The Lord of Illusion - 3 (35 page)

The rest of the company quickly followed as the sound of destruction grew louder behind them.

“I still want to know,” shouted Joscelyn, leaping over a fallen log, “what the hell shot down my dragon.”

“Stubborn,” grunted Samson, who ran so fluidly he appeared to glide over the ground.

“Not what, but who,” replied Dominic, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “You should all know. I fear I know why the elven lords themselves did not stop us from entering the forest—”

They burst through the trees. A calm lake lay to their right. Another snow-shrouded meadow sat before the next line of trees, a layer of white covering a jagged hill of crystal near the middle of it. And just beyond that bubbled a small spring surrounded by large crystal stones, with unfrozen streams flowing away from it.

And five elven lords waited for them in front of the source of magic.

Lan’dor of Bladehame, with his silver eyes and broad shoulders. La’laylia of Stonehame, with her lavender eyes and sharp beauty. Breden of Dewhame, his faceted blue eyes cloudy with madness. Roden of Dreamhame. And even Annanor of Terrahame, who must have used her own magical steed to reach the Seven Corners of Hell before her consort, Malcolm.

Dominic took several deep breaths, and finished, “It is because they are waiting here for us.”

The elven lords stood in a half circle, ominously still and silent. Camille’s knees trembled, and if not for Drystan’s warm hand in hers, she would have bolted. Despite their beautiful faces and perfect forms, she knew the elven were evil. And would not hesitate to unleash their powers upon them. Roden’s sharp gaze flicked over her, his eyes widening in surprise. Camille lifted her chin and suddenly stopped shaking.

She was no longer a slave. She had the power to help banish him. And she would not allow fear to stop her from what she needed to do.

Dominic walked forward with an arrogant stride, his face devoid of emotion, and the rest of the company followed.

“But why here?” murmured Giles.

“My guess is that their powers are strongest at the source of magic,” whispered Drystan. “The scepters might just be a conduit for the power that flows from Elfhame, allowing them to tap into it. By making a stand this close to the source, they might rival half-breeds wielding their very own scepters.”

“Well done, human,” said Roden of Dreamhame. “Lord Hawkes, is it not?” Dominic had halted their group with a third of the meadow still separating them from the enemy, but with the elvens’ keen hearing, they did not miss a word. “We are pleased to see you fell for our little trap.”

“I’m sure that’s what you would like us to think,” drawled Dominic. His voice usually lacked inflection, but now it sounded almost… bored. It frightened Camille more than if he had shouted, for then she would have had proof he still harbored some human emotion.

Lady Cassandra stood close to her husband, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, as if she listened to some silent tune.

“Well, by all means,” replied Roden. “Please attempt to do what you came here for. By allowing you to steal our scepters, you have provided us with an entertainment we could never have devised for ourselves. We shall show you our gratitude after we watch you struggle. If the depth of grief from your failure amuses us enough, we might even save some of you.” He gestured behind them. “Besides, I do not know how long we can hold off the maelstrom. It would be a pity to see it destroy you before the game is even begun.”

Camille realized the crackle of the black fire had indeed slowed. So the elven lords could watch the foolish humans construct the star from the scepters? Good heavens, what would they truly unleash when they opened the doorway? Her gaze met Drystan’s, and he shrugged.

“They could be bluffing,” he said, “but if it is a trap… if it is just another one of their games… if they allowed us to steal the scepters and gather together to make one devastating blow against the Rebellion…”

Dominic turned. “Then they have underestimated us. Their arrogance has always been to our advantage. Let us use it now.”

“But we cannot be sure—” started Giles.

“I am sure we cannot use the scepters to fight them. Or should we so easily allow them to take back what they lost?” Dominic’s midnight gaze narrowed on Giles.

He shook his head, the blemish on his face a dull green in the dawn light. “They would not stand and watch if they thought we had a chance of succeeding. You heard them. They want to wallow in our failure.”

“My love,” said Lady Cecily, “we must try. We cannot give up just to prove our defiance, now that we have come this far.”

“Besides,” breathed Drystan, keeping his voice so low Camille could barely hear it. “We have the key.”

A cackle of laughter sounded from the group of elven. Breden of Dewhame grinned maniacally, nodding his head at his daughter.

