The new leader was a warrior and he recognized the power of the sword. He also knew the value of compromise and asked to be reborn following the Rites, before he agreed to bear it. He cleaned in the sacred waters, observed a fast and chased the Divine Stag on the blessed night of Bealtaine. A man of principles, the leader declared the maiden he bedded that night would stay by his side as his legitimate wife.
Therefore, the guides of the People blessed her dowry, accepting the Roman as their true King. The scabbard she embroidered as a present for her handfasting became the protector of spilled blood. As long as the truthful king would wear the scabbard, he would be protected from mortal wounds in recognition for the new king word of honour.
The man known as Acturus swore to protect all and reign wisely and received the last name of KinDraco.
oOo
At first, energy circled around him, cautious like a cat watching a mouse. Then Derek felt it fizzling on his skin, fiddling with his nerves as a playful woman. The brush trailed up his tailbone to the base of his skull, diving under his scalp so every hair on his head bristled. It moved around his shoulders, tenderly, and then glided down his arms, tempting him to accept its embrace. His heart pumped madly in his chest, making it hard remembering where he was and why.
Derek clutched Sacha’s comb to find an anchor in the rioting desires inside him. The energy flew away, going back to its previous lookout. The holly wood was pulsing heat and ice against his palm, maybe as a warning of what threatened to submerge him. The prince forced his grasp on the little object to relax, and slightly turned his head to his right to check on the twins.
Elwyn walked with his eyes half-closed, as if he was concentrating on something. Derek hoped he wasn’t elaborating one of those mad schemes of which he was so fond. Wolfryth would kill them all within a second if he tried anything.
The sorcerer was built like an oak; thick legs, large arms and even larger shoulders. Even his head was massive. Derek had fought knights as big before. But knights were honorable. This man was a brute and an assassin. Their only chance was for him to gather the sword and strike as fast as possible afterward. He prayed that whatever Sacha had said about him not being ready for the sword was wrong.
They were nearly at the bottom of the stairs now. Sacha’s torch bent forward to splash light on the flat ground below. She forced her arm to press up, the other still wrapped around Elwyn, more to steady herself than for him. Her legs wobbled under her. Her arms and her chest burned; yet exhaustion was drowned in the buzz in her head.
In the beginning, it had been easy to channel the voices toward Elwyn, so he heard the words Caer Lon poured endlessly into her soul. But the closer they came to the core of the mountain, where the Source lay, the faster the voices spun in her head, terrifyingly loud. Sacha trembled as they whispered about promises and trust. Her heart flipped when hisses about death and betrayal taunted her. The cries of terrible battles hurled in her ears, so vivid that she couldn’t discern past, present and future anymore.
From the corner of her eyes, she saw blackness leaping around Derek. Her warning got stuck in her throat. The Throne was his by birthright. Power sang in his blood. The sword was his, it would obey to his command. Was it time for the High Kings to rise again? Fire flared on his frame, growing quickly to fight the night. Gold tainted with blood. So many images, so alike, so different… Her head throbbed, heart coming up her throat once more, and she tightened her grip on Elwyn.
Derek stopped.
“It’s here. The tunnel in the middle.”
“Get in.”
The young man pointed at Elwyn and Sacha.
“Release them.”
Wolfryth growled.
“Get in.”
“Them first.”
“Don’t test my patience, son of the Dragon.”
Silver and gold flashed in the heart of the tunnel. Derek’s stare immediately glued to the sword in the stone, called forward by forces beyond his will. The blade had the purity of crystal. The hilt mirrored the magical light radiating from the walls closed on them. Oblivious of his friends and the massive silhouette of Wolfryth behind him, Derek approached the altar and climbed the short steps to kneel before the sword. Runes were pressed in the steel. They marked the double edge blade, encrusted into the metal. Their meaning escaped him, but deep down, he recognized them, their meaning was just within his grasp...
“Take it out now.”
