A Trilogy of Knights

by Megan Derr

  Trey gave another of his taunting laughs, enjoying the way Frederick tensed, sweat trickling down his face. "If you cancel the curse, I will let you live."

  "You already killed Brandon," Frederick replied. "So why should I believe you? You will kill me the moment I free her."

  "Taking lives is not something I enjoy, though circumstance has made me quite proficient at it." Trey appeared in front of him. "Set her free and I will return the favor."

  Frederick drew his long dagger. "Why did you not extend Brandon such mercy?"

  Trey vanished again into the mist. "Because he had nothing I wanted, and he dared to harm those under my protection."

  Gripping his dagger, Frederick spun in a circle trying to locate Trey. "Perhaps if you ceased playing these foolish games I might consider your request." He licked his dry lips, drawing together in his mind the words of a spell.

  He spoke them as Trey appeared again before him—and went as pale as the mist around them when the spell crumbled as though it had never been spoken.

  Trey stepped closer, mist rippling around him like fabric. The mist flashed silver as Trey stabbed him, and Frederick collapsed to the damp ground beside his fallen comrade.

  Beside them Trey fell to his knees, clutching at his chest, eyes closed tight in pain. He screamed. The sound of it swallowed by the mist that shimmered and then flashed bright around him.

  Shakily, he stood, a hand still pressed to his burning chest. "Remind me not to try that one again," he whispered softly. He likely would not survive it a second time. Around him the voices bound in stone and mist whispered their assurances. Trey retrieved his sword, cleaned and sheathed it, sparing the dead mercenaries not a single glance as he threw open the door and all but ran down the footpath to the garden.

  The garden and all around it was dead. Perhaps the faintest thread of life remained in the trees, but it was not enough to sustain the spell that kept Dunstan safe in stone. The wall of thorns was falling apart, and Trey easily made his way through it.

  Inside, the statue had lost its timeless luster. The gray marble was fading, showing the age that it had never shown before.

  If the original curse lingered, there was not much Trey could do to prevent it from finally taking hold of its victim. He approached the statue, feeling heat where before he had only felt the slightest bit of warmth. Stone turned pliant beneath his touch, gray softening into white skin and fine wool.

  Dunstan fell forward as the spell finally died, his shuddering breaths warm against Trey's neck. He was still for a moment, then his fingers gripped the fabric of Trey's old tunic and slowly he lifted his head. Eyes so dark they appeared black gaped at Trey. "Am I free? Are they gone? Is my family safe?" And suddenly he seemed to realize who held him. "Lord Trey…" He shuddered, closing his eyes against the bad memories that assaulted him. "Everything was so strange…like I was here and yet not. I only vaguely felt things. But…I…my last thought was of you…and then I dreamt you were near. It made things easier to bear."

  Trey let out a soft sigh of relief. "It would appear the curse has, at the last, failed completely. Welcome back, Dunstan." He pushed the hood from Dunstan's head, hand lingering a moment too long in his night-dark curls.

  The smile Dunstan gave him as he caught Trey's hand and held it fast was the same he had worn as a statue. "My family is safe?"

  "They are safe and sound asleep."

  Dunstan shook his head. "You always did prefer solitude, even when going into danger."

  "A necessity more than a preference."

  "Why a necessity?" Dunstan nuzzled into the hand that stroked his cheek.

  Trey smiled faintly. "Though I know not how, I think you know."

  "You did not want anyone to know you are a Child of the Mist."

  "How?" Trey asked.

  Dunstan's dark eyes looked into Trey's pale ones. "Because I followed you. At first it was nothing more than the workings of a child's imagination. You looked to me like some lost sage in the mist. It was only later that I realized it was truth and not fancy. As I studied and learned and watched."

  "I did not know I had a second shadow." Trey smiled.

  "I worked hard to ensure you remained unaware."

  "Why?" Trey whispered. "All this time…we both…"

  Dunstan laughed and shook his head. "I was scared. What had I to offer a Child of the Mist?"