“The key, the key,” sang the elven lord. “Form the star to open the door but it is stuck stuck stuck.” He bent over and whooped, slapping his knees. The rest of the elven lords ignored him, calling to the river of magic leaking from the spring, the illusory water suddenly changing direction and flowing toward their outstretched hands. Except for Roden of Dreamhame. He stared at Camille with a frown upon his handsome face.

The elven lords thought Drystan had referred to the mark upon her neck, and not Camille’s gift. Since it was not magical in origin, Roden had never sensed it. But Roden possessed a quick mind, and if he should puzzle it out…

“Hurry,” she commanded.

The half-breeds holding the scepters formed a rough circle. Dominic held the black out first, quickly met by the edge of Dorian’s green. A glow of dark emerald fire swirled above the two. Lady Cecily’s blue scepter met the edge of Dorian’s, and Joscelyn’s lavender scepter joined hers. The glow now coalesced into a color reminiscent of the Seven Corners of Hell when consumed by the maelstrom. Only three more scepters remained to form the star, but those who could not harness the power held them. Camille must help them withstand the energies the key had already created.

Wilhelmina traded glances with Malcolm and Drystan. Camille squeezed Drystan’s hand and he calmly nodded at the duchess, took a step forward, and placed the top of the golden scepter alongside Joscelyn’s.

Something odd happened to Camille, and she did not have time to decipher the feeling before Wilhelmina leaned forward with the silver scepter, reaching out her other hand to Camille.

When Camille grasped those strong fingers, another tremor ran through her, and she wavered on her feet.

“What is it?” demanded Drystan.

But she ignored him, trying to maneuver her body past the taller woman as Malcolm stepped forward to finish the star, a frown on his face as he reached out for Camille.

“Wait,” she told Malcolm, releasing Wilhelmina’s hand and grabbing his, stepping in front of the taller woman. “Duchess, place your hand on my neck,” she said. “Your skin needs only to touch mine.”

Camille felt the brush of the woman’s callused fingertips near her pulse, which now beat with a frantic measure. Camille had never felt anything like this before. But she had never been so close to such powerful magics before. She now understood what wielding magic must feel like, for she felt a drain not only on her body, but on her inner strength as well.

Yet it also felt as if the scepters drew energy from her very soul, and Drystan never mentioned that in relation to using magic.

Camille’s stomach lurched. Perhaps that feeling was unique to her gift. Perhaps she had found the answer to Drystan’s question. The price of using her gift would be her very soul.

“What is that girl with the ugly eyes doing?” demanded La’laylia, the elven lady of Stonehame.

“Interesting,” replied Roden. “She is making a connection with the three half-breeds who lack the power to wield a scepter. And yet, the slave girl has no magic to aid them, for I have tested her myself. Several times. Because of those odd eyes of hers. They appear to possess all the colors of the scepters…”

Wilhelmina pressed the top of the silver scepter against Drystan’s gold. With a hastily muttered prayer, Malcolm quickly inserted the brown between the black scepter and the silver, completing the shape of the star. The glowing color intensified, all the colors of the seven scepters swirling like a small tornado above the star. Camille felt her chest contract, and then shatter, as if her heart had been ripped out and now mingled with the colorful dance of conjoined power.

“Fie!” sputtered Roden, taking a step forward. “The girl—do you feel it? Stop them!”

A rush of sound pounded Camille’s ears as the elven lords unleashed their hold on the black fire and it threatened to envelop their company. Dominic held up his free hand, an answering rush of gray fire surrounding them and the five members who did not hold a scepter. Aurelia, Giles, Samson, Alexander, and Lady Cassandra pressed closer to their mates while the column of power grew above the star. It did not look like smoke, or mist, or anything Camille had ever seen before. The power whirled and swelled and grew, until it formed a column that pierced the smothering black fire to reveal the blue skies above.

The ground trembled, and she could not hear the elven lords’ cries any longer. For a timeless moment chaos surrounded the companions, as once again the full fury of the maelstrom shook the Seven Corners of Hell.

Dominic’s face paled; his teeth gritted against the power he summoned. Camille wished she could reach him, to give him some of the strength from her gift.

Instead, the other six added their own power to his. When the black fire pushed at the gray barrier, Lady Cecily called forth a wall of icy water to quench it. When the earth split, Dorian called to his green growing powers to weave a tangle of roots to bridge the gap. Malcolm made a fist and calmed the raging earth, letting loose a whoop of triumph when the earthquakes actually ceased. Lady Joscelyn shattered the quartz that heaved upward. Drystan sent a rain of golden arrows against the beasts emerging from the fire. And Wilhelmina spoke to the iron ore, cooling and coaxing it back into the ground.

