There were four of them, large, unwashed men dressed entirely in black. Not Welsh this time, they had the look of mercenaries; being one himself, Kenric thought he might have fought beside them or against them in one skirmish or another. Behind him, Megan sat stiffly, wary and ready for whatever might happen.
Kenric sat motionless while he calculated the odds. He would go down fighting before he would willingly let them take his lady.
His lady. The thought gave him pause then, because he had no time to dwell on it, he pushed it away. To all appearances, Megan was a lad, nothing more. As long as she did not give herself away, she would be safe.
He hoped.
"What do you want?"
The leader cocked his head, considering him. "That depends."
There was something familiar about the man, devil take him. Kenric stared hard at him, trying to remember. He would not ask again. Right now the key was to appear unafraid. They might respect that.
Then again, he knew not how much honor these men had. They might respect nothing but their right to take what they wanted. He thanked God he did not carry much gold.
The leader urged his horse forward. "What do you have that we might want?"
He was a big man, dark of hair and eyes. His face wore the weary, jaded expression of a man who has fought one too many battles, uncaring of the outcome. The face that Kenric hoped and prayed he would not wake one morning and see staring back at him from a mirror.
Still the hair at the back of his neck rose, warning him of great danger.
"I am a hired sword, like you." Hand still clenched around his sword, Kenric gave a casual shrug. "I have nothing of value."
"That is a fine horse for a man with nothing."
Kenric set his jaw and swallowed. He would fight to the death before he would allow any man to take his horse.
"He is a horse, that is all." To any listening, it would appear he did not care. "But necessary for me to earn my living." With these words he told them he would not give up Lancelot - the war horse - easily.
Several of the other men nodded, murmuring among themselves. To a man, they understood the need for solid horseflesh.
Still, Kenric saw the way the leader looked at his war horse.
Behind Kenric, Megan squirmed uncomfortably. He prayed she would stay still and quiet, at least until the danger was past.
Kenric kept his hand on the hilt of his sword.
"I am Kern." The leader finally said, his avid gaze sliding past Kenric to Megan.
"Kenric."
One of the others, a tall, dark man with dead eyes, leaned forward, his gaze intent and sharp.
Kern's eyes narrowed, letting Kenric know that he had heard the name. "What of the boy?"
Kenric forced a smile, though he knew it to be little more than a baring of teeth. "He is my brother's son. I take him with me to teach him the trade." He felt a pang of sorrow as he spoke the lie. His brothers - and their sons - were all dead.
The leader threw back his shaggy head and laughed. "Then you go the wrong way, Kenric. We ride west, to join the English Baron Aldridge. He amasses an army and, rumor has it, pays well."
They were late. Kenric himself had collected his payment from the very same Baron after successfully helping him wage war on a neighboring keep. But he could not tell the other mercenaries this; they would know he had gold and would try to relieve him of it. No matter that he had very little on him. They would merely torture him - and Megan - until they located the whereabouts of it.
"This I know. I merely ride into the village for supplies before joining him." He forced himself to chuckle, a harsh sound utterly without humor. "And it has been a long time since I have had a woman."
This brought guffaws from all four of them. Kenric took a guess that they had just left the same village after partaking in similar fleshy pleasures.
"We will meet up later then." Kern seemed to be taking his falsehoods for truth. Behind him, Kenric heard Megan expel a sigh of relief. He would not let down his guard until the men had ridden off.
Kenric's war horse stamped his hooves, shaking his head and making the bridle jingle. The other's mounts appeared restless too, one horse sidestepped nervously, another pawed the earth.
The mercenaries muttered among themselves, something that surely did not bode well for Kenric and Megan.
"I would have your horse." Kern announced in a loud voice.
Kenric lifted his sword. "I would rather keep him." He kept his tone polite. He still hoped, somehow, that a real confrontation could be avoided. Were it to come to a battle, with he against four, he would surely lose.
One of the other men, a huge shaggy haired fellow,
laughed. "Methinks he spoils for a fight."