  "My thoughts were similar…" Trey shook his head, bewildered. Then he smiled slowly, voice soft. "Shall I tell you a secret of the Children of the Mist and Moon?"

  Dunstan tilted his head into Trey's hand, confused. "Of what secret do you speak?"

  "Of when the Children vanished, never to be seen again. It was suspected that many disguised themselves as sages."

  "Yes…" Dunstan said slowly.

  Trey laughed. "They did not. For would that not be the first place to look? The Children hid where they were least expected, and where they too could be protected."

  Dunstan shook his head, not understanding.

  "They became knights, and lived to protect the sages—who in turn hid the truth of their knights errant from the world and kept them safe from those Children that had given themselves over to the Mist." Trey pulled him closer, wrapping his free arm around Dunstan's slender waist, and ducked his head to speak to Dunstan alone, his words not reaching the mist that shimmered around them. "I would be your knight, if you would be my sage."

  Dunstan's arms reached up to twine around his neck, lips brushing whisper-soft over Trey's cheek. "Yes, please. Yes!"

  Trey turned his head and caught the lips that had brushed his cheek, tasting warmth and sweetness and the tang of magic. His fingers tangled in dark curls and soft fabric, drawing Dunstan as close as possible, until he knew nothing but the sage he had always wanted, and the voices in the mist faded.

  1The Knight and the

  Prince

  "I don't care, I don't care, I don't care." Victor closed his eyes and chanted the words over and over again, sometimes aloud, sometimes to himself.

  When he opened them again, he still wanted to scream.

  He did care. Very much. And as soon as he finished cleaning his room for the hundredth time, he was going to find the asses responsible and kick them around the training grounds until they were black and blue from head to toe. Well, he would if he had not promised Trey he would avoid that sort of fighting. He would just wait until drills and kick them around then.

  "Bastards," he mutteredthrowing his training leathers and sword on his bed—which had been completely wrecked. They'd even thrown his furs on the floor. The dusty, damp sections not covered by a rug, so now his bedding was dirty in addition to everything else.

  The ticking was a mess, the furs were filthy, the tapestry had been torn from the window. His clothes were strewn about, his boots—he could not even find three of them. His medicine chest had been upended, the pillows thrown about, ashes from the fire raked out and added to the mess.

  Victor closed his eyes again and counted slowly backwards from one hundred as Dunstan had taught him.

  It was not helping. This was the third time this week his room had been torn apart, and he had to be ready for the ball in just three hours' time. It would take him that long to right the mess, never mind the time it would take to clean his clothing.

  His eyes burned as he worked, and he blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear his suddenly blurred vision.

  Why did they think it was funny? Was it a crime to want things neat instead of messy? He spent all day in the grass and the dirt, getting sweaty and hot and sore. Did he not have the right to come back to his clean room and rest a bit?

  Angrily Victor snatched up a shirt covered in ashes—then let out a long, loud string of curses.

  They had even ruined the incense Dunstan had given him for his birthday!

  Victor gave up cleaning and abruptly sat down, burying his face in his hands, fingers tangling in his unruly orange-red curls. He hated his hair, all springy and curly a
nd bright. It wasn't dark and handsome like Morgan's, oh no. He had to have hair the color of some festival tunic or gown. Sure, Dunstan said it was pretty. But Dunstan was supposed to say that.

  He did not have the patience for it tonight. All day he had worked, only to return to this disaster. There was no way he could clean his clothes again to be ready for the beginning of the festival.

  Trey would be mad at him later, but Victor couldn't bear to stay there for one more moment. Victor rose and retrieved his leathers and sword. He took the servants' hallways and stairs, sneaking out the back of the castle and then around to the stables, dressing as he went.

  No one was about. Not really a surprise—everyone was eager for the ball that would open the Autumn Festival. Victor focused on sneaking out of the castle, and not on his ruined velvet tunic and brand new boots covered in soot and dust.

  Damn them all anyway.

  He led his horse from the stable, urging the black charger to a full gallop only when he was well clear of the castle walls.

  Eventually he slowed, stopping completely when he came to the brook that signaled the beginning of the forest that stretched all the way to the border the North shared with the South and West.

