Wolf’s Cub

Chapter 14

Michael waited behind the curtain, willing himself to remain calm, ready to leap forward at the first note of the music selected by his bride to be. He took a deep, steadying breath.  This was what he had wanted. The opportunity to dance, and to train with the Master who had been brought to the Second Kingdom to teach him – if he found Michael worthy. So much rested on these next several minutes but he tried to forget all of the politics, all of the import to his own life, and think only of the dance.

The custom was that he would not know the music his intended chose until the moment he had to dance to it. It put a dancer on his mettle, requiring that he make instantaneous choices to match his movements not only to the rhythms but to the tone and feeling of the piece.  It was supposed to be a measure, not only of his skill as a dancer, but of his compatibility with the Princess Suzanne, if he could somehow devise a spontaneous work of beauty to a song she favored without it being known to him previously.

Fortunately, as a skilled telepath, Michael had a good sense of the type of song the young lady favored, which was good because her musical taste differed greatly from his own. In this case, he’d suspected that the song she’d been ‘humming’ in her thoughts was likely the song she’d chosen for his test so he’d choreographed something suitably romantic for that music, while keeping himself ready to improvise just in case she were clever enough to trick him.

He almost wished she were that clever as the song was as boring as ... as a starling’s song. Pretty but predictable.  He’d been hoping for something more exotic, something to fit this new, mountain land he was in, with its tall, blond people.

Then the song started and Michael forgot anything but the thrill of dancing. It was indeed the pretty song he’d expected, but played on instruments he’d never heard, which gave it power and depth – not a starling’s song but a falcon’s call. He altered his dance accordingly. Where he’d planned jumps, he made bold leaps; where he would have turned, he spun, so fast that his audience saw only a blur.  The dance he performed was not a romantic invitation, it was a seductive mating ritual that left him panting and sweaty at the feet of the Master – not his blushing bride – when the music stopped. 

There was total silence, save the sound of Michael’s harsh breathing. Then, Suzanne jumped up and began clapping loudly.  Her older sisters, three in all, and her mother, Queen Alicia, smiled knowing smiles and joined in applauding. Michael looked up then and smiled but his green eyes were returned to the Master who had not yet given any reaction. It was for his approval that Michael had really danced.  Finally, the elderly Master smiled a very small smile and inclined his head very slightly toward the young man in front of him. He then turned to address the Queen, well aware that he had the attention of everyone in her court. He made his pronouncement in the manner of a High Druid anointing a new King or Queen.

“On this day, I have found my Successor.  Let the Bards make note that on this day, the new Master Dancer of the Three Kingdoms has appeared and he is Michael of the First Kingdom.”

Michael’s older brother Ben, who was there as the representative of his father, King Jerad of the First Kingdom, watched all of the proceedings carefully.  This would not please Jerad at all, as Master Dancers were independent of all, and given much respect throughout the three kingdoms. No one was quite sure of the source of their power, but it was recognized that they did wield magic of a powerful kind; some said it was even greater than that of the High Druids.  A third son could be useful as a pawn. A Master Dancer would never be anyone’s pawn.

This was important news.  Ben pondered whether he should attempt to get word to his father immediately or whether it could wait until he returned. Suddenly he was conscious of the Master looking at him, his gaze penetrating.  Ben kept his expression as bland as he could – he would never have the beguiling appearance of Michael or their eldest brother, Adam. His looks were more saturnine, which was fine for an Assassin but not as useful for a diplomat, Adam pointed out whenever he used to beg him to at least try to smile.

He tried it now, forcing his mouth into an upward curve. Michael had turned toward him, his face alight with eager delight. Seeing it, Ben’s smile became genuine.  He sent a message of congratulations to the excited youth, which triggered a torrent of sensation back.

“Slow down, child. I cannot both shield our thoughts and interpret all that you have planned for the next fifty years!” Ben chastised Michael mildly, reminding him that for all that he had succeeded at his test, they were still surrounded by strangers in a foreign court. Michael’s flush of excitement died instantly. He was young but he well knew the dangers that awaited the unwary among their people.  It was what caused Jerad and Alicia to seek an alliance when their Kingdoms had previously lived at peace – but separate.

Ben maintained his solitary watch over the proceedings while the Queen and her daughters clustered around the Master and his new protégé to fuss and exclaim. Eventually, the music began again and Michael danced again, both alone and with his betrothed. 

