When Ylianor entered Sacha’s quarters, the girl was seated at the table, sewing. She jumped onto her feet and bowed clumsily in her haste, not daring to straighten or even look up.
The former queen glanced around the otherwise empty room. To her satisfaction, Sacha’s chambers had every aspect one could expect for an ill person. The curtains were half-drawn, as if to protect the eye from the afternoon light. A basin was set on the bedside, with clean clothes piled next to it and another one was torn on the rim. The sheets were messed up in such a way Ylianor would have sworn the young lady was resting, if she had not known better.
She turned to the maid.
“Did anyone come to inquire about the Lady Sacha’s health, Agnes?”
“Yes my lady. Sir Lot sent his page, as well as Sir Hadrian. The Lady Caroline came herself, and so did Lady Ashley. I did not let them in...”
The maid fidgeted nervously, twisting her fingers in her apron. Ylianor frowned, pondering about the visitors and Agnes quickly looked at the floor again.
The men’s visit she had expected. The two nobles were still hoping to gain Sacha’s favour, despite her blatant indifference. Caroline and Ashley were the worst gossips at Court, and their coming was not much of a surprise either. Surely rumours were spurting already about Sacha languishing after her brother, or even better, Derek.
Ylianor nodded internally. As long as everybody thought her son was on a mission up north and the lady in her bed, their true whereabouts would remain hidden to the world and the anonymity would hopefully grant them extra-protection.
However, one person was missing in the picture. Ylianor addressed the girl again, making her jump a second time.
“Did Lady Sonia visit you?”
“Oh no my lady.”
The maid’s chuckle had the queen’s heart pounded harder at once. Sonia was very likely to come over, if only with the purpose of annoying Sacha. Geraint’ daughter acted like a jealous she-cat around her, to the countess’ never-ending amusement. The more disdainful Sacha was, the more Sonia sought her company with patronizing smiles and poisonous jabs. Ylianor frowned… Sonia should have come to visit…
Agnes blushed under her stare, then paled and suddenly burst into tears.
“My lady, I did it to protect my mistress! She… The countess said no one would discover it was a charm… My mistress was having such terrible nightmares and then Lord Sebastian was found and my lady decided to go to find Sir Elwyn with Prince Derek and Lady Sonia seemed to know all about it and she told me to put the comb in her bags and…”
Ylianor felt her blood freeze in her veins. She grabbed the crying girl by the shoulders and Agnes squealed in fret. The queen instantly released her grasp, breathing deeply to regain her calm. She pushed the maid into a chair, gently but firmly.
“Sober yourself Agnes… Calm down, and tell me everything, from the very beginning.”
Chapter 15
Derek stretched and ruffled his hair to ease the itch the immobility had created in his shoulders. They had spent all morning studying the map and the list, comparing names and discussing issues about distance and locations. Each identified caption felt like a victory that Sacha celebrated with dazzling smiles. Every time her laugher pearled out loud, it urged him to push forward.
They started with Gwel Caer. This place they spotted easily, thanks to Derek’s recollection of his mother’s origins. Then they extended their research to neighboring areas. Soon, they confirmed that time-close entries were equally close geographically. The problem was that not all the names were charted; far from it.
Friar Johan hypothesised the missing villages were not represented on the map because they were too small. Sacha pointed out the amount collected at each stop was dutifully reported in the tax collector’s log. They could use it to sort the places by their size, considering that small villages could pay only little money. Derek proposed that they make a copy of the list while eliminating the lowest prizes, on which both his acolytes agreed.
However, things got sour when they had to decide what should be considered as a minimum.
“We cannot afford to miss one place. We have to look at all the entries save for the smallest amount, and proceed step by step.”
“This is going to take ages, Derek! We could not find anything near Shaftesbury so the taxes at this place are our minimal target.”
“You cannot be sure about that Sacha. The map is not scaled, so maybe they did not put all the names because there was not enough space to write them down.”