A silence descended, and it felt as if they floated in the blackness for a moment, before plunging back down to the meadow. They stood in a circle of daylight, the column of magic still piercing the clouds like a beacon.

“We did it,” breathed Drystan.

“We are alive, at least,” added Giles, his arm about the waist of his wife.

“Light,” gasped Dominic, and white fire lit the rest of the meadow.

Camille blinked, trying to make sense of her surroundings. They did, indeed, still stand in a meadow, but it looked like nothing she had ever seen before. The snow crawled across the landscape as if it held a life of its own, and the streams, which once flowed like ordinary water, now sparkled with a brilliance rivaling the tornado of power they created with the scepters.

“What is happening?” she whispered.

“We are in the eye of the maelstrom,” answered Lady Cecily.

“I told you,” laughed the melodic voice of an elven lord. “It is stuck stuck stuck.” They turned as one to see Breden dancing a jig in front of what once had been the crystal stones of the spring. But the stones had grown into glowing columns surrounding a shimmering translucent portal.

“The doorway to Elfhame,” murmured Drystan in wonder.

Sixteen

Camille could glimpse odd shapes just beyond the shimmering door. Plants, perhaps, or distorted trees, reminding her of Dreamhame’s garden. And tall figures with flowing robes and pale hair.

“Breden is right,” said Dominic. “We are not strong enough to open it.”

Apparently the elven lords did not wish to indulge their human playthings any longer. The fresh power that flowed from that opening into England coalesced about the five elven, and they shaped it in their hands. Lan’dor of Bladehame crafted a sword of silver that matched the color of his eyes, glanced from the portal to the group of humans, and let out a war cry that made Camille flinch.

Lan’dor leaped toward their group, but before he could swing his blade, Lady Cassandra danced forward, a swirling mass of skirts and lethal intent. Her son, Alexander, leaped in front of her, his sword parrying a blow that would have taken off his mother’s head.

Wilhelmina jerked.

“Stand firm,” warned Dominic, his eyes on his wife. Although the man did not flinch, Camille could see the fear for Cassandra in that black gaze. “The magic of our star is countering the chaos of the storm. If we falter, we all die.”

Lady Annanor called to the powers of the earth, the ground near her feet rising upward to form the shapes of monstrous golems. Flashes of silver passed by Camille, and she realized the assassin, Aurelia, had launched an attack with her daggers. The flying missiles managed to distract the elven lady, but no matter how accurate the aim, they kept missing their true target. Instead of returning to Aurelia’s hand, the blades shot point-first back at her, until she could no longer dodge them. One pierced her shoulder. Another lodged in her leg.

Camille heard Giles’s sword singing in anticipation as he engaged with Breden, who had stopped laughing long enough to shape whips of liquid that twisted so furiously they gained solid force. Those flails reached past Giles’s guard more than once.

Samson attacked La’laylia with grim determination, grunting as the elven lady struck him with one spell after another, lines of blood sprouting on his handsome face.

Lady Cassandra broke away from Alexander, who appeared to be holding his own against Lan’dor, and tried to harass Roden. But the elven lord of Dreamhame created golden harpies with wicked claws, and Cassandra soon found herself dancing for her life while her gown was ripped to shreds, crimson showing at each rent.

“They cannot hold for long,” snapped Joscelyn, turning her gaze upon Dominic. “Do you expect us to just stand here and watch them die?”

“Do not be overly concerned,” answered Lan’dor as he countered Alexander’s whirling sword as if he swatted away a pesky fly. “We shall not forget you.” And with two prodigious leaps, he crossed the distance between them, appearing just behind Joscelyn, and ran his blade almost lovingly down her back before turning back to Alexander, who had tried to follow. Lan’dor cut him as easily as one would carve a mutton roast, and after two strides, Alexander’s legs collapsed beneath him, a look of astonishment on his comely face.

Lady Joscelyn sucked in a breath, her face turning white as snow, and only Lady Cecily’s steadying hand prevented her from collapsing.

Lan’dor laughed, and Camille stared in horror as he raised his silver sword to plunge it into Alexander’s chest.

Wilhelmina opened her mouth to scream, but a sound like a thousand trumpets cut off her cry.

