Return to Caer Lon

by Claude Dancourt

  “Derek…”

  Tears wet the emerald eyes pleading with him, delicate falling pearls which diluted the blood on the back of his hand. Suddenly, her face pressed against his palm; he received its contours. He brushed hair and tears away from it.

  “You’re crying…”

  The caress nearly overwhelmed him when relief illuminated her smile.

  Sacha pushed onto her feet and forced him to pivot so that his back was to the altar, surprised that he obeyed without a protest. Her arm secured around his shoulders, an anchor in his chaos. Away from the aggressive light, the pulsing in his head reduced to a headache, the boil in his veins more bearable by the minute.

  Derek squeezed her hand.

  “I’m okay. Let’s get out of here.”

  oOo

  Fillin tossed a strand of blond hair above her shoulder before she turned another page. The only book her father had allowed her to study contained nothing but stupid spells to favor a good rest, cure a cough or keep rodents away from the pantry.

  She clasped her tongue impatiently. She needed something other than old wives’ remedies for domestic problems! She wanted magic that was efficient against an enemy, a way to entrap the stupid girl and even take away her powers.

  Fillin beamed to herself. Oh, yes, that would be so perfect… She was going to disrobe Elwyn’s beloved sister of her magic all by herself, and if it worked properly, Elwyn himself would be next. She nearly clapped her hands in pleasure. Yes, it was an excellent idea.

  Ambushing the seer could not be that difficult, she had perused spells able to exterminate vermin for hours in that stupid book. This page, thinking of it, displayed how to cast some invisible glue board; it was written that it worked like a spider web, really. Once the fly was caught, it couldn’t escape until the board was obviated. Her lopsided grin matched the dancing flame in her bronze eyes. Who cared if one little dragonfly never flew again…?

  No, the how and where were more of a challenge.

  The blonde pushed onto her feet to glimpse the empty corridor. Her father was still shut down in the library, deeply involved into whatever magic he felt was more important than teaching his "impatient and immature" daughter. Fillin snorted. She flattered herself to be impervious to insults. She was eager to learn, not impatient. What her father called immaturity, she called inexperience. And she was a quick student. She had proven so many times.

  She also had good hearing and an even better memory. Although the Great Wolfryth took care to close himself off to perform the Dark Arts, little did he know about how thin the panels were near the chimneys of adjacent rooms. Fillin chuckled. The spells to break into one’s mind would sure be useful one day, but far less than the one she had heard several weeks ago, when his father had stolen the secret of this despicable place from the priest of those druids.

  Three words would serve her needs. Three little words, spoke loud with a clear voice, looking at the seer directly in the eye. "Pantswa nekem maorenia."

  Closing the door behind her, Fillin tiptoed to the stairs leading to the caves, book in hand. There was only one thing the pair would seek before confronting her father. If she set her trap near Elwyn’s cell, she was sure to catch her prey.

  Chapter 28

  The sunset fringed the line of clouds with yellow and red copper, as the solar disk disappeared behind the horizon. On the left, the sea mirrored delicate pink and gold. On the right, the storm was nearly upon them, straining the sky with dim grey and heavy marks.

  The duke looked for a gush of wind, the distinctive fresh smell that always came before the rain. The hush was unsettling; no thunder rolled, far away in the heart of the coming tempest. The wind had not risen yet. The banners pooled sadly, with the dark bear, Pemfro’s protector, sleeping wrapped around the mast.

  Geraint lowered his gaze to the now empty courtyard. The merchants had packed their goods, and even the last onlookers were deserting the place, quietly going home. A man, fully armed, caught his captain’s short nod, and lifted his arm in return. The order was forwarded to another guard, until a tired squeal broke the silence.

  A loud bonk bounced on the inner walls when the beam secured into place. The sentinel hurried through the courtyard, en route to the other posterns. Geraint turned away from his position on the crenels. For the first time in fifteen years, Haven would close its doors for the night.

  He wished he could protect his children as easily as his city. For the thousandth time in three days, he wondered where they were, and if they had found a shelter for the night. He could only pray they were safe.

  The mid-aged man resisted the urge to massage his temples, and shot one last glance to the quieting courtyard below him, readying for his first guard inspection in years. The small silhouette that appeared in front of him startled him.

  “Lady Sonia, what you doing here?”

  The young woman bowed her head gracefully, not at all bothered by his arch welcome.

  “I was looking for you, Sir Geraint. I have a favour to ask.”

  The duke reciprocated the salute. He had heard the queen had met with her the previous afternoon, though Ylianor had been very discreet about the encounter. Was that so-called request anything related to their conversation?

  “Please do ask, Lady Sonia.”

  She smiled sweetly as he offered his arm to escort her off the walls.

  “I would like to send word to my mother, my lord, and wondered if I could borrow one of your doves.”

  “Of course. Garrett will-“

  “I was hoping to send my message tonight, my lord.”

  He recognized the smile. Sacha mustered the same, when she wanted to charm her dear old father into agreeing to some fantastic indulgence she hadn’t or couldn’t dragoon out of her brother. Geraint raised an eyebrow to mask his amusement at the display.

