Pursuit (Through Time 1)

Chance surprised his companions when he began his chant—a spell that sounded strangely familiar and, yet, was not quite Fae magic. Then he smiled at them and reached for the huge brass handle, saying smugly, “The Milesian perfected Light Magic long ago. The light can always defeat dark—ye just have to find a way to let it in.” And with this pronouncement, he opened the door.

Royce braced herself with eyes wide open.

She had already witnessed the kind of hideous monster the Fallen Druid was. The human in him had been consumed and was no more.

This would be a fight to the death. And it was all just fine—he was no longer human; as far as she was concerned, no rules were being broken …

She also sensed as they stood there that the Fallen one stood hidden in the dark of a long corridor at the far end of the chamber. He had been waiting for them.

Then, out of nowhere, it was as though a fist slammed into her stomach! She doubled over and reached out to steady herself. Next to her, she felt Chance hold her up, and then …

She saw Pestale in her mind.

This was no time for a vision—but her visions picked their own times!

He was clothed oddly—like something out of medieval times—and she saw horses pulling wagons. He turned away from the human he had been conversing with, and it was as though he saw her. He couldn’t though. She was having a vision. He couldn’t possibly see her, but he said, “Princess Royce, my own love, beauty, and mate …”

She realized with horror that in her vision she was with him, that she had allowed him to take her hand and pull her close …

They were together somewhere in the past.

And then the vision was gone, and reality stared at her hard, fast, and threatening.

She groaned and felt as though her insides had turned to mush and wanted out. It was the mortality she was experiencing in this realm working her insides, she realized.

“Lass, m’sweet lass … what is it?”

“Nothing,” she said and saw the demon emerge from the dark corridor. He was coming at them, breathing fire and drooling enough to flood the room!

She had to pull herself together—she didn’t have a choice.

The Fallen Druid came at them with everything he had, fire shooting out of his dragon-like mouth, teeth gnashing, claws slicing air, and eyes burning a straight path for them.

He truly looked like something from the dregs of hell.

He screeched, and his dragon-like claws scratched at them wildly. Then he stood to his full height, roaring with his fury.

Royce wondered how they were going to fight him while he was in his present form. Unlike the beast she had just killed, the Fallen Druid, though insane, was cunning and had his faculties about him.

She looked at Chance for direction and realized he was unfazed by the horror reaching to destroy them.

She watched him and knew he had no doubts as he advanced against the Fallen Druid and then said gravely to it, “Well, old friend … it has come to this?”

“Aye … so it has!” the Fallen Druid answered in a voice that resonated throughout the room.

“And what would she say, your sweet Delia? What would she say if she saw you today?”

“Do not speak her name! She is gone, and soon you will be as well!”

Chance continued to move towards the beast. What was he doing? One swipe, and he would be dead. Royce called a warning. “Chance …”

He ignored her as he concentrated and then shook his sword at the beast. “Right then, Sir Ugly, time to die.”

“For you—time for you!” the beast raged.

“Then have at me!” Chance answered as though he were facing nothing more than a lowly foe.

Its claws reached for him, but Chance had already jumped sideways. He laughed out loud. “Ye’ll have to do better than that, och now—put some spirit into it.”