Dark Lord of Kismera: Knights of Kismera

by Tamara H Hartl

  He recalled seeing Jumon take a spear in the shoulder, reach up to snap it off close to his body, and continue hacking away with a blood-covered battle axe. He saw Zol go down under the sword of a Zakara who reached down and ripped out his throat.

  Drace pulled Pride to a sliding stop and dismounted and sent the stallion out of the middle of a group of fighting men.

  Tren was gone, as well as several other men. He knew their names and had met some of their families. Anger shot through him, and he fought harder, blood covering his glove until his hand was slick with it. He had lost his shield and fought with sword and dagger. His voice was hoarse from screaming.

  Then he saw Ki and desperately fought his way towards her. She turned to him, calling his name. The wind picked up, roaring in his ears. He could see Ki calling out again but he couldn’t hear her over the storm in his head and his vision went black.

  Drace, bolted upright, vision still blind, drenched in sweat. He couldn’t remember where he was, but heard anxious voices, finally recognizing Cerise’s among the others.

  He gasped and pushed his sweat-dampened hair off his face with a shaking hand. The voices finally stopped and a door closed with a gentle click.

  “Drace?” Cerise whispered. “Hon, are you okay?”

  “Can’t see, I can’t see,” he panted. He made a strangled noise deep in his throat. He felt like screaming, not as a warrior, but as a frightened child and it choked him.

  “Shh, it’s okay sweetie, it’s okay,” Cerise soothed. “I’m going to sit on the bed next to you, alright? It’s just me.”

  He felt her weight settle next to him then her warmth. Drace didn’t realize until then how cold he was. He began to shake all over.

  Cerise touched him gently on his upper arm and became more alarmed with how rigid Drace’s muscles were. She felt the tremors running through him. “It was a dream,” she told him quietly. “Just a dream.”

  “Cerise?” His normally deep voice had an unusual high tone to it.

  “I’m here, D. Right here.” She rubbed her hand over his arm, stroking him as she would a spooked horse.

  “I can’t see anything.”

  Drace was clearly alarmed and Cerise worried it could escalate into a full-blown panic attack. She kept one hand on his arm and reached over to turn on the bedside lamp.

  For a few seconds his pupils shone huge and his teeth were clenched. Cerise watched his face as awareness crept in, his jaw relaxed and his pupils constricted. He blinked once at her, and then seemed to deflate, elbows going onto his raised knees. He buried his face into his hands.

  Cerise sat quietly and continued to rub his arm for a moment. She heard him mumble, “Fuck,” under his breath.

  “That bad?” she asked, managing to keep her tone light.

  “Holy Mother, yes.”

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  “No.” He sat up straight, and then collapsed back onto the bed. “God, no.”

  The tremors were letting up and his heart had slowed almost to normal, but his skin still felt prickly. “I thought I heard voices or was that part of the dream?”

  “They were real,” Cerise informed. “You woke up practically the whole floor.”

  “Hmm,” he murmured. “Would you turn the light off? My head is pounding.”

  Cerise complied and the room was dark once more.

  “Thanks,” Drace sighed. “What did you tell them?”

  “At first they all thought I was killing you. It’s very hard to convince someone you’re not committing murder when you don’t speak the language. I think I got it through to them that you were having a little nightmare.”

  Drace brought his arm up over his eyes. “Little, my ass.” His other hand came up and found hers in the dark. “Thank you, Cerise. I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

  Unsure what to say, Cerise rose from his bed. She left the door between their rooms open.

  The nightmare had left him feeling drained, but Drace lay awake for the rest of night, afraid to go back to sleep.

  He remained quiet, thoughts turned inward, as they caught their flight to Edinburgh. It was late when they checked into their hotel within walking distance of Prince’s Street and Edinburgh Castle.

  Drace had eaten little at breakfast, refused anything on the plane, and then had picked at his dinner. He took out his smart phone and disappeared into his room, closing the door between them.