"Aye." One of the others, the man who had taken notice of Kenric's name, spurred his horse forward. With his narrow face and cold, empty eyes, he was the sort who fought only because he had nothing else to do. Who cared not if he lived to see another sunset and took little pleasure in life, or war, or anything for that matter. This utter lack of caring would make him deadly as a warrior.
Kenric was uncomfortably familiar with his kind; he himself had come too close to becoming one of the same. But there was something else about this man, something that hinted of great evil, of a dark rot festering in the soul. Kenric did not like this, not one bit. He had fought many men, some of them truly evil, but none wore the darkness about him like a cloak as this man did.
"Oh, leave us alone." Megan's cross voice, sounding childishly shrill, rang out.
Kenric winced. God's blood, did she not realize how utterly feminine she sounded?
Kern narrowed his gaze. "Does your insolent whelp of a nephew issue a challenge?"
Behind him, Kenric felt Megan stiffen as she realized the full import of her words.
"Nay." He answered for her, cuffing her lightly on the arm in warning. "He is but a rash, impatient lad. He is
unschooled in battle and useless in a fight."
This caused another roar of laughter, though Kenric noticed the man with the blank eyes simply stared, expressionless.
"Show yourself, lad." Kern called, false joviality
in his voice. "I would see what manner of boy dares challenge such seasoned warriors."
Kenric could feel Megan tremble as she peeped out from behind him. Most likely she was terrified. He longed to comfort her, but he dared not. As long as she held silent, he might yet be able to figure a way out of this.
Instead, to his utter disbelief, Megan began talking. "You should be ashamed of yourselves."
Kern cocked his head. "What's that?" He grinned, a wolfish evil smirk. "Does the little pup yap?"
"You're damn right I do." She growled, her voice shaking with anger. "Why don't you bullies go pick on somebody your own size?"
CHAPTER NINE
Stunned, Kenric realized Megan trembled not from fright, but from rage. What was this? She'd always seemed such a sweet, docile little thing. What a time for her to choose to exhibit this side of her nature.
Luckily for them, the mercenaries found humor in her words.
"He seems about the same size as me." One of them pointed at Kenric, his eyes crinkling with laughter.
"Or me." Said Kern, no humor in his voice or expression. “We will fight you, whelp. Step down.”
"Four to one are not fair odds." To her credit, this time Megan kept her voice low-pitched, so that she might pass for a green boy. But her next words were so totally feminine that Kenric didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.
"For shame." She scolded, even going so far as to shake her finger at them. "What would your mothers think of your actions? My guess is that they would scold you."
After a moment of stunned silence, the four mercenaries exchanged looks. Kenric tightened his fingers around the hilt of his sword, certain now that he would need to use it.
"Our mothers?" This from Kern, his voice ringing with disbelief. "I have not seen my mother since I wa
s about your size."
The others laughed. All except the man with the dead eyes. A coldness settled around his features, an utter chill that spoke of death and winter. When he spoke for the first time, Kenric knew his instincts had been right. The man was trouble.
"Something is not right here." The dark man intoned, his voice as flat as his expression. "Tell the boy to step down from the horse."
Kern did not hesitate one second before seconding the other's order. "Step down. Now."
Kenric had no choice, he could not defend her if she was on the ground while he stayed astride. When Megan would have obeyed, he put a hand on her arm to stay her.
"He will not." Letting his gaze linger on the man with the dead eyes, his voice rang with challenge. He was done with the verbal sparring. If they wished to fight, he would have it over with. "Let us pass."
Behind him, Megan clutched at his shoulder. With an effortless motion, he shifted his weight so that she was once again hidden behind him.
"Let us pass." He repeated.
Kern laughed. "I think not."
Megan leaned around him, ignoring the warning glare he shot her. "The other men we met a few days, er - a few months ago, left us alone once they found out who Kenric is." Though she spoke bravely, her voice trembled. “He is Kenric of Blackstone. Now will you leave us alone?”
