Defender of Magic Read Free

with these fey for mere weeks, though he schooled his expression not to show it overly much. Willem tore his focus back to Lugh. “Nothing remains to be done?”
    “One last service. I shan’t tarry but a few moments. Be ready to depart.” Lugh returned to the undercroft and resealed the passage. Within Danu’s magicraft workshop he located all that he required. He tied a strip of fabric about his head to cover his nose and mouth. To shield his flesh up to his elbows, he donned heavy leather gauntlets with cuffs that ensconced his forearms. Finally, he slipped a robe over himself and drew the hood down as far as he could and still see where he was going. From under the workbench he removed a ceramic jar of silver powder. Lugh used the scoop to scatter a liberal layer of silver over each fey body. Had there been time and resources, he’d have summoned the tribes of each type of fey to retrieve their dead and minister unto them according to their traditions. In dire circumstances such as what besought them, he could do no more than ensure that no predator desecrated the dead for whatever foul purposed might suit them. He scattered silver even over the Changelings. Only the humans, whose bodies would not rapidly disintegrate beneath the silver, did he leave to char in the pyre or to be dispatched by the woodland scavengers.
    Lugh discarded the jar of silver by the last corpse. His eyes burned from the dust that floated like motes upon the whims of the air when he left. Once outside, he shrugged off the protective gear, abandoning it with all that remained in the temple. He climbed into the passenger side of the truck that already idled, lingering only for him. “Make for the Ring of Kerry.”
    Though the concern was evident in Willem’s demeanor, he spoke not. Keeping his thoughts private, he began to drive.

Chapter Three

    During the drive, Lugh removed his blood-spattered shirt. Willem had procured water in clear plastic carafes for their journey, and Lugh splashed some on the burgundy blood stains that yet marred his flesh. Once satisfied that he’d fully cleansed the traces away, he used the somewhat clean backside of his shirt as a towel. He bathed his face of the soot, silver and perspiration and felt the better for it.
    Without spare clothing, for it had not even occurred to Lugh to collect such mundane necessities, he consigned himself, for the time being, to endure the cooler temperatures clothed only from the waist down. Rarely had the Sidhe, whose aspect of magic was the sun, ever endured the chill of any season, but Lugh resisted all use of his personal magic since the replenishing flow from the Mounds had been severed. What magic he dared to spend drained his reserve, bringing the inevitable Fade ever nearer. Lugh flexed his fingers. Already they tingled, the first symptom of the fatal condition.
    Leaving Willem to his animated critique of the questionable skills of the other operators in the opposing lane of vehicles, Lugh concentrated on reviewing several of the more pertinent journals. Danu possessed the inconvenient tendency to omit details. Rather than giving in depth instructions of the magicraft that one could have duplicated, the purpose of the notes had been merely to remind herself of particulars. Her writings, made during the period just before the creation of the Mounds, posed questions and concerns she’d faced at the time, but not if those actually manifested and, if so, how she handled the eventuality.
    Nowhere in the journal did Danu enumerate the artifacts she used. What she did reveal was that the artifacts all should unite somehow, like fragments of a puzzle. The few artifacts they’d collected thus far appeared like ordinary things, just worn with time and use. No particular contour to them that implied they might combine. Nothing about the magicraft he should perform made sense. But then, so little made sense to him since the Mounds collapsed.
    “There’s Sneem.” Willem departed