Spellbinder (Moonshadow #2)

No, Sidonie needed the battle spell for a certainty. That mattered more than anything, even keeping his presence a secret. He would voluntarily go back into active service with Isabeau before he would risk Sidonie going into her performance tonight without the help she needed.

Setting aside the problem for now, he got to work. First, he took a length of cloth and infused it with the same spell of concealment he had placed on the velvet pouch that carried his deadly array of weapon spells.

When he had finished, he opened the small wooden box that held his supply of unspelled jewels and picked through them thoughtfully. The battle spell was a major one, so it needed a high-quality jewel to house it. None of the semiprecious stones would do.

Finally he chose a small, perfect diamond. Setting it on the table, he began the process of casting the spell into the stone. Casting a major spell was one complex process. Setting the spell into an item was a second process that was just as complex.

Added to that, he needed to infuse this particular spell with a thorough impression of the right skills to pass on to Sidonie. Normally the battle spell was cast in the heat of the moment, and the transfer of skills was both broader and immediately apparent, based on the focus on need by the one casting the spell.

Casting this spell was different. He was not in the heat of the moment, and he had to build a meticulous mental image of the lute, along with his memories of playing it. By the time he sat back to contemplate his handiwork, he was drained, and the sun had risen high in the sky and had begun to heat the cottage.

It was a good, solid casting, the spell tightly woven into the structure of the jewel itself, but he was no closer to figuring out how to get it to Sidonie safely in a way that didn’t risk his own freedom too.

Frustrated, he rubbed his face, then went to open the cottage windows to let in some fresh air. As he did so, the sound of voices caused his hackles to rise.

Even though the speakers were some distance away, he recognized them. It was Warrick and Harrow.

While he was confident the concealments he had woven over the cottage would hold, he still needed to find out what they were doing out here, so close to his hiding place. He wrapped the diamond in its concealment cloth and tucked it into his pocket, along with the lump of beeswax.

Then he grabbed his weapons, doused himself with hunter’s spray again, cast a strong cloaking spell around himself, and slipped out of the cottage to stalk after the two men as their voices faded away.

Locating Warrick and Harrow was easy since they made no effort to be stealthy. Carefully, he followed as they walked along the path that led to an area of high ground. The place they were headed to was an excellent lookout point, as it offered the most complete view of the castle, the town around it, and the harbor where the fishing and sailing boats were docked.

Once there, the men paused. Weighing the relative risk of overhearing something he didn’t want to hear versus the need to know what they were up to, Morgan eased closer until he could catch snatches of their conversation on the wind. He fingered pieces of the beeswax, molding them into earplugs even as he listened.

“I agree with you,” Harrow said. “The scent was fresh, especially in the stables…”

Realization struck.

The stables, where Morgan had lain unconscious and bleeding for quite some time. He had forgotten to do anything to disguise or get rid of his scent after he had recovered enough to get back to the cottage. Angry at his own oversight, he swore under his breath.

Warrick replied, “So if he came back from Earth like we think he did… any number of places where he could be staying… Also I want to know why the bastard sneaked back into Avalon after sneaking out in the first place….”

“Seems pretty clear…” Harrow said. Doesn’t want to be found?”

“Yeah, looks like… go back and tell the others…”

As Morgan took in the gist of their conversation, he faced facts grimly.

The game had changed.

Now that Warrick and Harrow had grown suspicious he might be in Avalon, plugging his ears with beeswax wouldn’t do much to protect him. If just one of them thought to try to reach out to him telepathically to made contact—and if they told him Isabeau wanted him to return whether he was injured or not—he would be forced to obey.

Tensing, he ran through his capacious repertoire of spells to see what might be useful in blocking telepathy. The obvious one would be a null spell. For it to last for any length of time, he would have to cast it into yet another item and wear it. It would protect him from telepathy, but it would hamper his abilities severely too.

As he stalked the other two Hounds, Morgan’s mind switched over to cold, ruthless logic. It sounded like Warrick and Harrow hadn’t told anybody else yet. Did he have it in him to kill them, even though they presented no immediate physical danger?

But the danger they did represent was very real. If they took their suspicions back to the other Hounds, and to the Queen, the search for him in the immediate area would intensify.

It hadn’t happened yet, but now that they were suspicious he could be within range somewhere, sometime very soon, someone would get the bright idea to start calling for him telepathically.

If he got trapped again, he would be sent away from Avalon to continue his attack against the Dark Court.

Sent away from Sidonie.

And maybe she would solidify her position at court that very evening, but if for some reason Isabeau stayed adamantly turned against her, Sidonie could continue to be in danger, and Morgan would not be able to do anything to help.

He watched as, in the distance, the two men walked farther up the path and paused at the highest point to look out across the land. Now they were too far away for him to overhear their conversation. Harrow pointed west, and Warrick shook his head.

All it would take was one massive push of air. With a quick spell, he could throw a blow like a battering ram and both men would go flying over the cliff. They might not die from the fall, but they would be severely injured enough he could reach them to finish the job before they recovered.

Warrick was a brute, and Morgan would feel nothing but relief at his death, but Harrow was a decent enough man.

At war with himself, he tensed.

There was a small rustle in the underbrush beside him. Robin remarked in a quiet voice, “It’s a fine day for a little murder, don’t you think?”

Morgan’s heart kicked. Robin always did have a knack for seeing through his best concealment spells. Whirling, he grabbed the puck by the throat and slammed him to the ground. Robin did nothing to try to stop him.

Morgan hissed, “Are you fucking crazy? I should have killed you before, when I had the chance!”

Robin met his gaze. For the first time in a very long time, Morgan saw a sober kind of sanity in the puck’s eyes.

“It would be most unfortunate if you chose to carry through on that threat, sorcerer, since I’ve come to offer help,” Robin told him. “For the first time in history, a member of the Dark Court is choosing to offer his services to one of the Light.”