“This is the most ridiculous argument you have ever served me! You just cannot expect to be outspoken and…”
“My lady, I think Sir Derek is right.”
The monk’s interference brought a cocky grin to the prince. Sacha nearly growled in frustration. She glared at Derek while he folded his arms across his chest, triumphal. Friar Johan looked at them in turn and sighed. Neither seemed ready to abdicate first. The bell saved the poor librarian from the hostile silence.
“I have to assist Mass… Please excuse me.”
The other monk was already out of the room. Sacha repressed a disdainful snort when the door banged on their hurried little friend. Derek grinned, “Your pouting scared him.”
Piqued, Sacha scowled again.
“I am not pouting. You are-”
“I would prefer if you use ‘charming’ after that verb. Anyway, Friar Johan confirmed in this case I am right, so…”
“So you admit you are not right all the time.”
“Sacha…”
Her name hissed between clenched jaws as his temper started to boil. Only the sight of the unrolled map and the task at hand stopped Derek from adding some unkind remark about ‘know-it-all’ ladies that would certainly have pushed the growing argument into a full-scaled fight. He took a deep breath and gestured toward the papers spread on the table.
“I would love to pursue this conversation; unfortunately one of us has to be reasonable. Do you want to copy the list, or shall I do it?”
Her eyes dilated dangerously at the sarcasm. Sacha clamped her mouth shut so hard he thought he heard her teeth thump.
“You started it.”
Her grouch could apply to either their ‘discussion’ or the illegible scribbling he had begun hours ago. Derek picked up the quill and resumed his work.
Already on her feet, Sacha decided to put some distance between them so she could regroup. She felt so furious that tears burnt her eyes, and it enraged her even more. Don’t cry Sacha, he would be too happy… No, not happy… He never looked happy when she was upset, she had to give him that. Derek always acted the same with her, careless and without particular interest. She made it easy for him; she reacted within the second each time he teased, giving him the pleasure of seeing her make a fool of herself. She was worse than a capricious child. She was the one looking for his approval, and acting stupid because he refused to give it. She shouldn’t. She wouldn’t.
Her steps took her to the desk where the other monk was copying the fat book Derek had fallen in love with. Looking for a distraction from her confusing thoughts, she bent over the illustrations. The soft colors, cobalt blue, sparkling gold and pure white created the illusion of movement in the stream of the waterfall. It was vivid, and incredibly beautiful…
“Sacha, could you come over here?”
The question broke through her contemplation and she obeyed, surprised to realize she was calmer. Calmer, but not forgetful.
“Yes, Derek?”
Her glacial reply met a stunned blue stare. Sacha felt her face warmed. However heated their arguments were, Derek rarely nursed a grudge afterward. He always showed more forgiveness than she did. She softened her tone.
“What is it?”
He indicated one name on the map.
“What do you make of this?”
“Laean Astethan.”
The name spoken out loud sounded familiar.
She recognized the shoreline not far from it, th
e hard cut, the creeks and the straight coast of her native area. Haven was not on the map. Maybe it was too small or it simply did not exist when the chart had been drawn. Sacha directed her attention to the spot Derek was tapping with the end of his quill: midway between the west coast and Londinium, closed to a large label marked Dark Morte.
The young woman looked up to the prince, who was already nodding to answer her coming question.
“Here?”
“I am quite sure Friar Johan will confirm it. Now look at the corresponding entry.”
She executed herself eagerly.
“One day. Derek, this means… This means Caer Lon is close to Lann Stephan!”
Sacha beamed and clapped in joy, nearly knocking down the inker in the process. His lack of enthusiasm cooled hers instantly.
“You are obviously thrilled by the news.”
The prince met her stare quietly, not at all bothered by her sarcasm. His blue eyes were unreadable.
“I am wondering. If the High City is so close to civilization, why has it been lost for centuries?”
The possible meanings behind his question finished to sober her up.
oOo
Friar Johan chose to answer their question with facts, and a legend.