Ben intended to keep a close watch on developments for the time being, think carefully, then make a decision about what to do about notifying his father about Michael’s newly discovered gift, and potential.  Somehow, however, Ben found himself alone in a room with the Master Dancer.

The old man laughed at the First Kingdom Assassin’s expression.

“Where is the famed composure of the Emorys?” he taunted. “I may not have the ability to read the thoughts of others as well as a telepath, but a Master Dancer, much like a Master Bard, wields his own magic, and it is a magic that cannot be overcome by your mind tricks.”

Drawing his sword, Ben tried to rush the old man. He didn’t plan on killing him but needed to win his way free. He had to get back to Michael, he told himself, though the truth was he was furious at being toyed with by a man old enough to be his grandfather.

Ben Emory was a fast, agile swordsman but found himself turned around, confused, almost dizzied by the far older man’s moves. Most insulting, the Master didn’t even draw his own sword; he kept it sheathed as he danced around the frustrated younger man. Finally, Ben found himself unable to move. His limbs felt heavy, too heavy to move, and his head was spinning as though he’d drunk too much wine.

What has he done to me, he wondered to himself, for the first time worried that he might be in danger of losing his life.

“No, I will not kill you. But I give you a warning, Ben Emory. You will neither interfere in my teaching of Michael, nor will you tell your father of what I have said this day. I understand and know full well your divided loyalties, between your uncle and your father – and I care not except that it interferes with my training of a new Master Dancer.”

Ben was shocked. Could this man really know as much as he claimed? Was he a telepath of such power?  He knew that he could not read the other man’s thoughts and was unable to sense his intrusion into his. Was the dance magic so alien?

Again, his internal questions brought about that smug smile on the old man’s face. Yet, Ben realized, not such an old man’s face now, not after their skirmish. His dancing had rejuvenated him. He’d stolen energy from Ben! Anger coursed through him – and envy too. Was this what Michael would learn to do? If he added power like this to his telepathic skills, he would be mighty indeed, Ben thought.

Far mightier than any Emory living or dead.

“You want me to keep this information to myself? This type of power will make a major difference to the telepaths, to the balance of power between the kingdoms, and between telepaths and humans,” Ben said, thinking out loud.

The Master laughed humorlessly. “If you could kill me to stop me from teaching him, you would. You can’t, but I could kill you. I won’t because it would distress my protégé and it might require his return home. And that would defeat my purpose. Instead, I will cause you to forget what you have learned. You will have no memory of seeing your brother dance today or of our encounter.

Ben raised an eyebrow, and was about to ask how he thought Michael would ever let him forget such an event but he forgot what he was about to say, so mesmerized was he by the dance the Master danced before his eyes. He lost all track of time, until he was conscious of Michael shaking his shoulder and calling him.

“Ben! Ben! Don’t tell me you fell asleep and missed all of it! How could you!”

Ben shook his head. He felt as though he’d had too much wine. He drew his brows together in a frown. He should be more cautious about what he ate and drank in a foreign court; it was not like him to be so lax. He forced a smile at Michael.

“Did you do well, brother? Did you make your betrothed smile or frown? She looks like a difficult one to please. Thank the Goddess you were chosen for this job and not me!”

Michael laughed. The idea of sour Ben being offered to the fair, but spoiled Princess Suzanne as a husband was an amusing one. If it were not for the bribe of being able to learn from the Master Dancer himself, Michael wouldn’t want to be within two kingdoms of her, beauty or not. As it was, the prize was worth the price.

“I’ve passed the test, Assassin. I’m to learn the secrets of the dance masters! They say there is more to it than even I have imagined.”

“They?” Ben looked around. There were many tall blond warriors around, men and well as women. “Who are they who speak such fancy?”

Michael grinned sheepishly. “The Dance Master, primarily. But the fighters spoke of strange tricks he has played. I can’t wait to learn. Maybe I will even be able to best you once I’ve learned a thing or two,” he suggested, his grin widening.

Ben’s eyes narrowed. “Do not get too ahead of yourself, little brother. Mayhap we’d better have a few sparring lessons before I head back home, just to make sure you don’t forget your other training while you are busy learning this new skill to please your lady.”

It was Michael’s turn to narrow his eyes. “Mayhap my new skills will make my old training obsolete.”

Before the brothers’ argument could escalate, Princess Lydia came to them to request their presence. A formal betrothal announcement was going to be made, and it was necessary for both the King’s representative and the groom to be present to sign the documents.

