Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
As Magnus made his way down the short hallway that led to his private solar, the more uneasy, the more troubled he felt.
The attack, the overtaking and ousting of Kcirred from Thornpitch, had been entirely too easy.
They’d not lost a single soul, other than the traitor who’d fed Hellys and Ipsillian false information, and all injuries had been minor.
Something was not right. He could feel it.
A dark, ominous gnawing tore at him, demanded he pay it heed.
But what? What the devil was wrong? What had he missed?
As soon as he opened the door to the sitting room and locked eyes with Talon, he knew his brother felt the same. “What have we missed?” he asked him. “An evil hovers close, waiting to strike us. I feel it.”
“Rest easy, mighty chief. We incinerated the vile one,” Ipsillian said as he and Hellys stepped forward, “and spread his ashes upon the Highland Veil’s altar.”
“Did it take them up?” Magnus tensed, his muscles knotting even tighter at the warrior dragon’s pause. “Did the Veil accept them? Take in their power?”
Ipsillian glanced from Magnus to Talon, sideways to Hellys, and then back to Magnus, before slowly shaking his head. “It did not. I thought perhaps it rejected the ashes because of their evil.”
“Evil or not, they were a source of power that the Veil would never refuse.” Magnus scrubbed a hand across his face, the sense of doom sharpening, becoming heavier. They had failed, and damned if he could see how. “That was not Kcirred that I ended.”
“It had to be.” Ipsillian paced back and forth across the length of the room, his agitation making it impossible for him to keep still. “I tore him out of the great room of his keep. Out of his very chair upon the dais at the heart of Thornpitch.”
Talon rumbled with a low, guttural growl. “He created a shadow to be captured in his place. Someone or something trapped inside his image. Not once did it speak. It merely shrieked.”
“He is still out there,” Magnus said. “Regrouping. Planning a counterattack.”
Albionna entered the private solar from the outer hallway and seemed surprised to see them.
She immediately curtsied. “Forgive me, my chief. I had sought shelter in the outer kitchens when the walls of the fortress shook with the attacks. Is the Divine One back safe? Has she returned to yer rooms? Is she in need of any remedies? Pray tell me she has no injuries.”
“By the mighty Draig!” Magnus turned back and tore the door from the hinges in his haste to open it.
“He is in there with her!” He charged down the short hallway and kicked open the door to the bedchamber.
A bloodcurdling roar ripped free of him at the sight of Kcirred, battering Lyla while attempting to violate her.
Uncontrollable rage and bloodlust burned through Magnus.
His magic crackled and sparked, eager to unleash every hellish power imaginable.
Before Kcirred could use Lyla as a shield, Magnus folded space, caught hold of the soul-sucking druid by the back of the neck, and yanked him off her.
He dragged the vile one across the room to the hearth.
“You cannot kill me!” Kcirred shrieked, sparks flying from his fingertips. “I am all-powerful!”
“The hell ye are,” Magnus growled through clenched teeth, his own magic arcing with fury.
He drew his most prized dagger, the one made from the sacred claw of Draig, out of his boot and buried it to the haft in the druid’s belly.
He ripped it upward and spilled Kcirred’s entrails into the roiling coals of the hearth, making them sizzle and spit.
“Unguis draconis vincit omnia,” he uttered, setting the dagger of the ancient dragon’s talon aglow with a blinding, blue-white light.
“The claw of the dragon conquers all, Kcirred. Yer death is now eternal!” He sliced the razor-sharp bone across the druid’s throat, then split open his chest, tore out his heart, and threw it into the fire.
“Unguis draconis vincit omnia,” he repeated.
“So mote it be!” Then he shoved the druid’s sagging body into the flames and bellowed his raging anguish until the room trembled.
The hearth fires blazed higher in answer to his calling down of the divine retribution of dragon and humankind combined.
They greedily consumed the evil that the mighty Draig’s talon had ended.
Chest heaving, Magnus slowly turned. His precious Lyla lay curled on her side, hugging herself while quietly sobbing.
He went to her and dropped to his knees.
“Lyla,” he whispered, his heart breaking.
“My precious Lyla.” He gently eased her over to face him and wanted to roar out his pain, wishing he could bring the demon cur back from the dead, just so he could kill him again.
