The Cauldron Effect, page 14
“The boy was never here.” The sage leaned out through the window and looked about. “That fool Branwyn lost track of him inside Saint Agatha’s church.”
The news rocked Merryn. If Trystan never came to Fishguard, and according to Braden, the warlocks were still looking for him, then where was the boy?
As the Sage of Fishguard climbed onto the ledge of the window, Merryn blinked, swallowing bitter coldness toward a woman who had aided warlocks.
Resisting the urge to pull harder than necessary, she lent the older woman a hand in jumping to the ground.
“You can explain yourself and Branwyn’s role in this disaster to the high sage,” Merryn said in a cold voice, directing her to where the other witches had gone. “Join your coven as they flee for their lives.”
The woman flushed at the hidden rebuke. “What about our things?”
“You should have thought of that before interfering in warlock affairs. Now is the time to thank heavens you can escape undetected.”
“Not completely undetected,” a man’s voice said. “Where’s my son?”
Merryn froze.
“You!” the sage cried out. “You promised protection but allowed those church guards to burn my coven.”
The warlock, a tall gaunt looking man with fierce haunted eyes, stood with a black hound by his feet. The intelligent glint in the dog’s eyes told Merryn it must be the warlock’s familiar.
The man glared at the Fishguard sage. “If you wanted my help, you shouldn’t have withheld my son.”
Merryn swallowed a curse. A stray warlock she might have been able to handle. A vengeful father was an entirely different beast.
“We don’t have him!” the sage said. “I sent word he wasn’t here. We did the best we could to help you, Mr. Mattock. Why take away your protection?”
“Because warlocks are untrustworthy?” Merryn said, aghast that lesson still needed learning.
“This is none of your affair,” Mattock said. “It’s a personal disagreement between myself and the Fishguard witches.”
“I’m their protectress.” Merryn stepped forward, purposefully placing herself between him and the sage. “Their troubles are my troubles. It would serve you well to remember that, sir.”
The black hound at his feet growled, baring its fangs – the attention of both warlock and hound was now effectively centered on Merryn. She gestured with her hand for the sage to back away.
“Return to Cornwall, where you belong.” His hissed words twined around her mind and tempted her to accede to his order. The warlock used his magic to try to coerce her. Merryn shook her head to expel his intrusive thought.
“The boy is not here,” the sage said, her voice so close Merryn guessed the silly twit hadn’t used the distraction she’d provided to escape. “Branwyn failed us both.”
“Liar!” Mattock’s attention swung back to the coven’s sage. “The boy disappeared the same time as your witch. I’ve confirmed the Callington coven doesn’t have him, so you must.”
“Dewer may have him,” Merryn put in.
“Then you’re a fool,” he responded in a cold voice, though doubt flickered in his gaze. “I denied Dewer his request to apprentice Trystan and the Warlock Council supported my decision. He wouldn’t dare steal my son.”
Merryn narrowed her eyes at that. He sounded sincere.
“Trystan has to be inside,” the warlock said, now sounding desperate.
She smothered her rising pity and asked in a reasonable tone, “Then why did you burn the building? Aren’t you worried the flames might harm your boy as easily as it might the witches?”
“I didn’t set this fire. It was burning when I arrived. The guards were under strict orders to merely watch this place, to ensure no one escaped until I arrived.”
“I don’t believe you,” Merryn said.
“I do,” the sage said. “He and his kind are our friends. We’ve coexisted in peace for a long while.”
“Until you deceived us,” Mattock said.
“We didn’t.”
“This discussion is pointless,” Merryn said.
“Give Trystan back and I’ll help put out this fire,” Mattock’s trail of influence slithered over her as he spoke, enticing her to believe him. Merryn was repulsed by his mind touch. Did he really think he could win her over with his paltry tricks?
She blocked Mattock’s mind spell, shoving him out of her head. He staggered and looked at her in surprise. Satisfaction flared. She might be young but she was far from helpless.
“If you’re not responsible for this fire, why are the flames magically enhanced to only surround doors and windows?” she asked. “These witches obviously couldn’t put out those flames. Only I was able to breach it.”
“What?” The sage looked back at the building.
Mattock’s eyes narrowed as he, too, studied the building. “This is a trick.”
“A warlock trick,” Merryn said with an affirmative nod. “Same as your mind spell on the church guards that prevents them from helping those trapped inside.”
“I don’t know why they’re not helping,” Mattock said with obvious frustration. “I told them to assist before I came back here.”
“Did you even consider that perhaps your new fancy mind spell might be backfiring? As all other such Wyhcan spells have done on this planet since we arrived?” Merryn asked in exasperation.
“My son’s life is on the line. I had to do something.”
“It’s of no matter,” the sage said. “My witches are no longer inside. You cannot harm us.”
Merryn cringed.
Mattock’s eyes narrowed and he raised his hand. Both Merryn and the sage strengthened their defense shields.
Instead of striking at them, the warlock snapped an order to his familiar and pointed to the woods. The dog raced that way.
“Quick, it’s after your witches,” Merryn shouted to the sage. “Help them. I’ll deal with him.”
For once, without hesitation, the woman raced to protect her coven members.
