Return to Caer Lon

by Claude Dancourt

  “Is that why you favour that scent? The roses?”

  The subtle perfume always floated around her in Haven. Even here, after days of doubtful commodities, sleeping in a hayloft and a forced, fully-clothed bath in a muddy pond, he could still smell the roses when he leaned closer.

  “I think so. Do you want some water?”

  Derek shook his head. The abrupt change of topic was as unsettling as her choice of conversation in the first place. Was she shocked that he noticed her perfume? Happy? Unconcerned? Anyway, he was glad she changed the subject. He really didn’t want to talk about his father. At the same time, he needed her to understand. The words were out before Derek even realized he was speaking.

  “It still pains my mother to talk about him. And Geraint never really says anything, except that he was a great king and a good man.”

  “You look very much like him.”

  Derek chocked on his breath and coughed. She couldn’t possibly know that. His mother had said so, once, after he had presented her with a small bottle of perfume he had found in the low-town market. But Sacha couldn’t know what his father looked like. How he carried himself. How he fought. How he died…

  She claimed she had seen his death. He didn’t want to know. William Pendragon was dead, murdered by an evil man, and it was enough. She said she had lived it; maybe she had. It would mean her powers were increasing, this strange place acting like a magical reflector or something akin. Or it meant the threat was greater than they both imagined…

  Derek fidgeted uncomfortably. Her serious stare caressed his face, yet he refused the eye contact. Talking to her seemed easy, all a sudden. Or at least, it was easier than letting her read in his gaze the path his thoughts were taking.

  “Geraint is probably the closest thing I ever had to a father.”

  She considered his remark for a moment, then laughed. The pearl of gaiety chimed in the silence of stone, warming the air around them.

  “What a horrible thought.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  The young man glowered. Had she coerced him to visit places of his soul he voluntarily ignored, only to mock him? It would be… exactly like her; the former her. The one she was back in Haven, when they disregarded each other; the one she was, well… before.

  Derek returned his attention to Sacha, brows knitted.

  “… Not what I meant. I have enough with looking after Elwyn and Sebastian. I have no wish to include you in my list of brothers.”

  “Sebastian is your cousin, not your brother.” Derek corrected her out of habit “And last time I checked, you were hitting Elwyn on the head with his own socks. It is a strange way to look after him.”

  “He was refusing to listen to me.”

  The figurative cloud above his head evaporated and Derek grinned. The conversation was turning into their usual bantering, and perhaps he was more comfortable with that, after all.

  “I didn’t listen to you about the tunnel, either.”

  Among other things.

  “Does it mean you want me to hit you with socks?”

  She managed to remain absolutely serious despite the silliness of her question. The ghost of a smile haunted her lips. Derek was nearly tempted to search their pack for some, just to see if she would.

  “Wouldn’t you like it…”

  Her mouth twitched when she laughed and Derek found himself unable to look elsewhere but at the soft curve of her mouth. After a moment, he succeeded in glancing up into her eyes. Jade danced in mischief. He cleared his throat, vaguely embarrassed to have been caught staring.

  “We’ll stay here for a little while. I will take the first watch. You should take some rest.”

  The husk in his voice made him shift uncomfortably. Sacha jerked up, muffling a yawn.

  “I’ll do it. I fear we will need your skills more than mine in here.”

  Her voice sounded uncertain, teasing gone. Derek wondered if she was afraid to have more nightmares. He bowed his head and moved to rest with his legs between her and the empty space in front of her.

  “Wake me up when you are tired.”

  He suspected she would not obey. But it felt the right thing to say when she nodded firmly and smiled at him. He lov-... He liked her smile.

  oOo

  “But he tried to kill me!”

  Unimpressed by the shrillness in his daughter’s voice, Wolfryth continued eating.

  “Yes. Hadn’t I forbidden you to see him again? Maybe next time you will obey.”

  Fillin stamped her foot.

  “But father-“

  “I told you, Elwyn has his utility. When I have what I want, I’ll get rid of him. Not sooner.”

