Tainted Magic

Tainted Magic.

By Jennifer Crowfoot.

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Jennifer Crowfoot

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Prologue. A Wicked Death.

Despite his tall muscular frame, Olaf crouched with surprising ease, blending seamlessly into the cool dappled shadows of Amareth’s sacred forest. Leaning forward, he placed his hand on a smooth mottled trunk and idly chewing on an already short fingernail, he peered at the grazing animals through the gaps in the trees.

He tensed as they moved towards where he squatted like a spider in a web and tiny beads of sweat broke out across his forehead as his muscles grew taut, quivering with the strain of holding still. Tipping his head back, he rotated it, working out the kinks and his crossbow swayed with his subtle movements pulling the strap tight across his chest. Slipping it off he dropped down on his belly, swearing as leaves crinkled and holding his breath he saw they were oblivious to his presence. Exhaling he swiped the back of his hand across his forehead and reached down to his side for his bolts.

Plucking one out by its pretty feathered tail he rolled onto his side and placed it into the crossbow’s groove. In the filtered light of his hiding spot the woodwork shone with a soft patina, and his fingers lustfully stroked its burnished body as eagerly as if he was seducing a curvaceous woman. Shaking free his fantasies, he slithered across the ground, his eyes on the group, his mind now back on the job.

A gentle breeze passed through the bushes around him and cocking his head, he listened to its siren song. The animals raised their heads and he grinned, his head buzzing with the knowledge of what was to come. Sensing no danger they continued grazing and Olaf crept closer to the cover of a scrubby tree and kneeling, he raised a leg. Balancing his arm on his knee, he peered down through the sights, positioning the bolt onto the sweet-spot and with his heart pumping wildly he saw the animal pinpointed perfectly. Swallowing back the urge to laugh he took a deep breath, released it slowly and gently squeezed the trigger.

With a puff of air the arrow flew straight and true, the slight breeze not impeding its passage at all and Olaf held his breath, the crossbow clutched tightly in his whitening fingers, as the death-spike found its mark.

This is nearly better than sex, he whispered, chuckling as he felt the familiar tightening in his groin at the entertainment unfolding before him.

In the sunny clearing, panic erupted amongst the beasts as their sister staggered backwards squealing in agony, bloody feathers protruding from her chest. Humping up, she bucked and lashed out snickering in pain as the mob trotted around her, confused by her cries and the ferrous aroma of the air.

Cantering to a safe distance the mares turned and struck at the ground, agitated and distressed as her low snorts of pain echoed around the deceptively peaceful paradise. The stallion grunted and dropped his head, tossing it from side to side as he jig-jogged tight protective circles around her.

With no need now for secrecy or silence, Olaf walked into the clearing the crossbow swinging from side to side with the easy rhythm of his stride and stopping three feet away from the trembling animals he spread his legs and sneered as he stared down his nose.

Curling their silky muzzles back, they exposed sharp teeth as they protectively encircled their fallen sister whose snorts had now turned into low, panting breaths. Whinnying, they turned their ears back blowing streams of air from their nostrils, the sound menacing. The stallion rolled his eyes showing Olaf hints of white around the gold, and squealing he reared up, his large hooves flailing in the air as he struck at him.

Olaf leaned back, and laughed.

You’ll have to do better than that you four legged bastard. I’ve faced worse from paralytic fuckwits in taverns and whorehouses over the centuries.

Calmly slinging his crossbow back over his shoulder he unsheathed his blade, his breathing quickening as he lustfully curled his fingers around its hilt as if it was his dick. Grinning, he tipped his head to the side and staring at them he deliberately hammered his fist against his thigh as he spoke, his blows keeping time to his words.

How about, seeing as I’m in such a good mood I give you all a chance to fuck off before I start slaughtering you all one by one? That’s a once in a lifetime deal and I recommend you take it.

His dagger glinted like a lazy wink from the Sun God Ra, catching his eye and Olaf stared dreamily at it, his expression subtly shifting. The mob whinnied in fright, their own eyes widening as a wolfish smile parted his lips and drew delicate feathery crinkles from his eyes to his hairline. Heaving a sigh the mood passed and he dropped his hand, his smile vanishing. Looking at them he shifted his weight from foot to foot the dagger waving pendulum- like at his side, his patience long gone.

Hawking noisily he turned and spat before looking back at them.

Personally, I don’t give a flying fuck. Kill one, kill ten, he snapped shrugging.

The beasts backed off and with their eyes full of pain they turned, fleeing for the forest’s safety but Olaf knew they hadn’t gone far he saw platinum fragments through the shivering foliage and heard the soft snickers as they watched on, helpless. With a contemptuous snort he ignored them and looked down at the dying Unicorn at his feet and his lips curled up.

