Iron and Magic (The Iron Covenant Book 1) Page 5

  “Terrific.” Of all the fucked-up magic, human sacrifice was the one threshold even Roland wouldn’t cross. It opened the door to old primal powers nobody wanted to resurrect.

  “Nobody has proof that any of it happened,” Lamar said. “But it makes any alliance appear shaky. We’re both desperate, and Nez will expect us to cut and run the moment things get hairy.”

  Hugh leaned on the corral’s fence. That was a problem. The only way to hold off Nez was to project a show of strength. The alliance had to appear unbreakable, otherwise Nez would expect them to fracture and attack anyway. Lamar was right. They had to overcome that burden. They had to appear completely united.

  “There is a tried-and-true method of making an alliance appear secure,” Lamar said carefully.

  Hugh glanced at him.

  “A union,” Lamar said, as if worried the word would cut his mouth.

  “What union?”

  “A civil union, Preceptor.”

  “What the hell are you on about?”

  Lamar took a deep breath.

  “Marriage!” Bale yelled out.

  Hugh stared at Lamar. “Marriage?”

  “Yes.”

  They had to be out of their minds. “Who would be getting married?”

  “You.”

  The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he said the first thing that popped into his head. “Who would marry me?”

  “You’re handsome, a big, imposing figure of a man, and um…” Lamar scrounged for some words. “And they’re desperate.”

  “What the hell have you been smoking? I’m penniless, I’m exiled, I own nothing…” He left out broken.

  “And a recovering alcoholic.” Lamar nodded. “Yes, but again, they’re desperate. And we’re running out of food.”

  Hugh shut his eyes for a long moment. The world was sliding sideways, and he really needed to get a grip.

  “Who would I be marrying?”

  “The White Warlock.”

  Hugh’s eyes snapped open. “You want me to marry a man?”

  “No!” Lamar shook his head vigorously. “It’s a woman. A woman. Not a man.”

  Thank God for small favors. He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Well, I’m relieved it hasn’t quite come to that.”

  “It’s a business arrangement before anything else,” Lamar said quickly. “But if you’re married, that will cement the alliance. You said yourself, you told Nez you were ready to settle down. He will believe the marriage.”

  “They have a castle,” Stoyan said. “Apparently, some rich guy bought an old castle in England before the Shift, had it disassembled and brought to Kentucky.”

  “You like castles,” Bale said.

  “It’s a good defensible position,” Felix said.

  “At least meet the woman,” Lamar said.

  “Shut up,” Hugh said.

  They fell silent.

  “Did you come up with this idiotic idea?” Hugh demanded.

  “It was a joint effort between me and my equivalent on the other side,” Lamar said. “If it helps, your prospective bride has to be talked into the marriage as well.”

  “Perfect. Just perfect.”

  He reviewed his options. He had none. He could marry some woman and feed his troops, or he could let them get slaughtered. What the hell, he’d done worse in his life.

  “I’ll see her,” he said.

  “That’s all we ask,” Lamar said.

  3

  The wind died. The tree line was still, the wide leaves of sycamores and the frilly foliage of oaks hanging motionless in the fading heat of the early evening. Nothing moved.

  Elara leaned on the heavy gray stones of the parapet and sent her magic forward. A sick feeling flowed back to her, a greasy nasty smear on the soothing face of the forest, like an oil spill on the surface of a crystal-clear lake. There you are.

  Rook reached for his small notebook, wrote a message, and passed it to her.

  Do you see it?

  “Yes. It’s alone.”

  The blond spy nodded, an impassive look on his tan scarred face. Logic said he must’ve felt emotions, but if so, they were buried so deep that no hint ever rose to the surface.

  “Thank you,” Elara said.

  The notebook disappeared into some hidden pocket of his soft leather jacket. He crossed the rampart to the inner edge of the battlements, hopped onto the parapet with the easy grace of an acrobat, jumped down, and vanished out of sight.

  The vampire remained where it was, in the shadow of a sycamore, invisible from the wall. But now she knew it was there. There would be no escape.

