Page 26 of Highland Warlord
“I will endeverything,” the crone hissed.
“Not today.” With a flick of Malcolm’s wrist, a discarded stone half the size and twice the weight of the old woman dislodged from the throne room floor. “Yer healer is gone, Badb. Will ye survive this?”
As Malcolm spoke, the girl struggled to her feet from where she’d crumpled against the wall in a pile of thin bones and pain.Blood poured from a crushed eye-socket. One arm hung limp from a shoulder that barely existed anymore, but she circled toward the Grimoire with a dragging limp and a maniacal sneer.
“Give Nemain the Grimoire, Druid King, or watch your sister and her Berserker die in a storm of flames,” the crone threatened.
“Bael,” Morgana gasped, struggling to her own unsteady feet. “Release my mate.” She turned on the crone.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, Bael ceased his struggles. She’d accepted him. Not to his face, not in the darkness where no one but he could hear. But to her King. To her family. Even to her enemies.
They were likely over before they began. Malcolm would crush the fire witch, and this crone would crush Bael. He could already feel her taking his breath. But he’d die with the knowledge that he’d been enough.
Enough forher.
Chaos erupted in a flurry of simultaneous action.
The wounded girl dove for the Grimoire, snatching it from the altar.
In a shocking move, Malcolm hurled the stone at Badb, ignoring the fire witch and freeing Bael.
The crone didn’t have time to deflect the stone, so on a scream, she jerked her entire form and a circle of gale-force wind erupted from her body, throwing everyone back against the walls of the throne room. It wasn’t enough to completely redirect the stone, and it glanced off her body with a bone-crunching sound.
By the time Bael gained his footing, her robes were snagging on the shattered window as she flew into the stormy night.
Which left Nemain clutching the book.
Morgana stumbled forward, desperately reaching trembling arms toward the witch. “You’ll burn in hell for this.”
The girl flashed a triumphant smile, made all the more sinister by the blood coloring the spaces of her teeth. “You first,” she hissed, as the fire in the hearth flared around her, turning half the throne room into a furnace.
Morgana pulled the rain inside once more, but by the time the flames extinguished, there was nothing left of the girl but a scorch mark on the flagstones.
“Nay!” Morgana lurched towards the door, the black path of char leading out into the night. She staggered as though her legs were unready to carry her yet, and Bael had her in his arms before she fell.
“We must go after her!” Morgana screamed.
The King was merely surveying his throne room, rolling his wide shoulders looking nothing more than a trifle bemused and relieved.
Morgana leaned heavily into Bael, who could feel her vigor returning with every beat of her strengthening heart.
“What is the matter with you?” She demanded of her brother. “How can you just stand there? Malcolm, they have the Grimoire!”
He turned to her, a half-smile twitching across his otherwise stoic features. “Do they?”
Bael frowned as Morgana tensed. “Colm, what did you do?”
Inspecting his singed robes, he asked. “What is a book but earth and skin?”
“Malcolm.”
“Alchemy, my dear sister, can create any number of deceptions, not the least of which, is forgery.”
“Malcolm Duncan Connor de Moray,” Morgana’s voice gained strength, and she pulled herself from Bael’s supporting arms. “Whereis the Doomsday Grimoire?”
The King gave a very boyish shrug. “Kenna has it.”
“Kenna,” she breathed, holding a disbelieving hand to her forehead. “Oh, thank the Goddess, where is she?”
