Note:
Welcome to part two of a seven-part fantasy series. I apologize for the ridiculous delay between chapters one and two -- life simply wasn't cooperating at all -- but I'm committed to releasing a new chapter every two weeks or so. I should also mention there is some violence in this chapter. Comments and feedback are welcome and appreciated, and thank you to everyone for reading!
*****
"I can't believe this is happening," Harrow said.
Two fist-sized spheres, one of water and one of flame, hung suspended in the air in front of him.
"It's happening," Gwen said. "How do you feel? Any tiredness or headache?"
She held his hand tightly as her magic manifested itself through his body, powered by his life essence. Physical contact wasn't strictly necessary, but it made things easier. Even with the contact, her control was sloppy; running her magic through Harrow distorted her feel for it the same way shallow water distorted the view of a riverbed.
"I don't feel any different."
"That's good. Elemental magic is the weakest form. I'd hoped it wouldn't be taxing. Let me know if you start to feel fatigued or short on breath."
"Will do."
"Okay, let's try something a little tougher." She relaxed her control. The ball of fire dissipated and the water splashed back into the river.
Harrow had recommended they practice on the riverbank deep in the woods close to his house. Safe from prying eyes, he said. The practice of magic was a capital crime, punishable by disfigurement and death. She'd already suffered the former -- an ugly brand seared into her face below her right eye, locking her magic within her. She'd managed to escape her execution, though, and Harrow had found her before the Guardsmen did.
She pushed her magic through him again and the fast-flowing river leapt from its bed, gathering instead into a rapidly-swelling sphere of water that hovered unsteadily over the now-dry trench. As new water from the river was absorbed into the bloated ball, the size and weight of it grew.
"God's eyes!" Harrow swore, eyes wide and mouth gaping. "How much water can you hold up there?"
"The question is: how much water can YOU hold up there? The control is mine, but you're supplying the power. How do you feel?"
"Like I'm dreaming. It's incredible."
The globe of water swelled to house-sized, then barn-sized, enveloping the trees on either side of the riverbank but bending around the spot where she and Harrow stood.
"Any tiredness?" she asked.
He shook his head.
She held the spell for a few more moments, then reversed it, allowing water from the giant sphere to slowly drain back into the river. When all the water was back in its place, she sighed and released Harrow's hand.
"That's it? I can go longer. I'm not even winded," he said. She smiled at the hint of protest in his voice. He'd been enjoying himself. Quite a change from a couple days earlier when she'd had to beg on her knees to get him to consider the magical Bond.
"Let's leave it for now. It's only our second day and the Bond may be taxing you in ways that aren't obvious. If you're still up to it tomorrow, we'll have some real fun."
With every moment that passed the mortal danger to her daughter increased, and Gwen felt a desperate sense of urgency to mount a rescue. But she had to be practical, too. Any rescue attempt would fail if Harrow wasn't able to manage the demands of the Bond, or if she over-exerted him and his strength failed at a crucial moment. A little time sown now would reap a harvest of opportunity later.
In truth, Gwen was more than pleased at how well the Bond was working out. True, it was...inconvenient...that the effect only lasted until the dawn of the next day, and that the only way to renew it was during the heights of sexual climax, but even that had become less troublesome than she'd expected. Harrow, it turned out, was a skilled and gentle lover; lying under him was less a hardship and more a guilty pleasure. A pleasure she only grudgingly conceded, but genuine nonetheless.
The two of them turned towards the house.
"Have you decided how you'll use the Bond to save your daughter?" he asked as they walked.
"I'm still working that out," she said. "But at least my magic is available through the Bond. I can't express my gratitude for how you've helped me, Harrow."
"I've been well-compensated," he said, then dropped his hand to her rear and gave a quick squeeze through the thin, linen tunic.
She squealed and launched a punch at his shoulder, but he spun out of the way, grinning like a mischievous child and staying a cautious few steps ahead of her the rest of the way home.
****
Night had come and the two of them shared the dim kitchen in companionable silence. Harrow had thrown a half-log into the wood stove to stave off the autumn chill and now dozed in a rocking chair nearby, teetering on the edge of sleep. Gwen sat in a straight-backed chair, her elbows resting on the table, staring into the flickering light of a candle.
Somewhere, her daughter was fleeing for her life, maybe pursued by The Hound -- the greatest witch-catcher there ever was. He could sniff out magic better than any human alive -- thus his nickname. Her girl was clever and resourceful, and knew a few magical tricks of her own, but Gwen knew it was only a matter of time before The Hound prevailed and Ana's time ran out.
Gwen had limited use of her magic again -- subject to Harrow's continued goodwill -- but she couldn't decide how best to use it. She still didn't know where her daughter was and had no reliable way to locate her. She could go in search of Ana, or possibly hunt The Hound himself, but Harrow wasn't willing to travel and since the Bond only lasted a day at most, Gwen's range was severely curtailed.
Another option was to try to send a message to Ana somehow but again, she had no idea where to look. Still, Gwen was sure there was an answer, and she was determined to wrack her brain until she'd come up with something, no matter how far-fetched.
And then she noticed it.
The flame of the candle had stopped flickering and hung immobile in the air, as though frozen. And she could see her breath; the air in the room was suddenly as cold and crisp as a midwinter night.
"Harrow?" she said, suddenly afraid. He didn't respond, didn't move from his chair.
"Harrow!" It was a scream now but he didn't stir. His eyes were closed, as though in slumber...or death? She began to shiver violently.
She tried to go to him but her muscles didn't respond; she couldn't rise from the chair, nor push herself away from the table. Panic seized her and she struggled against the paralysis, but in vain.
Then she heard the sound. A quiet scraping noise, approaching the kitchen from the dark hallway, growing steadily louder as it drew near. From the corner of her eye she saw a figure materialize in the shadowy doorway. Human, or at least human-like, it moved slowly into the kitchen accompanied by the scraping noise that set Gwen's teeth on edge.
Gradually the figure emerged into Gwen's field of vision. The faint candlelight revealed a girl. A girl of perhaps eleven or twelve, wearing a white, linen night dress that fell to her ankles. Her hair was blonde; so light as to be nearly white. It fell across her face, obscuring her features.
The girl dragged a huge sword, gripping it by the hilt so the tip of the blade dragged along the floor behind her, leaving a thin trail as it it cut into the wood. The pommel bore the likeness of a stallion's head.
She didn't acknowledge Gwen but continued her plodding march in the direction of Harrow, who remained motionless in his rocking chair.
"Who are you?" Gwen said, trying to hide the terror in her voice.
The girl didn't turn, didn't pause. She single-mindedly closed the gap with Harrow. Six feet...five...four...
