Chapter 3
“Damn it, Hercules!” Darcy swore at his horse. “What is wrong with you?”
The land was injured. Its pain stabbed at Darcy as they trotted onto the moor, crying to him for help. And Hercules, normally so responsive to the slightest touch, was fighting him as if the devil were after him. Could the smoke rising ahead have spooked him?
Once again the horse swerved away, pulling at the reins and ignoring the bit and harness the groom had hastily thrown on him before they left Pemberley House. Darcy had refused to wait for him to be saddled.
Darcy uncharacteristically yanked at the reins. Hercules reared, forcing Darcy to clench his thighs and grab the horse's mane to keep his balance. But it was not enough. Suddenly he was flailing in mid-air, and then his backside struck the ground.
Not hard, for he had landed in a clump of heather that cushioned his fall, even as it poked him through his overcoat painfully with twigs.
In shock, he stared after Hercules' inexplicably fleeing form, galloping back towards his stable.
What could have made him behave so badly?
Admittedly, there was something spooky about the smoky moor, something that made Darcy want to run away, too. He had no choice, though.
He could solve the mystery of Hercules later.
First he had to heed the call of the land.
He pushed himself to his feet and began to make his way through the uneven clumps of bracken and heather, towards the place where the earth was injured.
It was hard to push himself forward, almost as if something was resisting him.
Something that made him want to run away, that made his heart pound with utter terror, to want to be anywhere else.
But the land argued back. This was his land, his birthright, and he belonged here. It needed him.
Roderick called from behind him, “Darcy, come away! It is not safe!”
Unsafe? It was an empty moor. Even the usual population of sheep was oddly missing.
“Now, Darcy!” The Welshman's voice sounded frantic. “She is starting her run!”
What was he talking about? Darcy shook his head and kept forcing himself forward, pulling strength from the land even as it silently screamed in his ears.
Then a voice, unnaturally loud and inhuman, boomed over the landscape. “Fly or face the flames!”
Someone grabbed Darcy's arm, almost making him trip over a hummock of sedge. “Get out of here! This instant!” It was Roderick.
Darcy shook him off without a second glance. The earth was calling out for him, and he would not fail to answer.
And then something hit him from behind, knocking him face down onto the ground. He wanted to struggle against the body atop him, but the breath had been knocked out of him.
“Can you create a hole - make the ground sink under you?” Roderick's voice hissed in his ear. “Quickly, if you wish to live!”
What was wrong with the man? But on the chance the Welshman knew what he was talking about, Darcy told the land what he needed. The dense ground sank only half a foot, enough for a slight enclosure.
Darcy raised his head just in time to see a wall of flame racing towards him. A wave of dizzying terror dried his mouth. This small cavity could not protect them.
He summoned every ounce of Talent he had as he dug his fingertips into the grass, sending his power spiraling down through the thick mat of roots. Help me, he urged the land. Or the fire will kill me.
And Pemberley, so recently watered with his blood from Jenny's bonding ritual, answered. The land under him crumbled away, and he fell several feet. A double blow, as he hit a layer of rock, and Roderick's body landed on top of him.
Icy water poured over him, apparently coming straight from the disturbed soil around him. Several inches of it, so he had to turn his head to breathe. And then a searing flush of heat as the flames passed overhead.
Roderick swore as he pushed himself off Darcy. “That was too close. For God’s sake, never ignore a dragon when they tell you to run!”
Darcy managed to get to his hands and knees, wincing at what were going to be ugly bruises. Then a rush of air knocked him back down, before he was seized by something and lifted up.
Dragon talons, pulling him out of the hole he had created.
Quickthorn dumped them on the blackened grass. “Next time I warn you away, listen to me!” she scolded.
Darcy had no patience for this, not when she was burning Pemberley land. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded.
She huffed at him. “Are you blind? There is a troop of High Fae over there. They will not cross dragonfire. Until Rowan can repair the wards, it is the only way to keep them out. Now get out of my way.” She turned her head and sent out an enormous blast of flame towards the edge of the property.
“See, they can tell I am distracted. Go!”
Roderick shouted over the noise. “I will need Darcy to help reset the wards. Can you keep the space where they broke safe?”
