“He must love Aelfric very much,” said Elizabeth. Poor Eversleigh, having to trade his father for his brother!
“If you and I can sense Aelfric’s pain, Oberon must feel it ten times more. Nothing less could have brought him out of retirement.” Eversleigh rubbed his forehead. “I hope he can free him. But we might as well return to our own planning. I doubt we will hear from Oberon again.” There was a dreadful finality in his voice.
Chapter 18
Wickham strode into the room followed by four retainers. “Up, Darcy. You have a special visitor, a dear old friend of mine. He refuses to come inside the house, so you must go to him. Each of you take one of the wards. Do not let them touch your skin, only your gloves. Darcy, you walk in the middle.”
“A visitor?” Darcy did not expect it to be a pleasant surprise since Wickham sounded so pleased by the news. Darcy would not give him the satisfaction of showing any fear, so he simply walked between the ward-bearing servants. Would they be able to stay close enough to the original positions of the wards for the boundary to be maintained? If a side was stretched too far, it might break, and he would need to seize his opportunity. The servants walked with military precision, though. A benefit of sorcerous control, no doubt.
Outside the bright sun made his eyes water. There was movement at the far end of the lawn, but he could not tell who it was. His guards led him past Debenham, Biggins, and their minions towards the visitor.
Darcy’s eyes widened. It was Oberon, his crown glinting in the sun, prowling across the lawn like a predatory panther. But Oberon was no longer king, was he? Eversleigh said he had gone into retirement because he had grown too irritable and impulsive. Yet here he was, looking every inch the king. An angry, impulsive Sidhe king.
Darcy stopped when the servants set the wards down. Only then did he notice Lord Matlock standing in the middle of the lawn, hisshoulders sagging, his stocky form casting a long shadow in the morning sunlight. Wickham returned to stand beside the house with Debenham and Biggins.
Debenham called to Oberon, “You can see they are both unharmed. Now, what are your terms?”
Oberon’s upper lip curled. “My terms are thus: I will perform no magic on any mortal, nor cause physical harm. Should any mortal attempt to harm me, that same harm shall befall each of you, but twice trebled.” Oberon strode between Darcy and Lord Matlock to stand before a terrified looking servant. The Sidhe held out his arm. “Pinch me.”
The servant’s mouth worked, but no sound came out.
“Pinch me!” Oberon’s chiming voice echoed and rebounded.
The servant obeyed. Oberon did not flinch, but Debenham cried out in pain. Wickham and Biggins clutched at their arms.
Oberon turned back to the sorcerers. “Guard my safety as you would your own. An arrow or bullet from a mortal hand will have the same effect.”
“Do you guarantee not to kill us if you remain safe?” Debenham’s voice carried, but it was not as even as usual.
“I have said so.” Oberon might have been speaking to misbehaving children.
“For our terms –”
Oberon interrupted Debenham. “I do not wish to hear your terms yet.” Instead he stalked towards Darcy, all golden power, a world apart from the simple scribe Darcy had met in Faerie. His eyes seemed to pierce straight through him. “You will bear witness, and you will tell my sons.” It was unquestionably a command. Oberon turned on his heel without waiting for a response.
What was he supposed to witness? Had Oberon gone mad?
Now Oberon stood in front of Lord Matlock, but neither of them spoke. Lord Matlock fingered the gold ring on his hand. They mustbe speaking through the ring spell.
Oberon pointed at the ground. A large fiery circle sprung up in the grass around the two men. His voice oddly amplified, Oberon said, “Anyone who crosses that line will die.”
The sorcerers conferred agitatedly among themselves.
Lord Matlock’s blindfold vanished and a small snake appeared in Oberon’s hand. He dropped it in the grass and crushed with his heel, just as Aelfric had done for Georgiana. Had he removed the spell on Lord Matlock? It would make no difference. Debenham would merely cast the spell again.
Oberon spoke to Lord Matlock in a conversational tone just loud enough for Darcy to hear. “Bright magic’s circle has no beginning nor end.”
Lord Matlock replied, “Mortal blood and fay shall bind.”
“Dark magic blights the circle and all within.”
“Mortal blood and fay shall bind,” repeated Lord Matlock.
It sounded like a blood magic spell, but for what? To free Aelfric? Surely there must be a simpler way. Did Lord Matlock know Oberon was no longer in his right mind?
Oberon continued to speak, but his voice was low enough now that Darcy could only make out scattered words. Something about fay and mortal souls and withered hearts turned to stone. Lord Matlock’s responses grew longer each time, and he stood tall once again.
Magic began to gather around them. Darcy could feel the vortex of it tugging at him, a pull so strong he could practically see the power of it. The circle of fire grew wider and brighter.
