The Quest (The Sons of Camelot Book 2)

by Kim Dragoner

  “I think you may finally be getting the true nature of the predicament that you are in, Sir Jofrit,” Nimueh said with a coy smile on her face. “The Pict men kidnapped you so they could ransom you to Leeds for a handsome sum of money. I delayed their efforts by commanding them to bring you here to me first so that I may weigh the political implications of such an action. I mean, what kind of a leader would I be if I allowed a group of silly men to undermine the safety of all who reside here?”

  “True. It is your responsibility to protect these creatures.”

  Perhaps she was getting through to him after all.

  “So, will you allow them to keep you a prisoner for ransom or will you give me the horse in purchase of your freedom and leave the mountains?”

  “I will leave the mountains,” Jofrit said.

  Nimueh smiled. “Well, in that case…”

  “But,” Jofrit interjected, “not without Guerrero.”

  Nimueh’s face turned a deep shade of red as the anger and frustration rose in her veins. Never had a man denied her. It was true that she had had her way with men much stronger than this knight; men of magical beginnings and strengths. Who did he think he was to refuse her?

  “So be it, Jofrit of Leeds!”

  Nimueh stood up and waved her right hand once over her head. Immediately, an invisible force pulled Jofrit to his feet. He was frozen in place as stiff as a board and even though he tried to resist the unseen power, he could not help himself.

  Nimueh turned her palm to the ceiling and raised her hand slightly and with that, Jofrit was raised four inches from the crystal floor and floated across the room to the opening that led outside the cave. Nimueh followed his floating body closely as they walked across a wide field. The pasture led to the edge of a high cliff that overlooked the waters of a lake. In the middle of it was a small mass of land with a single oak growing on it.

  Nimueh stopped at the cliff’s edge but moved her hands away from her body in the direction of the lake and Jofrit’s body floated over the water to the small island in the middle of it.

  When he arrived there, the trunk of the oak tree opened up and received the block of ice which contained the frozen Jofrit inside. Then it wrapped its trunk around the solid pillar and held it as if it were cradling a small child.

  “Well, since you wish to be selfish, Jofrit. Since the horse means more to you than ever seeing your family, your son, again. Let the tree feed you and hold you until someone comes to rescue you and when they do, I will use the opportunity to dismantle Camelot and bring this country to its knees. They will sing songs about you, Jofrit. No one in my new England will be allowed to forget how a new kingdom deposed an old one all because of selfish Sir Jofrit.”

  When Nimueh returned to the crystal cave she kicked the knight’s traveling bags toward the sleeping figures of Dunmor and his brothers.

  “Take those for your troubles so far!” she cried. “That ridiculous man won’t be needing them anymore.”

  “Is he contained then, Lady Nimueh?” Dunmor asked.

  “Yes, he is, Dunmor. He refused to give me the horse in exchange for his freedom.”

  “What should we do with it then? The horse, I mean.”

  “Put him in my pasture of course. It doesn’t matter that Jofrit didn’t give him to me; he is mine anyway. I’ve taken him.”

  “Very well, my lady.”

  “And in the morning, I will need you to set up your usual patrols, use a little of the mists if you have to. I want to know as soon as there is sign of his rescue party arriving in our country. Delay them while you send word to me as well. It is important that I am properly prepared for their arrival. Especially for Merlin, the magician.”

  ***

  Leaving Gyme’s Dyke was, indeed, leaving the civilized world behind. Houses and farms were very rare alongside the road and there were long spans of no signs of civilization. As they went further along, a plain began to open up before them and across that plain, high mountains. They could see sharp, steep slopes covered in greenery rising up ahead of them and ridges winding ever higher toward barren slopes with peaks of capped snow.

  “The Cairngorms,” John whispered, drawing up on the reins.

  The others gathered near him and took in the view before them as well. From that distance, they looked vast and foreboding and John felt a shiver run through him. What sort of savagery was hidden in that vast expanse before them?

  “Aren’t they beautiful?” Alpina said, halting her black mare beside him. “As many times as I’ve seen them, I have never grown weary of their beauty. Surprises, delights and adventures abound along those slopes and in the valley between them. There are springs of the freshest, most delicious water you’ve ever tasted and thick, green grass where a million cattle might be nourished. What say you, Sir John?”

  “They are, indeed, beautiful,” he responded. As he looked more intensely, he noted patches of thick fog spread out across the slopes and hiding some of the ridges and peaks as well. “I’m for the delights and adventures, but the surprises that lie within those patches of fog that make me wary.”

  “But you are a seasoned knight; what surprise could possibly cause you to tremble?” she asked.

  John turned to look at her, expecting to see the mocking expression that he’d grown accustomed to when she spoke to him. It wasn’t there. In place of it was an expression of genuine confusion. He started to answer, but Merlin had broken into the conversation.

  “Wariness is not a bad thing, my dear,” Merlin said. “It prepares the mind and heightens the senses to meet whatever challenge might present itself.”

  “Sir John, though he might tremble,” Thomas joined in, “but he will never turn away.”