Kern looked at them, then at the man who reeked of evil. "What say you?"
The dark man narrowed his eyes. "Kenric of Blackstone." His voice seemed layered, somehow profane, the threat thinly veiled. "I have waited a long time to find you. We have unfinished business, you and I."
"We want no trouble." Kenric elbowed Megan, sensing she was about to speak.
"What of the others, the men you met earlier?" Kern sounded puzzled. "We have been in this place for a fortnight and have encountered no others."
"They were Welsh." Dismissing them with a wave of his hand, Kenric kept his eyes on the other man, the man who, he now recognized, was the biggest threat. "They had no stomach for a fight."
Again Megan opened her mouth. Again he sent her a warning jab, this time his elbow in the ribs. Behind him, she gasped.
Kern glanced at his men, his gaze lingering overlong on the man in the back. "Mayhap we want to fight."
Kenric did not respond. Instead, he dug his heels in the war horse's side and rode around them.
Though he now doubted they were much of a threat, except for the evil one, still he kept his hand on the hilt of his sword. He would not entirely trust these men until they had ridden off and were but specks on the horizon.
They nearly made it past. Nearly. But as they rode by the man Kenric had deemed the most dangerous, the man with the dead eyes reached out and, with one swift blow, knocked Megan from the back of the horse.
She cried out, forgetting in her terror that she was supposed to be a boy, and her shriek was undeniably female. Kenric spun the war horse about, too late, and could only watch helplessly as she was nearly trampled under the other man's stout beast. The cap she'd crammed over her shorn locks went flying, as did the small pack she'd clung to ever since he'd found her nearly frozen in his cave.
Rage filling him, Kenric's first inclination was to attack them all. His second was to vault off his horse and assist her. Since this would give him a worse disadvantage than he already held, he simply kept his sword arm ready. With the other he directed Megan to a small rock outcropping nearby. "Wait for me there."
Her expression grim, she did as he asked, hobbling away quickly, looking rather like a wounded sparrow. There was no possibility that the other men might mistake her for a young boy now, not when her vulnerable femininity was exposed for all to see.
The choice had been taken from him now. He would have to fight. Hell, he wanted to fight, to avenge the insult that had been given. As long as he could reign in his magic.
With a warning look at Megan, he drew his sword. The silver blade gleamed in the bright sunlight.
Kern grinned, drawing his own blade. After a moment's hesitation, two of the other men followed suit. Only one man, the man who had dared to knock Megan to the ground, did not.
"Draw your sword." Ignoring the others, Kenric challenged this man. If he had to die fighting, he would kill this one first.
"I have no sword." The other replied, a gleam in his cold gaze.
This gave Kenric pause. No man, if he wanted to live past the first flush of youth, went swordless in these times. What kind of fool was this man? Did he wish then, to die?
"Borrow one." Kenric inclined his head towards the others, all with their blades drawn. "Defend yourself."
"He has no need of a weapon." Kern boasted. "Myrddin can kill with a wave of his hand and a word."
From the ground, Megan made a strangled sound of
agitation. Kenric watched her as she stared at Myrddin like she had seen the devil himself. Did she know this man? Perhaps he had fought for her Lord Roger. Though if he were a well-known mercenary, Kenric would have known it.
Myrddin. Though not a mercenary, the name seemed so familiar. Kenric couldn't remember, but he could swear he had heard Rhiannon mention that name before. Perhaps this Myrddin had locked horns with her, in some sort of magical contest.
A mage then. With a Faerie Queen for a sister, Kenric did not doubt that this man knew many powerful spells. But, from the look in this man's face, he also knew that the other drew his strength from the dark, not the light. Like the renegade Faeries who had murdered his family.
Eyes narrowed, he wondered if this Myrddin had been part of it.
One of Kern's men, overeager, spurred his horse forward.
"Halt." Sharp and deadly, Myrddin's voice carried a
hundred times more authority than Kern's.
