Muttering the words to his spell in a low breath, he felt a familiar tug of power deep inside him. He allowed it to spread through his body, at last releasing it in a small burst to open a hole in the thick illusions that held his prisoners.
The flames flickered and with an audible pop the magic grasped the druid that Anthony had been seeking, yanking him into the stone circle to land at Anthony’s feet.
The opening slammed shut and Anthony bit back a groan of agony.
Druid magic was intended to work in harmony with nature. When he forced it to mold the environment to meet his needs, there was always a price.
Usually a painful price.
He grasped the edge of the stone altar, waiting for the recoil of magic to pass. The greater the magic, the more unpleasant the whiplash.
At last confident that his knees would hold him upright, Anthony straightened and watched as the elder druid rolled onto his back with a low moan.
The man was dressed in a worn brown robe with his long silver hair pulled into a tail at his nape. His face was narrowed and lined with age, while his hands were swollen from the arthritis that had nearly crippled him over the past few years.
Once Caydeyrn had believed himself to be the oldest and most powerful of the druids. Then Anthony had returned from his latest sabbatical, revealing that he hadn’t died as they’d all hoped.
The fool had tried to condemn Anthony to death, claiming that his determination to rid the world of demons made him a traitor.
Idiot.
It hadn’t taken Anthony long to prove that his place was at the top of the druid hierarchy, and that he was willing to destroy anyone who tried to stand in his way.
With a rattling cough, the elderly man forced open his eyes.
In the firelight he looked every one of his hundred plus years, his narrow face ashen and his pale blue eyes watery as he glared at Anthony.
“You . . . fiend,” he hissed. “You should be shamed to show your face to me.”
Anthony narrowed his gaze as he watched the druid struggle to a seated position.
“The shame is yours, old man,” he spit out, feeling the annoyingly predictable frustration surge through him.
Why could they not understand he was doing this for all of them?
Humans were meant to rule the world, not demons.
To stand aside and allow the evil creatures to maintain their stranglehold on power was nothing less than a sin against nature.
Caydeyrn tilted his chin, putting on his holier-than-thou expression.
“I have lived a righteous life devoted to caring for the weak and the helpless,” he said in lofty tones. “I have protected our mother earth and—”
“You are a coward who sold your soul to demons to protect your own ass.” Anthony interrupted the tediously repeated speech.
God. How many times had he had to listen to the claims of lofty morals that were nothing more than a shield to hide the druids’ lack of a backbone?
“I honor the treaties of our ancestors.”
“Treaties?” Anthony made a sound of disgust. “There were no negotiations. No concessions offered. We were neutered by the fey king and our blessed ancestors lay down and took it.”
Caydeyrn hunched his shoulder, clearly unwilling to admit that the ancient druids had allowed the King of Chatri to turn them into a bunch of sniveling weaklings.
“We devoted ourselves to peace,” he said.
“You became servants in the name of peace.”
“Better a servant in peace than a master in death.”
The condescending tone made Anthony’s teeth clench.
He crouched down, meeting the watery blue gaze with open disdain.
“So pious,” he hissed.
“It is who we are.”
Anthony shook his head. When he’d first returned, he tried to work with this man and the rest of the elders.
Well, perhaps he hadn’t tried to work with him.
After all, he was born to lead, not follow.
But he’d been happy to allow the other druids to become a part of his inner circle as he sought to rid the world of demons.
It was entirely their own fault that he’d been forced into drastic actions when they refused to follow his commands.
“No, it’s what we have allowed ourselves to become,” he reminded Caydeyrn. “Once we stood tall, capable of ruling the world.”
The old man shook his head, clearly refusing to admit even to himself that the druids had once been destined for greatness.
“Ruling the world is your dream.” He gave a slow shake of his head. “Not ours.”
“Because you’re weak.”
“I have a heart,” Caydeyrn snapped, still filled with his bloated sense of self-worth despite the weeks he’d spent locked in the Labyrinth spell. “To commit mass murder for the sake of your own glory . . .” The older man gave a dramatic shudder. “It is wicked.”
Mass murder?
Anthony rolled his eyes. The old man was truly a drama queen.
“The demons aren’t people. They’re a cancer that must be destroyed before they take over the world.”
The druid grimaced, something that might have been pity twisting his features.