Iaine screeched and twisted her knife around, cutting deep into the flesh of the man holding her arms. He spewed blood from his lips and fell back, eyes wide as he collapsed on the ground. She cursed at them, flung about taking slices in their skin with her. "How dare you!" she yelled. "I am of the Druids, how dare you lay harmful hands on me!" she slammed her elbows back in unison, connecting with the stomach of one of her captors. He doubled over in pain and fell to the ground.
Iaine opened her eyes wide, catching several of the warriors in her thrall. The green sparks in her eyes seemed to smolder and burn before them. "You will halt." She whispered in a voice barely discernable from the wind itself. The men stopped in their tracks, swaying gently from side to side. Once she knew them to be within her magic, Iaine closed her eyes. "Tell me now, what are you doing here?"
"I believe I can answer that question for you my dear." Iaine turned to see a tall, lean man standing narcissistically straight, as if he took dear pride in his posture. His complexion was dark, wrinkled and aging. Hair black as midnight flowed from his head and face. He wore white robes but Iaine scoffed at them. The edges were tattered with wear and when she squinted in the quickly rising sunlight, Iaine could see faded dark red blotches.
She stood firm, curving her feet outward to run if she could. They had used some kind of bizarre metal that burned when she touched it to force her out of her falcon form. It had left her too weak to shape shift again. "Who are you?" she growled out. "I demand to know why you wear the druid robes!"
He threw his head back and laughed. "How do you know I'm not a druid humm? Surely in as vast on an island as this you can not know every tree hugger…"
"You are no Druid!" Iaine hollered at the top of her lungs. "There is nothing about your aura that speaks of my kind. How dare you falsify yourself to these poor people?" Iaine flexed her own magic, tentivly touching on his. He was a sorcerer, no doubt, but the stain on his magic was wicked and dark…terrifyingly similar to…to…
Iaine's eyes widened. Oh gods no… She forced herself not to say anything. This man was from the deserts, and his magic tasted as Mozenrath's had not too long ago. This man…this wizard somehow knew Mozenrath was here and had come looking for him. "What is your name?" she said slowly.
"Ah, forgive me child." He gave a sweeping bow. "I am Raghib, Necromancer extrodanare."
That made her assumption correct. "Necromancy…a foul magic. And these poor people…" she gestured to the men surrounding them. "Some of your work."
"Ah yes. It took me quite some time to possess all these fellows. You Gaulish folk are a stubborn race, you die hard." Raghib chuckled. "I had to obliterate the entire village just to get these few soldiers. What a waste."
"May a cat eat you and the devils eat the cat!" Iaine spat at him. "What do you want here?"
"Oh I think you know." He said, suddenly reaching forward to grab her arm. His nails dug into her flesh and Iaine bit back a yelp. "Where is Mozenrath?"
"Who?" She feigned ignorance.
"You know who you little slut!" He let his temper escape him and suddenly became very cold. "Listen to me little one. You do not need this kind of man mucking up your quaint little village. He is like me…filthy magic. He is not worth protecting or sheltering." Raghib drew a line under her chin. "I know he is here…somewhere."
"How do you know?" Iaine said. "This is a big island, he could be anywhere?"
The necromancer chuckled. "Oh no…I know he is near. See this…" he took a dark blue crystal from his cloak. "This responds to sorcery, magic and such energies. In fact it's one of Mozenrath's own creations. Yes, I believe he is very near."
"It responds to magic, how do you know it isn't responding to me or you?" Iaine argued, stalling for time.
"The magic of your kind is very different from what Mozenrath was used to at the time. It is not made to look for Druidry." Raghib explained. "Enough chatter child. Tell me where he is!" He took another item from his cloak and slammed it around her neck. Iaine flared her eyes only to have the power rush back at her ferociously. "Tut tut girl. You should close those pretty little eyes before somebody pops them out." The men around him began to shake themselves awake. "Another of Mozenrath's old tricks. Anti-magic necklace. Just for you my dear."
"The trouble with your sorcerers is…" Iaine started. "You rely only on your magic." She slipped down on her foot, balancing her weight and kicking her other leg out and around. Raghib yelled angrily as he fell to the ground. Before his ass hit the floor Iaine was up on her feet, running for the tree line. If she could just make it to the forest, the branches would shelter her as their friend, magic metal or no.
