he stopped, the image suddenly strong in his mind. As the girl had run off she had been holding something in her hand. It was only now that he realized what it had been. His eyes narrowed as he stared across the moorland towards the horizon. In the moonlight he could just make out the lights of the cottage sitting among the trees.
*****
Falk ran as hard as he could, the noise of battle soon dissipating through the trees until he heard nothing but the sound of his feet crunching lightly on the ground and his own rapid breathing. He moved on quickly, despite the weight of Nicola’s body over his shoulders. He was desperate to get far enough away so that when he took them both into the world above the magic trace would be undetectable.
Suddenly an intense burst of pain shot out across the stream of power. A raw outpouring of surprise and anguish that ended abruptly to be replaced by a vacuum of energy that tore across the remaining void. Falk stumbled to his knees as the rent seared through his mind and became a throbbing pain in his temples. Gasping he reached forward with his free hand, steadying himself against the ground. He stared down in disbelief, paralyzed by the weight of the knowledge that he now had to face, for such a wild surge of power could only mean one thing.
Gwen was dead.
The Rider had betrayed them, and now it had killed her.
A rage began to rise from deep within him, a burning desire for revenge. He breathed deeply and hard, steadying himself for he had to focus. He could sense the Rider still in the clearing and something else. It was growing more intense with every moment, a pit of tainted magic that could mean only one thing.
Myrkur was coming.
Dark fear enveloped Falk’s mind for there was nothing he could do against Myrkur”s power. Rising to his feet he opened himself to the power, embracing specific weaves of energy, and his form and Nicola’s shimmered and then disappeared.
Chapter Eighteen
Nicola floated in a void, her mind detached. She was surrounded by darkness so absolute that she could not see her own body. Was this death? No, the life force was still there, an alien presence embedded within her very being. It was filling her veins, her synapses, her consciousness, and it scared her. She tried to recoil from it but could not find a way.
Images began to flash through her mind then, meeting Paul, the feeling of having known him forever, the desire to be with him that led to her hotel room, and then the trapdoor that had opened within her mind sending a tidal wave of awareness plunging through her body and brain. Then he had pulled her back to reality only to accuse her of betrayal and abandon her. Despite this she could only forgive him. She had seen his confusion, his pain, and had felt it as if it was her own. All she wanted was to take it from him.
Everything became confused then. The presence within her had been able to control her. It had taken her out into the night, into woodland where some battle was taking place. The last thing she remembered was seeing a rider on horseback staring at her with all the rage and hate possible, and it had struck fear into the very core of her heart for she was sure that it had been Paul, yet how could that be possible?
More time passed. Then, in the infinite blackness, she noticed a speck of light. Tiny at first it grew, quickly becoming the outline of a person, and as it approached she realized with a shock that she was looking at a reflection of herself from some form of mirrored surface. She was dressed in a long white cloak, golden brown hair braided with curls framing her face that seemed more defined, ageless. She reached out with one hand in fascination, her opposite image doing the same, outstretched fingers reaching towards each other, towards the shimmering surface that was like glass, and then their fingers touched.
Nicola was jolted into consciousness. Her head was pounding with the force of blood flowing into it, and her body was being knocked constantly. Her skin was burning and tingling with an intensity she had never felt before as it rubbed against some kind of clothing. Every sound, from the rustling of fabric to the footsteps of whoever was carrying her,