“I must have my scrolls,” he roared to the heavens, clutching his injured arm.
Without them, he was trapped as a lesser being, unable to enhance this body to prevent such a thing as had happened tonight.
Without them, he was separated from the vast power of his Magic.
Without them, he risked another imprisonment within the Magic of the symbols scrawled on their faces.
The pain in his arm pulsed with every beat of the pitifully small heart in his chest. He turned his attention to study the wound. A burn, jagged and scarring, raced the length of his arm from shoulder to elbow. The sickly sweet stench of charred flesh rose up from the gaping rip in his skin, churning his stomach.
Silently, he sent an order to the captain of his guard to bring a healer to him. He hurt as only a feeble Mortal body could hurt. Great heaving waves of pain assaulted his physical being. Never before, never in his true form, had he experienced torment like this. The need to relieve the agony was so great that he reached for the jug of spirits on the shelf above the fireplace. Whisky might dull his senses, if only for a short time.
He tipped back the container, allowing the liquid to flow down his throat, burning the tender flesh as it gurgled toward his stomach.
Even before this calamity struck, his evening had been one frustration after another.
None of the remaining men he’d sent in pursuit of his treasure had managed to locate the thief yet. His attempts to control the boy through his dreams were thwarted by the power of the sword. And when he’d attempted to view the culprit’s location through the jewels, his view had been blocked as if the stones were swathed in layers of protective covering, the five of them united in their effort to reject him.
He prayed that the jewels hadn’t been separated from the scrolls. That sort of a foolish move would leave the powers of the scrolls,hispowers, available for anyone to claim, a completely unacceptable outcome.
It was his concern over the jewels that had sent him winging into the night.
Whisky in hand now, he stared out into the star-sparkled heavens. After spending an eternity imprisoned by the jewels’ power, he recognized the feel of them, and tonight he was sure he’d felt them somewhere in the vast dark of the night, heading in his direction.
Perhaps it was only the dilution of his powers he suffered as he melded with this form, but uncertainty clouded his thoughts. The sudden storm, so strange and unusual for this time of year, had assailed him as if engaging in battle.
Mere chance?
He downed another long draught of the heady drink before turning his back on the window.
He didn’t believe in chance.
Something was out there. A threat greater than he had faced in many years.
Though he wouldn’t be flying again anytime soon, he would be vigilant. He would find a way to search for whatever had given off those peculiar vibrations. To search for whatever life force had lit the night with its eerie red glow.
And when he found it, his justice would be swift and merciless to whoever dared approach him with such a burdensome gift.
Fifteen
EVERYTHINGBRIE HADever imagined about what the future held in store for her had changed completely over the course of this strange and wonderful evening. For the first time in her life, she could envision herself with a man at her side as she rode into the hereafter.
One very specific man, upon whose broad chest she rested her head. Halldor O’Donar.
Hall.HerHall.
The warmth of happiness cocooned her and she ran a hand across the hard expanse of chest that served as her pillow. His hand covered hers, offering the reassurance of a light squeeze.
What might have happened between them had they not been interrupted by that horrible scream would remain fodder for her fantasies for the moment. The need to remain vigilant for whatever had lurked outside in the dark outweighed their desire to lose themselves in the fog of sensual pleasure.
What she couldn’t even begin to conceive of, even in her own admittedly overactive imagination, was what kind of beast could possibly have issued that hideous shriek. Never in her life had she heard such an unearthly sound.
After checking their campsite, Hall had returned with a growled “No fire.”
Under the circumstances, she agreed.
Beneath her ear, his heart pounded strong and sure. Thankfully, adjusting the bandage over his wound had made a remarkable difference in his strength. She prayed, to whatever gods would listen, that he would remain his strong warrior self until they reached Orabilis.
Herstrong warrior.
