadows underneath the boughs of a young fir where even the
light of the full moon couldn’t touch, Gregory watched and waited. No more than
ten feet from the same tree line, his other half sat in a patch of moonlight,
intentionally badly hidden in the waist high grasses.

It was Lillian’s
idea to act as bait.

He hated it, but
agreed only because it was the best way to observe the two equines and judge
whether they were presently still his allies in truth.

Besides
, he mentally reassured himself,
I’m close enough to protect
Lillian.

Even without
using his Avatar magic, which he feared to use until he learned more about the
tattoo around his neck, he was still more than capable of taking out both the
unicorn and the pooka should that be required.

He sincerely
hoped it didn’t come to that.

A glimmer of
silver between the trees quickly resolved itself into the unicorn. He galloped
into the meadow and stopped when he spotted Lillian.

He approached
her with a nicker, and craned his neck to sniff at her.
“You’re not actually
trying to hide, are you?”

“Yes,” Lillian
said and Gregory watched as she slapped playfully at the unicorn’s muzzle.

“It’s good to
see you. I’m surprised you escaped Gregory at all if that’s your best attempt
at hiding,”
the unicorn said with an accompanying
bob of his head.

“She’s not
hiding, you twit,”
said another mind voice that was
familiar with its liberal dose of disdain.
“She’s playing decoy to Gregory’s
hunter.”

A black pony
emerged from the shadows. He looked directly at Gregory and said.
“At least
that’s a better attempt at hiding.”

Lillian stood
up, her expression losing its earlier joy. “I’m glad you weren’t captured by
the siren, but what became of my grandmother?”

It was the pooka
who answered.
“Gran is safe. She stayed behind so we could reach you
faster.”

The tension in
Lillian’s shoulders and wings visibly eased.

Gregory emerged
from the shadows and joined Lillian.
“It’s good to see you’re both free of
the siren. Maybe now we can do something to teach her to be choosier about
whose territory she invades. Usurpers can find themselves lacking in
trustworthy friends.”

The pooka
suddenly froze in place, his eye showing white for a few seconds in surprise,
but then he stretched forward to nose at Gregory’s neck.
“Ah. It seems you
have escaped the siren’s power merely to be caught by an even more powerful
third party.”
The pony tilted an ear forward and back in question.
“How
did such a thing come to pass?”

Gregory remained
silent, not in the mood to give answers to the pooka’s surly tone.

Lillian stood,
brushing off bits of grass “I was foolish enough to trust my parents.”

“Ah. They
showed their true colors. How disappointing. I rather liked them.”

That caught Gregory’s
attention enough to draw him in.
“We never did find the time to have that
particular conversation as I recall.”

“Yes, I was
there when Gran first stumbled upon them in Lillian’s grove while you both were
still deep in your healing sleep. That time I only witnessed them aiding both
of you by sharing their power. They seemed genuinely concerned.”
The pooka gave a mild shake of his head, his equivalent of a shrug.
“I suppose the concern could be real but they still might serve the Lady of
Battles.”

Gregory hadn’t
expected the pooka’s words to be reassuring, and they weren’t. However, he had
hoped for something more substantial.

Eyes narrowing,
he accepted that he’d just have to hunt down what he needed to know himself.

“We have some
hunting to do,” Gregory said, including the other three. His instincts cried
for him to find some safe place to hide Lillian until he ascertained the nature
of the threat, but the brand on his neck would not allow that, so she came with
him.

He dropped to
all fours and raised his nose to the breeze, seeking the trail her parents had
taken.

Lillian dropped
down next to him and gently bumped his shoulder. “We hunt.”

“We hunt,”
both the unicorn and pooka echoed.

Gregory snorted.
It hadn’t been what he’d meant but the Wild Hunt would ride this night after
all. What remained to be seen was if Lillian’s parents would join the Hunt or
become its prey. Whatever the outcome, Gregory would make certain this Hunt
left many victims in its wake.