  The blonde huffed.

  “Yes, yes, I know, the blood of the Dragon unleashes a source of immense power. Well, I don’t care! Elwyn attacked me and I want him punished!”

  His fork slammed back onto the table.

  “Enough! You’re immature and impatient, which is exactly why I do not teach you magic. Now leave me.”

  The blonde pulled on her hair angrily. This was so unfair! What Elwyn had done was unforgiveable. He had tried to KILL her! After all she had done for him! She had tended to him despite her father’s reluctance. She had befriended him and granted him an opportunity to share his knowledge! He wasn’t even that good at teaching, but she bore it! And he was a terrible kisser. This horrible ungrateful disgusting being had tried to hurt her! And her father implied that it was her fault?!

  Fillin’s lips pursed in a thin line of anger. Well, they’d see. No one assaulted her and got away with it. Her father could have Derek Pendragon to play with, for all she cared. The Pendragon wasn’t coming alone. She was going to punish Elwyn by taking what he cared about the most - his darling little sister.

  oOo

  She had never noticed how unsettling it was, not to know what part of the day it was. Day, night, it was all the same lost deep inside the mountain, and her brain buzzed, trying to get a grip on an impossible time frame. In the surreal light pouring from the rock, they had invented their own time frames: walk, rest, walk, rest. The lack of structure apparently didn’t bother her companion, as Derek had dozed off as soon as he had closed his eyes, or so it seemed.

  Sacha lost her battle against yet another yawn and shook her head to clear it. She had nothing to distract herself. Her fingers itched for something to do. She twisted her neck again, wincing when it cracked. If only she could focus on something - what awaited them once they found their way through the rocky maze, Elwyn, the source of the powerful magic affecting them; anything other than her dreams, or Derek. The dreams transformed her nerves into a tight ball lodged in her throat, suffocating. As for the sleeping man by her side…

  He did nothing more than tease and stare. But those glances dispersed dandelion’s seeds in her stomach to make her feel… soft. It intrigued and embarrassed her at the same time.

  “I don’t know what to do…”

  “About what?”

  Red crept up her neck to warm her cheeks.

  “Nothing!”

  Derek straightened up.

  “It didn’t sound like nothing. What’s the matter?”

  Embarrassment threatened to reduce her to a babbling pool of heated honey at his feet. She lied cheekily.

  “My hair. It is tangled and I hate it, but I don’t know what to do about it.”

  If he found her vain or shallow, then so be it. She hadn’t really asked what he thought when he fixed on her lips like they were some mouth-watering (but forbidden) fruit, had she? Derek’s eyebrows shot up, before he nodded.

  “I think I may… Yes.”

  He patted his pockets, and pulled out her holly wood comb.

  “Here.”

  Her hand trembled slightly when she picked it up.

  “I’m sorry, I know it’s ridiculous.”

  Derek rubbed his chin with a frown, watching absently as she started untangling the messy black strands.

  “I think
I can understand.”

  The two-day stubble shadowed his jaws and cheeks. He looked older, stronger, almost dangerous… The dandelion seeds were now dancing above her belt with hundreds of butterflies.

  “You look different with a beard.”

  “Different good or different bad?”

  She hesitated. His smirk invited more butterflies to join the circle.

  “So there’s something you like about me after all.”

  The blue stare sparkled with amusement. Sacha twitched her nose.

  “I have yet to make up my mind.”

  Derek snorted, his glare balancing between "I don’t believe a word of it" and "you’re not funny."

  “We should go.”

  Sacha pushed onto her feet at once. The prince whipped his opened hand on his thigh before he secured their bag on his shoulder with an exaggerated pull and started toward the crossing once more.

  oOo

  The mirror turned a lifeless black. Wolfryth jumped back with a yowl.

  “No!”

