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ChapterTwo
Screams of terrorfill the air as the survivors struggle to climb the sheer cliff wall. It’s impossible, the rock is too sheer and even if not, the moss makes it slick. It doesn’t stop them from trying, clinging to the only vestige of hope available. They scrabble, desperate, while the menfolk, ancients to a man, pull swords and move to defend them. Even the man with the broken leg hobbles out to try and fight though he can barely stand, much less swing a sword.
For a moment I see it all as if I’m studying a frozen frame of a movie. Mel Gibson flashes through my thoughts, the scene inBraveheartwhen he rallied the troops. I have a fleeting thought of doing the same. Giving some rousing speech that inspires this ragtag band of survivors and allows them to beat back this overwhelming threat.
Except this isn’t a movie. This is life, mine and theirs, and there is no saving us. Outnumbered and outgunned, we are not going to make it out of here. While all my thoughts happen, on some level of my mind, I can’t take my eyes off the man on horseback.
Looking at him the itchy feeling in my brain coalesces and grows. He’s the source of it; I am as sure of it as I am of the color of my own eyes. Power emanates from his dark sword and from him. The same kind of power I sense when I’m with Dugald or the Druid. This isn’t merely some Scottish lord, he’s a Fae. Why he’s here and what he’s doing I don’t know but I’m certain of it.
I try to summon my own magic but all I manage is a tingle. A burning sensation like muscle failure settles across my body as I try. Did I burn myself out traveling back here? Was I not ready? How can I be the Destroyer if I’m going to die right now?
Fear is cold, like ice in my soul. It is making my muscles loose and lethargic because I’m not listening to it. Fear says run. It doesn’t matter where or how far, only that I do it and that it’s away from the danger. But this is a moment that defines you. Do I flee or do I stand?
I’m not sure which decision I would make in any other situation, but right now there isn’t really a choice. If I run, to where? We’re trapped. Though my nerves are burning, my stomach is sour, and I’m sure I’m about to die; there isn’t any choice. Pulling together all the scraps of bravery I have, I do the only thing I can.
I walk forward. I move past the line of decrepit men who can barely hold up their swords and the three or four rifles they have between them. I stride ahead in what I hope is a confident manner.
I lock eyes with the man on horseback, staring him down, and he doesn’t look away. As I approach, the hunters form themselves into a line. Some are holding back the dogs but the others raise rifles and take aim.
“Stop,” I order, pointing at the hunters with two fingers and sweeping my arm along their line.
All of them stop and stare, but they don’t fire. I barely keep myself from letting out a yelp of excitement and throwing a fist in the air. Probably not the time for it, but damn it, it worked! The hunters look away to the man on horseback.
He nudges his horse and trots closer, pushing through the assembled men. He smiles, and when he does cold races down my spine. I cross my arms over my chest and tilt my head back so I at least appear like I am looking down my nose even though he’s on horseback.
He stops in front of his line, leaving a wide swath of empty grass between us. We stare in silence. He reeks of power. It smells like burning oil because it’s not just magic, it’s darkness. It throbs against my skin, pressing in, poisoning the air and making it hard to breathe.
“Destroyer,” he says at last with a nod and flourish of his arm. In his other hand rests the dark sword, the black blade resting against the haunch of the equally black horse he rides.
“You know my name,” I say. “But I don’t know yours.”
“True,” he says. “Power in names.”
“Power?” I muse. “Sure. There’s also power in words. Power in swords. Power in men with guns who want to hunt down and kill a bunch of unarmed women, children, and elderly men. This make you feel like a big man?”
He laughs. His laugh is warm and joyful. It’s an infectious laugh, filling the air and making you want to laugh with him.
“I heard you were sassy.”
“Well then you heard right. Now take your men here and leave. These people are under my protection.”
My words feel hollow even as I utter them. What good does being under my protection mean when I can’t pull in enough power to do anything with? I’m bluffing and all I can do is hope he doesn’t know it. Two of the men closest to him shift their aim to me. That familiar flutter in my guts happens but I recognize it as fear and ignore it.
“Or?”
“Or you’ll regret it.”
“Will I?”
“I will make certain of it.”
He laughs again and my ears flush and burn. He’s calling my bluff and I’ve got nothing else. My one hope is that if I can buy enough time, maybe my magic will return. It’s the only card I have and I must play it. If I don’t, we’re all dead. The stakes have never been higher in my life.
“She’s going to kill us all, men,” he announces.
“So she claims, Lord,” several of them answer while the rest laugh raucously.
Lord, huh. He’s nobility. That’s something to note. Which noble though? And how is a Fae a noble? Problems for a later time. I take two steps forwards.
