Old Magic(85)

It has Rhauk’s attention straight away. ‘What is this?’

We both stare at it while it hovers over a window ledge, looking reluctant to land. The crow, which is sitting on his usual perch, squawks at it, attempting to chase it away; but Rhauk holds up his hand and the crow falls into a silent sulk.

Finally the dove lands on the window ledge. Rhauk picks it up in one hand and examines it. There’s a message attached to one of its legs. Rhauk takes the tiny piece of parchment and drops the bird. It flaps its wings, losing a couple of feathers, regains its balance, and flies away.

I watch Rhauk’s eyes as he reads the parchment. They widen with surprise, which he covers quickly with boyish excitement. Not once does he show fear. Why should he, now that he has Malcolm to watch his back? His eyes find mine. ‘The fool boy has dared to challenge me.’

Dread and nausea hit me full on. Is this really happening? How can Jarrod possibly beat this maniac? Jarrod is just a gawky, clumsy kid, who can’t see properly without his glasses. I wonder who helped him write the challenge. I doubt Jarrod’s eyes would have managed the tiny script. And even if he has trained these past weeks, Rhauk’s powers are as natural to him as breathing. What chance can Jarrod have? If only the odds were fairer … If only I could be there to help him … Maybe, our talents combined … Maybe, if we caught Rhauk in an unguarded moment …

Rhauk interrupts my thoughts. ‘He requests a duel.’

‘Duel?’

‘By sword, on neutral ground.’

This is terrible news. Swords are heavy, it takes years of training to be able to handle one with any form of skill.

‘And since Jarrod named the weapon, I get to choose the ground.’ He glances outside thoughtfully. ‘Minneret Cliffs, I think.’

My eyes bulge at this. Minneret Cliffs is a dangerous stretch of coastline, almost the exact centre between the two peaks – Blacklands and Thorntyne. There are no tumbling sand dunes, only incredible sheer white cliffs.

‘Tomorrow’s dawn.’

‘No,’ I exclaim. ‘This can’t happen.’

‘Ah, but it is, my pretty.’

Pleading, I decide, is the one thing I haven’t already tried. ‘Please, Rhauk, think this through. You have the things you want. Let Jarrod go unharmed.’

His lips twitch, watching me. ‘Yes, I do have you, and the curse. But it’s not my fault that boy-man has no foresight. Obviously he can’t see his own death looming in the coming dawn. I shall make it a vivid reality.’

‘I want to be there.’

‘Of course you do. I wouldn’t have it any other way.’ His eyes narrow, assessing me. ‘But, I will have to do something to stop you from interfering.’

‘Noooo!’ God, he’s one step ahead of me every time. How can anyone beat this logic?

I watch, sickeningly, as Rhauk excitedly starts gathering bits and pieces from around his lab. A herb, a vial of blue liquid, a mix of powders.

My head swivels from side to side. Grinning, he comes at me with a frothing liquid mixture. It’s a drug, of that I’m sure.

‘Something to drain your energies, it won’t taste too bad.’

‘No, I won’t – ’

‘You only need a few drops.’ He grabs my chin with his free hand, gripping it with the force of a steel vice, his grin disappearing.

‘No!’ I scream, my hands useless and heavy in the chains. Quickly, I shut my mouth, adamant that not one drop of the drugged mixture will so much as touch my lips.

But I’m not prepared for Rhauk’s tactics. He removes his hand from my chin, forms a fist, and punches me just below my ribs. My mouth flies open in exclamation as I struggle for air – shock and pain startling me. He throws the vile mixture into my mouth. It chokes me, burns all the way. I lurch forward at the blow to my stomach, doubling over with pain; and spit as much of the liquid out as I can.

Rhauk moves away, satisfied, and begins stirring the cursed wine. ‘After the challenge, I will begin bottling. A few more days, and Richard will have the King’s precious gift.’

I drag in several deep breaths, straightening carefully, trying to recover from the blow to my stomach. I wipe my mouth against my shoulder. The effect of the drug is immediate. The room swings away from me, becoming distorted. I sway, falling against a bench.

This distracts Rhauk. ‘You, my pretty Lady, had better get to bed, for tonight Death will be your bedfellow. Do not be alarmed, he will not claim you, but simply take your strength.’ Carrying me down the long twisting staircase, Rhauk laughs, wrapped in a blanket of his own self-confidence.

He drops me on the bed, where I curl into a ball. Rhauk moves back, tilts his head so that he can peer into my face. ‘Yes,’ his velvety voice purrs. ‘You will be useless to the fool boy, drained of all your magic. Drained almost of life itself,’ he adds as an afterthought.