“The High Kings ruled from Caer Lon for hundreds of years after the Roman Empire declined. The king and his knights ensured peace and justice in the Ten Kingdoms, so it was said a virgin could walk without fear, A Mari usque ad Mare, with a gold tray in her hands. All were free to observe their practices, and lived in harmony with each other whatever their beliefs. The Court welcomed bards and scientists, commoners and nobles alike. Chroniclers called it the Golden Era of Albion. It sounds idyllic, doesn’t it? Well, I suppose it was. Until, of course, human greed destroyed the equilibrium. The High King was betrayed by his nephew and his own sister. A terrible battle opposed them, which none of the armies survived. The king died in battle, as well as, it is thought, the nephew. The king’s brother-in-law Caid, despairing over the treason of his wife and son, refused to take the High Throne, and abandoned Caer Lon. He left with his daughter and settled in the future city of Camelot, farther north.”
Sacha glimpsed at Derek. He was listening carefully. She wondered if he already knew this story. Maybe he had read it in the book. His face was calm, free from the amazement of the previous day. His stare was a little clearer than usual. Sacha heard the sting of an edge in his voice when he said, “This explains how the kings departed Caer Lon, but not why the City became completely forgotten. It is apparently less than a day from here. It seems impossible that no one knows where the ruins are.”
The young woman frowned at the word "ruins." Derek touched her hand, and she realized she had wrapped her fingers around his forearm. Friar Johan continued with his explanation. She took her hand from under Derek’s.
“The House of the Dragon’s decline and King Caid’s choice to leave are history. The disappearance of the High City belongs to bards and myths. Truth is, nobody knows for sure how the way got lost. It is said that Caid refused to put his traitorous wife to death, for he loved her still. He handed her to the Faerlings, a Druid Covent, because she was born ‘gifted’. Living with them, she realized what she had done and grieved. She learnt about magic, devoting her days to the People and redemption. From here the stories are even more confused. All agreed that at some point, she travelled secretly to Camelot. One legend says she never returned to her covent, and the Faerlings, furious to have lost their High Priestess, cursed the city or let the forest swallow it. Another version claims the king forgave his wife and went to the High City with her. Together, they performed an ancient ceremony which sealed the doors to the heart of Caer Lon and it will open with the blood of the Dragon, when he returns.”
A shiver ran down her spine. Sacha had heard similar words in her dreams. Hand the son of the Dragon. She pulled away from Derek and turned her head slightly, buying time to mask her trouble before she faced him again. The rasp in his voice felt like a deadly knife in her stomach.
“What was the woman’s name?”
Friar Johan sighed.
“I think it was Eileengail of Shareling. People also called her the White Lady.”
Oh White Lady, Hear my plea
Sacha felt nauseous, her head heavy and the world spinning fast before her eyes. The monk finally noticed her distress.
“Are you unwell my lady? You are very pale…”
She flipped her hand so as not to move her head, certain she would lose her balance on her seat if she did. Sacha hoped her voice sounded as normal as possible.
“Do not worry. I am fine. Thank you for telling us these stories. They are wonderful.”
She smiled, sure it looked like a grimace and fooled no one.
Derek reported his attention to the map, his eyebrows knitted. After a full minute, he pointed at a caption.
“Here.”
Curiosity beat her queasiness and Sacha unwillingly bent to read the name.
“Alynnfaid? Why there?”
Derek pushed away from the table to pick up his cloak, readying to leave.
“Call it an intuition.”
The name sounded too much like ‘Eileen’s faith’ to be a coincidence. The fact it, too, was within Camelot’s border.
oOo
The wind had finally brought dark clouds over the town to give the late afternoon the gloom of a cold, stormy winter night. Mist was already licking the roofs. They heard thunder rolling as soon as they stepped out of the library. Derek hoped the weather would hold until they reached the inn.