Greed thickened Wolfryth’s voice. The prince stared at his friends, momentarily free from the fascination the sword held on him. Sacha hugged her twin brother so hard her knuckles had turned white. Her raven hair hid most of her exquisite face. Elwyn didn’t seem to mind the deadly grip, his attention entirely absorbed by the sword in front of him. His eyes were wide with awe.
Derek put one hand around the hilt, then the other, flexing his fingers against the grip. The magic that prowled around him purred, sharpening its claws on the back of his mind. Fangs sank into his neck. He resisted the urge to shout his lineage: he was Derek Pendragon, son of William, son of Richard, son of Brenhin… His ancestors sprawled to life, names becoming faces, dozens, hundreds of them, men and women who had honoured their vows and reigned over the Kingdoms, united in peace.
The blood of the Dragon simmered in his veins, his senses becoming more acute to the world around him. The stone was an amalgam of dust bound by energy, as flexible as human flesh. Water ran through it, and so did air. He could see the missing two feet of steel encased in the mesh of crystals, ready to be fetched again.
Tightening his grasp, Derek pulled on the hilt.
Slowly, easily, the blade came out of its case of stone. Straightening up, Derek played with the sword. It was perfectly adapted to his hand. He tested its weight, surprised to be able to handle the deadly weapon with only one hand.
“Give it to me.”
Derek stepped back from the sorcerer, eyeing his enemy carefully. Suddenly, the steel seemed a little clearer. Light reflected on the blade.
“Let my friends go.”
He pointed the sword to Wolfryth’s throat.
“Now.”
The sorcerer grimaced. His wrist hinged forward almost absently.
“Brann erar.”
Derek jumped sideways. A tongue of fire whipped toward the place he had been. The now empty stone hissed like an animal in pain. Wolfryth snarled.
“Hand me the Source, Pendragon. Its power is mine.”
“Never!”
Derek held the sword above his head and lunged forward. The blade ripped on some invisible shield the sorcerer created around him. Wolfryth swept the air in front of him. A brutal gush of wind slapped the young prince violently, so that he crashed against the still smoking altar. Derek grunted in pain, but pushed up on his knees to riposte.
“I’ll crush you like I crushed your father. Angrep!”
An arc of lighting erupted from nowhere and aimed at Derek. The prince parried the attack with the sword, feeble protection against the deadly bolt. The blast shoved him backward into the stone. The metal was already too hot in his unprotected hands. The steel paled to a blinding white. Excalibur seemed to absorb the energy that tried to kill him, but pumped his strength at the same time, as if it used it to resist the attack.
Behind the brilliance of the sword, he barely saw the furious face of his opponent. He gripped the hilt harder, refusing to let go. If he gave up, everything would be lost forever. His vision blurred.
‘Svic af kiom e kiom af svic.’
Sacha’s scream echoed in the small room, covering the impossible shriek of lighting against steel. Elwyn turned his stare away from the desperate fight to her. Light crowed her slender frame. Her entire being seemed to undulate like a banner in the wind. He grabbed the hand he had released for a few seconds, and felt energy invade his whole being. All a sudden, the earth under his feet became alive, and he breathed the water in the ground and in the air.
The voice cleared into a melodious tone he u
nderstood.
‘Svic af kiom e kiom af svic.’ ‘Heart is blood and blood is heart.’
Derek fell on one knee then the other hit the ground. The brightness was so intense Elwyn couldn’t watch at the sword any longer.
‘Svic af kiom e kiom af svic.’
The spell exploded in his head.
Elwyn dove forward, one arm still clutched around Sacha. He grasped Derek’s ankle at the same moment Wolfryth realized his intention. Balls of fire lurched at the trio. Light and darkness clashed. The world spun faster and air got stuck into of his lungs. He had trouble breathing. Reality narrowed to a pulse, small and frantic. Wolfryth’s yells of rage died on the wind. Every sound disappeared, reduced to that beating heart. And then the beating stopped.
