Druid Knights 02: Knight of Rapture by Ruth A. Casie

the exercise continued to unfold, the anticipation building.
    Logan wasn’t done.
    Pursued from behind and seeing the disadvantage of being caught in the bottom of the ditch, the raiders made for high ground on the opposite embankment. As they climbed the rise, a line of Logan’s elite forces took their positions on the top of the ridge. Logan’s men pressed their advantage and advanced from every direction. Arik roared his encouragement from the tower window. The raiders were surrounded. Victory was Logan’s reward for the well-laid trap.
    A trumpet blew three staccato bleats. The maneuver was over.
    Logan glanced at the tower and gave his brother a courtly bow. Arik acknowledged his success with a triumphant raised arm. Satisfied in his decision to allow the new maneuver, Arik had not been disappointed.
    Arik turned from the window and his soaring spirits sobered. The comforting tower room closed in around him. He scoured the mute walls for an answer, bearing the weight of a pilgrim begging the gods for a cure. The answer wasn’t there.
    He sank into the chair, resigned, his elbows rested on the writing table. The acute guilt weighed him down like an ox’s yoke. “I should have warned her,” the damning whisper passed his lips. He slammed his fist on the wooden table, sending his hopes and the parchments flying. Another deep breath, then another. Again. Again, until at last the tempest in his head calmed. “I should have… I should have protected her.”
    He didn’t have to close his eyes to imagine her. She was forever etched in his mind. But his lids slid closed as he sniffed the air like his best hunting dog ferreting out a scent. Last night the fragrance had been lavender and rose. Today, melted wax and spent sulfur.
    Faith , the early hours of the morning he had sensed success within his grasp only to have it slip from his fingers. The formula wasn’t right. His fists were closed so tight that his fingernails bit into his palm. He was so close he could feel her safe in his arms.
    The nights were the worst. She filled his dreams. He felt her touch, heard her voice and tasted her lips only to wake in the morning and lose her all over again.
    Enough . This was torture and it wasn’t getting him any closer to her. He gave himself a mental shake and forced the images away. No prescription existed for creating a doorway through time, not even for a druid Grand Master. All he had were calculated guesses. “Maximillian had done it,” he whispered to himself, staring at the runes on the walls. What did Maximillian have—no, what power was unique to him? The stars. He rummaged through documents, transcribed arcane symbols and reworked the formulas to align it with the stars. An hour later, he put down the quill and rubbed his eyes, satisfied he had gone over each rune and found where the correction needed to be made. Each druid had a power. Rebeka’s magic was still a mystery, but it would be revealed to her. His came from the earth, Logan’s from song and Leticia’s from plants. He’d been searching in the wrong place.
    He stood and stretched to work out the kinks from sitting hunched over the table. He surveyed his tower room. Gone were the beautiful tapestries that had adorned the walls. In their place were hundreds of charcoal markings, runes and formulas that covered every inch of the high walls. He took a piece of charcoal and with precision followed the formula.
    “Ninoor nin ah ray,” he chanted in a soft whisper that echoed in the room. He went from one symbol to the next. His eyes focused on each rune as he narrowed in on the area he needed. Relief rushed over him when his finger landed on the runes that needed to be altered. He rubbed them out and replaced the section with the new set of runes.
    Out of the quiet, while he scrawled the last symbol, the clear voice of another reached his ears. “Ninzure nin ah ray.”
    Arik went silent. His hand froze.
    “Ninzure nin ah ray,” the voice chanted