Читать книгу Enchanter Redeemed - Sharon Ashwood - Страница 13

Chapter 4

Merlin’s lips moved over silent words as he worked his spell. A faint glimmer sparked in the cloudless sky above the auditorium. It would look like nothing to one of the cheering spectators that crammed the seats, just a random flash of light, but to Merlin it was hard-won success. He’d practiced the spell the way a musician learned a piece from memory, going over and over each element until they formed part of his instincts. It was the way he taught Clary: ritual, rinse, repeat. The drill wasn’t just for the sake of perfectionism—it was as much for safety. With this amount of powerful magic in play, he couldn’t afford to stumble.

Which was why he couldn’t think about Clary, for all he felt her gaze on him. Her attention was like the heat of the sun, and all the more tangible because of his own disquiet. If only he hadn’t kissed her, because now he could not deny how she made him feel. He might have immense skill, knowledge and power beyond the fantasies of mortal men, but he was still flesh and blood. She was a happiness he wanted but could not have—and for an instant, he’d forgotten that last part.

His control had slipped after witnessing her death and revival. Still, that was no excuse. His enemies were too dangerous for a junior witch who was just beginning to master her talents. He had no right to draw their attention to Clary. At the very least, he had to be careful until he was sure Vivian was safely locked back in the Abyss. The demoness was definitely the jealous type.

So he ignored his student, keeping his focus on the spell. It was tricky but, unlike women, it followed a pattern of logic he understood. With the force of one driving a spike deep into bedrock, he fixed the silver glimmer to the canopy of the sky. From there it spun, growing larger and larger into a disk of shimmering light. If his thrust had been too great or too feeble, the swirl would have wobbled and collapsed, but this was as perfect as a whirling top. The momentum of the magic formed a tunnel between worlds, splitting open a passage between the mortal realm and the enchanted worlds beyond.

The perfection of the spell eased Merlin’s temper. The silver bled to a blue deeper than the surrounding sky. The audience cheered in anticipation, believing they watched a special effect none of Medievaland’s competition could copy. In a way they did, because no other theme park could boast a guest appearance by a real live dragon.

With a lazy flap of wings, Rukon Shadow Wing floated through Merlin’s portal. A smile split Merlin’s face at the sight and he allowed the pleasant tiredness that followed a well-cast spell to claim him. Portals took a lot of energy, but they were worth the effort for a sight like this.

The great male dragon flew low enough that Merlin caught the scent of musk and cinders as the wings blotted out the sun. The dragon’s green head was long and narrow, the sinuous neck twisting to survey the ground below. As it turned, the light caught the bony ridge of spikes that traced its spine to the tip of its snakelike tail.

Rukon’s head bobbed toward Merlin in acknowledgment. The dragon’s visits were made in exchange for Camelot’s assistance last autumn, when Arthur and Guinevere had freed Rukon’s mate. Plus, preening before a crowd of unsuspecting humans seemed to amuse the beast no end.

It was only then, with the spell complete, that he could risk a good look at Clary. Her face was flushed with effort, her eyes wide with what looked like shock. Stomach tense, he followed her gaze to the field below.

Clary’s illusions sometimes had a mind of their own, but normally they were forms without substance, as dangerous as a puff of smoke. As long as they showed off the knights and their shiny swords, what else mattered? So he hadn’t paid much attention when triple the number of required monsters appeared from thin air. Apparently, that had been a mistake.

A lion raked its claws across the flank of Sir Palomedes’s steed. The horse screamed, rearing up to reveal a bloody gash. Surprised, the knight struggled to keep his seat, but the terrified horse threw him and bolted for the stables. Horror gut-punched Merlin, and he grabbed the cold metal railing before him. Illusions didn’t draw blood. Something was very wrong, and now the lions were circling Palomedes.

Merlin shot a glance at Clary, who had raised her hands and seemed poised to begin another spell. He grabbed her wrist. “Stop!”

She rounded on him. “I can’t!”

Her voice held a sharp edge of panic that clutched at Merlin’s instincts. She’d gone from flushed to bone-white, her lips trembling with panic. Normally, he made students fix their own problems—it was the best way to learn—but lives were at stake. Right now he had to take charge. He pointed to the bench at the back of the space. “Sit down!”

“I need to make it stop!” Tears stood in her green eyes. Her distress tugged at him, sharp as any beast’s fang, but until everyone was safe, he couldn’t afford pity. Not even for her.

He thrust her toward the seat. “Sit down and don’t touch anything. Whatever you do, don’t use magic.”

