Unicorn Quests - 32. Chapter 32

“Ha, ha, ha,” cackled Balasamar. “Perfect!”

Londe was magnificent, was perfect, his white coat shining in the sun, his horn sparkling as he threatened the enemies who dared try to harm me, his mate.

And it was exactly what they wanted. What they needed. “Londe, no!” I shouted, even calling through our bond to get his attention, but his anger was so strong he didn’t hear me, couldn’t, over the pure rage. I had missed how much the attack on me had hurt him, had damaged our bond, when I had been taken from his side.

I’d been so focused on myself, on my loss, I’d missed his. I ached, and now I had a real fear I’d lose what little we had left together if they managed to hurt him. Because if they stripped his horn, and took his magic, they’d not only get the remainder of my soul, they’d get his because we were truly one.

That’s what I’d failed to see for so long. He’d been right all along. They couldn’t take that from me, couldn’t take my name, who I was to him, to our foals, as long as they loved me and wanted me. And I’d be damned if Balasamar and his pet warlock would take any more from us.

I took that realization, that only the pureness of Londe’s love, his willingness to put himself in danger to protect me, could give and poured it into our bond. It overwhelmed his rage and smothered it in an instant. Reaching into the special holster along my spine, I pulled out my horn.

Giving up the pretense, I leapt agilely to my feet and stood side by side with my mate, my everything, and faced off against those who would to tear us apart.

And dared them to try.

“If you want us, come and get us,” I hissed, horn at the ready. I backed a step, and Londe followed. In my peripheral, I saw Wenn had Tinn out the way. Good. I flicked my horn. “This is what you want, right?”

Balasamar waved his warlock forward. “Get them.”

So confident. I sneered, curling my lip.

Shadows once again drained out of the warlock, oozing across the land in a wave. It was sickening, writhing, alive and yet not. “Don’t let it touch your body,” I warned Londe.

“I won’t.” He lowered his horn, ready.

For a tense moment, we waited, and then the shadow neared. I swept my horn from right to left, Londe from left to right, tearing through a large section at the front. It broke apart, vaporizing, and the warlock hissed, his fingers trembling.

“That’s it. Keep breaking it up.” We stabbed and slashed the darkness, my arm moving in rapid sweeps while Londe bobbed his head and wove, never far from my side. “That’s it, it’s slowing!” I redoubled my efforts. We were stopping him. Yes!

“Look out!” Tinn shouted.

“Londe!” The sneaky bastard had somehow, through all the pain we were causing him damaging his magical essence, sent out a lone tendril and flanked his main attack, coming at us from the side.

How had he done that? How had I missed it? “Londe, to your right!”

His head picked up, and he reared up on his back legs, but it wasn’t enough. It was going to wrap around his back hooves. I hacked and slashed frantically at the wave of shadows still coming toward us.

Wenn dropped Tinn, and he slumped to the ground. Leaping forward, his fur fluffed out so he resembled a giant ball thrown through the air, Wenn sailed through the air and landed right on top of the thin tendril. He grasped the insubstantial strands and squeaked, contracting tightly.

His body shook, and more sounds poured out of him. Then he started to roll. Wenn rolled along the tendril and then sideways, right into the wave of dark shadows that had continued to advance as I fought my way to my mate.

He slowed, shook violently, and then stopped right in front of us. He sank his claws into the ground, and then he…. I don’t know what it was. His magic? Ability? But he pulled that darkness in.

Faster, and faster, not just absorbing it, but taking it, pulling it, ripping it from the warlock.

The warlock’s face paled, sweat beaded up on his forehead, and he shrieked and jerked. He took a step back but then was yanked a step forward. Then another.

And another.

“Stop,” he pleaded. Shadows had begun to bleed from more than his hands, leaking from his eyes, his lips, like dark stains on his pallid skin. He jerked another step closer.

Wenn didn’t stop.

The ground collapsed beneath the warlock as he took a final step, and he fell into the pit Tinn and Wenn had dug, and the spikes that lined it. His screams didn’t fade, but then I realized it was Wenn shrieking.

The warlock was dead.

And I’d been so focused on Wenn’s battle with him, the coward Balasamar had fled. “Damn it!” I cursed. I’d have to hunt him down, but now our ally, the Being who’d saved my mate, needed help.

“What’s wrong?” I asked Tinn. He’d crawled over.

“The darkness is killing him.”

“What? No, he can’t die. He just saved us. Can’t we help him?”

“Maybe. And maybe we can help you.” Tinn’s eyes were on something beyond the trap. “There.” He pointed.

I looked up. It was the helm Balasamar had been wearing.

“What do you need that for?”

“It’s you,” he said. “It’s your soul.”

My lips parted, and I stared at it in shock. “My… soul?”

“I can feel it. The magic is binding it to the object, using it as part of a spell.”

“The way Balasamar looked young and handsome, before he took it off,” Londe said. “That must be part of it.”

“But, if my soul is spelled to the helm, how does that help me or Wenn?”