Tethys, too,
would have that same choice, and then the Riven would feel the cold,
passionless wrath of the Wild Hunt.

Gregory bolted
into motion, Lillian at his side, with the pooka and unicorn two strides behind
them. This Hunt lacked the starting dance, the howl of the dire wolves, the
call of hunting horns, and the baying of the Fae hounds, but in its oldest
form, the Wild Hunt did not need those things. It only needed blood and
sacrifice at its final destination.

They ran through
the night-shadowed forest, twisting, leaping over, or darting around anything
in their path. Sometimes the pooka or unicorn would pull ahead. Gregory seemed
content to allow them the honor for a short time before he would surge ahead
once more.

Lillian stayed
with him, determined to be as his shadow. Even if the brand around their
throats hadn’t forced them to stay close, she would have anyway.

As the night
grew longer and the scent of their prey steadily stronger, she noticed
something else of interest.

She’d already
run far this night and should have been tired, but each step came as easily as
the first, some unseen power buoying her up.

And she wasn’t
alone. Both Gregory and the two equines seemed to feel it as well. Magic
swirled around them at the edge of her vision, sparks and whorls like tiny
incandescent snowflakes formed in the air, only to break away and drift behind.

Lillian chanced
a glance back, curious to see what became of the magic they summoned from the
Magic Realm even without the aid of the great circle dances. It was as she
thought. Wherever the tiny sparks landed, they nourished and renewed the land.

Even while in
gargoyle form, her dryad blood sensed the land and trees growing stronger. With
a smile, she bound a stride ahead and stole the lead from Gregory for a whole
ten seconds.

She was just
easing back to run alongside him again when three shadows began to pace them.
Turning her head, she studied the massive wolves as they communicated silently
with Gregory.

She’d never
forgotten the dire wolves she’d seen in her first Hunt, but she hadn’t seen any
since she woke from her hamadryad’s healing. Gran had said they were in
mourning, and once that was over they would start the selection of new leaders.

Lillian wondered
if their arrival meant the dire wolves had new alphas. She and Gregory could
sorely use the help in the coming fight.

“The dire wolf
packs are still far to the north,” Gregory explained, crushing that small hope,
“but these three and others along the way were sent to howl back the news of
what they learned. Apparently, other Clan members sent word of our awakening to
the packs, and later a second message about our preparations to fight the Lady
of Battles.”

A nod to each
was the extent of her greeting, for even as those three aligned their magic to
the Hunt’s, more of the Clan joined them. These were the ones who had no reason
to be near enough to the spa to hear Tethys’s song and so had avoided capture.
Two blazing white elks, a male with a massive rack and a yearling female,
galloped at the tips of the dire wolves’ tails.

She flashed to
another time when a similar white buck had attempted to carry her to safety
only to be brought down by the attacking Riven, his beautiful coat awash in
crimson blood. Yes, the Riven had much to answer for, and she planned to make
them pay it in their own blood.

A family of
foxes burst from a thicket and flanked Gregory on his other side. Farther along
the path a bull moose awaited them. Perched upon his back, like she was born
there, sat the banshee.

Lillian flicked
a questioning ear at the banshee, for last she’d seen that Fae had been earlier
in the day while they finished details for the masquerade. She’d just assumed
the banshee was captured along with the rest of the Fae helping at the spa.

The banshee
guided her moose closer to Lillian, and then smiled down at her from her higher
perch. “Be at ease, young gargoyle. A siren, no matter how powerful, isn’t able
to out-sing a banshee’s keening. When I saw how many she was able to enslave, I
fled into the forest and joined with the other free-ranging Clan. We will fight
at your side. First the Riven, then the siren, and finally even the humans if
they leave us no choice.”

Lillian nodded
her head in thanks, not daring to get into an argument about the humans again.

