“We will see,” said Katrina, trying to disguise the fact that she was shaking all over, “but now, you must rest. You have a fever, and have lost a great deal of blood.” Although he had kissed her, setting her heart beating out a furious tattoo, she knew that it would be foolish to imagine him still wanting to be with her once the danger was past. “As both my parents are now dead, I have been thinking of visiting my aunt in the east,” she said, attempting a steady voice, “and perhaps it might be the time to do that when those men have gone and the castle is yours again.”
They remained where they were, his head resting against her and she holding him close dreaming impossible dreams of what it might be like to spend the rest of her life with this young man.
There had been no noise from outside the secret passage for what seemed to Parlan like a lifetime. But only one day had passed and although still weak, the fever had at least subsided. He had never run away from his duties, and now he had to assess the extent of the damage and the casualties himself.
“A king owes it to his people to be standing beside them not cowering away in a hidey-hole, like a timid mouse when a cat is on the prowl,” he said, attempting to stand.
Katrina helped him to his feet and offered her arm for support as they walked towards the stone doorway. There was no discernible movement or voices as Parlan peered through a spy-hole to find an apparently empty passageway beyond.
“I am going to chance it,” he spoke softly, “you should stay here, there’s no point in us both being killed if the marauders are lying in wait.”
“Not on your life, I’m coming with you,” she insisted, “besides, you are still weak. Who else is going to be your crutch?”
They grinned at each other in the semi-darkness as Parlan released the catch holding the wall in place. The corridor was indeed empty, at least of the living. The spread-eagled bodies of some of the maids and servants slaughtered by Aurek’s men were scattered along its length. They lay on the stone floor in puddles of congealed blood, horribly butchered for no reason other than the cruel whim of a madman. Katrina gasped, closing her eyes to the carnage, many of the slain had been her friends as well as work mates, people she had laughed and played with during happier peaceful times.
“I will not rest until they have been avenged,” vowed Parlan, his burning eyes locking onto the girl’s own, which were brimming with tears. “As soon as I can raise an army, I will hunt them down like the wild animals they are.” They were lucky enough to encounter none of Aurek’s men as they made their way around the castle, but halfway along one long passage, distinct footsteps marched towards them. Parlan halted them both, removed his arm from Katrina’s shoulder, and drew the dagger from his waistband.
“Run away and hide,” he said, staggering slightly on his still unsteady legs. “I don’t want you harmed.”
Katrina replaced a firm arm round his waist, as he lurched against the wall. “No, my lord, I will stay. If I am to die, it will be at your side.”
Four bloody and dishevelled figures rounded the bend in the passageway, three men and a girl. They stopped in their tracks when they found themselves confronted by Parlan wielding a dagger.
“Sire,” breathed the girl with relief, “we thought you were dead. We saw you stabbed by a sword then struck by an arrow”
“Dead I might be if not for this brave girl’s help,” smiled Parlan, re-sheathing the dagger. “Have the invaders gone?” “They have, my lord,” confirmed one of the men, “but all the villagers who survived have been taken prisoner. They were strapped to carts and wagons and led away. I overheard a remark that they were to be sold into slavery.” “Make your way to the West Wing,” instructed Parlan, “take with you anyone you encounter along the way, we will meet you at the staircase in the Great Hall.”
“Can you help me for a short while longer?” he turned to Katrina, “I don’t think I can make it over to the west-side without your strong arm.” With a glint of mischief and pleasure in her eyes, Katrina once more draped his arm across her shoulders and took up his weight. “Since you are my king, I can hardly refuse. But I’ll have you know that I’m quite fussy who I allow to put their arm around me.” His eyes alight with happiness, even though he was in great pain, gazed into hers. “And I am quite fussy who I allow so close to the Royal person. But in your case I have made an exception.”