  An undead here, only a few dozen yards from the castle and the settlement on the other side. A creature piloted by a Master of the Dead, capable of carving its way through their settlement.

  Next to her Dugas stirred, brushing a persistent insect away from his gray hair. The older man was very tall and lean to the point of being almost wiry. A scar crossed his face, carving its way through his forehead, his dead milky left eye, and across his cheek until it disappeared into his short beard. Both his beard and hair had gone white long ago, but his eyebrows kept a few black hairs, stubbornly refusing to age. He was wearing his white robe today. It suited him much better than his usual getup of Bermuda shorts and a T-shirt.

  The druid stroked his beard. “They’re getting bolder by the day.”

  “It would seem that way.” An undead so close to the castle meant a long-range navigator. Likely one of Nez’s Golden Legion Masters of the Dead.

  “I’ll get the hunters,” Dugas offered.

  “No. I’ll take care of it.”

  “They’re due to arrive any minute.”

  “All the more reason to handle it myself.” She smiled at him. “I’m faster than the hunters. We wouldn’t want the undead to frighten our delicate guests.”

  The druid smiled into his beard. “I have a feeling this guest won’t scare easily.”

  “I hope you’re right. Don’t worry. I’ll be back in time.”

  She released her magic. It struck out like an invisible whip and splashed against the trunk of a white oak. She inhaled, took a single step toward that anchor, and let the air out.

  The world moved.

  She stood in the forest now. The wall of the castle lay fifty yards behind her. Massive trees spread their branches above her head. Magic waves destroyed technology, but they nourished the wilderness. The forest around her looked half-a-millennium old. A few yards to the left, and she would come across the remains of ruined houses, completely buried in the greenery.

  The vampire ran.

  She still didn’t see it, but she felt it scuttle through the underbrush, sprinting away.

  Oh no you don’t.

  Elara hurried after it, anchoring and moving, each of her steps swallowing fifteen yards. She could’ve moved faster, but expending magic came at a price. She would have to replace it. Thinking about it turned her stomach.

  Thinking about their “guests” turned her stomach also. She should’ve let the hunters handle the vampire, but tension simmered in her, too close to the surface. She had to let some steam out of the pressure cooker, or she wouldn’t be able to sit through the meeting.

  The undead ran for its life, bouncing off the tree trunks. The hunger inside her woke. Elara chased it, losing herself to the speed. The vampire vaulted over a huge fallen tree, and she finally caught a flash of its back, once human skin and now a thick pallid hide.

  Prey.

  Ahead bright red ribbons tied to the tree trunks announced the end of their land. She’d run four miles.

  The undead bolted for the safety of the ribbons, aiming for the gap between two trees.

  She released her magic in a cold rush, stepped in front of the vampire, and caught the abomination by its shoulders. Her power clutched it. The hunger clawed at her from the inside. She bared her teeth.

  The undead’s red eyes sparked with a new, brighter fire – the navig
ator controlling the vampire had bailed. The sudden death of an undead could turn the navigator into a human vegetable. Those who reached the rank of Master knew when to let go.

  The undead flailed, but it was too late. Elara found the small hot spark of magic within it and swallowed it. She could almost imagine tasting it on her tongue, as if it were a delicious morsel, and for a long moment she savored it.

  The vampire went limp. Elara opened her arms, and the sack of dried flesh and bone that once used to be a human body, then an undead, and now was neither, collapsed to the forest floor.

  Too little, the hunger howled inside her. More. More!

  She chained it again with a brutal effort of will and forced it back into the dark place she kept it.

  Horses.

  Elara turned. She was only a few feet away from the narrow ribbon of the road that ran through the woods. Run or sneak a peek? Was there even a choice?

  She stepped back a dozen yards, behind a wide old oak, climbed the low hanging branches, and settled above the ground, melting into the shadows among the foliage, as if she were one with them.

  Riders approached.

  The leading man was tall and dark-haired. That matched Dugas’ description.

  Her magic splayed out, masking her.

  Do not see me.