The constant roar in the sky covered the noise of their steps on the pavements. They hurried through the large place, but the rain outran them and started to fall before they reached the street heading to the Wild Boar. The first drops soon became a curtain of water, dampening everything.
Derek saw Sacha skid on the slippery pavement and he settled for a more conservative pace. They risked twisting an ankle on the uneven wet stones.
Their hoods were useless in the storm, endlessly pushed back by the fierce wind. The prince finally renounced keeping his in place and let the tempest plaster his hair to his skull. Rain was running down his face, so he had to blink constantly to clear his vision. The storm made it impossible to see farther than three feet ahead.
He avoided the first blow by chance, forced to move sideways to avoid tripping into a puddle. Derek blocked the second hit, grinding his teeth in pain on the impact of the hard club with his forearm. He lunged to avoid a third swing and the hilt of his sword collided with his adversary's throat, crushing the men’s trachea.
Derek twirled. Slowed down by his cloak, he barely deflected a knife aiming for his side. Another pivot and he slashed the other man from the waist to the opposite shoulder in one swift movement. The ruffian wobbled backward and fell.
Panting, the prince looked for a third attacker, but the rogue had chosen an easier prey. The attacker squeezed Sacha’s throat, choking her. Derek saw the gleam of her dagger hitting the ground through a fog of anger and rushed forward. Steel bit into the exposed flesh of his upper wrist and hand, draining blood. The prince switched his sword from hand to hand and thrust, killing the man with a vengeful grunt. He reversed his grip on the hilt without pausing, using his sword like an oversized dagger in the back of the last aggressor.
A hiccup escaped Sacha when the dead body fell on her. She pushed away frantically, nearly tripping in her haste to escape. Derek steadied her by the shoulders, quickly checking her for injuries. Air rasped and hissed through her lips as she tried to retrieve her breath, twisting his insides into knots. Derek crushed her into his arms, craving the slaughter of the beast that assaulted her a second time.
Her skin was cool against his cheek, her scent spicy with fear and relief. His body, fuelled by adrenaline, claimed carnal dominance and a more intimate embrace. His free hand closed on her neck to take her closer. Sacha mewled in pain. A nasty mark marred the fair skin of her thr
oat. Shaken to the core, Derek pushed away to grab her hand, his mind still fuzzy with lust and anger.
“We cannot stay here. Come.”
“My Llord!”
The young man spun on his heels, fetching his sword again in the general direction of the call. He lowered his guard when he recognized the silhouette signalling them inside a small house.
“Quick! There are four more men. I saw them split earlier. They must be waiting for you up the street.”
Gisela closed the panel behind them and barricaded it, before she made sure the windows were covered.
“Who are they?” asked Derek.
“The Guild. A gang of thieves and mercenaries, obeying no one. You probably attracted their attention, paying for small services so largely.”
The young man rattled in discomfort. It had never occurred to him his generosity would get them the wrong attention. They needed quick answers and... Gisela added softly, “Some say they obey the Sorcerer-King of Camelot…”
Sacha moved in his back and his stare automatically sought her out. She had approached the chimney, apparently fascinated by the small fire. Derek saw her hand moving toward the logs, yet he did not really notice. If Wolfryth was after them... The need to have her close raged in his stomach again, potent.
Suddenly his mind reconnected with his eyes and he bawled in warning. Lightning ripped the night and the sky exploded above their heads. The outside chaos burst into the house when the fire detonated. Gisela jumped back with a yelp of surprise.
Slowly, the flames decreased to their normal size.
“You control fire!” the servant said in marvel.
Sacha turned her head to the other woman, her stare abnormally bright.
“Yes.”
“I knew you had magic.” Gisela said before she pointed at Sacha’s dark hair. “Holly wood is a powerful charm.”
Stunned, the lady stretched her arm to touch the comb, but the maid stopped her.
“No! You must wear it, so it protects you.”
Derek cut in, bringing the conversation back to more urgent matters.
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