“You won’t defy me for long, young seer…”
Wolfryth snapped his teeth like the wild dog he looked like. The thin layer around her flinched and popped. Panicked, Sacha tried to move away but her back was already at the wall. Her throat squeezed painfully. She gasped for air, only meeting with agony. Darkness grew in front of her eyes. Her fingers clawed the space around her, unable to fight the shadows strangling her. Her head felt so light she dreamed about floating, exquisitely empty. Then all thoughts disappeared.
oOo
The young woman woke up in alarm, her breath laboured and her heart throbbing. Air hissed through her lips as she tried to calm down. Her throat cloyed disagreeably, hurting with every difficult heave.
Sacha wanted to push on her feet, and she realized she was lying on the floor. Standing asked too much of her, and she fell back on her backside with a little cry.
Her eyes adjusted to the dim light and she started noticing her surroundings. She crawled on her knees and hands, still unable to straighten up, and reached the facing wall and the body crouched against it.
Dried blood and dirt had formed a crust in the stubble on his jaw under her fingers. His left wrist was clutched to his chest at a bizarre angle. The bandage around it was ruined.
Sacha sat near the prisoner and touched his forehead gently. She felt pain, unable to tell if it was his or hers. Derek winced when she brushed the cut on his temple. His skin was cool under her fingers. Or maybe it was her who was too hot. She did not know. Sacha took her hand away, and nestled against him in the semi-darkness. Her head came to rest on his shoulder, as if it was too heavy for her alone to bear.
“I’m so sorry…”
Tears tingled in her eyes, too many to be contained, burning when they glided down her cheeks.
“You seem to say that a lot lately. Are you trying to make up for the last fifteen years?”
The quip was barely more than a whisper. Sacha straightened up and met serious blue eyes searching her face for any traces of injury. Finding none, Derek looked away and gave a pull to his bonds. A rattle answered his effort, but the chain did not budge.
“Now would be the perfect time for a trick or two, Sacha.”
“I don’t know any ‘trick’. I…”
She bit her tongue before saying "I’m sorry" again. She slowly began to learn Derek used sarcasm like she used scowls and outburst of temper. He was baiting her so the despair of their situation did not crush down on her, or himself. Sacha leaned against his side again and he automatically brought his free arm around her. The contact comforted her.
“Where do you think Elwyn is?”
“Here!”
The voice came from the other side of the fence. Derek grunted when Sacha pushed on his shoulder to get up.
“Are you alright, Elwyn? How…?”
“I’m fine, I think. What about you?”
“Derek is wounded…”
“Am not.”
She frowned at him and he glared back.
“I’m shackled to the wall, however, which is rather inconvenient.”
The retort was strained with his usual arrogance. Sacha snorted but Elwyn laughed.
“Tell me about it. My former bedroom was far more pleasant, save for the company. So, what’s the plan?”
The answer echoed into the semi-darkness.
“Awfully simple, magician. Pendragon brings me to the Source, or I kill you all.”
Chapter 31
Wolfryth started on Elwyn.
Derek pulled Sacha to his chest, blinding her so she didn’t see the tongues of fire darting at her twin brother. He couldn’t conceal her from the screams though, and soon wished he too could hide from the screams. She jerked with every blow, every spell. Sometimes she whimpered even before Elwyn cried. Each burn, each whip, every mental torture Wolfryth inflected to her brother, Sacha felt too. The horrible images the sorcerer drilled into her brother’s mind - blood, death, monsters feasting on human flesh - she saw as well. She twisted and sobbed against Derek’s chest, and the only thing he could do was looked at their suffering and bear it.
The display of cruelty would have been easier to understand if only the sorcerer had actually asked something. But the man was silent. Terrifying silent. The only noise the prince heard was the cracks of the torches and - his jaw clenched hard - bones.
An inhuman shriek tore the silence apart, and Elwyn’s body went limp. The prince embraced the woman in his arms tighter, her face buried against his heart to muffle her cries of anguish. Her teary murmur took him by surprise.