Darkness had fallen swiftly and it was no longer safe to travel on the roads, so when they saw a stream, Tyler reined Sox to a halt. Nemeila waded into the shallow water and bent down to splash invigorating icy water over her face. She was exhausted, having travelled almost non-stop for most of the day; all she wanted was a soft bed of leaves, a quiet night and some welcome sleep. Tyler unfastened the bag containing their food from around Sox’s neck and led him to the stream to drink. He could see how worn out Nemeila was and insisted she try and sleep for a while. “You close your eyes and by the time you open them again, I will have a fire laid and a meal ready.” She found a gnarled old oak, whose trunk was three times the diameter of her body. Sitting down under its sheltering canopy of foliage, she closed her eyes and almost instantly fell into blackness.
Sleep came, but no rest with it. Her mind was in turmoil of bloodshed, women and children, men bellowing in pain and outrage as they were slaughtered in her dreams. The castle floated before her like an apparition from hell itself; scarlet rivers flowed through the courtyard, the bodies of innocent people scattered like broken dolls. Suddenly there came the worst sight of all, Parlan collapsing to the stones, blood pouring from his upper arm and an arrow protruding viciously from his back. At the gates to the courtyard, sitting arrogantly astride a chestnut gelding, was the man she had seen in her earlier vision. He held an axe dripping with blood, the blade resting upon the toe of his boot. Although his features were now those of a younger man, she sensed the awesome power radiating from him and knew without doubt that this man was the one she had fought and believed she had vanquished: Tobyn, the king’s sorcerer.
She woke trembling and covered with cold sweat, to find Tyler’s strong arms round her shoulders, concern wrinkling his usually unlined brow. “Are you ill?” he asked. “You were shivering and calling out in your sleep.”
“The castle has been taken,” she cried. “Oh Tyler, many people have been killed.”
“Parlan, is he still alive?” Tyler pressed for information about the person closest to his heart.
“I saw him fall, badly injured, but I don’t know if he’s dead.”
Tyler closed his eyes in frustration, cursing the darkness around them, knowing they dare not continue their journey until daybreak.
“If you are well enough, we will ride at first light,” he said to Nemeila, handing her a bowl of steaming soup and a hunk of bread.
They rode as hard as they could, but it was nevertheless mid-morning by the time they reached the avenue of trees leading to the outer bank of the moat. The drawbridge was down, and as they approached, they could see, more clearly than they would have liked, the aftermath of the battle Nemeila had watched take place in her dream. There were no soldiers guarding the gate, and no movement in the courtyard. No sooner had Sox halted at his command, than Tyler was off his back and racing towards the West entrance. Sword in hand, he burst through the doors, almost colliding with a portly servant carrying a flagon of water resting on his paunch. Seeing the sword, the man shrieked, dropped the flagon, which shattered, the water soaked Tyler’s boots, as he turned to flee.
“Where is the king?” Tyler demanded, grabbing a restraining handful of the man’s tunic. Realising how frightened the man was, he sheathed his sword in an attempt to give the man comfort and reassurance.
The man studied Tyler more closely, finally letting out a noisy sigh of relief. “For a moment, I took you for one of our attackers,” he gasped, wiping his sweating face. “The king is gathering everyone by the staircase, at least that’s the word going around.”
“Thank you,” said Tyler, releasing the
man’s coat.
Parlan was listening to some of the tales being narrated by the lucky survivors. Cook was currently centre stage; her dress still covered in flour. She was talking very excitedly of how she had hidden in the flour bin when Aurek’s men had burst into the kitchens, and as she waved her arms about, caught up in the fervour of her story, the swish of her dress left white powdery deposits all over the floor and her nearest neighbours.
Tyler shouldered his way through the throng, to clasp Parlan tightly to him. “I feared, my lord, I would never see you alive again.”
“I might die yet, if these wounds reopen,” Parlan winced, trying to extricate himself from the painful bear hug. He clapped his friend on the back, before placing an arm round his neck to use him as a prop.
“Nemi told me you were injured,” Tyler said.
“Is Nemeila here with you?” asked Parlan, eagerly.