Michael was fourteen and his destiny was sealed. He was going to be married to a princess of the Second Kingdom and he was going to study to be the next Master of the Dance. 

The fate of the Dance Master, his teacher, was sealed that day also. The old Master knew when he chose Michael that he was choosing his own death as well, but that mattered not to him. He hoped only to buy enough time to enable him to teach the gifted young man as much as was necessary, so that Michael could pass the magic on, so that he could select and train his own protégé, and thus secure the magic of the dance for future generations.  Otherwise, the magic of the dance would die with him and be lost, as so much of the great magic of the Druids had been lost .

A great evil was growing in the land and in Michael Emory’s bonding with the spoiled princess Suzanne rested the fate of the Three Kingdoms.  It was not the bonding that Michael was destined to make, but it was the one necessity deemed that he make, for now, just as the Dancer was willing to place his life in forfeit when the time – and the Assassins – came, seeking a life for a life.

The Dancer did his part to perfection and when Assassins came for him, he died dancing, taking joy in the knowledge that his art had survived – and that a powerful new Master Dancer lived to pass the dance on down through the ages.  

*****************

Dominic and his growing army of Metamorphs began the march on Candone long before dawn of the day following his war council.  He found that his first experience in sending others off on a mission that might lead to their deaths left him unable to sleep. He wondered how his father had managed to send Rafe and him off on missions when they were barely into their teens. No wonder Michael had stressed his and Colin’s roles of Assassin and Advisor – much easier to think in terms of duty when one did so than if one used the other titles: father, son, brother, sister, friend. All was in preparation for this day, when he had to send young men out to fight, many to die, for a cause, all while ignoring that his father, brother, sister and yes, lover, were among those on the front lines of the battle.

Rafael once told him he did not envy him his position of eldest and Dominic was not sure if he believed him. Now he did. Rafael was always first to see the pitfalls of any seeming prize. Dominic thought Michael foreswore the position of King because he hoped to return to his beloved dance when the troubles were over, when his vengeance was won. Now he thought perhaps Michael looked forward to the day when he did not have to answer to any other name but Father.

As for Dominic, this was the role he’d trained for his whole life so he had no thoughts of abdication, only a sense of the great weight of responsibility. So far, only the eagles had returned. Their report was grim. They last saw Sturn as he flew directly into a lightning bolt. Unable to make it through the storm to the small vessel that held Dominic’s kinsmen, they flew to Candone to assess their enemy’s status.

That news was also dark. They saw troops readying for battle. Large numbers of troops, heavily armed – and armored. Some marched toward the city gates but others stood guard around the druid tower and Council House.

Of Hildebran there was no news. They neither saw him nor saw any indication that he had been discovered. They dared not fly too close to the Tower, for fear that they might draw too much attention and risk his mission, so they returned to Dominic as swiftly as possible. Their news made him decide to move up his departure from the meeting ground. There was no communication from Michael yet but he sensed that he and Colin were safe. They were exhausted – he could tell that as well, so he sent a message that they should proceed to the meeting place planned – if Sturn had managed to relay his message. If no one had delivered a message from Dominic, they were to remain wherever they were until they were strong enough to travel further but by no means were they to go closer to Candone.

Dominic asked Lycan to have Bran set a fast pace, and he did. It was not easy for the Telepath to keep up with the Metamorphs, every one of which had superior stamina and strength due to their dual animal nature. His magic could only give an illusion that he was faring better than he was; it could not make the illusion reality. However, after five hours of a grueling pace, just as Dominic began to fear that he would have to ask to be carried by his mate, they finally came to a stop.

Nic’s relief that their journey was breaking for the day and he’d accomplished it without disgracing himself was short-lived when he heard Bran refer to it as a brief meal break as he walked past on his way to make arrangements for food to be prepared. Nic was not sure he would be able to start running again now that he had stopped. He leaned against a tree, keeping aloof from the milling, cheerful Metamorphs who were eagerly discussing the coming battle.

Lycan was talking to Bran several yards away, holding raw meat in one hand and waving a skin of ale in the other. Nic hoped he planned to bring him some food because he doubted his ability to go hunt it down for himself from whatever supply there was. He hoped somewhere they had a fire for cooking the meat as he really couldn’t face raw meat after a run like that. Sighing, he realized that this was one of those times that Lycan had talked to him about, a time when he had to tell his mate that his strength was not up to the pace. He opted for sending the message telepathically, and hoped that Lycan didn’t send Bran to answer his call.