One of her eyes was swollen shut, and the side of her face, along her jawline, had angry bruises already mottling her flesh.
Blood streamed from her nose and mouth. Imprinted bruises of the bastard’s fingers circled her throat.
Her clothing was torn, and her arms and torso bore an untold number of cuts and scratches, but, thankfully, she was still mostly dressed.
He had gotten there before the horrendous attack had gone any further.
Moving slowly, so as not to startle her, he reached for her. “I am going to pick ye up now, my own. We must get ye aid.”
“He’ll come back,” she wailed, flailing and slapping as his hands. She skittered along the floor, pushing her way under the bed. “Hide, Magnus! He’ll come back.”
His heart broke with her pain. Keeping his voice low, he gently but firmly pulled her out from under the bed. “He canna come back again, Lyla. This time, he is truly dead. I swear it.”
She stared up at him, her eyes wild with terror and mounting panic. “Evil like that can’t be dead,” she rasped. Her body quaked against him, shaking with violent tremors. “Pure evil never dies.” She hugged herself tighter against him, repeatedly mumbling, “Never dies.”
“I am here now, my love. Ye are safe.” He knew she’d never feel truly safe for a very long while, but he would help her as much as he could.
It would take time, and she was worth any amount that it took.
The first step to her healing would be getting her out of this room so that every evidence of the horror could be cleared away.
Albionna stood in the doorway, her great brown eyes wide with sympathy and compassion. She started to advance, but Magnus barely shook his head and stopped her.
“Ye need the healing waters. Let me take ye there, aye?” He nudged a tender kiss to Lyla’s forehead, but made no move to go to the bathing solar.
She would choose, and whatever she wished, that was what he would do.
Above all, she needed to see and feel that she was in control.
“Shall we have a good soak to help our wounds heal?”
“You’ll stay with me, right?” she whispered, clutching at the straps of his armor so tightly that her bleeding knuckles whitened. “You won’t leave me alone?”
“I’ll not leave ye, dear one.” He swallowed hard, struggling to control the bloodlust and rage for justice pounding through him.
Even though he’d killed Kcirred, it was not enough.
Never would it be enough. “I’ll stay right at yer side.
If ye wish, I’ll cradle ye in my arms whilst ye float in the waters. ”
“I don’t want to take off my clothes.” She drew her knees closer to her chest, attempting to curl into a ball even though he held her in his arms.
“’Tis fine, my own. Wear yer clothes.”
“But you said the healing waters were for bodies only.”
As he slowly walked with her into the bathing solar, her trembling became more violent.
“The healing waters can be purified when we are done. We shall do whatever ye need done. Ye may wear yer clothes, aye?” The water dragons wouldn’t be pleased, but they would understand.
If they didn’t, they would no longer be required to serve at Kindred Fortress and would be replaced.
With the help of his magic, he shed his boots and armor, but remained clad in the thin tunic and trews he wore beneath the protective heaviness of the black leather plating. He didn’t wish to cause her the slightest distress or stir the memory of that devil mauling her.
“I shall have the Weavers summoned and fetch more herbs,” Albionna whispered, “whisky, honey, and wine, as well.”
Magnus nodded as he eased down into the water. Maybe old Mairwen would know of a way to help Lyla overcome the darkness she had just experienced. He went into the deeper water, willing it to become warmer to offer his precious wife more comfort.
She rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes, but held her white-knuckled fists tightly to her chest, and kept her legs bent, still attempting to curl herself into a ball as if trying to disappear. “The warm water helps,” she said, her voice broken and weak.
“I am glad.” He settled into the seat built into the wall of the pool. “We shall stay here as long as ye like.”
“My face hurts. Ice would help.”
Ice? It was still too early in the season for natural ice or snow, but one of the ice dragons could provide some shards. “I need ice from the ice dragons,” he thought to Talon. “That unholy demon gravely harmed my precious one.”
“Ye will have ice immediately,” Talon replied, “and Tern and Inuk are cleansing the bedchamber, ensuring it will never again remind the Divine One of this terrible day. It will be ready whenever she is.”
“I thank ye, brother.” Magnus gently ladled handfuls of the healing water across Lyla’s clawed and bruised arms. “I wish I had killed him slower,” he added to Talon.
“Ye sent him to death eternal this time,” Talon said. “That is all that matters.”