“Take the comb, Derek, please… He must not find it.”
His fingers brushed on the wood restraining her hair, the charm that had apparently protected her from the blonde’s attack earlier, but would likely fail to spare her now.
“I’m next. Keep the comb with you. Please…”
“I won’t let him touch you.”
“Don’t do anything; whatever he wants, he must not have it. He will kill us anyway.”
The giant was already turning to the couple in the other cell. Derek nodded imperceptibly against her forehead, and the comb disappeared inside his clothing. Then he struggled to stand, shielding her from view. A roar of laugher welcomed the effort.
“You’re just as ludicrous as your father… True to the knight’s vow to protect the weak and the helpless… Szarik”
Sacha yelped in terror as she started slipping on the ground, pulled to her tormentor by some invisible cord. Derek lunged forward to seize her hand, but the bonds foiled his attempt. The shackles bit into his wrist. Derek almost hoped his wound would reopen, so the blood would oil his hand into freedom. He yanked twice at the handcuff, bringing up a laugh from Wolfryth.
The young woman was now kneeling at the giant’s feet, prostrate. Her free hair flew over her shoulders to the ground, her arms loose by her sides. Derek growled in warning.
Wolfryth put two fingers under her chin to force her face up.
“What a pity to mar those angelic features.” He cast a glance toward the chained prince. “Don’t you think?”
“I forbid you to touch her!”
If he only had a weapon, a sword or even his dagger, he would throw it at the brute without hesitation. Derek fisted his hands, pulling desperately at his bonds. The sorcerer returned his attention to the woman at his feet, his fingers pressing hard into her cheeks.
“What do you say, seer? We are close already, after all those nights of sharing dreams.”
Derek roared.
“Leave her alone! I’ll kill you, I swear...”
“Snoeren!”
No sound came out when Derek bawled his frustration. He growled, the effort nearly tearing his throat apart and spat, “Let her go, now!”
Wolfryth twisted his head, the golden eyes a thin line of hatred. The sorcerer lifted one hand and the prince’s shoulder cracked loudly. He gave a ferocious pull at his chains nonetheless, trying to reach for the immobile form of Sacha.
“Derek, don’t.”
Her order froze him into place instantly. Amazed, the young man saw Sacha slowly arise and brush off the sorcerer’s hold with a backflip of her hand. Surely it was surprise that gave her the leverage. The top of her head didn’t even reach the man’s chin, and he was twice as large as she was.
When she spoke again, Derek barely recognized her voice in the deep cavernous tone.
“Your time is coming to an end, Wolfryth. You can’t break Him; he is the Blood and the Source will obey to his command.”
The giant took one step back, his scared face distorted with fury.
“The Source shall be mine.”
“The Power obeys the Blood of the Dragon and only him.”
“Enough!”
Wolfryth slapped her so hard Sacha fell on the floor again.
“Sacha!”
The weight in Derek’s chest lifted partly when he saw her stir, stretching carefully her arm toward a still unconscious Elwyn. She reache
d her brother, first close enough to touch his arm then his chest, before she managed to push upright and take his head on her lap. Her fingers roamed over the ashen face, and Derek blinked in disbelief. Under the tender caress, Elwyn’s bruises seemed to fade, the biggest marks shrinking to a copper flick before they vanished completely. He didn’t know she had such magic within her. She probably didn’t know either. Her eyes were dreamy, their focus very far from the body in her arms.
The prince rattled his chains to attract the sorcerer’s attention back to him. If she needed time, he’d buy her some. But the wolf-man was already marching upon the woman who had defied him just a moment before, his top lip curled up to bare his teeth. Derek pulled the last card he had.
“I’ll do it!”
He had no idea what the "source of power" was. His stomach heaved knowing Sacha wasn’t really aware of her actions, too lost in magic to see the danger; he had to stop that man, and he only knew one way to do so: standing, with a sword in his hand.
“I’ll take you to the Source.”