Other Clan
joined the Hunt, sliding out of the deeper shadows of the forest. Several sidhe
joined them, riding either deer, elk, or moose. By a quick count, Lillian
estimated that there were close to two dozen hunting hounds running silent at
their hooves. Next to them, three massive bear-like creatures loped along,
their giant strides easily keeping the pace. There was even a black hunting cat
ghosting at the edges of the Hunt.

The Wild Hunt,
which started four strong, had grown to over sixty in number by the time they
reached the location where close to twenty-five Riven battled two gargoyles and
one dryad. As the Hunt swept down upon the rear most Riven, Lillian realized
they had to leap over many already killed.

With a small
part of her mind not already engaged in battle, she noted how deadly her family
was. Even her baby brother was lethal, she admitted as he dispatched a Riven
with a decapitating stab of his tail to his opponent’s neck. Her father moved
with a brutal efficiency, but Lillian spotted wounds. None of them were without
injury, mostly claw and bite marks.

Gregory surged
ahead, making for the left flank of the Riven horde. Lillian followed with the
rest of the Hunt howling at her heels.

It wasn’t like
the movies, no glorious clash of steel on steel. There was only the nauseating
sounds of tearing flesh, popping cartilage and the dull thump of dead meat
hitting the ground. The Riven did not use conventional weapons. They themselves
were the weapons. Their fangs and claws venomous with evil corruption, their
blood a burning poison.

But worst of all
was the smell, she’d never forget the charnel house smell of a Riven body torn
open. The stench threatened to steal the breath from her lungs.

She fought as
they did, with tooth and claw and blade tipped tail. One Riven she tore nearly
in two, baring it’s spine to the moonlight. Her powerful jaws promptly gifted a
second Riven with a severed neck.

Spitting tainted
blood, she scrubbed at her mouth and briefly worried how harmful it might be to
her gargoyle body. The Riven didn’t give her long to worry as two more attacked
at once. Gregory, gripping his own opponents in each hand, tail-speared one of
hers before she was forced to fight two at a time.

All around was
death and the wails of the wounded. The Riven only hissed and snarled in rage
as they died. She knew the monsters still must feel some pain for injuries did
slow them down.

She hated the
monsters’ otherwise stoic silence, for it meant each of the grunts, yelps, and cut
off screams belonged to one of her people.

And there were
many sounds of anguish filling the air.

For every cry,
she sought to pull down another Riven as payment in kind. She didn’t know how
long the battle raged. Seconds? Minutes? But between one ragged breath and the
next, the battle was over, the last Riven dying upon Gregory’s talons.

With a snarl of
disgust, he shoved the corpse away and glanced over at her where his gaze
quickly scanned her for injury. An assortment of slashes and bite marks decorated
her upper body and lower arms. Blood seeped from them, but she did nothing to
stop the minor bleeding, deciding it was the best way to cleanse the wounds for
now.

Lillian’s mother
was examining a nasty open wound on Darkness’s belly. It looked like he’d
almost been eviscerated by one of the Riven.

She would have
been more concerned, but her father was still alert, studying his surroundings
as if prepared to continue the fight should more enemies put in an appearance.

A soft whine
drew her gaze to her brother. He struggled to his feet and stumbled toward her
location. Her eyes narrowing, she looked him over and didn’t see a wound deep
enough to cause his distress.

He tugged at
something along his side, just under where his last rib ended.

She saw it then,
the hilt of a demon blade.

Luck had been
with her. She’d taken a couple cuts from one of those blades, but hadn’t
allowed the Riven who wielded it to land a stabbing thrust. Her brother hadn’t
been so lucky.

Taking a step
forward and opening her senses once more, she felt it too, the slow deadly
suction that could drain all magic from its unfortunate victim. Intent on
offering him aid, she started forward only to be warned off by a low growl as
Gregory put himself in her path.

“Let me by,”
Lillian said, surprised her voice sounded anywhere near normal.