At that moment Nemeila made her entrance. When Parlan spotted her familiar figure approaching, he hastened Tyler forward so that he could greet her. He removed his arm from his friend’s shoulder to use it more pleasurably in hugging Nemeila close to him. “It is so good to see you again,” he enthused, “I only wish it was under happier circumstances.”
“You are alive, Sire. That is the most important thing. Can we find somewhere we can talk quietly?”
“Yes, of course,” agreed Parlan. “But first I would like you to meet the young lady who saved my life.”
He turned to introduce Katrina, but she had vanished. He stopped two passing servants. “The girl standing at my side over by the staircase, do you know where she went?”
“I saw her heading towards the far end of the hall, my lord. Do you want her found?”
“Yes, please,” said Parlan, “and brought here to me.” There had always been rivalry amongst the maidservants who tended the king’s quarters. They all wanted to be in favour with their master and the fact that the current sovereign was young, handsome and unmarried made this position highly sought after. When Katrina first entered the Great Hall with the king’s arm draped across her shoulders and her arm supporting him, her friends were instantly jealous. Snide remarks although spoken quietly, carried to Katrina’s ears. It was as though her friends had suddenly turned against her for being where they would have liked to be. When Parlan walked away with Tyler, it hadn’t bothered her, but seeing his eyes light up with joy at Nemeila’s arrival, followed by his warm embrace of the beautiful girl, Katrina’s heart lurched with disappointment and dismay, as she realised as a common maidservant she was no longer needed.
When a few moments later, one of his valets returned with Katrina, Parlan enquired with perplexity, “Why did you leave me?”
“I believed that now your friend and your Lady had arrived, you didn’t need my services anymore, Sire.”
He clasped her tightly with his good arm, his action refuting her words. “This young lady saved my life,” he said warmly, “without her help, your king would now be dead. Katrina, I would like you to meet my very good friend Tyler.” She curtsied respectfully, although she already knew Tyler from his days spent at the castle when his father had charge of the stables.
“And my other friend goes by the name of Nemeila. She, like you, saved my life, when she despatched Tobyn, my father’s sorcerer.”
Katrina smiled and dropped another curtsey. “I am very pleased to meet you,” she said somewhat doubtfully. “Are you the one who has a wolf for a pet?”
“He is hardly a pet,” Nemeila choked off a laugh, “more like a guardian angel cum eating machine.”
The hall was crowded with people bustling about their tasks, and Parlan, hearing the word ‘eating’, decided the time had come to take his leave and find food. It had been nearly three days since his last proper meal. He summoned Cook and instructed her to prepare food for the four of them She sniffed irritably, realising she was required to wait on one of the king’s chambermaids, but hurried off to do the king’s bidding nevertheless.
Over the meal they discussed the raiders, and how they might rescue those taken into slavery. Nemeila ventured to express her fears, that Tobyn had somehow been reincarnated and it was he who had led the assault. For Parlan the thought of anyone returning to life was an impossible concept, and he voiced his ridicule of this notion. At Nemeila’s insistence, he promised to consider it, but in his heart he knew she was mistaken.
The surviving soldiers nursed serious wounds and Parlan was in no fit state to command an army, even if he had one to command. The outlook loomed bleakly ahead, as Parlan drafted an edict to recruit men to lead an assault on the train of wagons trundling towards the coast. He was grimly aware that if they once reached the sea, they would be beyond his reach, with no way to discover their destination. His heavy heart beat despairingly, knowing that the safety of his subjects lay with him, and unless the gods were willing to come down on his side for once, they would die.
With an equally despairing heart, Ilanthia gazed into one of the monitoring screens, viewing the activity at the castle. She watched her daughter attempting once more to aid the king realising that another encounter with Tobyn, or Aurek as he chose to call himself now, would probably result in her death. He had grown powerful, far more powerful than when she had captured him, he was practically invincible. Her daughter was also growing in power, but as yet she did not have the skill or knowledge to call on the magic and weave the spells that would enable her to battle Aurek and defeat him a second time. With a frown of distress and frustration, she went in search of Eona. Together, she fervently hoped, they might fathom a way of helping her.
