by Alex Archer
“I don’t have it,” Annja said again. “Look in the car for yourself. Go on. I haven’t got it. There was no cloak.” She stepped back to let the woman get through, but instead of leaning in to check the backseat for the treasure, she leaned in and brought her right arm up. She slammed her forearm into the burns on the side of Annja’s face and, as Annja stumbled back, shocked, drove a fist hard into the side of her head that sent Annja to the ground.
Awena stepped over her and delivered a rib-crushing kick.
It was a small mercy that she didn’t drop the muslin sacking from the sword and plunge it into Annja. Gasping for breath she struggled to get up as Awena ran off between the cars. Dazed, Annja crawled to the end of the car, only to be greeted by the blare of a car horn as she very nearly stumbled straight into its path.
She scrambled back to her feet, leaning on the nearest car, and scanned the lot for Awena Llewellyn, but there was no sign of her.
Instinctively, Annja’s gaze went to the wheels of the Porsche as she reached it, but they hadn’t been slashed.
As she stood there, a car roared past so close the wing mirror clipped her arm. Annja wrenched her arm away, wincing, and turned, catching a fleeting glance of the driver and the white-haired passenger in the backseat.
The passenger turned to look at her back through the rear window, face unreadable.
Roux.
Chapter 41
“She tried to trick me!” Awena screamed, slamming her fists on the wheel, then lashing out at the dashboard. Rage seethed through her. She wished she’d hit the woman harder, breaking something in her skull or chest, or just run her down. That would have been poetic. Annja could lay there in the street, her lifeblood leaking out, waiting for someone to come and save her, just like her father.
“Did she?”
“You know she did. You are in this together! That was the plan, wasn’t it? Fool stupid Awena...take advantage of me to get what you want. I should cut your lying tongue out. That would show you.”
“Honestly, what did you expect?” Roux asked.
“I expected her to be honorable. To do the right thing. I expected her to save you.”
“But think about it, Awena, if she’s telling the truth, how could she bring the Mantle of King Arthur with her if it wasn’t there?”
“Stop trying to confuse me, Roux. No one knew it was there. It had to be there.”
“People knew it was there, Awena. I knew it was there, you knew, your father—that’s three of us right there. And someone else knew. A friend of mine. It’s long gone. I should have known.”
“So where is it, then? Where is it if you’re so clever? Take me to it and I’ll spare your life.”
“I don’t know where it is, and the woman who I think moved it has been dead for years, so we can’t ask her.... It is lost to the world.”
“No!” Awena slammed the steering wheel hard, impact-pain shooting up her arm.
“I’m sorry, but that’s the truth.”
“You lie so much you don’t even remember what the truth is,” she spat. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t need it, anyway.”
“Don’t need it for what?”
She ignored his question, accelerating into the road and cutting straight across the line of traffic taking her away from the terminal.
“Your choice. If I tell you I will not be able to let you go. So, decide. I tell you my wicked plan, and you don’t get out of this car. Is that what you want?”
“No, that’s not what I want, Awena. I want everyone to walk away from this while they still can. There’s been enough dying to last a lifetime as far as I am concerned. Believe me, if Annja had the mantle she would have given it to you to free me, even if she knew that I wouldn’t have wanted her to. She’s like a willful child—she never listens to me.”
“You would rather die than let me have it?”
“Don’t take it personally,” Roux said. “I’d rather die than anyone have it, but then I’ve been alive a very long time, so that’s less impressive than it might sound. You need to understand, girl, these treasures are dangerous. They affect people, they change them. Look what they did to your father. You know he killed my friend, but you still remember the man who couldn’t hurt a fly. There’s nothing good that can come out of this. These are weapons from a bygone age. A time of blood and death. You shouldn’t wield that sword. No good will come of it.”
“I see things more clearly.”
“Do you? Are you sure about that?” Roux pressed.
She knew he was just goading her to put doubts in her head. She had no room for them. She was doing the right thing. She was righting a wrong that had festered for far too long.
She glanced in her rearview mirror. The canary-yellow Porsche was unmistakable. It wove in and out of traffic trying to get closer to them.
“She’s gaining on us,” Roux said.
“Then I’ll drive faster.”
“Not forever you won’t. You’re in a tortoise, and she’s in a hare.”
“So what, then? I just pull over and let you out? Or maybe I should jam the brakes on and let her rear end me, then get the sword and finish this once and for all, right here, right now. Is that better?”
“No. Slow down enough for her to get close. Stay near the verge. Let me jump. It’ll look like I’m escaping.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“I’m giving you a chance to end this. She’ll stop to pick me up, and she won’t come after you.”
“She won’t come after me,” Awena repeated. It was a statement, not a question.
“Sooner or later you’re going to have to kill me or let me go. There’s no other conclusion to this. We all know that. So you may as well get it over with. I don’t think you want to kill me, so why not use me? Use my escape to buy you an advantage.”