  The man halted his big white horse and turned toward her.

  She couldn’t see his face from this distance. She couldn’t feel his magic either, but he had some, she was sure of it.

  Do not see me.

  Elara couldn’t see his eyes, but all her senses told her he was staring straight at her. An excited shiver ran down her spine.

  She was a complete and utter idiot, she decided. Sitting here, hiding like a child afraid to get caught. Well, at least it’s good to be self-aware.

  He gave the forest another long look and rode on.

  Elara slipped from the tree and dashed back to the castle.

  A few minutes later she stepped past the gates, straightened her long green dress, and checked her hair. Something skittered under her fingers. Elara plucked it from the long braid coiled at her neck. A spider. She walked out the gates and gently set it on the grass.

  The spider escaped. She wished she could too. Anxiety flooded her. It’s just nerves, she told herself.

  Elara walked up the steps to the wall and touched the druid’s shoulder. He turned, his brown eyes somber.

  “I told you I would make it.”

  He shook his head. “I know you don’t want to do this…”

  “I don’t. But I’ll do it for my people.”

  Her people. She knew every single one of them. She was the reason they bounced back and forth across the country, desperately trying to find a place to call home only to be run off again and again. They deserved a home. This was their land, and she had to do everything in her power to protect it. Perhaps d’Ambray wouldn’t prove too much of a problem.

  “We could…”

  “Pick up and leave again? No.” She shook her head. “You said it yourself, we’ve been here too long. This is home now. I’m not going to uproot us again. Not for this.”

  They were done running. She wouldn’t let Nez win.

  A group of riders broke free of the canopy and rode up the road toward the gates at a canter. She clenched her hands together. This was ridiculous. She had nothing to be nervous about. She could pull the plug at any time.

  The riders grew closer.

  Elara nodded at the leader on the white horse. “Is that him?”

  “Yes.”

  Hugh d’Ambray was huge. The stallion underneath him was massive, but the man matched the horse. He had to be well over six feet tall. Wide shoulders. Long limbs. Very lean. Almost as if he should’ve been thirty pounds or so heavier. Dugas did say they were starving.

  Starved or not, he looked like he could hold the drawbridge of a castle by himself.

  It was suddenly very real. I don’t want to do this.

  “You want me to marry Conan the Barbarian?” A drop of acid slid into her tone.

  “An attractive barbarian,” Dugas pointed out.

  “I suppose so, if you’re looking at it from a purely animalistic point of view.”

  Dugas chuckled.

  “Is his horse glowing?” She squinted at the stallion. If you looked just right, there was a hint of something protruding from its forehead, like a shimmer of hot air.

  “It appears so.”

  They made a striking image, she admitted. The horse that was glowing with silver and the rider, all in black, his dark hair falling to his shoulders. But she wasn’t interested in striking images.

  “He’s been here two minutes, and already he’s riding like he owns everything he sees.”

  “He very likely always rides that way. Men like him project confidence. It’s what makes others follow them into battle.”

  “Violent others.”

  “We agreed that we needed skilled violent soldiers with broad backs,” Dugas said. “His back is broad enough.”

  The breadth of d’Ambray’s back wasn’t the problem.

  She spared a few moments for his people. Two men rode directly behind him, one tall and black, with glasses perching on his nose, and the other athletic and white, with short brown hair and an attractive, smart face. The rider behind them was just a boy, blond and tan. Why bring a boy?

  Wolves coming to her door.

  The riders reached the gates. D’Ambray raised his head and looked up.

  His eyes were a deep dark blue, and they stared through her. She held his stare.

  Most women would find him handsome. He had a strong face, overwhelmingly masculine without a hint of the brutish thickness she’d expected. His jaw was square and strong, the lines of his face defined but not sharp or fragile, and his eyes under a sweep of thick black eyebrows were too shrewd and too cold for comfort. His eyes evaluated her with icy calculation.

  She was about to share the power over her people with this man. Alarm squirmed through her. This was a bad idea. A terrible idea.

  D’Ambray passed through the gate and out of her view.