  That boost of confidence from Merlin and from his friend was far better than any reply that he might have made. He decided to leave Alpina’s question unanswered. Instead, he restated the reason for their journey once more. “In that expanse, somewhere is my father. We know not where, nor how we will find him once he is freed from his prison. We know not what dangers we will face before he is set free, but for his sake, as my father’s son, I will not quit this journey until either my father rides beside me back to Leeds or my life is snuffed out in the mists.”

  “I pledge the same,” Thomas announced.

  “We are with you, Sire,” the squires answered in turn.

  John turned toward Alpina, no longer avoiding her piercing, crystal gaze. “Will you lead us into those mountains?”

  “I will,” she replied. She hesitated no longer, but lightly tapped her heels to the side of her mare and started out ahead of them.

  Though at a slower pace than a few days before, John touched his spurs to Ganador and started off, drawing up alongside of her. Along with his apprehension was a tingle of another kind running through him and that tingle had to do with what he had seen when he looked into those eyes only moments before. Beauty, strength, confidence and something untamed tugged at a longing that he hadn’t ever experienced before. It made sense for her to be riding beside him.

  “I must offer my apologies.” The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. Once they started to flow, however, he felt no need to stop them. “I realize the error of assuming that you were a common barmaid and chambermaid. It is quite obvious to me now that you are of much nobler birth.”

  The sound of her laughter was musical and it sent a thrill through him.

  “I’m of no noble birth,” she replied, still beaming, but not mocking him.

  “Perhaps not of blood,” he answered, “but of spirit. There are forms of nobility that go beyond one’s lineage.”

  “Sir John.” Her voice took on a grave tone. “I am untamed, but I have courage. I am unrefined, but I have my gifts. I am of genteel heart, but I will savagely protect my own.”

  John had no ready response for her, but he was thrilled by her words.

  “Perhaps I judged too quickly as well,” she said after they’d ridden along
in silence for some minutes. “You are, indeed, noble and worthy of your station.”

  “I’d venture to say,” he began, waving a hand toward the distant peaks. “Whatever lies in wait for us up there will have little regard for station and status.”

  “Sir John, the Cairngorms have regard for no one. There are only three states for one to be in: alive, near death and dead. Those who survive the challenges of these mountains grow stronger and treasure life and beauty more profoundly.”

  John recalled how everything around him had become brighter and more beautiful after having survived the battle against Mordred and his forces. Staying alive had heightened his awareness of the beauty around him and made him treasure life all the more as he looked about him at the thousands lying lifeless. “You have spoken truthfully,” he whispered.

  “The Cairngorms are rugged, Sir John, but for those who learn to live with them rather than fight against them, there is life in abundance flowing through them. You will learn from these mountains, if you will open your heart and mind. Stones and soil are only their outward appearance. Beneath that shell are streams of life and energy.”

  John listened to her words, noting a reverent tone in them, as though she was speaking of some deep and sacred secret. He tried to soak it in, but realized that what she was saying went beyond words. It was the life that flowed through her and that untamed thing that he saw in her eyes. He rode on in eager silence. Though still wary, he was ready for the challenges ahead.

  As they ascended the first slope and he watched the plains begin to fall away behind them, he looked upon the rocks and soil with a new set of eyes. What was beneath that soil and those stones, which gave life to the wildflowers, shrubs and grasses? In Leeds, he had rarely considered such a question. In fact, the countryside around him had been nothing more than scenery or resources to be made use of.

  As the group came to the top of the slope that they had been climbing, they paused to drink in the view. Behind and below them was the plain that they had crossed hours before. The expanse of that view reached toward the sea to the east, but it was the view of the ridges, valleys and mountains before them that took their breath.

  Wide mountain meadows dotted with wild flowers were scattered among forests in valleys and basins that were innumerable. Streams wound their way along the bottom of those valleys which connected in wider valleys below. Above those ridges and valleys, as they rose ever higher, were the bald faces of peaks with patches of snow left over from winter and white crested tops upon which the snow never completely disappeared.

  “We’ll need to descend this slope and make our camp along the stream below,” Alpina announced. “It is best if we get settled in before dark.”

  Alpina’s voice brought them all out of the momentary trance that had come over them; all of them except Merlin, of course. Merlin was, however, quite fascinated with watching their reaction and grinned broadly as he considered how such simple beauty mixed with grandeur could so easily delight a man; even a Knight of the Sons of Camelot.

  Chapter Eleven

  John had slept little on the cold, hard ground. Though he’d spent nights out in the countryside and away from an inn before, he hadn’t been prepared for how cold it was. His blankets and the pad beneath him were simply not enough to provide the necessary comfort to invite sleep. If the lack of those necessities wasn’t enough, his imagination and active mind finished him off. Tested in battle, he was confident up to a point, but there were so many unknowns in the challenges to be faced. There was magic, sorcery and savagery, no doubt, hiding behind every tree stump or boulder. Before dawn broke, he had completely given up on trying to sleep.

  “You’re an early riser this morning,” Alpina commented when she saw him approaching where she was working on building a fire. “I was under the impression that a knight’s squire arose before the knight in order to prepare his things for the day.”