“Let me flame it first.” The sea-green dragon produced an amulet from nowhere and tossed it at Darcy. “This will help protect you. Companion Roderick, you are already immune from dragonfire.”
Darcy caught it and looped the chain around his neck. Odd, that he was not immune, when his brother Jack had been. Then again, Jack had passed through a dragon Gate on his own, whereas Darcy had needed special help.
The sea-green dragon took off with a mighty leap, the wind from her wings forcing the men down to a crouch.
“Why did you not listen to her warnings? If I had not proven to be immune, we could both have died!” The Welshman was clearly furious with him, and understandably so. He had risked his life to save Darcy.
“I did not understand. I could hear nothing but the land calling for me.” He should have thought, though. The land could not have understood a danger to him, only that it was under attack.
“You could not hear Quickthorn’s sending? Even your horse understood the order to flee!”
Was that what had set Hercules off? “Nothing. A sense of dread, but that was all, until I heard her voice.”
As Quickthorn flew overhead, flames erupted a short distance ahead of them. Smoke poured from the burning vegetation, making Darcy’s eyes sting.
“Can you help with the wards?” Roderick asked. “We need someone with land Talent to make the earth accept them. Mrs. Darcy did it last time, but in her current situation that is impossible.”
“Yes, of course.” Darcy said firmly. No one was going to drag poor exhausted Elizabeth out here, no matter how urgent it might be. “Just tell me what to do.”
“First we must get there. As soon as the fire dies down, prepare to run. And hold onto that amulet!”
He only hoped it would work. Especially since Roderick raced off when the ground was still smoldering. Smoke filled his lungs as he followed. At least their boots should provide some protection.
Finally they crossed over the invisible line of the wards. Not that he could tell with his usual senses whether they were still on Pemberley land; there was no marking on the moors beyond occasional boundary stones. But Roderick clearly knew where they needed to be. “What now?” Darcy gasped.
And then sucked in a breath again when Quickthorn let loose another burst of flame, not two dozen feet away. Were the attacking fae so close?
“Rowan is on his way, and he will explain. Can you feel where the wards end?”
Darcy's feet tingled as he sank his power into the land once more, past the charred heather, down into the tangle of peat.
Down, down, all the way to bedrock, but there was nothing unusual there.
Unless – there it was, off to the right, a frayed line of dragon magic that had been split off.
And yes, there was the same thing to his left.
“The line is broken,” he said grimly. “I can sense it on both sides. It is as if something tore it apart.”
Roderick cursed under his breath. “What in heaven and hell could do that? Or perhaps the question should be what in Faerie has that power. Ah, here comes Rowan.”
Darcy rubbed his hands over his damp arms, cold despite the dragonfire burning on both sides of him. A small piece of silver was all that was protecting him. He had wondered what it had been like for those soldiers on the battlefield, whose last sight had been dragonfire.
Now he knew.
War had come to Pemberley. Not the war with the French he had expected, but a different one. Even if these dragons were determined to spare everyone's lives, this was a battle. And the prize was Georgiana.
Rowan's voice appeared inside his head. For the sake of time, pray permit me to show you what is necessary. A torrent of images followed. Darcy forced himself to focus despite his pounding heart, the dragonfire and attacking fae.
It was easy to connect to the land this time, to do as Rowan had told him and instruct the soil to accept this magic being gifted by the dragon, to help him protect Pemberley and all within. The peat shifted underfoot in its eagerness to help him and its hatred for the invaders who threatened it.
He nodded to Rowan that he was ready. At the last moment, he reached out his Talent like invisible underground arms to reach both frayed ends of the wards, letting his own magic connect them.
Whether it would work was beyond him, but it felt right to enclose Pemberley, to protect his family and his people.
A golden shape shimmered into being before him, a dragon design that looked like writing in some strange language. It floated in the air briefly before sinking down into the burnt ground beneath. Darcy could feel it expanding, reaching out and joining him in grasping the broken wards.
Then the earth rang, like the tolling of a great bell, reverberating through Darcy's chest with a great pulse of magic. It moved through his bones, through his heart and lungs, and into the air he breathed.
“It is done,” Rowan proclaimed. “Or at least it is patched. We will need to determine how they broke it and make a more permanent repair later.” He looked down at Darcy. “That was an odd way to do it, though it seems to have worked.”