  “I shouldn’t do this,” Elara whispered to herself.

  “Do you want me to send them off?” Dugas asked quietly.

  If she said yes, he would.

  She had to get a grip. She had to teach d’Ambray who she was. The White Warlock. Unclean. Cursed. An abomination. They would come to this meeting table as equals, and if they chose an alliance, she had to make sure they left as equals.

  The magic escaped the world without so much as a whisper, stealing her power. That was fine. She didn’t need magic to make Hugh d’Ambray understand where they stood.

  “Let’s wait to throw him out until he balks at our terms.”

  “Do you want them in the great hall?” the druid asked.

  “No.” She narrowed her eyes. “Put them in the green room. Next to the kitchens.”

  The air smelled like fresh bread, just out of the oven, with a crisp golden crust. Hugh’s mouth watered, while his stomach begged. Clever girl.

  He once starved a woman to the brink of death, trying to break her. Poetic justice, he reflected.

  “The castle is in good shape,” Stoyan said softly behind him.

  The castle was in excellent shape. It was built with pale grayish-brown stone. The forty-foot-high curtain wall and the massive barbican, the gatehouse protecting the entrance, were both solid, as were the two bastion towers at the corners and the two flanking towers. The bailey, the open space inside the walls, was clean and well maintained. He didn’t see a well, but they must have one. The inner structure consisted of a constellation of buildings hugging the main keep, a hundred-foot-tall square tower. He caught a glimpse of the stables and the motor pool, attached to the east wall. The electric lamps suggested they had a working generator.

  The place was massive. It needed a moat. Something he would have to remedy.

  A large molosser dog trotted in throug
h the open door, wagging its shaggy white tail. He’d seen three so far as they rode up and walked through the bailey, each dog over a hundred and twenty pounds. They reminded him of Karakachan hounds he’d come across in the Balkans. The dog wandered over to him and Hugh patted its shaggy head. Karakachans were wolf killers. If Lamar was right about the size of their livestock herds, the dogs made sense. The castle and the town attached to the shore of the lake were wrapped in dense forest. There would be wolves there.

  The inside of the castle was as well taken care of as the outside. The room where he now sat at a big rustic table was simple, the stone walls without any decoration, but it was clean, his chair was comfortable, and the temperature inside was at least ten degrees cooler. Nice thick walls.

  All Hugh had to do now was convince the owner of the castle to let him share it. He’d gotten a glimpse of her as he rode in. Her hair was completely white. Not pale blond or bleached platinum, white. Her hazel eyes were sharp, and she looked at him like she saw a wolf at her door. He wasn’t a wolf. He was something much worse, but he needed her defendable castle and her delicious bread.

  Hugh had tried to pin down her age, but the white hair threw him off. Her face looked young, but he’d barely seen anything beyond a glimpse.

  Hugh leaned back. She was making him wait. That was fine. He could be patient.

  Behind him someone’s stomach growled.

  He’d felt something in the forest, on the way here. Something that raised the hair on the back of his neck. He’d tangled with powers across three continents, and whatever had been in the woods had tripped all of his alarms. Then it had moved toward the castle and he’d nudged Bucky into a canter, trying to follow it.

  His gaze stopped on a large hand-painted map above the side door, showing Berry Hill in the center, by the edge of the Silver River Lake, with the castle on the neighboring hill. On the right and slightly above, to the northeast, lay Aberdine, another small post-Shift settlement, next to a ley point. Higher still, past the woods, directly north, spread Sanderville. Above it in the distance on the far left was Lexington.

  Hugh looked at Aberdine. Post-Shift, magic streamed through the world in currents, ley lines, offering a fast way of travel and shipping. Walking into the current would get your legs cut off, so you had to put some barrier between the magic and yourself, a car, a wooden pallet, anything would do. Once in, the ley line would drag its rider off until it reached a ley point, where the magic blinked, interrupted, and the current would jettison its riders out into the real world. There was only one road connecting the castle and that ley point and it ran through Aberdine. They would have to play nice with that settlement.