  Victor knelt by the brook and scooped water into his hands, drinking deeply before falling back on the bank and gazing up at the star-strewn sky. Around him the wind rattled the dry leaves that were already red and brown and gold for autumn. The cry of a hawk made him turn, and he smiled at the dark shadow watching him from the branch of a tree as he stood. He held out his arm and the hawk flew to it. He stroked the white feathers of her breast.

  "Hail, Luna. How fairs the hunting?" He smiled and murmured quietly to her for a few more minutes, then laughed as she began to grow restless. "Thank you, beautiful lady. I shall see you later." He threw his arm up, launching her into the sky, and watched as she rose higher and higher, vanishing out of sight.

  He sighed again and stretched out in the grass, mind consumed once more by unhappy thoughts. If he could just make it to the Winter Festival, he could see Trey and Dunstan again. Why could he not just go home? He rolled over on his side, light-blue eyes sliding shut…

  *~*~*

  Victor sat up with a jerk, looking around anxiously.

  Was that a scream? He scrambled to his feet, loosing his sword in its scabbard and mounting Briar. Another faint scream—was there more than one?—broke the still night. Victor urged Briar forward, and they raced through the woods, following the sounds that grew ever louder.

  At last they broke into a clearing, a wide field that had been made into the sight of a battle.

  Victor paused at the threshold, examining the combatants—then spotted a crest he knew could not be right on of one the knights attempting to attack a man who was half-running, half-stumbling in Victor's direction. Drawing his sword, Victor spurred Briar forward, taking the attacking knights by surprise, sending one to the ground and the other clutching a deep wound and clinging to his horse for dear life as it sped off blindly into the woods.

  "Grab my hand," Victor shouted, and the man who had been running obeyed without hesitation, swinging up behind Victor as he turned his horse. Reaching into a small pouch at his waist, Victor grabbed a handful of a fine, shimmering, white powder and threw it into the air. "Mist!" he cried, then urged Briar on with his heels. Behind them the fine powder lingered in the air, the wind catching it and turning the powder into a thick mist. "Hold tight!" Victor shouted back to the man, who was already clinging to him for dear life. Tightening his own grip, Victor bent low over his horse as Briar raced through the forest.

  The sun was rising before they broke free of the forest into a wide field. Far on the horizon was the image of a structure—the castle. Somehow or another they'd wound up much farther west than they should have. "Briar!" He glowered at his horse as he dismounted and led him to drink at a nearby stream. "You are going to be the death of me. You weren't supposed to take us here, you dratted horse."

  "Thank you," the stranger whispered as he slid from Briar's back. "I owe you my life."

  Victor blinked. Blinked again. "You—you are Eastern!" And now he felt silly, for looking at the man was enough to tell he was from the East Kingdom.

  The man smiled. "Yes, I am."

  "Wh-what are you doing here?"

  The stranger shook his head, long black hair swishing across his back and spilling over his shoulders. "I should be in the South, but I would hazard to say we accidentally made our way quite a bit more North than we should have."

  "More than a bit," Victor said. "You are but a few miles from the royal seat."

  The man winced visibly. "I had no idea they had forced us so far off course." He sighed heavily. "What a mess this has become."

  "The West is good for causing trouble—though you probably already knew that. Just wait a little while, and we will be able to get help from the castle." Victor walked toward the center of the clearing, tilting his head up to look at the sky.

  Above them a hawk was circling, spiraling downward and eventually landing on Victor's outstretched arm. He stroked her feathers. "Hail, Luna. That's my girl." Reaching into a small pouch at his waist, Victor tied a small strip of red ribbon around the hawk's foot. "Take it to Topaz, Luna." Victor launched her into the air and watched for a moment. He turned back to the stranger. "You are not hurt, are you? I should have tended to that first." He bit his lip.

  The man shook his head. "Merely a few scrapes and bruises, nothing of consequence. You have my eternal gratitude, sir knight."

  "I am Victor of Bellewood, Knight of the North." Victor sketched a bow. "At your service."