You pathetic shit of a creature. I’m going to enjoy this, he said and tipping his head back he watched stray clouds meander across the rich blue like grazing sheep in a never-ending pasture. What a fucking top day for a spot of revenge, he shouted and throwing his arms wide, he inhaled deeply.

The oxygen surged through his bloodstream and he felt the rapid tic of an artery jumping in his neck. Closing his eyes he groaned and squeezed his crotch, his hard dick throbbing painfully as it strained against his pants. He felt ten foot high, way beyond the reach of his kind’s shitty laws and rules, and this knowledge turned him on more than some of the tired fayre whores he’d slept with lately. Opening his eyes he rolled his shoulders, loosening them and moving his head from side to side, he grinned as the tendons cracked with a satisfying ‘crick’.

Placing his blade between his teeth he knelt on the creature’s shoulder, and leaning over he grabbed a silky ear in his hand and twisted it tightly. Grabbing his blade he placed it at the base of the horn and started hacksawing, his grip tightening on her ear with every cut. Her nostrils flared as she jerked and shuddered, her legs scrabbling and kicking as she attempted to throw him off.

For fuck’s sake, he yelled, and pausing he leaned over, looking into her terrified wide open eyes.

Don’t fight it you dumb bastard. Frowning, he wiped his knife hand across his forehead, leaving red streaks. On second thoughts, fight me. Go on, squirm, try and get away. The boner I’ll get will just make it more exciting. He grinned. I could do this all freaking day.

With each cut she squealed, her golden eyes filling with tears of agony which trickled down her finely boned face. Olaf ignored her cries and tears and flexing his bicep he gave one last hack, and his eyes widened as it separated from beneath her forelock with a noise like a foot withdrawn from mud.

Raising the bloody, dripping prize towards the heavens he gave a blood-curdling cry and shaking his fists in victory he shouted, Morcane Le Gris, King of Amareth, my baby brother. I will have back all that was taken from me and I will destroy you and when I’m done, even your name will have been forgotten.

And tucking the bloodied prize into a bag he casually strolled away, whistling to himself.

Chapter 1. The Tempest

The two figures lay deeply asleep, entwined in each other’s arms under the twisted bed-clothes.

The room darkened as the sky filled in with angry clouds, obscuring the light of the stars and half-moon and thunder rumbled forebodingly. As a breeze gathered force the leaves on the star-blossoms trembled sensuously, buffeted to and fro they sent their heady perfume inside, while all through the inner courtyard, trees and shrubs bent backwards and forwards, dancing with the rising wind. Loose leaves and plucked petals waltzed down the path, gathering in small piles against the legs of the benches.

A jagged streak of lightning ripped through the sky followed by the deep purr of an answering thunder roll and Killane stirred. With a gentle murmur she untangled herself from Morcane’s warm embrace and rolling over, she gave a small snuffle and lay still. Morcane lay peacefully on his back, arms thrown high above his head, a slight curve on his lips, his bare chest rising and falling softly in time to his breathing.

The windows rattled loudly in the aftershock of a booming thunder peal and Killane and Morcane, startled out of sleep, sat up, the bedclothes tumbling around their waists. The room exploded with light and Killane saw a look of bewilderment sweep across Morcane’s face, his eyes were huge and his mouth had dropped open in an O.

She touched his arm and then drew her brows together when he didn’t grab her, usually any skin contact sent him into a lust-frenzy. But not tonight, his desire-switch was turned to off. Or broken.

Stroking his face, she asked in a voice low with concern, What’s the matter, beloved? It’s merely a storm.

Ignoring her, he slid out of bed and padding over to the doorway he placed his hands on the architrave staring out. Closing his eyes against the dazzling flashes, he saw tiny, white-stars painted on his closed lids.

Killane walked over to his still figure and wrapping her arms tightly around his waist she caressed the smooth satiny skin of his lower belly, beneath her hands the muscles grew taut as he tensed with each blow of the storm. Snuggling her face into his warm, silky back she felt his wings tremble against her chest and tenderly kissing him she peeked over his shoulder, watching as the tempest gathered momentum.

With a mighty roar the skies opened and from out of the wounds gushed a deluge, pelting down in thick slanted curtains, like wet laundry in a brisk breeze. They watched it hit the ground, and in the strobe-lighting of nature’s wild rave-party they saw clumps of bruised flowers sway and lurch like town drunks after a skinful, their delicate foliage brushing across the sodden ground. Once erect stems were now bent over like someone stooping to do up shoe laces and falling asleep mid bow. Shredded petals were strewn haphazardly across the ground and Killane sighed sadly as she witnessed their beautiful garden being destroyed before her eyes.

