Page 31 of Lady Tamsyn and the Pixie's Curse
“Did it work?” Paul was back, and this time she could turn her head to lookathim.
“Yes! It’s draining away, but slowly.” She tucked her head down, but couldn’t yet moveherarms.
“Enough!” Rowancourt declared, across the way. “You are powerless, imp. I will continue on as I have before.” He beckoned. “Lord Banfield, come here tomenow.”
Her fatherobeyed.
“Here is where your help is needed. The pixie has blocked me, you see. I cannot enter the clearing. See the doorway, there?” He pointed to thebarrow.
Her fathernodded.
“Your daughter and I need to enter there,together.”
“No! He’ll kill her!” Tuft called. “Do not grant him access! He’ll take her in there, leave her dead body in his own place and live out her years—and as far past as magic canstretchthem!”
Tamsyn gasped and her father shookhishead.
But Rowancourt gestured and the tension eased from her fatheragain.
“Only the holder of this land can grant me permission to go in there,” the old man said. “It’s a bit of ancient lore that the sprite forgot, when he tried tobanishme.”
“How interesting,” herfathersaid.
“Lord Banfield,”Rowancourtsaid.
“Yes?”
“You are the land holder. You must grant mepermission.”
“I’d rather not.” Her father’s expression grew strainedagain.
“But you will.” Rowancourt’s words rang withcommand.
“Oh, I will? Well, then.” He waved a hand. “Goahead.”
“No!” Tuft slumped down inhiscage.
Rowancourt grinned. He raised his hands and steppedforward.
And drew up short, bumping into aninvisiblewall.
He let out a curse that made several of the small pixies at the opening squeak and withdraw. “What is this, old one?” he rasped. “What haveyoudone?”
Tuft looked up, big eyeshopeful.
Rowancourt cried out in anger. He shouted to the sky and called down a ball of blue fire. Snarling, he launched it at Tuft, but it bounced harmlessly off ofthecage.
The sorcerer’s face reddened. He called again and this time he threw his sphere of anger and destruction at herfather.
Tamsyn screamed as the blast knocked her father back and into theunderbrush.
“Come here!” Rowancourt yelled at her. Her legs and feet, still under his spell, carried her over, though she fought each step. He pulled her close, whipped a knife out from beneath his cloak and held it to herthroat.
“Remember your power,” Tuft told hersoftly.
“Now,” he said, breathing heavily. “You will say the words.” He addressed her father, who lay dazed on the ground. “Grant me access with the precise words, you blubbering dolt. Do youunderstand?”
“Itwon’twork.”