Wolf–I need you.

To Nic’s relief, Lycan dismissed Bran in a natural way, and made his way to him quickly but with the appearance of nonchalance. His golden eyes took in Nic’s stiff posture and the fact that he still had not sought out food.

You are in pain, was the thought he sent to Nic, more statement than question.

Yes.                                                                                                                             

Can you walk?

Not well.  I should have called for your help sooner.

Nic’s embarrassment at his confession, so clear in Lycan’s mind, made any impatience the Wolf leader may have felt at his mate’s failure to do just that, dissolve. Nic certainly should have requested a break – but it was understandable that he did not when it would have slowed the entire army that he was now leading. Lycan should have anticipated this and done something to prevent Nic from overworking his body. His mate was, after all, a human. A Telepath, yes, and a very strong one, but still, a human when it came down to his body’s capacity for physical punishment.

Going to his mate, Lycan wrapped his arms around Nic and pulled him close, his large body protecting his mate from the view of any of the others.

“Rest your head on me for a few minutes while I think of a way for you to travel at our speed without depleting your strength,” Lycan softly commanded. Nic sighed and let his mate take his weight unto himself, relishing how easily the big Metamorph was able to support Nic’s entire body with just his forearms, balancing Nic’s body against his brawny chest as easily as if he were a child.

“I wish I could sleep for a week,” Nic murmured.

“In a week, this is likely to all be over, one way or another,” Lycan pointed out practically. Considering it that way, Nic shivered and stood upright. There was so little time...certainly no time for napping! Lycan’s large hand pressed his head back down.

“Rest. Your sire assured me that you can get much good from small increments of rest – like a cat.”

Dominic wanted to argue the point but he was too tired. I cannot be weak was the last thought he sent to his Wolf before dozing off in his arms. Lycan lifted him up and strode to a more secluded area. He caught Bran’s attention and his Beta followed him, aiding him in shielding Nic from prying eyes. In truth, they knew that most of the Metamorphs were impressed by the King’s strength – no one had expected a human to keep pace as well as he had. But the wolves considered Nic their special charge since he was their leader’s mate, and they knew that Nic did not want to lose face even if he was the only one who expected more from him.   

“I will bring him food,” Bran said, once Lycan had settled against a tree in a slightly secluded spot.

“Cook the meat,” Lycan reminded him. Bran nodded, even though he thought it was a waste of good meat. Lycan added, before his Beta left.  “See if Elkind knows if any horse herds are nearby.”

“Metamorph?” Bran asked.

“No, plain horses – Elkind should know that as well, I would think,” Lycan said, a touch impatiently.  He knew when animal wolf packs were near, and he was pretty sure Bran did as well. While the Metamorphs did not co-mingle with their animal counterparts, they tended to keep an eye out for them, if only so they did not compete with them unnecessarily – and unfairly. The greater size and intelligence of the Metamorphs gave them just as big an advantage over animals as it did over humans. While horses were not strictly within Elkind’s mastery, Lycan was not aware of any horse Metamorphs and suspected that Elkind watched over the horses much as he, Lycan, watched over the canine animals. Unfair treatment of them could be expected to merit punishment from the Wolf Leader.

Elkind himself deigned to return with Bran. He was curious why the “short” break was lasting so long and why horses were of interest to the young king.

“The young man is tired,” Elkind stated the obvious, standing over the sleeping Dominic.

“He recovers quickly from weariness,” Lycan told him, a note of pride in his voice. “But his limbs cannot continue to run at that pace. I have heard stories of young Royals riding on horses in days past, that they can calm the wild stallions. It occurs to me that when Dominic’s kin join us we will have several humans who will need to keep up with our pace if we are to make all haste to Candone – now that they cannot sail into the Authority’s City. Do you know if any horses graze nearby?”

Elkind frowned. “It depends on what you consider to be nearby. There are strong, fleet wild horses ten leagues from here. No distance for the horses but a distance for anyone to go to them. And to try to convince a dozen to join? I might attempt it but it would take me half a day to make the trip there and back, including the argument, with no guarantee of success.”

“Are there any horse Metamorphs to whom I can reach out by name?”

To the surprise of the three Metamorphs, Nic was sitting up and reaching for the food Bran had set down near him. His amethyst eyes were keen as he looked at Elkind, his sharp mind turning possibilities over as he waited for an answer.