Chapter 33
Sacha lost her grip on Elwyn and sprang up, panicked. Air scorched its way back to her lungs. She gasped and blinked. Behind her lashes, the shadows shaped into faces she knew, the dry silhouette of Master Bor, the blacksmith, and the plump Master Pelles. How…
“Derek, oh, thank God…”
Ylianor knelt before her son. Geraint, who was hugging Elwyn, dragged her in the same tight embrace.
Home. They were home.
Still a spectator whilst the world swirled in a painful ballet of sounds and images, Sacha noticed relief fighting suspicion on the counselors’ faces. She turned her head to see Derek struggling to push onto his feet, his mother’s arm secured around his waist. His face was twisted in pain. His hand still clutched the hilt of an enormous sword. It didn’t look so big a moment ago when he…
The memory escaped her. She had trouble gathering her thoughts; they came and went too quickly in her head. Sacha tried to shake her father’s hands off her shoulders without success. She had the strength of a newborn kitten. Anything more than a whisper asked too much of her.
“What happened?”
“I’m not sure and I don’t care…”
Elwyn’s answer came through the fog invading her brain. Someone else talked; the words meaningless to her.
“Sir Geraint, surely this changes your decision…”
“This council is adjourned until tomorrow morning.”
She recognized the voice of Master Grifelt in the dismissal and then left herself to drift off.
oOo
When she regained consciousness, Sacha was lying on her bed. She didn’t remember bathing or changing clothes, but she knew she had. The fresh fabric of her shift was a blessing on her skin. She ran a cautious hand in her hair, indulging in the soft contact. It felt so good to be clean again.
Home.
The grey light coming through the half-drawn curtains made it impossible to know if it was morning or afternoon. Sacha sighed and turned her back to the window before the gloom of that low sky chased away the well-being from her rest completely.
Her mind juggled with the last day’s events, unable to fit them into a coherent puzzle. Like fragments of a lingering dream, every image stayed distinct only until she tried to connect it with another. Derek yielding to Wolfryth, the sword, the ancient magic filling her, and Elwyn screaming in her head. None of these memories seemed real yet each one had her heart pounding harder.
Sacha pushed away the coverlet, unable to stay still any longer. She slipped on a dress the color of the dark clouds hanging above Haven and exited her room.
The few people she came across in the corridors saluted her briefly before they went to their occupations in a furtive haste. Gloom seemed to have taken over the entire castle. Upright, her body remembered it hadn’t eaten properly for days, and her stomach demanded that she find her way to the kitchens. Even there, the usually joyous atmosphere was tampered with hushes and thoughtful glances. The slowness that reigned around the cooking fires made her guess noon was a memory, for meals always sent the place in frenzy. A kitchen boy smiled shyly at her before a cook scooted him out to bring water with threats of pots to scrub if he didn’t hurry.
Sacha was to sit down at the long table when a maid she didn’t recognize asked:
“Will you join Master Sebastian for tea, my lady?”
She remarked the large tray covered with steaming cups and buttered scones, ready to be taken away, and nodded hastily. Her cheeks burned in shame. How could she have forgotten? Sacha hurried up the stairs leading to the wing where Sebastian, Elwyn and Derek had their quarters, refusing to listen to the protest of her sore muscles, now fully awake.
The door was open, so she neglected knocking and instead peeked inside. The two silhouettes by the bed stopped her from flying in the arms of the dark-haired man seated in the bed. Composing herself, Sacha approached quietly, avoiding both Elwyn and Derek’s stares when she bent over her cousin to kiss his forehead.
“I’m glad you’re awake.”
Sebastian returned her bright smile, squeezing her hand gently.
“And I’m glad you’re all back here in one piece.” He nodded over her shoulder. “Put that on the table, thank you.”
The maid put the tea tray down and bowed quickly before she closed the door behind her. Elwyn approached the food with a famished look on his face. Sacha’s stomach shrunk in envy when he picked up a scone and shoved it almost entirely in his mouth. Sebastian laughed.