  “Chatburn isn’t up yet?” he asked with a smile.

  “No one is up,” she replied. “Only you and I.”

  “That’s not an entirely terrifying prospect,” he responded. “Although the reason for my early rising is mostly because I don’t believe I slept for even a moment during the night.”

  “Delicate backside?” she laughed softly.

  “My mind and imagination, mostly.” John couldn’t and wouldn’t admit to not being conditioned for sleeping out. He’d become accustomed to it at some point, but the cold was going to be another problem. “That and the cold. I’m simply not accustomed to it.”

  “Did you try keeping your head covered?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure that I understand how that would help.”

  “I’m not sure either, I just know that I was taught to sleep with my head covered when I was cold.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he mused.

  “So, what horrible tricks are your mind and imagination playing on you?” she asked after she’d coaxed a flame to life and began to add fuel which the flames eagerly engulfed.

  “So many unknowns,” he responded. “So many new challenges that I’ve never known before.”

  “Did you fight in Mordred’s War?” she asked.

  “I did,” he replied.

  “Weren’t there plenty of challenges to face during those battles?”

  “There were, but somehow, I was better prepared for those battles. Like I knew what to expect.”

  “How can one expect any particular thing once a battle starts?”

  It was a valid question; one that he did not know the answer to. “I suppose one can’t. I guess that it is the myth and the mist that bother me most.”

  “My story got under your skin, did it?” she laughed.

  “It did,” he replied, joining her laughter. The admission came easily and he was beginning to realize that, like the warmth of the fire penetrated through to his bones and brought him warmth, so had the new-found warmth and comfort that came with Alpina. He meant to say something about how she’d changed, but wasn’t sure how to bring it up.

  “I ought to apologize for that story, I suppose,” she smiled at him.

  As she spoke, she looked up and their eyes locked upon one another. John was certain that she could see right through to his soul and he felt a sense of fear mixed with joy. That lingering glance ended when she turned away quickly.

  It seemed impossible to continue with any other conversation after that moment and John sat quietly, content to be near her as she went about preparing their breakfast. Had he tried to draw up a new conversation, it would have been short-lived, however, because Chatburn, followed shortly after by Dufton, had left their beds and had approached the warmth of the fire to take the chill off before they went on with their morning duties.

  John was not alone in his insomnia; it seemed that everyone but Merlin and Alpina had struggled with sleep and the cold was to blame. None of them were quite prepared for the thin, crisp air. Alpina repeated her advice to all of them as they discussed the matter over breakfast and Merlin suggested a sleeping spell for the coming night. Shortly after dawn, they were on their way once more. Within that first hour of the morning, however, their first challenge rose up before them.

  When John saw the thick fog tumbling down the slope toward them, he tried to steady himself and swallowed the lump in his throat. With his hand on the hilt of his sword, he felt himself being surrounded by the cold, moist air and slowly watched everything around him disappear. So thick was the mist that the ears and head of Ganador were little more than a shadow in front of him and he could certainly not see Alpina or any of the others. He felt as if he was floating.

  All around him had become silent and John could hear nothing but breathing, the creak of the saddles and the sound of the horses’ hooves upon the trail. Suddenly, from in front of him the sweet voice of Alpina started in singing:

  “O waly waly up the bank

  And waly waly doon the brae,

  And waly way by yon burn side

&nb
sp; Where I and my first love did gae.”

  Her voice rang out, penetrating not only through the fog, but also through his fears. It was a sound sweeter than his mother’s lullaby when he was a young child and it soothed him with equal effect.

  “Noo Arthur's Seat shall be my bed,

  No sheets shall e'er be pressed by me,

  Saint Anton's Well shall be my drink,

  Since my fause love's forsaken me.

  'It is not the frost that freezes fell

  Nor blawin' snaw's inclemency,

  'It is not sic cauld that makes me cry

  But my love's heart's grown cauld tae me.”

  The thickest of the fog only lasted a few minutes during which time, Alpina’s sweet voice soothed them and served as a beacon to guide them forward. As the mist became lighter, the scene around them had changed completely, as though they had passed through a tunnel and into another world.

  Looming high above them was an ominous, bald-faced mountain whose somber mien kept a steady watch over them as they passed below. It reminded John of how a cat peered down at a mouse before pouncing upon it and he couldn’t help that his glance tended to return again and again in its direction.

  The trail followed along the top of a narrow, treeless ridge. On either side and all around the slopes below them, the thick fog through which they had passed filled in the valleys and made John feel as though they were atop a cloud. The sensation was frightening, for he felt as though he might tumble off and sink into a bottomless depth.

  “Makes you feel like you’re floating on a cloud, doesn’t it?” Alpina asked, dropping back to ride alongside him. They had ridden single file along the trail all morning and it was a welcome change to be able to ride beside her again.

  “It does,” John replied. “But it sometimes feels as though we might fall off.”

  “It takes getting used to,” she replied. “How do you feel after surviving the mist?”

  “It wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be,” he replied. “Your song was a comfort. You sing beautifully.”