“I do not know if...” Elkind started to answer but paused. He felt as though he were being urged to think harder though Nic was chewing his roasted rabbit meat without making a sound. Just those eyes the color of the sky at dusk looking at him, as though they could see deep into his soul....

“There was a small group of Equine Metamorphs many years ago,” Elkind said slowly. “They took to the plains years ago, during my Grandsire’s time as Leader. I haven’t heard from them in many seasons, since before I became Leader, before the time King Adam’s reign ended.”

“His name?” Nic asked, patient but persistent. He was trying to keep his hope from flaring but he thought his mate might have an answer to his dilemma – which would be worse for the younger telepaths once they met up with him. Michael could run forever but Colin was not used to the same physical demands the rest of them were.  Even so, except for Michael, none of them could put up with as much as Dominic could and he was at his body’s limit already. Another answer was needed, and it looked like one just might exist – in the plains of the Second Kingdom. While he waited for Elkind to search his memory for the elusive name, another voice answered in his mind.

His name is Faris, Dominic, and I am a step ahead of your Lycan. Though I am pleased that he has come up with the same plan that I did, it is not welcome to me that both he and you think I am so lacking in forethought that I did not plan ahead for conveyance of your telepath sisters and brothers.

Father! You are safe! Colin also? And...

And we will be with you soon. We must not communicate unless essential. I sense other minds trying to intercept our thoughts. Keep a guard on yours.”

“Michael!”

Nic could feel the mental bond tightening and with it came a welcome flood of well-being and affection. It was unusual but he suspected that Michael knew just how much his son needed the connection. The undercurrent of growl that had accompanied the last cry of Michael helped to underscore the message, even if it surprised both of the Emorys to learn that Lycan was within their tighter net of telepathy. Michael wished for the leisure to study this new bond but for now he made note of as much as revealed itself so he could use it to their advantage.  

We are safe. It was a difficult battle. The Starling you sent was brave – though a thorn in Colin’s side now.

A note of exasperated amusement tinged Michael’s thoughts at this point. Nic thought he could guess the nature of the problem Sturn was causing Colin.

He lives then? Nic thought he had better be certain.

Michael’s amusement was clearer as he answered. You were wise to put protective spells on him, O King.

Elkind and Bran wondered at the bright color that suffused the young Royal’s cheeks. Lycan hid his grin; he had a sense of the conversation that was taking place and decided that there was no need to keep the other two waiting. He led Elkind and Bran a few steps away to dismiss them – Bran did not require diplomacy but Elkind did. Lycan said enough to alert Bran to the need to do all that was necessary to smooth over the other leader’s pride at being summoned.

“Thank you for your information about the horses. Dominic is using it now as he confers with his Advisor and Sire to find a way to draw the horses near without requiring anyone to make the trip. Some Royal magic, I would not be surprised,” Lycan told them, ushering them away.

“It is a wonder to see the old ways returning,” Elkind said, his eyes shining with hope.

Returning, he stood aloof from his mate for a few minutes and watched Dominic’s face as he “spoke” with his sire. The shadows that had darkened his expression for two days were gone – nay, not completely, but it had lightened considerably. He knew that Nic was relieved to know that the cocksure starling Sturn was safe. It was a relief to Lycan too, but only because he knew it would have troubled Nic greatly had the Metamorph died.  He genuinely shared Nic’s happiness that his sire and the others were safe and hoped that they soon joined them. It would be good for Nic to have his people with him when they made the assault on Candone.

After another minute, Lycan was pleased to see Nic look around for him. He stepped forward.

“I am here, Cub. Finish your meat and bread and tell me how soon I can look forward to seeing your sire and the Druid Colin again.” Lycan crouched next to Nic who put his hand behind the golden head to pull his mate close for a kiss. Lycan’s mouth tasted of the fruit flavored drink his pack favored and which Nic loved. He took a few moments to savor his mate, using their mental link to answer.

They are closer than I’d dared hoped! Michael says he has contacted the horse leader and received permission to use the horses. They are bringing them with them and should meet up with us within the hour.

You are able to ride a wild horse? Lycan tried to suppress his skepticism but Nic heard it, and laughed, putting an end to their kiss.

I have never done so, but if Michael tells me I am to ride a wild stallion, then I will do so. One does not argue with Michael.”

Lycan did not agree with that last statement; he thought that Dominic was capable of arguing with anyone, even his sire, but this was not the time to bring that up. He lifted his mate up, holding him above the ground.  