The elven lords froze, and looked up at the opening in the sky above the star’s column of magic.

“Ador,” breathed Dominic.

A black dragon circled that beacon of power, and then dove toward them, followed by a green, then a blue, then a silver. A brown dragon flew before a lavender and gold. The last two beasts landed with unsteady wobbles in the meadow, their scales dark with decay.

“Midaz,” gasped Lady Joscelyn, her eyes filling with tears. Camille did not think it was because of the pain of her wound, but her love for the dragon. Because Camille then saw her dear Grimor’ee, and felt her own eyes burn.

Ador, the black dragon of Firehame, picked up Lan’dor with a delicate baring of his teeth, and tossed the elven lord back toward the other four.

Alexander lurched to his feet, wobbling crazily but sword at ready, glancing between the elven and their dragon-steeds, as if unsure which insurmountable battle he should tackle first. Then he turned and motioned to Giles, Samson, and his mother, and they all staggered back to join Aurelia, who had taken up a defensive position just in front of Camille’s scepter-wielding companions.

Roden of Dreamhame tossed back his sparkling white hair and looked up at the group of dragons. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Said just like a human,” replied Ador, who seemed to be the leader of the scaled flock. “Careful, Roden. You are resembling the animals you so despise.”

“Never,” answered the elven lord. “And you are a little late. We can handle this group of rebels ourselves.”

The shiny black scales above the dragon’s brow lifted slightly with a scraping sound. “You misinterpret our appearance.”

Dominic of Firehame made a strangled noise, which oddly enough resembled laughter. The dragon ignored him.

“You see,” continued Ador, “it is time for us to go home.”

“Madness!” shouted Breden of Dewhame, his whips twining about him like liquid snakes. “You cannot disobey us; we ensured it with a spell.”

“Ahhh,” replied Grimor’ee, turning his liquid gaze upon Camille for a moment. “The enchantment has weakened over time. You laugh at the human concept of love, mad lords, but it has proven more powerful a weapon than you know. It chipped away your spell, bit by bit.”

“And although we have suffered for it,” added Midaz, his violet gaze fixed upon Joscelyn, “we do not regret it.”

The green dragon of Verdanthame gave a negligent stretch of his wings. “Besides, the humans have earned their freedom. Have fought for it. And they discovered the key.” He lifted an olive talon and scratched his massive chest and added, “The scepters want to go home.”

Roden’s slim body vibrated with rage. “The humans may have discovered the key, but they cannot open the door. And the scepters do not matter. They act only on instinct.”

“Nevertheless,” replied Ador, “we shall give the humans a chance to succeed.”

Lady Annanor held out her hands in entreaty, power dripping through her fingers like shimmering grains of sand. Her bronze gown shifted with the movement, outlining her generous breasts, her long legs. Her brown eyes opened wide, reflections of amber and sienna in their depths. “Ador… my dearest Kiz’rah… blessed dragon-steeds of beauty and might. You know what will happen to us if we return to Elfhame. Our people consider us mad, and will cleanse our minds. They will take away that very essence which makes us unique.”

After one calculating glance, La’laylia copied Annanor, raising her own hands, her gown of jewels shimmering like a blanket of stars. She stepped toward Ador, pale skin revealed in tantalizing glimpses with every move she made. “You cannot truly wish to return to Elfhame. Have we not been happy, here? Such adventure, such chaos! We shall shrivel and die if we return—”

It happened so quickly, Camille barely saw the exchange. Lan’dor, Breden, and Roden raised their hands along with the two elven ladies, and launched a bolt of power straight at Ador’s massive jaw. Kalah, the blue dragon of Dewhame, let loose a roar punctuated with a great blast of lightning straight at the elven lords. Both Grimor’ee and Midaz moved in front of the group of humans to protect them, while the rest of the dragons launched molten metal and roars and snarls of magic-imbued smoke at the elven lords.

But after that first attack on the black dragon, the elven ignored the beasts and moved as one, directing their power toward the star of scepters. The blast hit Dominic squarely in the back, and he let out a startled oath of surprise before his eyes rolled back in his head.

Mother and son caught him in their arms before he had a chance to break the pattern of the star. Lady Cassandra held Dominic’s hand around the black scepter, and looked up at the startled faces of the company.

“Open that damn portal,” she shouted over the cacophony of battling magic behind her.