  “The bird cage is closed for the night.”

  Sonia answered with the faintest flutter of lashes, her intelligent brown eyes scrutinizing his face. He felt too old for these games.

  “Lady Sonia, I am sorry, but you will have to wait for Garret to open the cage tomorrow.”

  Her hand dug into his forearm briefly, as he helped through the low passage leading the stairs.

  “I’m afraid I have to insist, Sir Geraint.”

  The sweet grin was gone, as well as the flirty ways. The older man held the darker stare without blinking.

  “Really. And why is that, pray tell?”

  “I-“ She choked on the first syllable and clasped her mouth shut instantly, finally breaking the eye contact.

  “I need my mother’s advice.”

  The words bumped against each other in her haste to have them out. “On private matters.”

  Sonia lifted her gaze back to his defiantly. Her discomfort hadn’t lasted very long. Did Sonia’s meeting with the queen regard these "private matters" as well? For all he knew, Sonia had barely communicated with her mother in the last year; thus why now? What did she discuss with Ylianor that required some advice? It had to be related to Derek, in some way. Derek, whom everybody, Sonia included, was supposed to think was scouting the northern border.

  The brunette’s face revealed nothing except her obvious dissatisfaction at being denied, or even questioned. She would not disclose anything more to him than she had to the queen. Geraint made a mental note to inquire about their meeting. In the meantime, he presented his best paternal grin to the young woman at his arm.

  “Do not trouble yourself. I am convinced the Lady Ylianor will answer any of your questions until you get word from your mother. Tomorrow.”

  The glance she shot him froze the air in the staircase. Geraint kept his smirk in place. The bottom of the steps offered the perfect pretext to excuse himself. He had spent enough time on a battlefield to know when a strategic retreat was best; or when additional information was required before starting a war.

  oOo

  The light knock on the door pulled Sebastian out his sleepy reverie. The ha
lf-drawn curtains made it hard to tell exactly what time it was, but a growl low in his stomach dinner time was close enough.

  “Come in. Ah, Agnes...”

  He received a small smile in return for his greeting, while the servant installed her tray on the nightstand near him before helping him up. The smell of food provoked another reprise from his stomach, making him blush slightly, as he perused the mashed potatoes and glazed ham. At least Jeffrey seemed to think he had had enough of chicken soup.

  The young man doubted the physician’s judgement with the first bit. His jaw cracked painfully when he took in the first forkful. Swallowing also cost him. He paused before taking another one, allowing the load that had fallen into his stomach to settle down.

  Agnes busied herself with the jug, realigning his medicine unnecessarily, or ruffling a cushion on a seat near the chimney. He watched her doings for a few minutes, before deciding her nerves were more annoying than funny.

  “Agnes, can you just… Just sit down, please.”

  Doe eyes widened on her face briefly before they fell to the floor. She curtsied and moved to a corner to sit on a stool to wait. Sebastian sighed and cut another piece of ham, smaller this time, hoping that coating it with mash would help it down. Eating without real company was dull, especially when chewing hurt this much.

  Another visitor took his attention away from his plate.

  “Good evening, Sebastian.”

  “Good evening, Uncle. You look tired.”

  Geraint laughed, and the grin washed away some of the worries weighting his features.

  “Thank you. You don’t look that fresh yourself. How’s your dinner?”

  Sebastian wrinkled his nose and pushed the rest of his food away.

  “Please never tell Elwyn and Derek I said this, but chicken soup has its perks.”

  The mention of his two best friends dimmed the light atmosphere their bantering had brought about. Geraint took the tray away to the main table and put a small scroll on his nephew’s lap. Sebastian didn’t grab it immediately, watching his elder walk around the room instead. Finally, Geraint ceased his inspection and took the seat by the bed.

  “It came in two days ago.”

  The young man picked up the missive; he recognized Derek’s handwriting and went carefully through the enigmatic message.

  Geraint stared at his nephew while he read. It was hard to say if the color on his cheeks came from bruises, or from eating properly. His shoulders were hunched, his back round against the pillows, and he read with the paper close to his chest to avoid lifting his arms up too much.

  “So. Wolfryth.”

  The older man nodded.

  “I fear so. Reports confirm his mercenaries are marching to the north too.”

  A small wrinkle marred Sebastian’s forehead.

  “It’s more complicated than that, isn’t it? They could have killed us all, or simply waited in the woods until we left. We would never have found them. Those men moved and fought like animals.”

  A shiver crumbled up his spine at the memory. Geraint waited for his nephew to go on.

  “He used us as a bait, to get Derek. He hoped you sent your best men after us. You didn’t, but the fool jumped in nonetheless. God, when will he learn?!”

  Agitation took its toll and Sebastian fell back in his cushions, exhausted and furious at his friend for being so careless, and at himself for being weak. If only he had been conscious, he would have convinced his best friend not to go. He would have seen through his cousin’s torturous schemes and stopped her beforehand. He would have… Sebastian turned his head toward his uncle.

  “Do you think Wolfryth knows Derek is to enter Camelot’s territory?”

  “Maybe not yet. We can only hope.”

  “How long can we keep up the pretence?”