Only then, he understood what it was. Sacha had asked him not to take the sword out of its sheath of stone. She had asked him to refuse, whatever happened. The sword was his, she said, his birthright. Whatever the sword really was, she had pleaded him not to reveal it, but it was the only way. He just couldn’t stand seeing her and Elwyn tortured without at least fighting for them. God forgive him. He just couldn’t.
“You leave them alone, and I’ll unlock it for you.”
Wolfryth was going to kill them all. But he could have at least one chance to bring down the beast. One chance was all it took.
oOo
The guard bowed before Sonia, apologizing for disturbing her evening.
“This letter just came in for you, my lady. It is sealed with red wax.”
The mark of urgent messages. Above the crimson lace, the wax bore her mother’s seal.
“Thank you.”
The man bowed again, leaving her alone once more. The brunette pecked at the fire anxiously while she broke the seal.
My daughter,
The world has changed already. You know what to do.
She folded the piece before throwing it in the fire. Her mother always answered questions with riddles; such was the Guardians' way. What was worse was that she understood exactly what her mother meant. Some days, she wished that habit had not rubbed off on her so much. Sonia dismissed the thought. Too much was at stake for regrets or wistful wishes.
The brunette returned to the door to lock it before she opened one of her chests and took out the books it contained. When she reached the bottom, she pressed a small scratch in the wood. A panel slipped aside, revealing a piece of old tapestry rolled to form a case about three feet long.
Sonia slowly ran her index on the intricate gold and red stitches forming runes she didn’t recognize. The symbols seemed incredibly fragile compared to the tired leather bond tied at one end.
After a few minutes, she stored the tapestry back in its hiding place and replaced her chest under the bed.
Her mother had the power to read all Elements, the first high-priestess with such gift in generations, and she, the elder of the Children, was the Carrier, as it always had been among the Faerlings since Caid had entrusted the Scabbard to their guardianship. Yes, she knew what to do.
oOo
He refused to associate the twitch in his fingers or the beating inside his body with impatience. Only fools would rush in without a second glance, and he was not a fool. The scar on his face reminded him of the cost of moving close to a Pendragon unprepared.
Wolfryth sneered disdainfully, eyeing the shadows in front of him. He had no more leverage on that one than on his father. The feelings the young one sustained for his friends gave him strength, more than his old man had fifteen years ago when fighting for his life. He would break the younger anyhow, just like he had his father.
The sorcerer reported his attention on the silhouettes jumping from step to step in front of him. The seer was helping her brother, one arm circling his waist. Her connection with Elemental Air and Fire was strong; nearly as strong as his. But the daze in her eyes while she healed her brother proved she hadn’t mastered all their possibilities.
Such a pity, to waste useful resources when there were so few truly gifted. He pulled the wolf skin higher on his massive shoulders. Her threat was nothing. In a few moments, he would bath in the Ultimate Power Source, seizing up its energy to become a god among men. Thinking about a legacy was useless for one about to taste eternity.
oOo
Geraint turned from the armour on display to look at the seven men standing around the large table. Four of them were soldiers, friends and allies in charge of his fiefs. The other three were merchants, notables whom the inhabitants of Haven had chosen to represent them at the duke’s council. They all shared the grey temples of age and rounding bellies. None were fit to go to war. He felt like a farmer about to throw his sheep into the lion’s den.
A light knock on the door announced the last member of this particular council. Geraint escorted Ylianor toward an additional chair at the end of the table, grateful for the former queen’s presence by his side.
“My friends, please take a seat.”
Grifelt, one of the merchant with whom Geraint enjoyed a game of dice once in a while and the senior of his counsellors said: “You don’t look like the proud father who is about to announce us the one news that could bring the delightful company of the Lady Ylianor at this table.”
Ylianor bowed her head and smiled at the subtle welcome. Geraint cleared his throat, and began before he regretted his decision.
“Unfortunately, Master Grifelt, such an announcement is yet to come. No, I summoned you here tonight for less pleasant reasons.”
The smiles born from the image of the handfasting of the fierce-tempered Lady of Haven and Prince Derek gave way to more serious faces.