“No.” Gregory
didn’t turn his attention from her family when he answered her.

Frustrated, but
also respecting his reason for distrust, she didn’t challenge him about being
overprotective this time. He had reason. But she was also certain that her baby
brother was innocent. “Gregory, he’s got one of those cursed blades buried in
his side. You know how much those hurt, and what it will do to him if we don’t
get it out quickly.”

She could
already see the ring of stone forming around the blade where his body tried to
protect and heal itself.

Lillian’s
parents looked up, just noticing the youngster’s distress. Shadowlight had been
doing a good job of not broadcasting his pain, but now that he was closer, she
could smell it even over the stench of battle.

“Shadowlight?”
River called. Then the truth dawned upon her features and her eyes grew large.
“Shadowlight!” She ran, sprinting over bodies and the gore-slicked ground to
reach his side. She sank to her knees and brushed his hands away to better see
the damage.

Darkness was at
their side a moment later.

“I have no magic
left that will touch this,” her mother whispered in horror, glancing between
her son and her mate. It was easy to see her grief.

Darkness moved one
hand from where it was braced against his own wound and raised it to the demon
blade. As his fist engulfed the hilt, his muscles went taunt, his wings
trembled at the strain.

Lillian’s
stomach dropped in sudden understanding. Her father was too weak to heal both
himself and his son.

She glanced at
Gregory, silently pleading for his help.

“Fine,” Gregory
rumbled, fingering the tattoo around his neck. “If they came to achieve some
mischief, they’ve already done their worst.”

He stalked
forward, his tail twitching in agitation, his body language stating how
profoundly unhappy he was at the situation.

Lillian trailed
him. He glanced over his shoulder long enough to glare at her for not staying
where he’d left her, but he didn’t reprimand her aloud.

Bodily pushing
Darkness out of his way, he did a quick examination of Shadowlight’s side, then
look back at Lillian.

“I can’t access
my magic without your order,” he said without a hint of emotion. “Make it a
command that I heal all our allies, all who serve the light.”

Lillian sucked
in a breath, surprised to find the Hunt had encircled them while she and
Gregory had talked. Many had wounds as grievous as her brother’s or father’s.
“Do you have strength for all that?” she asked in a low voice, more for a
respectful tone than an attempt to hide her questions. The Fae around them
could clearly hear every word of their exchange.

“No.” Gregory
gave a little shrug to Lillian’s question and then turned to address all the
rest of the Hunt. “But it will not be my will that will allow the healing, I
shall summon magic from the Spirit Realm and all healing will be by the Divine
Ones’ grace. Stay and be judged by them, or go into the darkness.”

Gregory turned
back to the wounded young gargoyle without further comment.

There was some
uneasy shifting among the Wild Hunt, but none fled that Lillian spotted.

Her father bowed
his head and closed his eyes, preparing.

Lillian didn’t
know whom her parents served, but she wanted the chance to know more about them
before….before what might happen next.

Gregory speared
her with a look. “This is your choice to make; you must make it soon. There are
many more Riven to be hunted this night.”

More Riven?
Of course, aren’t there always,
she thought with
bitter resentment.

“Heal them,” she
ordered. “Heal everyone here who serves the light. Let it be the will of the
Divine Ones.”

She rested her
fingers lightly upon the brand circling her neck. By Gregory’s earlier words,
it sounded like anyone whom the Divine Ones judged to be tainted weren’t likely
to see the dawn.

Was that
Gregory’s plan all along? To end them both before they could become the Battle
Goddess’s play things?

“So ordered, so
shall it be.” Gregory’s somber tone matched the ritual words.

He mantled his
wings and they flared outward like two great sails. His eyes drifted closed as
his voice rose in a melodic chant.

Lillian wanted
to take the coward’s way out and squeeze her own eyes tightly shut, but if
she’d just ordered their doom, well, by the God and Goddess, she’d watch it
come with her eyes wide and her mind free of fear.