“Why are you helping me?”
“Because I want to get out of the car alive. Does there need to be another reason?”
He was right. She’d gambled and failed. He wasn’t the key to getting the mantle because Annja Creed didn’t have it. She believed him when he said that the woman would have used it to save him. Why wouldn’t she? He was an old man. She’d come running the moment she thought he was in trouble. It wasn’t Roux’s fault. He could have made things considerably more difficult if he’d wanted to. He hadn’t tried to escape. He hadn’t fought her in any way. He’d been docile, waiting to allow the scene to play itself out. He had acted according to rules when there should have been none.
“Are you sure that she’ll stop for you?”
“I’ll make sure that she does. I’ll buy you time. I can’t promise that she won’t come looking for you, but you’ll have a head start. You have my word.”
“What about the sword? Are you just going to forget about it?”
“I already have,” Roux said.
For the very first time since she’d taken the old man prisoner she wasn’t sure she could believe him.
There was a bend up ahead as the road swept around to the right before leading to a junction. Beyond that there was a choice of several roads, meaning the opportunity to lose Annja Creed. She just wanted this over. It was never meant to be like this.
This wasn’t the life she’d always dreamed for herself.
But that life wasn’t gone for good.
She could still claim it, even if she let the old man go.
She touched the brake, slowing slightly.
“Be ready to jump,” she said. “And pray for a soft landing.”
Chapter 42
Her jaw still stung from the forearm and punch. The coppery taste of blood hung heavy on her tongue. She couldn’t allow herself to be distracted by that. She’d misjudged the woman even though she’d seen her behaving like a sword-wielding ma
niac once before. She shouldn’t have given her the chance to take her out; she should have just reached into the otherwhere for Joan’s sword and put an end to the whole thing right there and then.
But there had been an upside, too.
Awena had tipped her hand early, undoing her own lie. Roux wasn’t on the ferry at all.
And now Annja knew that, which meant she wasn’t about to throw herself between the closing doors and be cut off from the mainland right as things were racing to a head.
While it was still slow going back to the terminal and the ferry, it was basically open road heading the other way with all of the arrivals from the Emerald Isle long since dispersed into the Welsh countryside.
Annja laid a thick coating of rubber on the road as she peeled out of the lot. She was almost half a mile behind Awena, but thankfully there were no other roads until she hit the intersection at the exit ramp. But after that it was anyone’s guess as there were maybe a dozen possible intersections and side roads and crossroads that would eventually fan out all over Wales. It was imperative she catch the woman before she reached the intersection and those opportunities opened up for her.
Mercifully the only other car on this side of road was Awena’s beaten-up station wagon.
The road up ahead began to bend gradually. She closed the gap between them, more so because Awena seemed to be slowing down rather than accelerating into the corner. Annja was close enough to be able to read the decals on the bumper. Brake lights flared red. The station wagon slowed alarmingly. Annja didn’t understand what was happening until she saw the white-haired Roux bundle out of the car and hit the grass verge bone-jarringly hard.
Torn, Annja slammed on the brakes, knowing it meant the woman was getting away, but as she saw his bruised and bloody body come to rest she knew she had to stop. Awena was gone.
“Roux!” Annja yelled, two of the Porsche’s four wheels up on the verge and churning up dirt as she skidded to a halt. She scrambled out of the car and raced to his side. Horns blared at the suicidal maneuver, but were silenced at the sight of Annja helping an old man to his feet. He moved unsteadily, not saying anything until he was buckled into the passenger’s seat.
“What happened?”
Roux was clearly shaken as she helped him into the car. She fumbled in the bottom of her bag and found a tiny pair of nail scissors that were sufficient to free him from the plastic tie around his wrists. The damage was bad. She could see where the plastic had bitten into the tendon. It was going to be a slow, painful healing process. He looked gray and ashen. No sleep, little food. It hadn’t had a flattering effect on him. In fact, it was almost possible to forget he was a soldier and had been all of his incredibly long life.
He shook his head. “Nothing I didn’t intend. Get back into the car.”
“It’s too late. She’s gone. There are a dozen different routes she can take from here.”
“But only one will lead her to where she’s going.”
“Very zen, Roux, but not very helpful.”
He smiled. “There’s only one route where life is concerned, Annja. It’s a river. It flows from birth to death.”
“What are you rattling on about? Did she hit you on the head, Roux?”
That smile again. “I know exactly where she’s heading.”
“Well, why didn’t you just say so?”
“I did.”
Annja gunned the engine and the Porsche roared to life. “So where to?”
“Back to Caernarfon.”
“The mantle isn’t there. She knows that, right?”
“Absolutely. But it’s not about the Treasures of Britain anymore. It never truly was. It was always about what they represented.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. What did they represent?”
“Her birthright.”
“Again, a little more clarity. Some of us weren’t just locked up with a lunatic for twenty-four hours and don’t have the advantage of having them spill their fiendish plan to us, right before we escaped.”