Killane shivered as the wind swirled around their bodies carrying with it a fine mist which settled on their nakedness chilling them. Her hair whipped out behind her like a fly fisherman’s lure, it’s length crackling like sap-filled wood on the bonfire. As a strong smell of ozone assaulted her nose the fine hairs on her arms and nape rose and from around her neck came a sudden tingling and stepping back, she looked down.

Her necklet was a shimmering star, nestling between the points of her collarbone. The filigree threw off tiny painless sparks of light, and she held her breath, hypnotised by their glamour. From faraway came the much loved voice of Morcane, but she was floating away, lost in a paradise of golden beauty and peacefulness.

Morcane frowned and his knuckles turned white as his hands gripped the doorframe tighter.

Amareth never suffered this type of weather; never in all his six hundred summers had he ever witnessed such an occurrence happening, this was the human-world’s weather. Here, the climate was always warm and sunny, never had there been anything like this tempest which now vented its anger on his world.

This was very unusual. Wrong. Something was desperately amiss.

Shit. Something catastrophic has happened, I can feel it, he murmured, his voice lost in the wind’s fury.

Morcane, Fayre King. I am saddened to say that you are correct. Just this very day one of my Unicorns was senselessly slaughtered, her horn stolen, leaving her to die in absolute agony. That is why the weather has changed.

Morcane’s eyes widened and spinning around he looked into the sad and beautiful face of the mother of the entire Fayre race, Gaeiya. Her elfin features were superimposed over Killane’s, and Morcane swallowed as he saw their faces shift and slide over each other like clouds drifting across the sun’s face.

Goddess, he murmured, bowing his head in respect.

She continued without acknowledging his formality, Beloved Fayre King, the equilibrium of Amareth has been destroyed. The horn’s magic is placed in the hands of one who should never have it, Olaf. Have a care. He is a dangerous foe with a terrible black-hatred for you.

He watched humbled as she gently floated above the floor. Her slender body shimmered with an unearthly radiance, and her hair swayed around her head like satin ribbons on a maypole. The Goddess’s golden-eyes shone out from Killane’s familiar face as she raised her hands towards him.

Tenderly she placed them on either side of his face and Morcane felt stinging pulses of energy flow from her palms into his cheeks, making the corners of his eyes twitch.

Leaning forward she kissed him passionately, her lips lingering longer than necessary.

Moving back she said, I can see that you and my chosen vessel here are undeniably well suited, that kiss was not controlled by me. She laughed and then her face became serious again. Before I leave you Fayre King, a warning. Beware your brother, beware Olaf, she whispered and then the luminous white light vanished and the lantern eyes extinguished.

With a tiny cry Killane crumpled forward into his arms and scooping her up, he held her close to his chest and kissed the top of her head. Guided by the regular flashes he made his way back to their bed and laying her down he smoothed her hair back before gently brushing his mouth over hers.

Placing his lips on her ear he whispered, I’ll never let that evil bastard get near you again. Ever. I swear. I’ll die first before I let that happen.

Morcane grabbed his clothes up off the floor and pulling them on he grabbed a scrap of paper and quill and by the storm’s light he scribbled in his spidery script.

My beloved, I urgently need to go and see the Council of Magirs. There is a dangerous threat on the loose. We all have much to work out. Please stay inside. I’ll return as quickly as I can.

Eternally loving you, Morcane.

Leaving the note by the bed where he knew she’d find it, he walked to the open door and with a delicate, silky sound he unfurled his wings and leapt into the raging, angry sky.

Light blazed from every window and the Council was in an uproar when Morcane arrived. Before his feet touched down he heard their panicked voices drifting out to him, disjointed and fractured as the wind scattered them like dry leaves.

Well, it appears they’re already informed of today’s atrocity, but I bet they don’t know the whole of it, he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of bitterness.

Standing for a moment in the downpour, he attempted to gather his thoughts, his mind was awhirl, still reeling with Gaeiya’s news and his hands fisted unconsciously by his side as the hard, cold realisation sunk in that his mortal enemy Olaf, was in fact his own flesh and blood.

Why didn’t father ever mention that I had a brother? he murmured. He must have had a strong reason to have kept this secret. But still, this doesn’t explain Olaf’s psychotic hatred for me or Killane.

With a cheerless sigh he walked inside and stood a moment at the chamber’s open doorway, cracking his knuckles he mentally steeled himself for the questions that were bound to fly at him thick and fast.