Heart hammering in fear, Merryn once again placed herself between warlock and sage – in time to receive a bolt of blue lightning that struck her shield. The strike shook her like a rag doll.
“The fire and the guard’s reactions are not of my doing,” Mattock said. “My mind spell merely enhanced what the guards desired. Our latest theory is that if Wyhcan mind magic doesn’t change a human’s desires, it won’t be distorted.”
“You never give up, do you?” Merryn said in disgust. “Even knowing how dangerous it is to practice mind magic on humans, you’re trying again.”
“It worked, Protectress! For the best of causes. My son is in danger. The guards wish to cleanse this land of evil. I merely provide them with a means of doing so, which is why they willingly follow me. I mean the Fishguard witches no harm, but I will not allow them to escape until they’ve told me what they’ve done with my son.”
Blue light flared around her protection, the only indication that another spell had been shot at her. Merryn rocked back on her heels, her bones trembling from the force of this latest blow.
Mattock hadn’t moved a muscle in warning before casting his spell. Or had he? He must have been altering her perceptions again. Unlike specific spells, a warlock’s talent to work mind magic was harder to ward against. It stole past her defenses like a draft that barely fluttered leaves.
A third blast struck her, tipping her backwards onto the ground. The fourth ripped into her shield and sent her skidding painfully across the rough ground on her backside.
Chapter 9
“Where are you off to in such an ‘urry?” Luc, an elderly fox, asked.
Mattock's familiar, Idris, paused, breathing heavy, and spared the nosy, silver-coated fox a side look. “I’ve been sent to find the witches that fled this way. Did you see them go by with a sharp-scented boy?”
“Nage,” Luc denied in Welsh. “Just witches pelting through the woods as if the Devil himself were after ‘em. You lookin’ for a boy? Why?”
“Later. No time to talk.” Idris returned to a chase he didn’t want to be on. He wanted to be back there by the burning coven, protecting his master, but orders were orders. He’d tried to protest but the master refused to listen to advice from anyone lately.
Surprisingly, the silver fox kept pace with him. “The boy’s been bad, has he?”
“No. He’s a good boy.” Idris said that with a sense of pride. He’d helped the master raise that boy from the time he was born, except for the rare times the boy was sent to stay with his ma. Idris wanted the boy back. He had promised Trystan he’d always watch out for him and he’d failed. “He never once pulled on my ears, not even as a baby. Always respectful. ‘is pa just wants ‘im back.”
“Why fawr?”
“Wants the boy safe like.” Idris scaled a fallen trunk and the older fox ran around the old oak and caught up. “Safe from witches?”
“Yes. No. A warlock’s gone wild, and against the council’s wishes, might be on the hunt for our boy. My master asked the Warlock Council for help, but they refused to stir up trouble with witches. So, he turned to the Church for help.”
“The Church!”
Idris stopped, for the fox had fallen behind. In fact, panting, the fox sat down as if he didn’t intend to follow Idris another step.
“You’d best find that boy quick,” the fox said. “Church guards pitted against witches spells naught but trouble for everyone in their vicinity.”
“It’s worse than you think,” Idris said. “Rumors fly the dark fae were in London Town, and closer, in Cornwall. Trouble’s brewin’ all ‘round.”
“Dark fae?” The fox scurried behind a thick bush. “I’d heard they were forbidden to enter Britain by Queen Orlagh. What’s this land coming to? You go on, now. I’ll stay here and call out if any evil comes your way.”
Idris bounded away. He did so with a laden heart for he didn’t hold much hope of finding his boy. To his nose, the only strong stench in this wood was of slightly burnt, frightened witches.
BRADEN PUSHED PAST Dalton to move closer to the burning building. The waves of heat fed by the wind buffeted him. Screams from within the inferno rang out, but a look around showed none of the guards reacting. Had the church guards reverted to the monsters their predecessors were accused of being?
“Who gave you authority to attack innocents, Dalton?” His rage burned in equal portion to the flames eating the building. “I will have you before the courts for this. We must save those trapped inside. Start a water line from that well.”
“You misunderstand, my lord,” the man replied. Instead of following orders, he tracked Braden, who paced in the front of the building looking for an opening. All the exits were covered in flames.
“When we arrived, we found the coven abandoned and the fire already lit,” Dalton continued. “Someone must have warned the witches of our approach. I suspected they fled and started this fire to destroy evidence of their evil work. Surely, you cannot think I would authorize such cruelty as to burn people alive? We are well past the age of witch hunts, my lord.”
Dalton’s offended words clashed with the shouts for help from inside the house.
“I took a look through a window. By the number of books and paraphernalia they’d left behind,” Dalton hastily drew Braden back out of harm’s way as a flick of burning ash landed before them, “they did not linger to pack. There was not one person left behind. I will swear to that on a Bible,” the guard finished in earnest.
“What is it about those screams for help that’s beyond your understanding, sir?”
The man’s startled look swung from Braden to the burning building and returned. “What screams, my lord?”
Warlock mind magic.
The answer was so obvious. Braden’s rage veered toward the warlock who’d so callously used these church guards to commit this atrocity.