“Her name is Awena Llewellyn. Her father was Owen Llewellyn.”
“Yes? And?”
“Llewellyn is an old name. It’s an old bloodline. It dates back all the way to the last true prince of Wales, Llewellyn the Last.”
“So, what, she’s related to this true prince?”
“Without a doubt. The sword is the clue, the way it reacts to her.”
“The flame?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask how that works. Is it some kind of trick?”
“Not really. Purely scientific, actually, if you understand the forces at play. I’ll explain it all, I promise, but now is not the time. Now we need to stop Awena Llewellyn from claiming what she sees as her birthright.”
“And how do we do that?”
“By preventing the murder of the Prince of Wales,” Roux said.
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“Llewellyn the Last was killed by the English when Wales was subdued. Her father, Owen Llewellyn, believed that the English should be forced out of Wales and control returned to the Welsh. She has inherited his...zeal. I don’t know if the treasures are magnifying what was always there, but I believe she intends to claim her birthright as heir of Llewellyn the Last.”
“Wow, she really has lost her mind.”
Roux shrugged. “Grief can undermine the strongest of us. Her father just died, and she believes he, like their ancestor, was murdered. These are thoughts she’s no doubt harbored since childhood when people kept telling her she was special, that she had the blood of Celtic kings flowing through her veins. And with the recent trauma coupled with the fact that her father’s death coincides with the recovery of not one but two of the lost treasures of her people...it’s not surprising she is fragile.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it.”
“I am nice, most of the time, Annja. Ask Garin. He’ll tell you what I can be like when I’m not being nice.” They had history, of course, the master and student, that extended to the fields of France and the shattering of Joan of Arc’s sword after the two men failed her. Something had happened back there that neither of them understood, though it didn’t really matter.
As long as those fragments of Joan’s sword remained scattered to the four winds they’d been immune to aging—that’s different to immortal, a very fine difference, but different. They could die, brutally and bloodily; they could succumb to poison and any other nefarious means but not time—the one thing that killed everything couldn’t touch them. And when it had become clear to Garin that Roux intended to reforge the sword and thus end the curse that kept them breathing, he’d done everything in his power to kill Roux. What existed between them now was an uneasy sort of truce. It wasn’t trust-based. They were two of a kind. And despite the fact several years had gone by since Annja had set that final piece of the blade in place reuniting Joan’s sword, neither of them appeared to have aged a day. So for the time being, at least, that was a fight they no longer needed to pursue relentlessly. That didn’t mean they entirely trusted each other, either.
“Most of us have black thoughts we allow to fester because we know they will never come to pass. But what happens when we’re suddenly in a position to bring them into reality? Do we suddenly discard them? Probably. But in the right set of circumstances perhaps we embrace them. Awena’s father is dead, murdered in her mind by you, but he brought her the sword. That was his sacrifice. It’s more than just a symbol. It is the last sword of power, and now she is wielding it, feeling it resonate to her touch, feeling it respond to her. She has started to understand the sword is more than just a weapon. It is a tool to bring about her destiny. It is the key to claiming her birthright.”
“All she has to do is kill the prince,” Annja said, finishing the thought for him.
She concentrated on her driving as they approached another junction, double-checking the sign to make sure she wasn’t on a road to nowhere. There was no sign of Awena’s station wagon on the road ahead, but Roux’s reasoning made sense.
As though reading her mind, Roux asked, “Where’s pretty boy, did you lose him?”
Annja had completely forgotten about Garin. “He’s probably halfway to Ireland by now,” she said.
“Do I want to ask?”
“He’s looking for you. Probably one trunk at a time in the hold of that ferry.”
“And neither of you wondered how she’d have been able to board and then just walk off the ferry without triggering some sort of alarm? We live in a world of terrorists, Annja. They don’t just let people on and off ferries these days, not when they could stow a car on board with a bomb in it.”
He was right, of course, but that didn’t make her feel any better. “Let’s just say I was more concerned about trying to find you than thinking of the logistics of how she spirited you away, okay?”
“Sometimes you have to think beyond what you’re seeing and hearing.”
“I know that.”
“Good, then we’ll say no more.”
Well, he didn’t need to. It was a long drive and it was all she could think of.
They would be back in Caernarfon in less than half an hour. She would call Garin then if he hadn’t been in touch.
“So,” Roux asked after a while, keeping his voice light. “There was nothing in the tower?”
So much had happened in less than a day, Annja had almost forgotten they hadn’t spoken about their failed attempts to find the Mantle of King Arthur.
“It looked as if the stones hadn’t been disturbed for a very long time,” she explained, not that it helped.
“I see.” Roux fell silent, just as he had done on the drive to St. Davids.
“But it wasn’t empty,” Annja said, opening the dashboard for the envelope she’d taken from the muslin sack and chamois leather wrap. She’d almost forgotten about it. She handed it across to him. “This was in the bottom.”