Love in Time

/Chapter Four/

Magus led the group of men, who he’d quickly rallied, to the front of the village. The watchman had said a group of fifteen or more mystics were headed their way. Magus knew he could handle the mystics alone, but the men needed more battle experience, especially if they were going to protect the village when he left. He would stand back and watch this time, only stepping in to help those who found themselves about to face Death’s scythe.

“How often do these attacks occur,” Lucca asked.

For a splendorous moment, he’d forgotten that Lucca walked at his side, keeping up with his brisk pace. “Why are you still here?” He’d told her to stay behind with Khalil; he didn’t need her messing his men up during battle with her spells. But then he should have remembered the one thing Lucca wasn’t good at was taking orders.

Lucca ignored his not so subtle hint that she wasn’t wanted here and said, “I count eighteen.”

They’d reached the village front, and the oncoming mystics were a half a mile away. “It’s nineteen,” Magus corrected. To his men, he shouted, “We’re going to do maneuver seven!”

“What’s maneuver seven,” Lucca asked

“Never mind.” Magus grabbed her arm. “You’re coming with me.”

To his surprise, she didn’t fight him and allowed herself be pulled behind the men who were forming a half circle in front of the village. The men slowly advanced forward, pikes and clubs tightly gripped in hands, ready to kill. “You’re going to let them fight on their own?”

Magus’ hold on her tightened. “Yes, and I want you to stay back.” Lucca and her friends loved meddling in other’s affairs, spouting nonsense about protecting those weaker than you. He wouldn’t let her do that here. If the weak never fought, they wouldn’t learn to be strong.

“Fine.” She shook her arm free of him. Keeping up with his advancing steps, she peered at the oncoming Mystics. “Glad you at least let them fight for themselves.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think? Those houses, that fire; you’re coddling these people.”

“I’m what?”

“You’re—hey. I think they’re chasing that one in the front.”

Magus' gaze moved from her to the oncoming Mystics. She was right. A group of Gargoyles, tailed by Bantam imps, were pursuing a lone Gargoyle at the front. The pursued Gargoyle ran frantically, face displaying genuine fear. “Strange,” Magus admitted. “But this should make things easier.”

Lucca’s jaw set in a familiar determination that irked Magus. “What do you mean, make things easier?”

Magus chose not to respond, and before Lucca could demand an answer, Alan, still facing the oncoming threat, jogged backward to Magus. “Magus,” he said, “that Mystic is shouting for help.”

“Ignore him, and continue with our attack.” Glancing at his men, he could see they appeared as unsure as Alan. There was no room for doubt in a battle, and the Mystics were almost upon them. “Continue with maneuver seven!” As he’d hoped, his voice sent reassurance rippling through the group, and Alan jogged on ahead, resolve shining on his face. Magus relaxed.

Suddenly, Lucca shot past him, shouting, “Don’t harm the Gargoyle at the center!”

Magus didn’t need to look at his men to feel the confusion that pulsed in them. He ran after Lucca, reaching her as she reached the Gargoyle. The Gargoyle’s eyes flicked from Lucca to Magus, then back again. “Help me!” And he latched onto Lucca’s arm.

Great. Just great. “Get back,” Magus snarled, stepping in front of the two. With a glance back at the Gargoyle, Magus said, “I’ll deal with you when I’m done with them.” He then jogged toward the Mystics, joining his men in battle.

Magus went for the closest Mystic to him, another Gargoyle. This one seemed somewhat older than the rest, her golden skin was dulled and dusky green wings looked brittle. She blocked his kick with a limber arm, which swelled with power and repelled his attack. She jumped back with swift ease, and Magus knew that she had not allowed age to deteriorate her body.

Magus attacked again. Again, she blocked and jumped back. “We do not wish to fight.” A quick look around proved her correct. Her Mystics were doing the same as her, blocking and dodging. None attacked. Magus stood down, and shouted for his men to do the same.

Mystics and men separated. The men remained ready to attack, the mystics to defend.

“Why are you here,” Magus demanded.

The female nodded to the Gargoyle locked to Lucca’s arm. “Him.”

Lucca, watching them watch her, slid a protective arm around the Gargoyle’s shoulder. Her eyes narrowed, daring either of them to endanger her charge. Magus cursed. “What has he done?”

“What does that matter? He is not your kind.”

Magus couldn’t agree more, but he doubted Lucca would. “It matters, because it seems you’re ready to slaughter someone who can’t defend himself.”

“Such an altruistic sentiments,” the Gargoyle sneered. “It’s a wonder you’ve kept this village secure for so long.” She jerked her head to the side, the movement seemingly a signal for the Mystics to fall back, for that’s what they did. She peered sideways at him. “You may keep him, sorcerer. But be sure, you’re village won’t last much longer if you continue to cling to such weak-minded beliefs.”

Alan approached him, when the female Gargoyle had departed. “What was that about?”

Magus frowned and looked at the Gargoyle hanging on Lucca’s arm. “I wonder.”

A/N - This chapter was shorter than the others, and I'm sorry for that, but the plot is picking up, so the next chap will be longer and sure to contain some Lucca/Magus head butting.

Also, a big thanks to everyone who's reviewed, favorited, and alerted.