Defender of Magic by S. A. Archer, S. Ravynheart Page B

so that it would glow upon the wall for months to come, unless someone dispelled it. One last time, he glanced back at the statue, which passively watched him depart.

Chapter Two

    As Lugh watched the coming night shadows paint the landscape that streamed past, he only partially gathered what Willem was chattering about. The chill of the air whipped through the opened window of the auto, carrying with it the twilight scents of the countryside. These lengthy drives were cumbersome, especially for his long torso and legs folded into a compact vehicle. Willem, on the other hand, relished the dubious amusement of human magicraft. For Lugh, it was nothing but a temporary concession to conserve their depleted magic.
    As they neared the temple of the All-Mother, Willem departed from the paved thoroughfare. The lanterns affixed to the front of the auto illuminated the pathless ground before them. At least it was normally undetectably marred by their occasional passages. This evening the underbrush appeared more damaged than usual. Lugh straightened in the seat to better spy what lay before them. In the lea of the temple hill, a pack of unattended autos crowded the clearing.
    “Halt,” Lugh instructed, already jerking the handle to release the door. The auto bounced to a stop even as Lugh climbed out. From the aft seat, he flicked away the blanket that cloaked his short sword, bow and quiver of arrows. “Conceal the auto and yourself.”
    The Scribe didn’t question his order. Lugh bypassed the clearing with the trespassing autos, making for the temple in a wide arc that avoided the path. On silent feet that crunched no leaf and snapped no twig, he slipped through the sentinel trees that guarded the hills beneath which the Mounds once thrived. Even in a crouch, he darted swiftly up the incline. The Glamour that once hid the white marble hung in tatters. Wisps of the illusion of ivy fluttered to the whims of the breeze. The flickering of firelight glowed inside the temple’s entrance.
    A duo of Changelings loitered on the portico, fearless and laughing. Though they were in the guise of humans, Lugh recognized their manner of movement. The sway to their stance and the twist to their bearing would have unbalanced a true human.
    Lugh nocked an arrow. The bowstring whispered a creak as he drew it back. He leveled his aim. The first arrow he loosed struck a Changeling in the eye, killing him before his head snapped back. Even as his companion reacted to the unexpected movement, Lugh’s second arrow impaled the soft hollow of his throat, muting his outcry before it found voice.
    For the span of several breaths, Lugh observed the temple. No other creatures scurried in the shelter of the moon shade. With the cunning of a proficient huntsman, Lugh advanced at a silent sprint.
    Even as he burst through the temple entrance Lugh fired an arrow at a Changeling dragging a human corpse toward the bonfire, knocking the fey into the pyre with the other bodies. Thickening blood glistened in smears and splatters that marred the stark white stones. Oily soot from the smoke blackened the ceiling before billowing out of the terrace entryway that overlooked the cratered remnants of the Mounds. Despite the height of the burning pile, more human and fey carcasses yet remained scattered about the Great Hall. The fallen fey, Lugh knew. The humans, though dead, were as much intruders as the Changelings looting the temple and its fallen guardians. Those Changelings swarmed toward Lugh with malice.
    With the proximity of the ensuing combat, Lugh abandoned his bow for the short sword. Lacking armor or shield to provide defense, Lugh depended on elegant footwork and countercutting blows that both blocked and attacked with uniting movements that resembled a dance more than battle. With precision in distance and timing, each of his cutting blows and thrusts were delivered with full force.
    Lugh spun, bringing the sword up in an artistic arc that severed the arm