Chapter 24
Devereux was suffering. Darcy felt sorry for what he was enduring, but he kept a close eye on him. It would be foolish to let down his guard. He might still attack. They needed to wait until the last possible minute if they wanted to identify the culprit. Darcy just hoped that Devereux would be able to last that long, and that the strain would not kill him.
In the cold, Darcy’s breath formed icy clouds as he waited for the next attack.
Devereux was on his knees now. His face was purple, and his eyes bloodshot with the effort. The crowd was beginning to mutter.
“What are you doing to him, Darcy?” shouted Timothy Tonkin, unable to keep silent. “You are killing him. Is the duel to the death? I thought the rules said it was not.”
Darcy raised his hands. “I am doing nothing at all. I have cast no spell. I am waiting for him to attack.”
Truth be told, he was getting worried about Devereux. The blood vessels in Devereux’s brow were bulging. Darcy did not know how much longer he would be able to stand by and watch Devereux go through this. He looked towards Matlock, who had returned after Elizabeth’s unfortunate intervention. Matlock shook his head. They could do nothing. They had to wait.
Then suddenly Devereux gave a roar and staggered to his feet, like a great wrestler rising to take his last stand. Sweat was streaming down his face. He gave a shake of his head as if to clear it, then pointed a finger. A thread of fire stretched from his finger towards Pickering, who was bent over as usual, reading a book.
Pickering looked up. His gaze met Devereux’s. Devereux began to gather the power to send a thunderbolt in Pickering’s direction. The spectators, confused, gazed with horror at this sudden turn of events. Had Devereux gone mad and mistaken his adversary?
As the fireball loped towards the old man, Pickering sprang to his feet. He abandoned his stooped, fragile image and began to run, his long beard flapping against the front of his robe, his hair flowing around him.
“Stop him!” cried Lord Matlock.
Darcy gave chase at once. A flash of Elemental fire stopped him in his tracks. He ducked in time, and a topiary behind him caught fire.
A gardener who was trimming a rose bush put out a foot to trip Pickering. The bearded mage fell onto the gravel pathway, hitting his head.
The illusion shattered. The white hair disappeared and was replaced by the long blond locks of a lady.
“Bring her here,” said Matlock.
The footman took hold of the lady to pull her up. She was shaking her head, dazed by the blow, but as she started to stand, she realized what had happened.
She looked backwards, and Darcy froze, preparing for an assault. A deep feeling of satisfaction spread through him.
It was Lady Alice.
“Keep up the Illusion, you fool!” she shouted.
Her gaze was directed at Lord Sudbury.
Pickering reappeared, but the Illusion was no longer stable. Lady Alice threw Sudbury a look of disgust, then knocked back the footman with a blast of Elemental air. Before anyone had time to react, she disappeared through the arched doorway of the enclosed garden.
Darcy went after her. As he emerged from the doorway, Lady Alice muttered a spell. She waved her hands and formed a small whirlwind. It picked her up and carried her away towards the front of the house.
“Stop her!” said Darcy.
Another of the gardeners dropped the rake he was using and tried to catch her as she went by, but he was blinded by the swirl of autumn leaves she flung in his face, and he was left clutching nothing but air.
Darcy did not pause. He would not let her get away, not when he had her within reach. That little whirlwind of hers would not get her far. Whirlwind transport spells were notoriously difficult to maintain.