Feeling out of his depth, he craved Merryn’s guidance. The shouts had lessened, suggesting that she at least might be making headway.
How deeply did this warlock influence extend?
“Mr. Mattock said to not put out the fire. Best if we allow the building to burn until only ashes remained.”
“Who is Mattock?” Braden asked.
“The warlock liaison that accompanied us on His Grace’s orders. He was here a moment ago. A tall, thin fellow with condescending eyes.” Dalton leaned in to conspiratorially whisper, “I don’t like working with his kind, no matter what His Grace says about them becoming converts and helping us defeat evil. Just as well, he seems to have left.”
Was this Mattock responsible for altering the guards’ minds so they did not assist the witches? If so, he understood now why Merryn and her witches were opposed to warlocks and their fiendishly persuasive ways. His need to speak to the archbishop shot up.
How much influence did this warlock have on Sutton? What side effect might his spells be having on His Grace? He shuddered to think what would become of these guards, the Church and England itself, if use of such influence was not instantly arrested.
Braden’s right fist flexed, missing the heft of his broadsword. Agamore, however, was hidden under cloth and baggage on top of the carriage where Mrs. Truscott waited.
The burning building felt ominously quiet now, except for the crash of timber and the sputter of flames. He prayed Merryn had moved herself and her people far away. Who knew what these guards were capable of while under warlock influence?
“Has anyone reported seeing a boy nearby?” he asked, his thoughts shifting to his next problem. “One about six years old, by the name of Trystan?”
“No, my lord. I did send sentries about the place but there’s no indication in which direction the witches fled or with whom. I plan to send out search parties in the morning. Too unsafe to be in these dangerous woods in the dark. We must not go behind the building. We must stay here, in the front, until daybreak.”
“What?” A look up at the bright blue sky showed darkness at least a couple of hours away. Braden studied Dalton. The man’s eyes were glazed, and he spoke as if he repeated a message by rote.
Dread crept up Braden’s neck. If the guards were being influenced to stay here, it likely meant Mattock was at the back, with Merryn.
“Wise of you,” Braden said quietly, casually inching backwards. “Best if you and the others stay on this side of the building. What are your next orders?”
The confounded fellow paced him, moving one step forward for every one Braden took back. “We’re to head for Callington, my lord.”
“There’s been a change of plans.” Braden kept his voice low and reassuring, fighting the urge to belt Dalton and run to the back. If he did, would he end up with the entire squadron of guards at his heels? “My primary duty is to find the missing boy. Dealing with the Callington coven can wait.”
“What do you want us to do then?” Dalton asked.
“Go toward Cheshire. Wait there until I send word.”
“But...” Dalton began.
“Those are my orders. Are they clear?”
“Yes, my lord.” The man bowed, though he was obviously unhappy with the change in direction. “If you will pardon me, then, I’d best send a courier with current news to His Grace before we set off for Cheshire.”
“Be quick about it.” Depression settled on Braden as Dalton strode away. News that the guards were heading east instead of south would no doubt be included in that message. His orders would as quickly be countermanded.
At least this gave him a few days, a week if he were lucky, to find the boy and take him and Merryn and her aunt to safety before disaster erupted around Callington. He casually strode toward the bushes to the side of the building.
As soon as he was out of sight of any watchers, Braden raced to the back. With each pounding step, he feared a confrontation between Merryn and this Mattock would see the end to his sweet witch.
Not if I have anything to do about it. He quickly prayed to God to let him be in time. “Please keep her safe and help me help her,” he muttered under his breath.
He came around the corner and skidded to a halt at the sight of Merryn lying on the ground, arms raised protectively. A tall man loomed over her in a threatening manner. Mattock? Braden’s blood roiled in renewed rage.
“Get away from her!” He raised his right arm and energy shot from the soles of his feet, through his spine, to the tips of his raised fingers. A sweeping high-pitched hum sounded and then Agamore dropped into his grip in a flash.
He wasn’t quite sure who was more startled: himself, the warlock who swung around, or Merryn who sat up with an open-mouthed gasp. He didn’t have time to ponder the issue as the warlock sent a spear of light flashing toward him.
He instinctively blocked that arrow with Agamore. The instant the light struck the sword, the glow was reflected straight back to the warlock, sweeping him off his feet. He landed not two feet from where Merryn lay.
The two looked at each other in surprise and then scrambled to their feet. A black hound came barreling out of the woods barking in alarm.
Not another hellhound!
In an instant, both dog and warlock vanished. He swung around, checking where the pair would appear next.
“I don’t sense either of them nearby,” Merryn said, hurrying toward him.
Braden’s hand still shook with the sword’s vibration. He carefully lowered the still-blazing weapon. The bright flare fluttered and then died, leaving an ordinary sword in his hand.
“How did you do you that?” she asked.
Braden switched Agamore to his left hand and put a comforting arm around her shoulder. “Time for questions later,” he said, mainly because he didn’t have a suitable answer. “Are you all right? Is that warlock likely to return?”
“I’m well. He probably plans to return with friends.” Merryn still gazed at his sword with a frown.
“Not with his church guard allies,” Braden said. “I’ve sent them off to Cheshire. Still, the sooner we vacate these premises the better.”