  Cerise showered and changed into pajamas and then went and knocked lightly on the door to Drace’s room. With his permission, she opened the door to and saw him staring at his phone.

  “Lorrie emailed and said the Andalusians made it there safe and sound from quarantine.” His voice sounded tired.

  “That’s great. How did she like them?”

  “Everyone loves them. The grooms are already sneaking Leo treats. He’s going to be big as a blimp when I get home. Lorrie says he’s charming.” He rubbed his face, tired.

  “Leo?” Cerise remarked, amused.

  “Yeah. You know, Leo the Lion?” He turned and pulled off his shoes and socks. Then he stood, took off his black, long sleeve t-shirt, and tossed it onto the chair were he’d been sitting. He absently rubbed at his bare chest. He walked to the window. “I didn’t get anything from the archeologist on Arahtok yet.”

  “Maybe she’s on site or something.”

  “Could be,” he said. Finally, he turned and yawned, rubbing at his chest again.

  Cerise looked at him quizzically. “Do you have a flea or something?”

  Drace gave a short laugh. “Nah. I’ve just had this weird prickling sensation all day. The airplane air is probably drying out my skin. Can I get some lotion from you?”

  “Sure,” Cerise said and headed into her room.

  “Hey,” he called after her. “Try to avoid the really girly smelling one, okay?”

  She returned with a bottle. “What’s the matter, big boy? You afraid of flowers?”

  “No, just what’s attracted to them,” he said, taking the bottle from her. “Thanks. I’m going to take a shower and go to bed.”

  Cerise stood on tiptoe to kiss him good night and left him to his shower.

  Once in bed, he lay awake for a long time, fearing to be caught in another dream. The one the previous night had unnerved him. He knew that was the reason his skin was crawling. He felt watched, but he didn’t want Cerise to know. She’d probably think I’m losing my mind.

  Finally, exhausted after the previous nights loss of sleep and traveling all day, he drifted off. He dreamed again of the world he had left behind, but it was in fleeting images, thankfully none of battle, but of more pleasing memories.

  Drace woke the next morning realizing he had seen nothing of Ki. He was more rested but felt a deep sense of disappointment as well.

  “Did the lotion help?” Cerise asked him over breakfast.

  His appetite had returned; he made short work of his meal and sat watching Cerise eat hers.

  “Yeah, it did,” he said. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He wore a charcoal Henley with his jeans; a navy waterproof windbreaker was draped on the back of his chair. His hair was done up in a knotted ponytail.

  “You look better today.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “So, what’s on your itinerary for today?”

  “I’d like to tour Edinburgh Castle. The lady at the front desk told me last night that Princes Street has a lot of nice shops. I’d like to look for some clan stuff.”

  “Clan stuff? Like what?”

  “You know, like some tartan material, maybe something with the family emblem on it. Both sets of your grandparents come from Scotland. When I was little, your gramps and my dad would brag on the homeland all the time. Your mom’s folks, MacGillivrays, were the same way. I never could figure why they left it if they loved it so much.

  “The Scots probably knew we would be coming along and kicked them out,” Drace joked. “Are you ready?”

&nbs
p; “Yes, I am,” she said. She stood and slipped on a light wool navy blazer over a white shirt and long navy skirt. She wore comfortable half boots. She had braided her hair and wore a light covering of makeup.

  “I hope I don’t have to hurt anyone today,” Drace muttered.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Cause Cerise, you are fine-looking today and some Scot is going to want to slip away over the heather with you and I’ll have to defend your honor.”

  She looked up at him. “Maybe I won’t want defending and I’ll go willingly.”

  Drace snorted. “You are incorrigible. Come on, let’s go see your castle.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  DRACE AND CERISE CASUALLY strolled the Royal Mile to Edinburgh Castle. They went up the hill and walked across the Castle esplanade. When they finished their tour, they stopped at the gift shop where Drace bought a book on the history of the castle and another on Scotland.

  “You and your books, I swear.”