"Stop her!" The sorcerer shouted. "Bring her back!" He grabbed on of the shaking men as more began to rise after the woman. "Listen to me. If you can not capture her than follow her. Look for a pale man with flowing black hair and an aristocratic face." The man nodded absently and followed the others.
Iaine could hear the sound of thudding feet at her back. She put an extra spurt of speed on. Please… She thought to herself. Let something happen… She was still too weak, her usual quickness was not there. She began to fall behind, the sound of swords being unsheathed reached her ears. Please let something happen…please spirits…. Iaine pleaded as a man's hand closed around her arm. She looked up into his eyes, cold, dead black pits, lacking any emotion. A faint yellow light shone in the darkness, echoing some flicker of what was once a soul. "No!"
Then, like a great blanket, it came. Rolling across the rich green grass came the mists, pushing against the winds. A thick wall of fog and shadow, covering the trees, making the world above and bellow disappear. Iaine felt the familiar taste of earthen magic, and smiled, closing her eyes and surrendering herself to it. It fell over the invading army, the horses and war chariots becoming invisible to one another. Raghib cursed under his breath. "How is the wench managing this…?"
The thing once a man suddenly felt his grip loosen. When he turned back his captive was gone, his fingers curling around the mists. "Huh?" he looked around, trying to locate his comrades. They too seemed gone, lost in the thick fog.
Suddenly, from the shadows, the sound of running feet.
Closer…
Closer…
Heavy breathing escaped into his ear…
He turned to face it….
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggggghhh!"
Raghib turned to where the sound had come from. "What the devil…"
"Ahhhhgh!"
"GAhhhhhulck."
The sounds of slaughter came from within the fog, swords being drawn, men falling. The music of chariots and horses grew nearer and nearer. Raghib saw one of the warriors pulling himself limply back, bleeding from his neck. He made it just out of the dense mists before his head fell off and rolled on the ground.
Surging up behind him, was the army of Ulster, faces enraged and blades drawn. They seemed to ride on the white cloud, as if it was a magnificent cloak on their shoulders. Raghib summoned his magic to defend himself, but it came too late. His head lay on the ground within seconds, lost among a pile of many.
Mozenrath watched from atop a hill, the lovely Iaine sharing his horse. She had escaped into the fog, allowing herself to be drawn away from her would be captors. Mozenrath had found her, weakened and bruised, but no worse for wear. She had accepted his hand when he offered her a ride, and now the two watched the battle draw to a quick close.
Ossian did not look directly, but from the corner of his eyes. Mozenrath was sitting tall on his horse, his arm wrapped around Iaine's waist rather protectively. She seemed a little uncomfortable from the grimace on her face, but her posture was slightly towards him, as if using the pale man's frame for support. The druid hummed to himself. Looking at them like that…they seemed almost…right.
He shook off the thought. There was no reason to assume anything between them. Iaine was simply tired and weakened, Mozenrath was just keeping her from falling off the horse. That was all. Ossian sighed. Iaine was something like a little sister to him, and his approval of Mozenrath was tolerant at best. He forced himself to shake the suggestion off. They wouldn't be right for one another anyhow. Mozenrath was too egotistical, his taking of Savern as a lover proved that. Savern was the type of woman that completely flattered the male pride. Young, beautiful, buxom. She would flirt and flatter and attach herself to one man until he felt his chest about to burst. Then just when that man would be ready to give her his heart to her on a silver platter, she would shy away, rejecting him for another. Still, nothing wrong with a healthy appetite.
Iaine on the other hand was worthy of better than Mozenrath. She was young, true. But her demeanor constantly flitted between carefree and careful. She gave herself cautiously, even stingily compared to some women. Yet it was not as if she held herself away from men. She enjoyed their company, flirted and smiled with ease, it was just rare that she followed through on her teasing. In fact, if one ignored her chest and waist, one would forget entirely that Iaine was female, and treat her just like another old friend to tell rude jokes and share a pint of ale with.
No, Mozenrath and Iaine were not right for one another.