She collapsed so hard the bench squeaked against the concrete. “It’s not my fault.”

“I don’t care.” Blame could come later. He needed solutions now.

Merlin turned back to the chaos below. The wolf Clary had conjured was gone, the magic of the illusion spent. That was what was supposed to happen—and it was the only normal thing that had happened. The far-too-real lions were only part of the problem. There were a pair of prehistoric creatures straight from nightmare, and one of them had Beaumains cornered. The knight’s blade ran red with blood, and so did his sword arm. Merlin’s thoughts scrambled in confusion. What the blazes had Clary done?

The audience sensed something was wrong. A strained silence had fallen over the amphitheater, as if every spectator held his breath. The show was supposed to be make-believe, but the fearful whinnies of the horses were all too real. Then shadow fell over the field once again as the dragon flew another loop in the sky. Merlin looked up to see Rukon peering back, the slitted pupils of the huge topaz eyes wide with interest.

The lioness crouched, the motion of her hindquarters making it plain she was about to spring at Palomedes’s throat. The sight jerked Merlin back to life. He summoned a shimmering ball of lightning to his hand and hurled it. It struck the lioness square in the back with a flash of pure white brilliance. Air rushed in a thunderclap as the creature burst into a cloud of tiny black scraps that looked like bats. They arrowed upward in a chorus of shrill cries.

Merlin’s breath stuck in his chest. The cloud of flying darkness said this was demon magic. Rukon recognized it, too, for the dragon released a stream of blinding, blue-white fire that wiped the flapping shadows from the sky. The spectacle of a fire-breathing dragon changed the somber mood in an instant. The crowd erupted in a collective gasp of wonder and glee. Cries of “Whoa!” and “Go, Merlin!” drowned out the sounds of battle.

But Merlin was just getting started. He scanned the field, giving an involuntary wince at the sight of the dinosaurs. The raptors pranced around Beaumains like naked chickens sizing up a worm. One bled but seemed oblivious to the wound, a primitive need to kill stronger even than pain. Merlin’s chest tightened with apprehension as Beaumains stumbled, his own injuries obvious.

Merlin’s next fire bolt split in midair to target the two raptors. The fireballs struck the earth with a thwump and crackle that fried both monsters to ash. This time nothing flew out of the smoldering ruins. Demons were hard to kill, but enough raw power did the trick. Without sparing the time or energy for satisfaction, he turned his attention back to Palomedes and the circling lions.

Clary—ignoring his orders as usual—was back at Merlin’s elbow in time to see Palomedes swing his blade at a shaggy-maned beast. The knight’s sword sliced into the lion’s hide, driving deep into the massive shoulder. The great cat roared, but the sound twisted into an unholy shriek as the beast dissolved into a flurry of blackness. Merlin flinched, every reflex recoiling at the sight.

“What just happened?” Clary demanded, her voice rising as she pointed at the sight. “Are those crows? Bats?”

“Demon magic does that,” Merlin replied, giving her a hard look. “The filth break apart and reform as some other monster.”

Her expression raised the hair along his arms, though he couldn’t say why. The scowl was Clary’s—he’d seen it often enough during their lessons—but there was something else, too. And then the look was gone, leaving him wondering if the battle with Vivian had left him paranoid.

Above, Rukon banked and turned to pass over the field once more. The wind in his huge wings rumbled like rippling thunder. Merlin gathered himself, every movement deliberate, and returned his attention to the lions. He hurled another ball of lightning that smashed into the pride and sent dirt fountaining into the air. One by one, the great cats burst into flurries of squeaking shreds of blackness. They swirled upward in a spiral, no doubt preparing to meld into some other, more horrific creature. Merlin searched for a fresh spell, something powerful enough to prevent a demonic attack on the crowd of innocent humans. Was this what the hellspawn had wanted all along? A means to infect this world with their evil?

If so, they had forgotten about dragons. A blast from Rukon’s flame scoured the bats from the sky. Merlin felt the clean heat on his upturned face, fanned by the stroke of Rukon’s wings. The stink of charcoal tickled his nose, but not before he caught a distinctive whiff of spice and sulfur. Vivian.

Then every thought was driven from his head by the roar of the crowd. They were on their feet, stamping and howling appreciation as the unprecedented spectacle wound to a new close. As if on cue, Rukon looped upward, climbing toward the open portal with another flourish of flame. The dragon rose with seemingly weightless ease and was soon swallowed by the azure sky of the Crystal Mountains. But his long neck curved backward for a last glance at Merlin. It didn’t take magic to read the message written in Rukon’s topaz eyes: be careful. And then the portal sealed with the efficiency of an invisible zipper, and the dragon was gone.