“Is it necessary to keep the group waiting or can we break camp and meet with your Sire along the road to Candone? I can carry you or....”

Nic was wrapping his arms around Lycan’s neck and his legs curled around his waist.

“My Sire, as you call him, told me what to do to renew my strength.” Nic slid his body suggestively against Lycan’s groin as he tongued his ear. Nic couldn’t wait to try the spell his father had taught him during their telepathic link. It was a variation on the healing spell, one that combined the sex magic his father excelled in with the healing magic that was a forte of both Nic and Michael’s. He wished he’d had this knowledge after Lycan’s fight with the Cat Metamorph but it would be useful now to enable him to keep up with the Metamorphs until Michael arrived with the horses.

“Is there any way I can help?” Lycan asked, his deep voice husky as he fought for control, his mind trying to determine if his Cub was tempting him in order to buy himself time to recover when all he had to do was order the army to wait and it would await his order to continue. Not that Lycan minded these tactics. Still, he should perhaps remind Nic that he was the leader....

After he found out if his aid was needed, that was. And after Nic stopped doing those wonderful things with his tongue....

Lycan could swear he heard laughter in his mind.

*****************

Rafe pushed Melli’s hand away from his throat and got to his feet. There was a mark on his neck where the hooded man had pierced him with his sword but the wound was closed and healed. If it were not for the blood that remained on Melli’s skirt, he would almost think the wound had been an illusion.

“It is past time for you to speak openly to us, old man,” Rafe said sharply.

“Rafe! Benra just saved your life,” Melli protested.

“He put us both in this situation. We owe him nothing,” Rafe stated, his eyes glittering bright. Benra admired the young man’s strength. He knew he had been giving to the female Royal the little food brought to the room, and that he was weak from hunger and thirst yet he stood tall and brave. Perhaps his tainted blood was not the impediment that Benra had thought it. In this case, he was right. Having now crossed his former master, it was time for Benra to tell the truth to the young royals and help them completely if all was not to be lost.  He made a motion for them to sit, and upon turning, they saw that he had managed to conjure two chairs. Clearly the room responded to a true druid, Melli thought, but then she realized, with no little chagrin, that she had not even tried to conjure more comfortable furnishings for them.

“You are in grave danger. Both of you, but primarily Mellisande. You, Emory, they would kill when you serve no more purpose. But the Queen....” Benra paused, and he seemed to age before their eyes.

Melli looked at Rafe who tried to subtly probe the old man’s mind, on the chance that it would not be viewed as an attack if Benra was not guarding against such a probe. If he was...well, that would tell its own tale. What Rafe saw made the blood drain from his face and he was grateful for the chair supporting his weight, as he would have fallen to the floor had he been standing, the vision filling Benra’s mind was so evil.

Mellisande was suspended over a dark red marking on a stone floor. A hooded man watched as a tall druid chanted. With the tip of his sword, the hooded man sliced into Melli’s belly, causing her blood to drip down onto the floor.  The floor opened beneath her and a great Hell Hound emerged, larger than any ever seen before in the Three Kingdoms. It was followed by more of its foul kind. The first one seized Melli in its large jaws, breaking her slender body in two....

“No!” Rafe cried, leaping to his feet.”We must get out of this prison.”

Benra looked at him sadly. “This room is the only place you are safe for now. To leave here is to deliver the Queen into his hands. He needs her to complete the spell he intends to cast to be assured of victory against your father and his allies. He had hoped to cause them to be in disarray by this point but so far his plots have gone awry. The Metamorphs have joined with your brother and are marching on the city.”

“Nic is coming? That is wonderful news.” Melli’s eyes shone. “So we need only wait.”

Rafe frowned. “They will not let us just wait here.” He looked at the room and tried to determine what weaknesses there might be.

Benra nodded. “I fear they may come up with a means of forcing you out of this room. With me in here with you, there will be no more food or drink. And....”

Rafe was frowning. In just a moment’s thought, he had come up with a half dozen ways they might force them from their sanctuary.  He did not like waiting for rescue to come yet even more did he dislike trusting to Benra, who had led them to this trap.

Rafe, my choices have proven to be poor ones thus far – I leave it to you to decide what we do now. But I believe we must choose quickly if we are to do anything. Melli’s thought was as light as a breath in his mind.

