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.
“Oh, my dear!” Lady Isella turned to me with tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you! I have never seen such power—you have freed me of him! After all these years, oh, thank you!” And she burst out crying.
“It’s all right, Mother.” Lachlan took her in his arms and comforted her while Bran and I stood by and gave them a moment.
“That was a good use of your power, Emma,” Bran murmured to me. “To bind an ogre that size is no small thing—I doubt one Fae noble in a hundred from the Summer Court could do it. Do you feel drained at all?”
Now that he mentioned it, I did feel pretty tired. I had assumed that was because it was getting late and I’d had a more than full day—I mean, I started that morning by making Morganna bald and I had ended by magically binding an ogre. But maybe using that much magic had something to do with it, as well.
“I would like to go sit down somewhere,” I admitted to Bran. “It’s been a really long day.”
He gave me a wry smile.
“You can say that again. Is our guide still here?” He looked around and we saw the tiny little old lady, Sirella, was still cowering against the wall. Now that the danger was over, however, she straightened up—as well as she could anyway—and hobbled over to us.
“My Lady,” she said in her cracked voice. “I would still be pleased to show you to your suite. If you would follow me?”