  “You shouldn’t. It’s rude, or so I’ve been told,” Drace replied, flipping through one of his books as they walked back down the hill to Princes Street. “What great treasure did you find?” he asked her, tucking the book back into his bag.

  “A small painting of the castle that caught my eye.”

  On Princes Street they saw a store that specialized in publications of various clan histories. Drace found a volume on the MacKinnon’s and his mother’s family, the MacGillivrays. They left the store and poked around in several shops until they found one with tartans of the various clans. A sales person helped them find the MacKinnon plaids in one section. Cerise found a large throw blanket and a lady’s shawl. The shawl was fashioned in the more modern dress pattern of red with bold green stripes; where the colors overlapped were thinner blue stripes and squares of a white stripe.

  Drace found a traditional plaid in the more muted colors of red and green done in the ancient dress tartan and then one in the ancient hunting tartan. It was green with muted red stripes and the white squares. He saw how it could blend into the grass or forest. The salesman showed him how to drape it over his head and around his shoulders for camouflage, and then how to wear it over one shoulder and pin it with a broach or a clan badge.

  In another shop they found a MacKinnon clan badge. It was a boar’s head that held a bone in its mouth. The Latin motto read: Audentes Fortuna Juvat. The salesperson translated for them; Fortune assists the daring.

  “I’ll be damned,” Drace muttered as they left.

  “What?” Cerise asked, fingering the soft wool of her new shawl.

  “The motto. It’s ironic, like there’s a message or an inspiration in it.” His grumbling stomach interrupted his thoughts. “I’m starving,” he declared.

  “Me too, but I refuse to eat haggis.” She made a gagging face that made Drace laugh.

  At dinner they dined on salmon with vegetables. Afterwards, Cerise sipped a pleasant white wine while Drace enjoyed the Scottish national drink: whiskey. She tried a sample from his glass. “Ugh,” she exclaimed with a shudder. “This is nasty and it burns.” She coughed and waved a hand in front of her face.

  Drace gasped. “Blasphemy,” he exclaimed, refilling his glass. “This is twelve year old Scotch. It is not nasty.” He took a big swallow from his glass to emphasize point, and then leaned back with a lazy smile. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Hear, hear,” the voice of one of the pub’s patrons came from behind him.

  Cerise looked up and saw a couple of older gentlemen. They lifted their glasses to salute her then each downed their drinks as easily as if it were milk.

  Drace turned in his chair and returned the toast. When he turned back to Cerise he sat sprawled in his chair, looking as Scottish as the two men.

  “Going native, are we?” she quipped. “Drace MacKinnon, I believe you are drunk.”

  “I told you he had the blood.” One of the men at the bar poked his comrade in the ribs with his elbow. “All the lad needs is a kilt and a plaid. He’d look like he was in the Bonnie Prince’s army.”

  Their soft burr made Cerise take a closer look at Drace. His dark hair had come down and hung in disarray. His shirt was stretched tight across his chest and his jeans hugged his muscular thighs. He had a languorous smile and his eyes were even bluer with amusement.

  “I think I better get you back to your room before you get into trouble,” she decided.

  “What kind of trouble is that?” he slurred.

  “I’m not sure. You may kilt up and go play highlander.” She stood up and put out her hand to help him up.

  Drace rose to his feet and dipped his head to the two gentlemen at the bar. They raised their glasses in farewell, smiling broadly. Drace shook off her assistance, made it across the floor and out the door, swaying slightly as he went.

  “Drunk as a skunk,” she muttered.

  “No, lass. The wee lad’s not drunk. He still has his legs,” one of the men told her.

  Cerise handed them what was left of Drace’s bottle of Scotch. “Here, compliments of the wee lad.” She picked up her purse and headed out after Drace. She hoped the wee lad kept his legs because there was no way she’d be able to pick him up.

  Cerise caught up to him partway up the street. He was moving forward pretty well, only occasionally drifting to the side. He was singing under his breath, but she was clueless as to the language.

  “Hi,” he said when she appeared at his side.

  “Hi, yourself. What’s the song?”