Merlin gripped Clary’s arm, holding her at his side while they stepped forward to take their bow. He was carefully blind to the knights below, acting as if their wounds and bewildered fury were all part of the entertainment. They’d finished the show. No one was dead and the demon magic dispelled. The audience was none the wiser. The only thing left was to exit the stage—and then he could start asking hard questions.

After three standing ovations, the audience finally let them leave. By then, Merlin’s temper was at a new peak. He dragged Clary into the corridor that led to the locker room, striding at top speed.

“Slow down!” Digging in her heels, she tried to wrench free of his grip.

He stopped, but didn’t let go as he turned to face her. The harsh overhead lights bleached the color from her face, adding to the shadows beneath her eyes. He crushed a rising panic that told him she was in trouble. “Very well.”

She blew out a long breath, but otherwise seemed tongue-tied.

He let his voice drop to something near a growl. “Let’s take this slowly. Start talking.”

She was shuddering as if plunged into Arctic waters. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Velociraptors? Really?”

“I didn’t mean to! I—” She broke off, her face flushed with confusion. She looked as if she couldn’t decide what to say.

Merlin’s chest tightened with foreboding. “If you didn’t mean it, then why did it happen?”

Clary sucked in a breath as if he’d struck her. The sound was loud in the echoing corridor.

Her expression gut-punched him. “What did Tamsin say about your wound?”

“She thinks it’s okay.” She pulled up her sleeve to show her arm. “It doesn’t look like much now. She fixed it.”

And yet Clary had started casting random spells far beyond her level of skill. That didn’t say fixed to him. Her gaze turned to him, now empty of everything but fear and pleading. The look broke him.

Like a man in a dream, Merlin reached out, stroking her cheek with his fingertips. They came away wet with her frightened tears. For that, he would have cheerfully sent every demon back to the Abyss all over again. As the pounding of his heart slowed, anger caught up with him, along with a profound sense of awe. Something had given Clary immense, even stunning, power. Demons were the obvious answer, but how?

Clary was the least talented student he’d ever taught. Could a mere scratch have changed everything? He really didn’t know. Demon magic followed different rules—if you could apply rules to its chaotic nature—and not even Merlin the Wise understood every last nuance. A hard knot of worry gathered in his chest. He could not resist the urge to touch her, brushing back a wisp of hair that was falling in her eyes.

Somehow that innocent gesture turned into an embrace. He’d sworn to himself that wouldn’t happen again, but her lips were against his, soft and uncertain. The first kiss ended, her breath warm and a little too fast against his face. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself this kind of intimacy—not just physical need, but with emotion attached. Everything around him—the concrete walls, the dull roar of the crowd—fell away, leaving only this woman and her haunted gaze. It was plain she was seeking reassurance, someone to catch her and put her on her feet again. If he was a better man, he’d be a little less literal about the catching part, but he couldn’t seem to take his hands from her waist.

Her fingers curled in the fabric of his costume. “What are you doing?”

This unguarded, vulnerable side of her destroyed his equilibrium. “Making certain you’re well.”

He pushed back the veil of her costume and tangled his fingers in her shaggy blond hair. She tilted her head, studying him from beneath her lashes. “You can’t tell anything by kissing me.” And yet she looked afraid that he might find something.

He released her, but didn’t back away. Her eyes were their usual color, like new leaves in the golden light of May. Her skin glowed the same delicate cream, her mouth still invited him—and yet something was different. It prickled against a sense that had no name.

She put one hand on his sleeve, the lines of her face going tight. “Tell me what I should do.”

He couldn’t answer. He didn’t know how to put his uneasiness into words.

The moment ended when a door slammed behind him. Heavy footsteps marched their way. Clary took a short, sharp breath.

“Merlin!” came a booming voice that rang against the concrete walls.

Merlin turned to see Arthur Pendragon, still in full armor, closing the distance between them. The king’s russet hair was brushed back from a face dominated by pale blue and furious eyes. He came to a stop just feet away, chain mail rattling with the sudden halt. His fingers tapped once on the helmet clutched under his arm. “What happened? My knights were injured, two of them badly.”

Arthur’s gaze went from Merlin to Clary, demanding answers.

Silently, Merlin stepped between them, blocking the king’s view.