Holding his head up high he walked in and staring straight ahead he attempted to look as regal as possible despite his sodden appearance as he made his way to his chair. Flopping down he cupped his head in his hand and looked across the room at the seven Elders who made up the Council of Magirs. He raised a brow, he’d worried about his inelegant entrance for no reason, they hadn’t even seen him.

They were way to occupied with their own little war of words, their hands fluttered wildly and bushy eyebrows disappeared into their hairlines, as they waggled fingers accusingly at each other. Under the candle’s brilliance their long snowy-white hair and papery faces glowed with an eerie light.

Morcane shook his head in amazement.

Silly old bastards should know better, he murmured, before clearing his throat with a subtle ‘ahem.’ Sitting up straight he folded his arms and waited for their reaction. Seven pairs of deep violet-eyes instantly swiveled in his direction, burning into him. The babble of voices died down and Morcane saw the conflicting waves of emotions wash across their usually placid features; one after the other: shock, confusion, anger. And then, their voices rose again, drowning each other out in their hope of being heard.

Morcane sighed and tuned out only to have the soft voice of Gwendolyn, the Magir’s owl, barrel into his mind. Turning in his seat he raised his eyes.

She sat quietly on her perch, off to the side of the large room high above the chaos unfolding below. As Morcane looked at her, she cocked her head to the side and blinked her liquid-silver eyes at him and in them he saw shifting specks of brilliant-gold.

Gwendolyn, you know what’s happened?

Yes I do Morcane and my heart bleeds for the Unicorn mare. I’m told that the one responsible is tall with dark streaks through his hair, it has to be Olaf. There is no other like him, but why would he do this? Surely he knows that this is one of the worst possible crimes that he could commit? There will be a terrible price to pay for this insult against Gaeiya.

Morcane felt himself growing hot and his heart raced as he listened. He knew that the owl was in tune with all of Gaeiya’s sacred creatures and therefore what happened to one, the others felt.

Magirs! Be quiet and listen! he ordered, his voice bouncing off the walls.

The Magir’s squabbling died down and they stared, their lips thinning into white slashes.

Ignoring their obvious displeasure he rose, making his way over to them. Shuffling his feet he looked up, studying the lacy patterns that the flickering candles made on the ceiling before dropping his gaze.

Heaving a sigh, he addressed their spokesman Gryffywn, I had a visit from Gaeiya tonight and she told me something, something I’m still struggling to come to terms with.

Gryffywn stroked the end of his nose with a long finger, for the moment lost in his own thoughts. Deep creases marred the parchment-like smoothness of his forehead as his mind churned through myriad possible reasons for the Goddess’s appearance. Looking back at Morcane he asked, What did she tell you?

Morcane turned away, but not quickly enough to hide his look of bewilderment from the Elders, Gryffywn reached out to him, but he’d already stepped out of range. The Magir stood looking after him and dropping his hands he tightly entwined his fingers. Under his drawn brows, Morcane’s eyes had been scrunched shut, his lips pressed together so hard they were white.

Stepping over to the window, Morcane pressed his forehead against the pane. The icy glass was a cool balm against his fevered skin and he exhaled a long sigh of relief. Without raising his head he spoke, his voice husky and low, forced through tight vocal cords.

Behind him the Magirs leaned forward and tilting their heads, they cupped their hands to their ears, straining to hear his whispered words.

She told me the perpetrator.., he swallowed and fisting his hands by his side he spat out, …is my own brother! Did any of you know I had a brother? I certainly never knew. Falling silent he kicked the wall. Why would he do it, does he want to be High King? Rightfully, it’s his anyway, he’s the eldest. But slaughtering Unicorns isn’t the right way to go about getting my attention.

Morcane felt a light touch on his shoulder and raising his eyes he saw Gryffywn’s kindly face reflected in the glass. With a start he saw that the old Magir’s mouth was tilted up sadly, his eyes shining with moisture.

I’m so sorry Morcane. I’m afraid that we’re guilty of withholding this fact from you. Long before your father died, he made us promise to never tell you that you’d had a brother. Gryffywn felt Morcane’s body tense under his hand and he waited for him to explode in anger.

But to his surprise he remained silent, patiently waiting for the rest of the story to unfold. Gryffywn cleared his throat and glancing back at his brothers he saw them nod.

Go on Gryffywn, we’ve kept this secret too long now, it needs to be out in the open, they said as one.

Swiping a hand across his face Gryffywn cleared his throat and clasping his hands behind his back he continued, Your brother, who was known as Eion at the time, killed another. Your father wished to make an example of him and had him banished and we were sworn to secrecy. For a long time no more was heard of him, we all assumed that he’d moved far away, or perhaps, even died. In hindsight we were wrong for neglecting to tell you but we were only doing as we were ordered, you must understand Morcane.