  The fire belched forth white-hot flames, crushed down by a fiery, yet non-existent wind. A thin line appeared on the dark surface, almost as gleaming, and snaked up with the softest whisper; with every harried breath the sorcerer took, the line split in two, three, four, five-branched stars until it covered the entire once-silver area. Then the mirror cracked and fell into dust at the man’s feet

  Wolfryth took another step back to avoid being touched by the ashes. The spell had rebounded once more. He didn’t understand. Only a minute before it had worked, distilling his own souvenir into the Seer’s troubled mind, and now…

  He snatched a goblet of wine nearby and gulped it down. For the first time in years, he tasted fear.

  Chapter 27

  Elwyn recognized the scenery.

  He was standing in a field behind Haven castle, which sloped gently toward the seashore. They used to horserace each other along the small path to the water; he never won, with Derek and Sacha always competing for the lead.

  The ocean’s scent tingled his nose. He breathed in deeply, eyes wide open to savour the glorious day. Sacha was walking swiftly toward him on the beach. She wore breeches and a shirt that was too large for her. The wind had messed up her hair. Even in the distance, he noticed the signs of exhaustion on her face and her posture.

  He started to walk in her direction and tripped. The ground bit harder than it should have. When Elwyn looked up, a second silhouette had appeared by Sacha’s side. The large red cape swirled around her without slowing her down. Elwyn tried to stand. A yank brought him down again. Light dimmed around him. The sand under his hands gave way to a patchwork of stones. The sun was sinking behind his sister and Derek.

  “Sacha… No, don’t come here!”

  The young woman lifted her head and beamed at him, breaking into a run. He yelled again at the top of his lungs.

  oOo

  Sweat glided down his neck, the salty moisture burning his skin. God, he was tired.

  Derek ran one hand below his collar and winced. How could his fingers feel so hot when his breath came out in cloudy rasps? When he forced his lungs to work, the air he took in was painfully cool. Breathing was painful.

  He extended his arms to support himself on the walls, nearly losing his balance when his hands missed their goal, stepping sideways to reach the rock. He would have sworn the middle tunnel was small when they took it. Now, his fingers barely brushed the gleaming stone.

  With a quick glance above his shoulder to make sure Sacha was oblivious to his misstep, the prince took in another gulp of air. Pressure built around his chest, far too quickly. His vision narrowed on some very bright point at the other end of the tunnel. He stepped forward, ignoring the riot in his stomach. Sacha’s light footstep in his back echoed like a thunderstorm in his head.

  “Derek?”

  The nausea attacked his throat when he turned his head to acknowledge her call. Derek forced himself to straighten up, praying he didn’t faint like he had in the forest. The shivers were the same torture in his back.

  “Everything’s fine. Stay behind me.”

  At least this time, everything had the clarity of crystal, instead of the fuzzy glaze he couldn’t resist in the morning. He made out each dimple and needle in the rock face when he touched it. He noticed the smallest irregularities under his feet when he walked. The freshness of the air on his face amazed him in this underground world.

  The light in front of them changed, a minute ago just a flicker and now a straight line, broad as his thumb, maybe broader; several inches wide, really.

  “Derek we should go back and take the left branch. I-"

  Derek grabbed his companion’s hand to unclench her fingers from his shirt.

  oOo

  “Take it.”

  The king had one knee on the ground, his formerly lustrous armour stained with dried blood and mud. The noon sun was spreading his formidable mark on the crushed grass. The battle had started before dawn, and it was lost already. The shriek of metal against metal continued to bristle in the air, but the moans of the wounded buried it more and more.

  “Sire, I can’t. This…”

  “Take it Caid, and leave. You know what to do.”

  Light mirrored on the blade the king was holding upright against his thigh, his tired hand still gripping the golden hilt. The king brushed dust from his face with the crook of his arms, grunting when the motion straightened his shoulder. Caid noticed his arm rested against his side with an angle. His duty was to obey, but to leave his king without a weapon, at the mercy of traitors to his crown, traitors of his blood…

  “I want you to take my sword, and fulfill your duty. You swore on the Dragon’s Throne to obey.”