“Tobyn was not killed,” Ilanthia explained to the reptilian woman at her side, “he has raised an army that has already destroyed many villages, even the castle of the young king of Kallopia has been ransacked, at the loss of many lives, almost including his own. My daughter means to follow Aurek, the name now assumed by Tobyn, and free the captives he’s taken.”
“Nemeila possesses all your gifts, the difference being she lacks the experience to use them, although I have to admit I was surprised how well she fared against the master sorcerer,” said Eona. “It’s to be regretted that she did not grow up under your tutelage and guidance, but all is not lost. We can both instruct her in the creation and formation of the wards and spells she will need to stand against this Aurek. Contact her telepathically and tell her of our intentions, that while she sleeps, we will insert into her subconscious what she needs to draw upon to fully realise the power she already possesses.”
It had been a long exhausting day. Tyler had been closeted with Parlan and the council members, and Nemi had felt a little out of place in their presence. Parlan had regained some of his strength, but his arm was not yet sufficiently healed to enable him to wield a sword. She went to her sleeping quarters, where she lay down, thankful for a comfortable cot to sleep on.
Her mother’s instructions resonated in her mind as she closed her eyes, advice and guidance on how to overcome her old adversary when she joined battle with him once more. Although she had gained a great deal of knowledge following her time in the pod, there was still much to learn. The familiar voice in her head explained how to bind spells to her will, teaching her the rhymes to command the elements, and how to summon and control the powers she already possessed. The pupil had to learn quickly and remember her lessons exactly, as time was running out. If she made a mistake in the test she would face, there would be no second chance. Every day on waking she put into practice all she had been indoctrinated with the night before. The gardens behind the kitchens were exquisitely landscaped, with an ornamental pond populated with leaping iridescent fish and squat fragrant lilies on plush green pads. She concentrated on the central statue, willing herself to alter the form of the cherub holding an urn as her mother had shown her in her dream. But no matter how hard she tried, the cherub continued to pose on one leg, the urn aloft. She set her mouth in a grim line and scowled at the statue; she would never be able to emulate
her mother, no matter how hard she tried. Suddenly the cherub’s head creaked round to face her, its arms dropped to its side, and the urn tumbled, with a loud splash and a cascade of water and startled fish, into the pond. A mischievous grin replaced the scowl, as she imagined the gardener’s puzzlement. Nemeila wandered further into the deserted peaceful garden; a haven where, had the circumstances been different, she could have spent many a happy hour listening to the birds fussing and gossiping and watching silken-winged butterflies flicking among the blossoms. She attempted to raise a large stone from the pathway; after a first stubborn refusal to budge, it shot into the air. The suddenness of its flight startled her and she lost concentration, allowing it to soar in an arc and fall to earth beside a man pruning roses some distance away. She held her breath as it landed, thankful that it had missed the man. He scanned the garden, looking for the culprit to give him a clip round the ear, but Nemi ducked into a stand of tall swaying grasses before he could see her. After a week of nocturnal lessons and daytime homework, Nemeila approached Tyler. The king had not yet been successful in raising a new army and time was running out if they were to prevent his subjects being sold into slavery on foreign shores.
“How long do you think it will take for Aurek to reach his ships?” she asked.
“At a walking pace, the coast is probably about six or seven weeks distant,” Tyler, replied. “Why?”
“The man who leads the raiders will not I’m sure, just sail away never to be heard of again. He will be back to finish what he started. His aim is to destroy this land either by murdering the population or forcing them out of their homes to starve or die of exposure. I want to go after him, to stop him.”
“That is sheer insanity. He has an army of three hundred men. Do you intend to fight every one of them? I know how you feel, but in the castle we took him by surprise; this time he will be prepared and he will kill you. I won’t let that happen.”
The Wolf and the Sorceress Page 23