Then something hit Darcy from behind, crashing into his sore ribs and sending him staggering, with a brutal stabbing pain in his back. His vision began to blur.
As if from a distance, he heard Roderick shout, “Get him across the wards!”
Razor-taloned forelegs swept him up and carried him off into the air.
Or rather, into the wind. It buffeted him from all directions as huge dragon wings pumped to each side of him, making it even harder to catch a breath.
Not that he could move, with those massive talons wrapped around him at his chest and hips, and the earth spinning below him.
He closed his eyes to block the view, wondering if he would ever open them again.
What had hit him? Was he even now bleeding his last?
He could feel no wetness, no warmth, as he had when he had been shot in France.
The ground came up to meet him, as Quickthorn landed and set him gently on his side on the moor. Roderick was already standing there, breathing heavily as if he had been running.
Darcy blinked up at the Welshman. “What happened?” His voice sounded as if it was coming from the next county.
Roderick leaned over and examined Darcy’s back, reaching down to touch it lightly. Then he straightened slowly, shaking his head. “I do not understand. I saw the arrow. It hit you, and hard. Yet there is no arrow, no wound, only a scorch mark on your coat.”
Quickthorn lowered her giant head until her gold-ringed eye was inches over Darcy's chest. She sniffed at him, though how she could smell anything beyond ash from the burnt moor was beyond him. Perhaps she was looking for something less tangible than a mortal odor.
The dragon growled, “As I feared. It was a spell arrow, without doubt, designed to deliver a magical wound. I sensed the spell going off, but it does not seem to have taken. Something stopped it.”
Darcy reached behind his back and gingerly rubbed the spot. Had it been a true arrow, it would have pierced his lungs and likely ended his life. As it was, he was going to have another nasty bruise to add to his collection. “Perhaps my land Talent stopped it.”
“Very little can deter the magic of the High Fae,” Quickthorn disagreed. “Unless you still have a trace of the bond from the French dragon in you. That might do it.”
In that case, he had additional reason to be grateful to Coquelicot, who had formed that lesser bond to allow him to escape from France. “What would the spell have done?”
Quickthorn tossed her head in annoyance. “I cannot tell, and the traces are already vanishing. We have no time for this. We must find the invaders.”
“Invaders?”
But the dragon had already taken off and was flying towards the manor house, just as another creature raced towards him. His lynx, radiating concern, and ready to massacre his enemies. He nudged his nose at Darcy’s side, near where the arrow had hit.
Darcy’s ribs protested as he sat up, but he managed to reach out to the lynx with the remnants of his Talent. I am safe.
Not safe. Protect.
Roderick, oblivious to the silent discussion, said, “Someone got through the wards. Perhaps more than one. Quickthorn came in time to stop the horde, but the ward-breaker is still here. Invisible to all of us mortals, and very powerful.”
A chill ran down his spine. “Georgiana,” Darcy whispered.
Roderick's eyes took on an unfocused look. “Rowan says they are barricading her room with iron. No High Fae will be able to reach her through that.”
A relief, albeit a temporary one. “What of Elizabeth and Jenny?” His infant daughter, who had been foretold to be a bridge between the human world and Faerie.
Roderick's lips curved. “Rowan says they are still asleep, according to Agate, who is very proud of the defenses he has set up around them. Mind you, the spell of a tiny nestling like him might repel a fly, but it was a good thought.”
Asleep after all this time? Or was it so surprising? It might have been no more than an hour since he and Roderick had raced off from the house. Long enough to be half-buried in the peat, soaked to the skin in muddy water, to perform major land magic, and be shot by attacking fae.
He had thought he left all these privations behind him in France.
It felt like he had left Elizabeth days ago. How he longed to be back beside her! Preferably in dry clothes.
But first, to catch the invading fae. “Any ideas of how we can find this High Fae?” He could be anywhere at Pemberley.
Roderick snorted. “We do not, unless you have been hiding Second Sight from me. This will be up to the dragons, with the assistance of Miss Darcy's lesser fae servants. How can we hunt for a creature we cannot see?”
There had to be a way to keep his family safe. And he would keep looking until he found it.