  “It’s a Dwarven drinking song about a woman. Jumon taught it to me one night over ale during a snowstorm,” Drace explained and sang a couple of lines for her.

  “Translation, please.”

  “It’s a tad naughty, come here.” Drace leaned against her, the scent of whiskey coming from him as he whispered in her ear.

  Her eyes grew huge. “He wants to do WHAT to her with his beard?” Her face went scarlet. “That’s not naughty. That’s downright vulgar.” Cerise fanned her hot face. “Holy Mary, I’m glad no one can understand that.”

  Drace burst out laughing at her expression and then continued on his way. Once in his room, he wove his way to his bathroom and was in there for a while.

  “Are you okay in there?” Cerise asked from the other side of the door.

  “Yeah,” he called back then opened the door a moment later. He had not managed to get the top button done back up on his jeans. “I’m good.”

  “You smell like a distillery. Why don’t you lie down before you fall down?

  “Am not,” Drace argued as he sat heavily on the side of his bed. “I’m fine.” He looked up at Cerise and smiled, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and with her palm pushing gently against his forehead, she directed his tilt backwards.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  CERISE WOKE TO THE SMELL of coffee under her nose. She rolled from her side to her back to gaze up into smiling blue-gray eyes. She frowned in puzzlement at Drace’s chipper expression. Shouldn’t he be wanting to die, or at least crawl under the bed until he knows his head wouldn’t explode? Instead she asked, “How do you feel this morning?” She scooted up, leaned against the headboard, and took the offered mug.

  “Fine,” Drace lied. He’d awakened fully dressed with a gym sock taste in his mouth and a headache. Some aspirin, a shower and shave, and two cups of strong black coffee had sobered him up considerably.

  Drace sat next to her on the bed. “Ready to go find your dream horse?”

  Cerise looked at him wide-eyed over the rim of her cup as she took a small sip. “That’s right,” she remembered. “It’s my turn.” She took another sip and then blew gently into her cup. “How did you sleep?”

  “Like I was dead,” he admitted. If he had dreamed, he didn’t remember it. “I’ll call room service if you want while you shower and dress.”

  “That would be nice.” she headed for her bathroom.

  An hour later they were packed and headed to a hunter, jum
per farm in Ben Nevi.

  Drace rode six horses before he found the horse that he liked for Cerise. He jumped the big silver-gray gelding over several small jumps and then took it over a big jump at close to five feet. The big gray went willingly and jumped beautifully.

  Cerise rode the horse next, taking the same jumps as Drace.

  The horse was a very tall Thoroughbred-Oldenburg cross that had even done some cross-country jumping. Cerise stood on tiptoe to ruffle the big gray’s short mane, standing it upright. “His name is Mitch,” the owner informed her.

  “He’s good, Cerise. Do you like him?” Drace asked her as he ran a hand over the horse’s silky coat.

  “Oh yes, he’s wonderful! He’s very quiet for a five-year-old.”

  “You’ll have a lot of years with him. Let’s go make the deal.”

  Cerise was still bubbling with excitement when they left and headed to Inverness.

  It was well after midnight when they found Culloden House Hotel. They slept in the next morning and after a lunch at noon drove to Loch Ness. There they joined a tour group taking a boat cruise and spent the afternoon on the loch.

  Cerise asked an older woman to take a picture of herself and Drace with Urquhart Castle in the background.

  They came back to the hotel damp from a persistent misting rain that had started on the way back. The two ate a hearty supper then spent a couple of hours in a pub, listening to a local band. This time Drace nursed his whiskey, not ready to replay the hangover from yesterday. He did however make arrangements with the pub’s owner to have two cases of Scotch sent to his farm.

  The pair retired to Cerise’s room and he propped himself up on her bed to read his clan history book while Cerise checked her emails.

  She turned her head to him when she heard him make a thoughtful noise.

  He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. He felt her eyes on him and looked up. “Do you remember when I told you of Ki and Oralia and the conversation I had with Nimbus when I first arrived?”