“It’s so nice to meet you,” I said, as our cheeks touched. I was expecting some kind of social nicety in return but instead, Lady Isella whispered in my ear,
“Be careful, my dear! I fear that you are in terrible danger.”
“What?” I looked at her uncertainly as we drew apart.
“I think I hear my husband coming, but I would love to get to know you and have more time with my son,” she said, smiling as though she hadn’t just given me a warning. “May I come to your suite tonight so that we can spend more time together?”
“Oh, of course.” I nodded, still not sure what to make of all this.
“Father is here?” Lachlan was instantly on the alert. “I thought he was dead!”
“I’m afraid not.” Lady Isella shook her head. “One of his heads survived the beating that Fae warrior gave him. It’s probably better he doesn’t see you, dear,” she added anxiously.
But it was too late. At that moment, a huge, shambling shape came around the corner and glared at all three of us.
87
The ogre was ten feet tall and it had rough, warty greenish-brown skin and two heads, just as Lachlan had told me. But one of the heads was clearly dead and rotting.
It slumped on the ogre’s broad shoulder, its eyes half-open and staring sightlessly at the ceiling. The skin of the dead head had gone greyish and there was a smell like spoiled meat coming from it. A huge gash right down the middle of its face clearly showed how it had died—there were flies buzzing around the massive wound.
“What’s this?” it growled, glaring down at the three of us. Then its eyes focused on Bran. “Gods of the Deep Dark—it’s the Fae bastard who killed my best head!”
Bran shot a look at Lachlan.
“You never told me,” he muttered under his breath, tightening his grip on the long silver sword.
“I couldn’t. I was ashamed.” Lachlan shook his head, his emerald eyes—so like his mother’s—shadowed with pain.
It was hard to believe the ogre was his father. They looked absolutely nothing alike. Lachlan had his mother’s eyes but nothing at all from his hideous father—well, except for the dark half of his soul, I supposed.
“You’ll die for what you did to me,” the ogre growled, glaring down at Bran. “And maybe I’ll kill that worthless whelp of mine into the bargain!” He pointed at Lachlan.
“No, Grund—please!” Lachlan’s mother, Lady Isella, put herself between her massive husband and her son. “Please, leave Lachlan alone! What happened to your other head isn’t his fault!”
“The little traitor led that Summer Court bastard right to me!” Lachlan’s father rumbled. He had a spiked club on one massive shoulder which I hadn’t noticed before—probably because I had been staring morbidly at his dead head. Now he swung it down, gripping it in both huge hands. It looked like it was made of an entire tree, but the enormous ogre handled it with ease.
“Get out of the way, Mother!” Lachlan exclaimed as Bran stepped forward, his sword gleaming in the dim light. Our guide, the little old lady, was cowering against the wall, a frightened look on her wrinkled face.
“No—leave them alone, Grund!” Lady Isella refused to budge.
“I don’t want to have to kill you,” Lachlan said to his father. “Patricide is a heavy sin—it will stain my soul. But I can’t let you hurt my friend or the female I love. And you’ve already hurt Mother enough,” he added darkly.
“I’ll kill you all!” the ogre roared, rage flashing in the squinty eyes of his still-living head. It was lumpish and misshapen and its teeth, when it bared them, were grey and rotten. I could well believe the dead one has been better.
All this time, I had just been standing there, not sure of what to do. But now I realized that if somebody didn’t do something quickly, we were about to have mortal combat right here in the middle of the hallway and I doubted it would end before somebody died.
Without thinking about it, I clutched my focus amulet and closed my eyes, reaching for the river of gold sparks that was so close in the Realm. I found that in the Winter Realm, the sparks were silver instead, but I was still able to draw power from the source.
As the ogre swung his spiked club, I imagined myself throwing a loop of the silver sparks around his slab-like arms. I heard him grunt as the magical rope drew tight, but I didn’t dare open my eyes and break my concentration. Instead, I squeezed them tighter and imagined wrapping the rope made of magic around and around him, tying his arms to his sides and forcing him to drop the spiked club with a loud thunk! to the floor.
I brought the rope lower, winding it tighter until I got to the ogre’s knees. Then, satisfied at last that he couldn’t move, I opened my eyes to make sure that the reality of the situation was matching what my Magical Eye had shown me.
The ogre, was indeed, immobilized with what looked like a glowing silver rope. He was staring down at it, with his one good head, in fury and amazement—as though he couldn’t quite understand what was happening to him.
“Good job, Emma,” Lachlan murmured to me. “Now complete the binding.”
“Complete it?” I asked, frowning.
“You can bind people together or bind them apart,” he explained patiently. “I cannot do it myself—my magic won’t work very well against my own blood and even if it would, as I said before, patricide is a heavy sin. But you have the power.”
“Oh—okay.”
I nodded and looked up at the furious ogre, who was growling and thrashing but clearly unable to break the magical rope I had put around him. It was a frightening sight—have you heard the expression, “got the tiger by the tail?” That was how it felt—like I had a huge and dangerous predator by the tail and I didn’t dare let it go. I needed to do this right.
“Ogre,” I began but Bran said,
“You must call him by name.”
“All right.” I nodded and addressed the ogre again.
“Grund,” I said to Lachlan’s father. “I bind you from hurting Bran or Lachlan or me either.”
“My mother,” Lachlan murmured, his face tight. “Please—keep him off her. Otherwise he’ll take his rage at us, out on her.”
“And I bind you from bothering Lady Isella too,” I said and then added, “You must stay a thousand meters away from her at all times and never go near her again. From now on, she is free of you forever.”
There—that ought to do it—it was like a magical restraining order, I thought with some satisfaction.
Lachlan’s father roared angrily but there was nothing he could do. With my magic in effect, his legs started working—seeming independently of his will—and he started backing away from Lachlan’s mother as fast as he could, though it was clear he didn’t want to.
He backed around the corner of the long hallway, shouting and growling threats and insults.
“You’ll pay—all of you will pay! I’ll make you sorry, by the Dark Gods!” I heard his deep, grating voice echoing along the corridors. But it got fainter and fainter and finally it was nothing but the sound of someone yelling a long way away.