Rafe looked at the windows. Even if they were to conjure a ladder, the windows were too small for them to escape through, but perhaps he could use his magic to enlarge the opening, taking advantage of the opening where the room’s magic was broken. If nothing else, he should be able to reach Dominic, Michael and Colin more easily, and seek their counsel, and warn them of what was planned. He’d managed to get the message through that Melli was in danger but he had meant that she was suffering from the deprivation, he now knew that a far greater risk awaited her if he could not find a way out for them or keep her safe until his family arrived.

His instincts told him they had to get out of that room. If he could think of ways to get prisoners to leave such a sanctuary after just a few moments thought, he was sure that the hooded men, (and he was sure there were at least two of them as well), would be able to do so also.

“Benra, can you conjure a ladder?  And a rope?”

*****************

After securing the yacht in a small secluded cove that Sturn found for them, Michael and Fen, the strongest swimmers, led their small crew to shore, the two of them assisting Cena and Cera. Eamon helped Keir, while Donal, who was small but swam like a fish, stayed by Colin’s side. For all his mastery of the elements, Colin did not like swimming and would have preferred walking on the water to swimming if it would not have been viewed as a waste of mana.

Michael bade Eamon and Donal to build a fire once they all made land and they gave thanks to the goddess for their safe journey through the battle. Sturn was moved to see the small band at their devotions – it was not so among his people. He stole glances at the leader of their group, the Sire of the King, the one they called Michael. After the prayers were done, he sat cross-legged next to the Druid. It was clear even to one as dense as Sturn that he was not to be disturbed, so Fen’s strong warning and arm dragging him away was not really needed.

“What is he doing? He looks to be in a trance,” Sturn asked the redhead, who handed him some bread in hopes of keeping him quiet. It was a vain hope; Sturn was fully able to chatter and eat at the same time. Fen thought he was like Nic in that respect and felt a rush of affection for the impudent Metamorph as a result.

“He is speaking with Nic most likely, so he won’t appreciate being bothered. Try to be quiet if you can’t be useful. Though you were a big help getting us here,” Fen admitted. He told the pleased looking Sturn, “From the look on Colin’s face, I’m guessing we’re close to Nic, or at least, closer than they’d thought to be, given the detour we had to take. So things are not as grim as feared.”

Colin was looking more cheerful, as Fen had noted. At Michael’s request, he’d attempted to locate a herd of wild horses under the charge of a Metamorph named Faris, and he’d been able to make the connection almost at once, praise be to the goddess. Faris remembered Michael’s Dance Master, who had traveled by stallion when he moved from place to place throughout the Kingdoms. He’d had a very special horse, Winddancer, Michael had told Colin once, and Faris knew where the stallions that had been sired by that one in a generation horse could be found. The equine Metamorphs not only had a measure of telepathic ability, which until Lycan, Michael had thought was unique to their kind, but their animal counterparts were very sensitive to telepathic suggestion – from humans they wished to share a connection with.

Michael jumped up from his cross-legged position in a fluid motion and went to Colin, who had moved to supervise the cooking after he’d shared with Michael the information from Faris.

You are pleased, Colin observed as Michael wrapped his arms around him from behind and held him tight against his chest.

As much as I can be while Rafe and Melli are still held by our enemies, Michael answered. Nic is holding up well but he needs us with him.  Thank the goddess he has Lycan, or he would have worn himself to a burnt ember in his efforts before he ever reached the enemy. I never quite realized how dependent the twins were on each other until now. Rafe hesitates to trust himself without Nic’s encouragement and Nic rushes headlong with no breaks, without Rafe’s cooler head.

Yet they each have a partner who supplies what their brother did – and more, Colin reminded him.

Michael murmured a non-committal response. He agreed that was true in the case of Lycan; he was not so sure in the case of Mellisande. He felt that Rafe was good for her but was not sure she was good for his son. Still, he knew that she was Rafe’s choice and Rafe would never consider any other. He loved Mellisande like a daughter, but as his son’s mate...well, he wished Rafe had shown his usual cool head.

Turning his mind back to their first issue – reaching Dominic – Michael started to unfasten his shirt.

“I must summon the horses. I leave it to you whether the children should watch.” He flashed his rare smile. “You might consider it a teaching moment in the midst of our urgent business of war.”

Getting a sense from Michael’s thoughts of what he was about to do, Colin quickly gathered their six young telepaths, along with their food, and settled them at the edge of the clearing. Sturn was invited also, but warned to sit quietly and watch without comment as Michael performed his dance.