  Geraint pushed onto his feet to go to the window and stared at the courtyard below.

  “A day, two at most. I ordered the doors to be closed for the night.”

  “We need a diversion.”

  Sebastian pushed his head back into his pillow, closing his eyes for an instant.

  “Recall your men from the north. And declare war on Wolfryth, on Derek’s behalf.”

  A yelp and a crash echoed Geraint’s own gasp. Both men had forgotten the maid, who fell on her knees to pick up the pieces of the tray she had silently gathered from the table. Geraint waved his hand and she hurried out.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Well, we want Wolfryth’s attention away from Camelot’s border.”

  “What will we do then? We won’t stand a chance if he attacks us with magic.”

  Sebastian met his uncle’s clear eyes with dark, serious ones.

  “I know. But do we have a choice?”

  Geraint shook his head.

  “You are asking me to risk the life of hundreds of people to save only one.”

  “Not one man, Sir Geraint. All of us.”

  Ylianor signalled Sebastian not to move, but for once accepted Geraint’s bow of deference with a short nod.

  “I have some information I must share with you.”

  She settled very straight on the chair the duke had deserted.

  “Several things were related to me yesterday afternoon.”

  Geraint furrowed his brows slightly, not daring interrupting the queen.

  “I have still to decide which part is true and which part is pure superstition. However, I was told only Derek can stop this madman from bringing more damages upon the kingdom, and this I believe.”

  She turned to the duke with a tired expression on her graceful face.

  “I won’t ask for your assistance as my vassal. I am not your queen anymore. I am asking for a friend’s help, as my husband did fifteen years ago.”

  Sebastian watched the battle on his uncle’s face. He knew what answer he would have given, he already had, but he was young and inexperienced. He hadn’t the weight of a duchy on his shoulders, or to balance lives against honour. Suddenly, he regretted his suggestion. Surely there was another way. They could continue to act as if Derek were among them, and… And believe in miracles.

  “And a friend’s help you will receive, Madam. I will reunite the council tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.”

  The duke bowed over the offered hand, and left.

  Sebastian noticed for the first time the shaking on the lady’s hands when she picked up the book he had abandoned earlier in the afternoon, too drowsy to read.

  “The Odyssey… I must say Derek always preferred The Iliad. The fighting suited him better than the tale of waiting and patience.”

  Sebastian smiled as Ylianor caressed the cover gently.

  “I was about to start with Book 21.”

  “Hmm, Penelope’s last challenge to the lordly wooers. Do you want me to read for you?”

  “Would you?”

  Ylianor grinned at the boyish glint in the young man’s stare and ruffled through the pages until she found the delicate lace of the bookmark.

  “And then Athena, the goddess with the bright eyes, inspired the daughter of Icarius, the wise Penelope, to present the wooers with the gray iron and the bow in the halls of Odysseus, weapons of her challenge and carriers of death.”

  Sebastian backed in the pillows to listen, eyelids half-closed. It seemed everything talked about bows and arrows lately. He played with a fold in the sheets.

  “Thank you for staying, Lady Ylianor.”

  Ylianor offered a warm smile and read on, the book open on her lap.

  Chapter 29

  By the time they reached the crossing, Derek felt stronger on his legs; or at least he was steady enough to stagger into the main corridor and lurch over to the wall without Sacha’s help. The young woman searched their bag for the shirt she had already torn apart, handing him a sugar cane in passing. He opened his mouth but the glare she shot him at the same time made him gulp back any form of protest about the food, or the tending.

  Derek scarcely
picked at his treat while she untied the ruined dressing from his left hand to replace it. She poured water on the wound to wash away the blood with another daring look and he was relieved to see the flesh was healing, if still raw.

  “I don’t know how it reopened. I didn’t hurt my hand. I think.”

  He recalled testing the sharpness of the strange crystals on the rock face and bearing on the roughly cut altar for leverage, nothing major. Derek nibbled at the sweet more out of habit than anything else. He used to heal quicker than that. The sugar made him thirsty.

  Sacha didn’t answer, paying more attention than strictly necessary to put away the soiled fabric and arranging their goods. Derek took a swig, leaning back against the wall.

  “Do you understand what happened?”

  The trouble was gone' that crystalline cocoon around him so everything seemed to move slowly. It had passed, just like it had in the forest. Sacha shook her head, still avoiding his stare. Derek waited.

  “What this place does to you, it scares me to death.”

  Not really the answer he would have liked to hear, especially when a good part of him squirmed in agreement. Her green eyes finally met his, blocking the wheels turning in his head.

  “Derek… The sword is yours. It’s your birthright. It calls for your blood and-”

  The blue eyes on her widened then narrowed, almost silver in eagerness. She felt him jitter under her hand, muscles tensing to get up and go retrieve what was his. Sacha gripped his forearm harder.

  “You must not take it. Derek, it’s important. Please, this one time, listen to me. Don’t go for that sword. The Source must remain sealed.”

  She hammered the last words, eyes blazing. She couldn’t explain why, she just knew. She was ready to beg him if she had to. The strange words in a language she didn’t speak were branded in her mind.