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Excerpt for SOUL MAGIC
Rune
1149
PROLOGUE
Formless shadows, stealing through the night. A
scream, a shout, a child’s shrill wail. Alanna of Rune
bolted up in her bed, turning instinctively to look for
the slumbering form of her russet-haired son.
Like the night before, he was not there.
The small sleeping pallet was heartbreakingly tidy,
undisturbed by a two-year old’s restless slumber.
Caradoc had not slept in his bed, not since he’d been
taken two nights ago. Again she saw the dark shapes,
felt the impossible power of the magic that had kept her
frozen, horrifyingly unable to move while Gorsedd stole
her son.
She uttered a low, keening, cry. Her child was gone.
And if Gorsedd truly believed Caradoc to be the
changeling child of prophecy, he would never be
returned.
As a Fae princess and Caradoc’s mother, Alanna knew
better. One night of violence had given her Caradoc. She
wanted only to find her son and bring him home. That she
had not enough magic to do so tore at her.
Once, like all of her kind, she had glowed bright
with power. But the magic had been waning for a long
time. Now, with the remnants of her power clinging to
her like a tattered cloak, she could not even determine
where Gorsedd had taken her boy.
Her beloved son. Caradoc.
Unable to sleep, Alanna began to pace.
“They will not harm him.” Alanna spun. “Wynne.” Alone
of all the Fae in Rune, the Oracle’s remaining magic
still leant her that soft glow. Her silver hair, so gray
it appeared the startling white of moonlit snow, matched
the shimmer of her flowing gown.
“Aye.” The older woman’s lined face looked serene,
the opposite of Alanna’s churning emotions. “I have
spent the night trying to find out who has taken
Caradoc.”
“What did you-- Were you able--?”
“No.” The single word hovered in the air. “Neither
mirror nor water would ripple for me. Like everyone
else, my own magic has finally begun to fade.”
“I must find out where he has been taken.” Jaw
aching, Alanna forced herself to unclench her teeth. She
lifted her head and met the wise one’s gaze.
“They will not harm him,” Wynne repeated. “They
believe him to be the child of prophecy, of power. They
believe him to be son of the mortal Darrick of
Thorncliff.”
“But he is not.” The words burst from her, pent up
frustration and worry and rage making her voice as sharp
as the ceremonial blade that had long hung above the
throne.
“Are you certain?”
“You have seen him.” Bitterness made her throat ache.
“Caradoc is not Darrick’s son.”
The old woman’s gaze was sharp.“Is it possible you
are wrong?”
“I have wished to be wrong more than you know. We
shared one night of love, Darrick and I, a fortnight
before I was attacked. I prayed that it might be so. I
didn’t know for certain until Caradoc was born. His
coppery hair bespoke his parentage without a doubt.”
“And our magic has continued to wane.” Though no hint
of accusation sounded in the Oracle’s calm tone, Alanna
felt the jagged edge of it prick her skin.
“I’ve failed our people.” Anger made a sour knot in
her belly. “Worse, I have failed my son.”
“They do not know… Then tell them. Tell the world.
Name the one who sired Caradoc.”
Name him. Alanna opened her mouth, then closed
it. She swayed as memories of that awful night flooded
her. She’d been caught unprepared, for even then her
magic had been weak.
She’d strolled in the forest dreaming of her upcoming
nuptials. He’d been waiting for her, grabbing her when
she’d walked past his hiding place. He’d tied her hands
so tightly her wrists had bled. He’d muffled her screams
with a wet cloth stuffed in her mouth. Then he’d taken
her from behind, savagely, laughing as he brutally raped
her.
She never wanted to speak his name out loud. To do so
reminded her of what had been, until now, the worst
night of her life.
But losing her son was far worse. She’d thought she
knew then what it was to feel utterly powerless, at the
dark mercy of another. But she’d been wrong. The horror
of that night was nothing compared to this, the awful
terror of not being able to find Caradoc.
“Morfran Mortimer,” she said, her voice brittle
enough to cut through stone. “His hair is the color of
flame. He is Caradoc’s sire. The one who raped me has
long been enemy to Darrick and his family.”
“As he is still,” intoned the wise woman of Rune,
anger coloring her unwavering tone. “When last I was
able to see, I learned that much has changed in the
human world since you left it. Gone to war and returned,
Darrick is now fatherless, thanks to that one’s hand.”
Alanna thought her heart would stop. She hadn’t
asked, hadn’t wanted to know. “Morfran has slain Oren
Tadhg?”
“Aye. And even now, your betrothed attempts to defend
Thorncliff against Morfran’s army.”
“He is not--” Alanna froze as Wynne’s words
registered. “Why would Darrick need to defend that which
is his by right of birth?”
Wynne shook her head, her closed expression one of
dismissal. “You must go to him. Darrick of Thorncliff is
the only one who can help you regain your son.”
“Help me? Why would he help me? Darrick knows naught
of the boy’s existence, nor the reason why I broke our
betrothal. He will hate me now.”
“`Tis of no consequence. You can help each other.
Darrick is the one you must seek. Tell him the truth.
This much I have seen.” Wynne pointed at Alanna’s
heart. “If you wish Caradoc returned, you must go now to
Thorncliff and ask Darrick’s help." | 