  "I am Amir of the East." Amir returned the bow, hair falling over his shoulder like dark water.

  Victor started. "A prince?"

  "Indeed." Amir seemed amused. "I was on my way to visit the Southern Queen."

  "Why?" Victor shook his head. "But it is not my place to ask such questions. Are you certain you are all right, Highness?"

  "I am fine. And please, Amir is fine. I could not demand formality of the one who saved my life."

  Victor brushed the words aside. "It would have been more commendable if I had saved your men as well."

  Sorrow filled Amir's face. And anger. "Retribution will have to suffice. First we must get word to my family and explain to them what has occurred." He looked at Victor. "I was attacked in the North, by knights who looked as though they wanted to be thought of as Northern."

  "They were Western!" Victor said furiously, angry at the knights who had dared to try and incriminate him and his comrades.

  "So I realized when I saw you," Amir said calmly. "I had thought it rather strange anyway. Though now I wonder what the West is about."

  Victor waved the questions aside. "Come, we must get to the castle. We are only safe in the forest until they manage to find us again. If they were able to drive you this far off course, I have no doubt they can track us even through the mist."

  Amir nodded and climbed up behind Victor, arms twining around his waist. "About that mist—how did you do that? I have never heard of magic like that outside my own country, though it is not quite the same thing. I thought Northern magic was a matter of incantations."

  "It is. A real sage would not need the powder to cast a spell. But I am no sage. I merely have an affinity with the powder. My fathers believe it is because I grew up surrounded by so much magic."

  "It was most impressive, as is your hawk. My brother would be jealous you have such a fine bird so well trained." Amir was quiet a moment, then spoke again with humor in his voice. "Though really, I think it is of me my brother would be most jealous." He smiled at Victor. "There is much about this situation he would find favorable."

  Victor frowned, confused. "What do you mean? I cannot imagine there is anything about this situation one would find favorable."

  "It is true I would rather this night had not occurred, as it has cost several lives, many of them friends." Amir smiled. "Howe
ver, my brother believes in taking advantage of all opportunities. It is why he misbehaves so much. But I am confusing you with my ramblings. Ignore me. That truly is a beautiful raptor, and so well trained."

  Victor smiled softly. "She is not trained. I found her injured when I was a child and nursed her back to health. Luna has been my companion ever sense."

  "You are remarkably gentle for a knight," Amir said softly.

  Victor flushed anew, unconsciously tensing at the words. He tightened his grip on the reins, urging Briar on, waiting for the barb or the laugh that always followed the observation that he was not exactly what a knight should be.

  "I meant no offense, forgive me." Amir still spoke softly, but his voice carried over the rush of wind and the smacking of branches against them, the pounding of Briar's hooves in the earth. "In my country, it is a compliment. I forget that elsewhere it is an insult for a man to be thought gentle."

  "No," Victor pulled Briar to a halt. "There is no offense taken. I thank you for your kind words. Now be silent. The forest is too quiet, and I do not trust it." Reaching into his pouch, Victor pulled out a small handful of the fine powder he had thrown before. But rather than out, this time he threw it up. "Shadow," he whispered. The powder fell down upon them, a soft, dry rain. "Briar, take us home. Highness, hold tight."

  "Amir," he insisted before falling silent.

  They rode in silence, Briar charging through the dark woods as though they were an empty field, the moonlight above offering just enough light to make the shadows in the forest deeper. Nearly an hour later they finally broke from the trees. Victor dismounted as they crested a hill, shoulders sagging in relief to see not only Luna, high above in the air, but several knights thundering toward them, following her.

  Amir cried out behind him and Victor turned in time to see the prince fall. "Highness! Amir!" he rushed forward, catching Amir before he hit the ground. He hissed in dismay at the sight of the arrow jutting out of Amir's shoulder. "Steady, Amir." Before Amir could tense, he reached back and tore the arrow out, holding Amir close as he screamed and shuddered in his arms. He looked up as the knights appeared, forming a circle around them. "Topaz!" he cried, relieved to see the dragon. "I think the arrow was poisoned."