“As you all know, the past weeks have brought worrying news. The northern and eastern lands are plundered. I dispatched a company in the east and it was attacked within our frontiers. Some information I received only yesterday confirmed that Wolfryth is the one threatening us.”
Concern and wariness replaced seriousness on the seven faces turned to him.
“We cannot tolerate it any longer. I will not tolerate it.”
The men looked at each other and back at Geraint, fear already perceptible, whispering against the heavy silence. Grifelt spoke first.“What have you decided, Sir Duke?”
The seasoned soldier braced himself against his own words, sadness filling his voice. “I was one of King William’s closest friends, and his ally. Yet I failed to go to his help when I had to.” Ylianor placed one hand on his forearm, comforting. Geraint nodded and stood. “I won’t fail the House of the Dragon a second time. On behalf of Prince Derek, who owns my vassalage, I am declaring war on the usurper Wolfryth.”
Geraint sat back down and waited for hell to break loose.
Chapter 32
The rattle of iron-heeled boots on the stone made Elwyn jolt with every thump. Sacha tightened her grip on him, feeling his jitters. Elwyn shivered and realized she was the one who was frightened. All their lives, they had understood each other with half-finished sentences, but now it seemed even that was dispensable, as he peeked into his twin’s mind. Her feelings were a mix of fear and pain, which he understood, and a rainbow of emotions that amazed him: pride and warmth, trust, doubt. He wished he could reassure her, but terror was so deeply encrusted in his own bones he kept his mouth shut, focusing on the stairs.
Things before the stairs were still confused; painful and cold and pitch black. He had felt Sacha’s magic curling around his soul, so tender and comforting that light replaced darkness inside him. Then Wolfryth had forced them to go down the stairs.
Elwyn glanced at the man on his left. Derek moved with his back straight, shoulders proudly squared, one hand fisted along his right side, the other hooked in h
is shirt. His clenched jaw spoke volumes about his state of mind. Derek’s plan, if he had one, had the smell of a death wish.
‘We need to help him, Elwyn.’
He jumped. Sacha squeezed his waist lightly to quiet him. Her mind brushed his again.
‘Derek thinks he can kill Wolfryth, but he cannot; not alone; not yet.’
The caress was delicious. Soft and sweet, it had the delicate scent of roses his sister adored. The voice in his head giggled before the warmth iced and a hint of juniper spiced the roses to stir him up.
‘It’s important, Elwyn. Listen.’
Elwyn let himself relax in the arms of his sister and listened.
oOo
The storm lasted for five days and six nights. It fashioned the earth with an unthinkable hail of ice and stone. Where stones struck, fires blazed until all was left were bare grounds and lands ready for a new beginning. Save for a few lunatics who had left their refuge to venture into the chaos, the people were safe.
The cataclysm had built new alliances at the same time it changed the landscape forever. Where there had been plains, mountains overhung. Faults appeared where there had been hills. Where there had been Britons, Celts and Jutes, now stood the People. Even the invaders were now off the Land.
Romans offered their taste for planning and order to beat the chaos. The People brought their crafts and their knowledge of the land for food and goods. Winter succeeded the fall. Most survived, thanks to the communion of talents.
When spring left its place to summer, a new leader arose; a Roman who promised to serve all. To prove his word, he walked inside the hole the sky had carved into the highest mountain and brought back its heart.
Accepting the pact, the best craftsmen between both nations bound to create the symbol of the new order. The blacksmiths forged a blade of tempered steel out of the Celestial Stone. They gave it a length of three feet: one for the People, the first nation; one foot was given for the Romans, new to the country, and the last one represented their unity, survivors of the gods’ hatred. Jewellers encrusted the hilt with precious gemstones: diamonds for strength and purity; topazes for courage and temperance; and amethysts for wisdom and humility. Their forging took almost ten moons to complete and spring came again before they finished. They called their masterpiece Caladbolg, or "hard cleft" - in Latin, Excalibur, the weapon of the Great.
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