“We were not strong enough to do it with Dominic,” Wilhelmina countered. “How do you expect us to manage it now? I have never wielded a damn scepter before, and I do not know what I am doing—”

“Be calm, Duchess,” soothed Lady Cecily. “Look, Dominic is already regaining consciousness. Do not underestimate us as the elven lords have done.”

Malcolm shook his head. “I fear the warrior-woman is right. We do not have the strength.”

Camille felt her heart drop as she looked around the circle and saw despair reflected in every set of eyes. They could not falter now. They were so close…

She recognized Grimor’ee’s particular roar amongst all the others, and cringed at the cry of pain in it.

“We must do something, quickly,” exclaimed Lady Joscelyn. “They are killing Midaz!”

Camille glanced at Drystan. His golden eyes mirrored the other’s—pain and despair in their depths. He had shown her such strength. Had championed and protected her. And now his dream of freeing England would die with him. He was her hero, and he would die a failure.

“No,” she said, not realizing she spoke aloud. “Love weakened the enchantment on the dragons. Perhaps it can strengthen our magic as well.”

“What do you mean?” asked Wilhelmina, her breath stirring the hair on the back of Camille’s head.

Camille ignored her and turned to Malcolm. “Let go of my hand.”

The beautiful man frowned, fear in his eyes.

“Do not worry. As long as I stay in the circle, the scepter will not harm you.”

He nodded and let go of her.

“What are you doing?” demanded Drystan.

Camille maneuvered her body sideways, between Wilhelmina and Drystan. “I am the key, is that not what you said? I am the key to your strength… and to that of the scepters.”

His amber eyes widened. “No. You do not know what it will do to you.”

“Wilhelmina. You may release me.”

Without another word, the woman allowed her hand to drop.

Camille leaned forward and kissed Drystan’s furious mouth. “You have taught me self-sacrifice… you have furrowed out the best in me. Do not allow your love for me to weaken that.”

And Camille pushed her way between the gold and silver scepters, to the center of the star where magic still twisted and roiled in a tornado of sparkling power. Dominic had opened his eyes, and although his hand shook, he held the black steady. As one, the seven half-breeds of the Rebellion allowed her to break into the circle, pressing their scepters against her waist.

Camille had never touched a scepter before, much less seven of them at once. She felt them each as individual entities, with a distinct personality and will. They shouted incomprehensible words in her mind, the syllables blocking out the sound of battle, consuming her with such force she forgot where she was,
why
she was.

The swirling power devoured her, made her a part of the whirling, glowing force. Her heart still flew within the tornado, and now her soul joined it by bits and pieces. The column bent lower and lower, until it angled toward the portal, until the top of it pierced the shimmering doorway between the crystal columns. A sound rent the air, as if the very heavens opened, and for a moment the meadow lit with an unnatural display of fireworks. Colors of green, blue, violet, and gold sparked and danced. Silver, black, and brown exploded in dazzling accompaniment.

Camille kept her eyes fixed on Drystan, the prismatic lights playing across his smooth skin, as she lost her memory of him.

Until she wondered at the look of sadness that crossed the handsome stranger’s face.

The roaring finally ceased.

Quiet descended on the little meadow in the Seven Corners of Hell.

“Hush now,” murmured Camille to the singing, crying voices in her head. “We have opened the door.”

The portal shuddered, a round opening forming in the middle of it, which expanded like the pupil of a dragon’s eye. Camille glimpsed a land lush with color, of castles nestled into enormous trees, of creatures wild and free grazing on lavender grass. A wondrous place of peace and harmony.

The five elven lords standing in front of the portal backed away.

“Fie,” breathed the man with the midnight eyes. “They are afraid.” He spoke as if he had never expected to ever see such a thing.

A scent reminiscent of elfweed wafted through that doorway, and two beautiful beings stepped out of it, their glowing eyes sweeping over the scene before them. A sadness crossed their delicate features, not marring their perfection in the least.

They each wore a crown of odd gemstones that blazed like the sun, the man’s slightly larger than the woman’s. They resembled the elven lords who had invaded England, with their white-blonde hair sparkling with silver, their pointed ears and smooth pale skin. But the king and queen of Elfhame held a beauty and peace inside that reflected in their calm expressions, the warmth in their clear faceted eyes.

Their beauty shone inside and out, transforming them into beings who rivaled the angels.