“Elwyn, why don’t you serve the tea?”
Freed from her hostess’ duty, Sacha released her cousin’s hand to install herself at his feet on the bed with her legs under her, arranging her skirt so it pooled around her. She didn’t care how unladylike it might look. It was just the four of them now, like when they were younger. Derek had seen her in far worst states in the last days, anyway.
The prince had taken his favorite position by the window, checking on the courtyard below, so she could only see half his face. He, too, had rested and looked much more presentable. Interest warmed the pit of her stomach as she noticed he hadn’t shaved. Sacha glanced away quickly.
Sebastian let his stare ventured from one to another. Sacha suspected he looked for something to say. Surely, confined in bed as he was, with the sole visits of Jeffrey who looked gruffer than ever and servants who hurried out of the room after opening the curtains or helping him to a cat-wash, the news of their climatic apparition the night before had yet to reach him. She said: “We arrived yesterday.”
Sebastian’s short nod had Sacha swallowing. She failed to understand why suddenly chitchat was so hard between them and the feeling she was the cause of the pregnant silence thickened in a lump, blocking her throat. Derek turned away from his vigil.
“You already know of the council Geraint had summoned.”
The statement of the prince seemed to conclude a conversation they had begun before she arrived. Elwyn continued to busy himself with the teapot and plates, his nose down. Sacha detached her eyes from the jewels scintillating on the golden hilt at Derek’s waist to look first at her brother, then her cousin.
“You all seem to know something I don’t. What’s the matter?”
Elwyn answered first.
“We are at war, Sacha. Father declared Wolfryth a usurper and called on his vassal’s duties to Camelot’s Crown to revolt against him.”
Her brother seemed on the verge of adding something but he shut up, looking at Derek intently before he returned to the plate in his hand. Color drained from her cheeks. They were safe now. They could resume their lives without risking more. War would bring death and desperation upon the people. Why…? Her stare collided with Derek’s unreadable one.
“Derek, hundreds will die!”
He could die. And Elwyn. And Sebastian.
“I know.”
Sacha opened her mouth to argue further. His hand rose from the sword it was absently caressing to silence her.
“I won’t let that happen.”
Something in the angle of his jaw transformed the thanks on her tongue into a chip of ice, which she forced herself to swallow. It chilled her to the bone. His eyes returned to the window, his hand finding his weapon once more
, his back stiff to block her probing. She knew that stance by heart and she hated it. Sacha gathered her skirt to stand, determined to have the entire story out of him, one way or another. Sebastian interfered.
“Elwyn, do you have any intention to share, or should we call for more scones?”
The little joke fell flat. The young man wasn’t eating anymore, torn between his loyalty to his friend and his twin sister. He had the same puppy look every time they bickered, but somehow the growing silence made it even worse for him than the icy barbs they used to throw at each other. Sacha took the cup her brother was holding and brought it to her cousin. Sebastian asked, “So where were you all this time?”
Elwyn washed down the last crumbles of sweet bread with a mouthful of tea.
“Wolfryth discovered the city of Caer Lon, and he brought me there after we were attacked.”
Sebastian bowed his head.
“So no one else survived.”
“I fear so.”
Derek approached the table in turn. Sacha tried to catch his eyes, in vain. Keeping her hand from trembling when she handed him a cup demanded an effort of her. She wanted to believe his elusiveness irritated her; that she was just annoyed; not anxious.
“How Derek and Sacha got there, I have no idea. Wolfryth tortured us to force Derek to bring him to the sword trapped in stone, and…”
Sebastian turned his head to the prince. Derek fetched the blade out of its stealth slowly and presented it for all to see. The tarnish was completely gone, as if he had spent hours polishing the metal and sharpening its edges. Sebastian held one hand to touch the sword and Derek instinctively withdrew his hand, before he noticed and displayed it fully so his friend could admire the weapon.
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