Gryffywn glanced down and plucked at an invisible thread on his gown.

There was never a need to tell you. You were so young when this all happened, we knew that you would never remember, so all seemed to work out well. Apparently Eion, sorry Olaf, has never forgotten you. This must be his reason behind everything that he has done lately, he must want revenge on you. Though for what reason I cannot fathom, you had nothing to do with the events that occurred all those years ago, he only has himself to blame.

Morcane turned, and passing his hand absentmindedly through his hair he brushed past Gryffywn, who watched him go, his heart sinking. Stepping over to his chair he flopped down and dropping his head into his hand, he tapped his fingers on the armrest his gaze fixed on a wet spot on the floor.

The Magirs glanced at each other, and turning their hands palms up they raised their brows, as the uncomfortable silence stretched out.

Morcane raised his head and clearing his throat he stated, I’m not angry towards any of you for keeping the truth from me. And, I don’t blame any of you for keeping this secret for so long. You were only doing as my father ordered. Forget it, it’s in the past. What was done can’t be undone. He waved his hand in the air, dismissing their concerns. As to recent events, I’ve considered our options carefully. I’ll take a party of heavily-armed warriors to the Unicorn’s sanctum at first light. With the grace of the Goddess we’ll be able to find Olaf’s trail. Although, I don’t hold out much hope with this wild weather, but maybe he was careless, leaving behind something we can follow.

Twisting, he locked eyes with Gwendolyn. I vow that I’ll catch Olaf and his pain will be tenfold what the Unicorn’s was.

Morcane, I wish to accompany you when you go. Perhaps, I can be of service somehow?

Good idea, your superior eyesight might spot something that we’d miss. He turned his attentions back to the Magirs.

If we aren’t successful, we’ll convene back here and I’ll work out our next course of action then. With his face set into a granite mask he bid them farewell and walked outside.

It was still raining, the weather bringing with it an unfamiliar cold. The wind turned his skin to ice through his damp clothes and he shivered violently. Hugging his arms about himself in a vain effort to warm-up he looked up and blinking away raindrops, he saw through his blurred vision small holes full of twinkling stars as the clouds started to break up.

Casting his tired gaze to the east he noticed the first blush of faint pink signifying the coming dawn. Quivering and with a heavy heart he unfurled his wings, once again rising up into the sky’s wet embrace.

Chapter 2. Lust.

The new day that Killane awoke to was wet and gloomy. Hearing the tinkling of rain hitting the window she turned her head, watching fat raindrops lazily snake their way down the glass.

Rolling over, she stretched out her hand, stroking the sheet where Morcane’s warm body usually lay. It was cold and instantly Killane felt a pain in the back of her throat as she remembered the previous evening’s events with a seamless clarity, the wild storm and most importantly, the Goddess.

Sitting up, she turned her thoughts inward and replayed her time with Gaeiya in control. She saw in her mind’s eye Morcane turn around, his beautiful blue-eyes widening as the Goddess told him of the horrendous crime done to one of her creatures. And the shocking news that it was his own brother who’d done it.

Her eyes brimmed with tears for her beautiful husband. His soul must have been shattered to learn that his own brother had betrayed him and his own people in such a wicked way. But worst of all, he’d made one of Gaeiya’s sacred creatures suffer so desperately.

Killane still felt the remnants of Gaeiya’s deep sorrow as it raced through her causing the pulses in her neck and wrists to flutter wildly, but that wasn’t the only thing that was fluttering. Deep inside her womb the babe moved, it felt like the light brush of a butterflies’ wing and blinking away her tears she smiled weakly.

Surely it’s too early yet to feel our babe’s movements?

She didn’t care, this was the one bright thing in an otherwise horrible time and cradling her stomach she rocked to and fro, softly crooning to the little one tucked up safely within her.

My precious little babe, your father and I wait with impatience to see your beautiful face. You are a most treasured gift to us.

Killane’s stomach growled, and frowning, she realised she hadn’t eaten anything since the previous afternoon. The more she thought of food, the more famished she felt. All of a sudden it was an overriding emotion, she had to eat, and she had to eat now. Wriggling to the side of the bed, she spotted Morcane’s note and picking it up, she scanned his spidery script, she sighed, she already knew who the threat was.

First things first. I really need to eat.

Her stomach cramped and leaning over she sucked in a breath as they became sharper. Scooting off the bed Killane padded towards the kitchen and walking in she stopped and closing her eyes, she inhaled.

Her gnawing hunger, for the moment forgotten as the delicious smell enveloped her senses.