Colin had intended to point out some of the spell elements of the dance to their young people – indeed, take advantage of the teaching moment as Michael had teasingly suggested – but he was too spell-bound to do so. Michael had stripped down to his breeches and in the late morning sun, his golden skin glowed warm, his black hair gleamed with the reflected light of the sun. Many of the dances Colin had seen Michael dance thus far had been erotic or even violent as when he fought – this dance was almost romantic as he called to the horses of the plains with his magic to come to them, to lend them the strength and speed of their mighty bodies so they could fly across the leagues to their King.

In what seemed like mere moments, the space of breaths only, Colin heard gasps from the far-seeing Donal and Fen. Then Cena and Cera were pointing, their mouths forming identical “o’s” of wonder.

A dozen sleek stallions were speeding across the grassy land to the west, a midnight black stallion in the lead, with two white horses just behind. A gray horse followed a step behind, then several more followed, of varying shades of brown.  Michael ran to meet them, his dance taking him in a great leap that landed him on the back of the black stallion. Colin watched in awe as Michael rode that large beautiful creature as though he and it were one – he had not thought that Michael had ever ridden a horse before. But to watch him, he had been born on horseback. Michael circled each of the other horses, weaving his magic around them. The two white stallions stood apart, watching, but the others soon were as docile as any pets the children had enjoyed on the island, Colin thought, watching in wonder as Michael led them over to the telepaths.

Michael jumped down and bowed as the children cheered his performance. With a wave of his hand, he summoned the gray horse over to meet Colin.

This is Thunderfall, a fitting friend for a master of the wind and storm, we thought.

I am pleased to make his acquaintance, Colin acknowledged the introduction, touching the silky mane of the tall animal. He felt a barest whisper of response from the horse, but was thrilled to note that it was indeed there.

I thought you would have the connection, Michael noted, satisfied. I am not sure the others will, as it is rumored to be limited to royals.  My friend, Winddancer out of Winddancer, out of Winddancer, going back four generations, will be able to help me assure the cooperation of the rest of the horses, but Thunderfall, and the two whites, Fire and Ice, will require mastery by their riders, so I have left them for Dominic and Rafael. The horses will choose their riders.

Turning to the excited Telepaths, Michael decided it was time to put them back on task.

“I will help you select your mounts – and know that your mounts will be approving you as well so be on your best behavior. They will not let you fall and they will serve you well if you treat them well. We are greatly honored in being loaned these animals and we must show them honor in return. For some of you, the riding will be easier than for others. Listen for a bond with your horse. From now on, it will be your task to take care of him before you find food and water for yourself because he will be saving you many miles of weary running. And he may be making the difference between us reaching Nic, Rafe and Melli in time to help them, or arriving when it is too late but do other than seek vengeance for their lives.”

Michael paused to let that sink in. Colin regretted that the hard words had to be said but the reality was that despite the harrowing battle at sea, the young people still did not know just how much danger was ahead of them. The twins had been going on dangerous missions for over two years and yet these young telepaths, all of them as old as Nic and Rafe had been when they were risking their lives to save others, still thought of this as a training exercise. He could tell it from scanning their thoughts.

Suddenly, as clearly as if he had his scrying glass in front of him, he saw which of these children was not going to survive. Excusing himself with a mumbled word, Colin rushed behind a covering of bushes and lost the small amount of dinner he had consumed.

Perhaps the children were not the only ones who had failed to realize this was really war, he thought, as he tried remember the image he’d seen so clearly, knowing Michael would want to examine it for anything that could help. Ignore the broken bodies, focus on the where and when, he told himself. No time for tears.

Strong arms held him as he retched once more.

No time for tears but I promise you, when there is time, I will cry with you. I like this no better than you and if I could save them all, I would.

Michael’s sad echoing of his words calmed Colin more than any protests against his weakness, or false claims that all would be all right, could have done. It would not be all right. But they would survive, and then they would grieve. And then, they would move on, as they had once before.

He let Michael help him to his feet and lead him once more to Thunderfall.  He prayed that his vision was false, but if it were true, he asked the goddess for her mercy, that it be the full sum of their losses.

No more than that one, dear goddess, Colin prayed as Michael called out for them to ride on, as fast and hard as they could, to join the King.

“To the King!” the Telepaths repeated joyfully as their horses broke into gallops, the riderless white stallions being first behind Michael’s magnificent black Winddancer.      

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