Page 39 of Enchanted Warrior

The next cells they found still had live prisoners—or close to living. All were fae, their beautiful features barely recognizable beneath matted hair and festering wounds. Gawain’s gut grew colder with each step. He was no stranger to prisons, but this was beyond anything he had ever seen.

He almost missed the slight stir of movement in the last cell, but something caught his eye. Or maybe, buried deep in a part of himself he denied, he heard a silent cry for help. He stopped and peered into the darkness. All he could see was a pile of rags and a white smudge that might have been a faery’s pale hair, but he still knew who it was. “Angmar.”

“What’s left of him.” The voice was a dry whisper. “You said you would come, knight. I should have had more faith.”

Tamsin shuddered,her healer’s senses pushed to the limit. Everywhere in this place, sickness and pain howled at her to fix them, pounding at her magic at a bone-deep level. Most were too damaged to help, but Angmar of Corin still lived.

She pushed forward, straining to see in the poor light. Angmar lay in a crumpled heap, one arm twisted in a way that said it was broken. His face was a bloody mass of slashes and swollen bruises. Nausea stirred in the back of her throat, but she kept her voice brisk. “He’s bound with those tree roots. Help me get them off.”

But Gawain was still supporting his brother. “Let me sit down,” said Beaumains, his face slick with sweat. “I need to rest.”

Reluctantly, Gawain lowered him to the ground. Beaumains gripped his chest, eyes closed and face drained of color. Gawain met Tamsin’s eyes. She didn’t blame him for the worry in his eyes. Unless they got out of there, the prognosis wasn’t great.

Gawain moved to join her, mouth fixed in a grim line as he took a closer look at Angmar. “This is Mordred’s handiwork. I recognize his flair.”

He reached for his sword, but then stopped. “The roots are bound too tight to cut them without cutting flesh as well.”

Tamsin crouched, studying the problem. She was aware of Angmar’s eyes following her every move, but he didn’t speak again. He probably had no strength left. The thick white tendrils were taut around Angmar’s body, the tips burrowing into the skin. She thought of the dead she had seen, sucked dry by the binding trees.

She pointed to the roots. “I can give these bad boys a good smack.” Keeping her voice light for Angmar’s sake, she looked up at Gawain. “I know how much you like magic. You might want to back away for this.”

“Just do it,” Gawain said.

Tamsin nodded and opened her belt pouch. She’d stored the heal-all powder in a gray silk drawstring bag. She sprinkled it lightly over the roots, careful not to let any fall on Angmar. Then she closed her eyes and chanted a scrap of forbidden magic she’d learned from her father’s book. It was one of the few dark spells she knew, and one she kept to herself. It reversed the properties of other spells, turning heal-all into a deadly, corrosive acid.

The tattoo around her wrist burned like a brand. Dark energy convulsed through her like sudden sickness, making her cry out in disgust—but the effect was instant. A hiss of foul smoke flared up from the roots, their ropy surface bubbling. Tamsin coughed, her eyes stinging from the fumes, then she signaled to Gawain to stand ready. After writhing and squirming, the roots whipped free of Angmar like snakes in retreat, coiling back to the walls with an eerie keening noise. Tamsin and Gawain grabbed Angmar and pulled him to safety, putting him down next to Beaumains.

A giddy rush of relief made Tamsin’s head swim, but the next instant she was on her knees, checking the fae’s injuries. His right arm was broken in two places, but thankfully the bones had not penetrated the skin. She pulled off her sweater, tying it around him to immobilize the arm. Angmar moaned in pain, bringing a rush of tears to her own eyes, but she kept working. She had no choice. This was her battleground, as surely as Gawain’s was the field of war.

Gawain paced behind her, tension swirling around him like a second cloak. “This isn’t getting you any closer to finding your books,” he said wryly.

She checked the pulse in Angmar’s broken arm. It wasn’t strong, but at least circulation wasn’t completely impaired. “I’m where I need to be.”

“Trapped in a dungeon?” His tone was sarcastic, but the pain in his eyes said the anger was turned on himself. “There has to be a doorway here. This is where the occupied cells are, so surely Mordred has an easy way of getting in and out of this end of the prison. I am too blind to see it.”

Tamsin could hear Gawain’s self-reproach in every word. “Don’t beat yourself up. You’ve kept us alive. We can’t fight back if we’re dead.”

He gave her a half smile. “You have the spirit of a warrior, Tamsin Greene.”

A warm twinge of pleasure surged through her, but she simply shrugged and went to check on Beaumains. He sat silently, slumped forward with his eyes hazed with pain. She touched his cheek, feeling the burn of a fever. The heal-all was working, but it could only do so much. It was plain he needed more help than she could provide without her full array of healer’s potions. “I wish I knew how to find that portal,” she said under her breath.

Angmar stirred, his eyes flickering open to bloodshot slits. He reached up and caught her wrist, his one good hand still surprisingly strong. His cracked lips moved, but no sound emerged. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’ve seen it.”

ChapterFifteen

Portals, Tamsin learned, were elegant magic—as simple as opening a door and yet hiding infinite complexities in the workings beneath. Mordred’s doorway was only a few feet from where Tamsin stood, but it wasn’tactuallythere—not until it was activated. The spell’s energetic substructure was tied to that specific location and could be fired up with little effort by someone who knew how. Tamsin’s job was to take control of the existing framework and redirect the portal to where she wanted it to go. Not that Tamsin, or any modern witch, had a clue how to do so. Thank Merlin’s pointy hat Angmar was there to give her instructions.

All the fae could manage was a fading whisper, so Tamsin had to listen carefully. The first instruction was easy. If they were going to leave together, they had to be touching. Gawain took hold of his brother’s shoulder in one hand and with the other grasped Tamsin’s sleeve. She held Angmar’s hand in hers, noticing that it was cold and clammy. She knew little about faery physiology, but he seemed to be going into shock. Tamsin clenched her teeth, feeling the weight of responsibility for all their lives. She had to get this right.

She closed her eyes, stretching out her senses to find the edges of the portal just as Angmar had described. This sort of thing wasn’t Tamsin’s strong suit, but she gave it her best effort.There. A spark of satisfaction rippled through her. Now she had to take firm hold of the door that was there—and yet wasn’t.

The portal unexpectedly flung open. She experienced the same sense of surprise as when one reaches for a door handle only to be trampled by someone coming from the other side—except this was worse. This was Mordred.

His shock was the only thing that saved them. Without knowing precisely what she did, she twisted the portal away, redirecting it before the Prince of Faery stepped inside. It spun around Tamsin like a gigantic wheel, gyrating wildly as she grappled for control. She whirled like a pebble lost in a tornado, dragging Gawain and the others with her. Panic surged. She needed to find something solid, some point of reference to cling to, but her mind was reeling. Worse, she could feel Mordred’s power rising to snatch the portal away.

The first image Tamsin came up with was the library where the books were, but she immediately rejected it. As much as she wanted Merlin’s grimoires, the priority was getting her patients to safety. She tried for a second location and saw her car parked on the roadside blocks away. She lunged for it with utter desperation, forcing her magic through the spinning portal like a hammer blow. Light seared her, passing through her being with painful, burning intensity. The last thing she remembered was opening her mouth to scream.

The portal spit them out on the hard pavement next to her Camry. Tamsin fell from a space at least a foot above the ground, making her stumble and fall to her hands and knees. The world spun and she closed her eyes, concentrating on the sting in her palms to steady herself. Slowly, she sank forward to her elbows, not sure if she was going to throw up. She’d never used that much magic before. Ever. It felt as if she’d been turned inside out.

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