Instantly, the warrior halted. As if frozen. All of them, Kern included, looked toward the mage and waited.
"He is mine." Myrddin hissed, the words seeming to echo off the rocks. "He seeks to steal my birthright, thus he is mine alone to kill."
The breeze, formerly light and airy, gusted. It seemed to carry a chill. From the west, dark clouds rolled in, turning the bright blue sky the color of slate. A storm was brewing. Kenric could not help but wonder if the dark man had somehow conjured it up for his own nefarious purposes.
Magic. How he hated even the thought of it. Unlike his sister and her people, the magic this one used was dark and foul. Kenric could sense it in the roiling air, heavy with evil.
Magic. Good or bad, somehow he seemed unable to escape it.
If he would but acknowledge it, Kenric had protection; evil spells could not harm him, not with his faerie blood.
Faerie blood. He'd never before accepted it. Never wanted to, never needed to. He'd only wanted to be human, like his father and his half-brothers. Well he could remember them taunting him as a child, calling him changeling and worse. How he had hated that.
Nay, he would be no changeling, no magical thing. Not ever. Especially not since his family had been killed because of what he was. Nay, he would fight as a man and, if necessary, die as a man too. This he had solemnly sworn after burying the bodies of his human family.
Megan made another soft sound, a cry of distress as if she somehow sensed his thoughts. Silently, Kenric cursed. Damnation. He had promised to help her, given her his protection.
The dark magic stifled the light, blotted it out, making breathing difficult.
Soon it would impossible to fight. Though fighting would be a waste of time against dark power such as this.
Only Magic could do prevail, against one such as this. His sword contained magic, magic he could use without invoking any of the Faerie magic that tainted his soul and threatened to overwhelm him.
He would use the sword only. The sword and its own magic would have to be enough.
The sky grew blacker; the chill more biting. Even from the back of his war horse, he could see that Megan shivered. Though Kenric did not believe in such things, if this was a portent, it was a
n ominous one.
The dark man stared at him, one corner of his mouth twisting into a mocking smile. "Are you so ready to die, brother of Rhiannon, reluctant mage?"
"Rhiannon?" Ah, he hadn't been wrong then. His sister and this man were known to each other.
Myrddin laughed. "Aye, I know her well. And for you I have searched long and hard."
Many men boasted before battle; Kenric surmised that for some it was a way to hide their fear. Too, some thought to goad their opponent, hoping that anger would overtake caution and provoke recklessness.
This man, with his dead eyes and hate-filled expression, did not merely boast. Kenric sensed he meant every word.
Four against one. Not impossible. He had faced down such odds once before and won.
"Nay, one against one." Myrddin told him. Then Kenric knew that the other had somehow read his thoughts.
"You and I. And our powers." His smile chilled Kenric's blood.
"I have no powers. Choose a weapon." If Myrddin would not fight with swords, perhaps he might be willing to do close combat, with a dagger or a knife.
"I have chosen it." Myrddin laughed, his eyes glittering. He made a small gesture with his hands, somehow obscene, and lightening flashed over the plains. "Magic."
Magic. He had only to call upon his faerie heritage for help.
With every ounce of his being, Kenric resisted. He had disavowed magic. He would not, could not, abandon every principal he had spent his life trying to hone.
He was human, a man. If the magic lay inside him, inherent, so be it. He would not call upon it, would not let
it consume him, turn him into some kind of monster.
Fear wide and trust widened Megan's amber eyes. She trusted him. Kenric forced himself to look away from her. He turned to face the wizard. With a smooth motion, he raised his heavy sword, feeling it hum with power.
"Fight, damn you." Gritting his teeth, Kenric issued the challenge.
The wind began to shriek and howl, buffeting him like a leaf clinging to a tree branch.
"The battle commences." Myrddin's twisted smile left no doubt that he meant it. "Now."
Kern and his other two men retreated, backing their mounts until they were a godly distance away. Near Megan.
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