  “My lord…”

  King Derek grabbed the offered forearm and stood with difficulty.

  “I love Morgan, Caid, God only knows how much. But your son betrayed his vows and for this I will confront him. But I cannot risk he gets this sword. He is unworthy of Caer Lon and of its secrets; please, go.”

  The knight presented his hands, palms up. The blade bit into the leather of his gloves when the king handed it to him. It weighed more than he imagined. Both men's faces reflected on the two inches of polished steel - the faces of soldiers who had fought one too many battles; men who had given up a lot for their convictions and had now to sacrifice what remained.

  The king landed a heavy hand on his captain’s shoulder.

  “I am sorry, Caid. For Morgan. And for Eileen.”

  The dreaded name yanked the man off his thoughts. He closed his hands on the sword, and bowed.

  “I will honor my word, my king. No one but the rightful High King will find the sword, or fetch it again.”

  oOo

  Derek backed against the opposite wall. He resisted the urge to bend his knees and sit. If he let himself down to the ground now, he was not sure he would be able to ever get up again. Sacha put one arm around his back as he bent forward to breathe, brushing his shoulder. He panted, “I… really... wish… you would… stop doing that.”

  She took off her hand immediately. Derek managed to crack a smile. His legs trembled under him but he held on.

  “No, I meant… The visions…” he paused to straighten up, heaving out a breath “A warning would be… pleasant next time.”

  “What did you see?”

  Air found its way into his lungs, blissfully.

  “You know what. Caid took… the High King’s sword. To hide it.”

  Her hand found his arm again, urgent this time, instead of comforting.

  “Derek, let’s backtrack to the crossing.”

  Worry modulated her voice like dissonance in a melody. Her fingers trailed above his elbow, hooking around it and refusing to free him. A few days ago, she would have snorted and make some sassy comment about stubbornness or idiocy, giving him the cold shoulder. Now, her body language simply caressed his ego, softly inviting him to reconsider his choice.


  The emptiness in front of him scintillated, calling Derek’s attention away from the tempting lady by his side.

  “I want to know where that light comes from. You stay here.”

  Her grip on him hardened.

  “Oh, no, this is out of question. Last time I let you go by yourself, the ceiling nearly fell on our heads. I’m coming with you.”

  Derek shrugged and stepped forward. The tunnel curved into an opening, not wider than ten feet squared. The gentle slope changed drastically in the middle of the chamber to rise in a spiral around a massive boulder, the flattened sides of which were reminiscent of a roughly cut cube. And in the center of the cube probed one foot of unpolished metal, ended by a cross: a sword, encased within the rock, forgotten under the dust of centuries.

  “Derek, wait!”

  He wasn’t listening anymore. Sacha’s image blurred into some vaporous form before brightness swallowed her. Light radiated from walls and the ground alike to concentrate in the blade, pulsing like a human heart, its call irresistible. His own was answering every beat, recognizing the ancient rhythm.

  The golden hilt of the sword was large enough to fit a giant’s hands, the pommel encrusted with topazes, diamonds and amethysts. The closer Derek came, the more the gemstones gleamed. The gold brightened. The double-edged blade cleared until it retrieved its mortal silvery glint. After God knew how many years lost in a cave, the metal looked still sharp, deadly.

  Derek stretched his left hand to touch it. Sacha gasped.

  “Derek, oh my God!”

  He looked down, not fully understanding why she cried. The bandage around his hand was soaked with blood. Red drops were plopping on the rock, and that was where the beat came from. Derek tried to escape her attempt to grab him and reach the sword, but she circled his waist with both arms and put all her weight in one desperate pull.

  ‘Narijt drole Forra. Akilten emen Forra arkanic Drakor kiomlot.’

  The strange words bang in his head, the language foreign, and yet so familiar. One step was all it would take to close his fist around the hilt and pull. Derek shifted sideways, too strong for Sacha to stop but she refused to budge. His motion brought her down, her knees hitting the stone.