I untied his feet and huddled very close to him with the bow in my arms, and even though he obviously couldn’t offer much protection and I clearly wasn’t an expert with the bow, both gave me a feeling of comfort. The horses seemed calm, and I took this as a good sign. My eyelids felt heavy, but I fought against it not wanting to sleep, worried I wouldn’t wake up, or that I would be trapped in their fairyland for years like he had warned me.
Each blink felt longer than the last. Maybe one minute rest would be okay. Just one minute…
“Do not touch me again!” a voice roared. I jolted upright, wide-awake, heart pounding. I darted my eyes left to right; nobody was around. His eyes were still shut, but he had twisted to his side, face contorted into pain.
“Brendelon,” I shook him.
He stayed still for a long while, only thing that moved were his facial features. I watched him carefully. Then suddenly he thrashed about. I scrambled out of his way. He could take my head off and not even know it. He was rolled onto his stomach, grasping handfuls of grass and dirt, almost like he was going to army crawl his way forward, but he stayed in place, groaning.
“I will never give the sword to you,” he growled into the dirt. His body convulsed into a hunched ball and he moaned in pain. He finally relaxed for a moment, heaving in breaths then crawled onto his hands and knees, trying to slowly move forward.
“Brendelon!” I tried again, keeping my distance.
He shook his head, dropping it forward, clutching his hair. “It is mine,” he hissed into the ground.
He stayed like that: face in the dirt, knees tucked under, dark cape spread over him. I didn’t go near him; he wasn’t conscious of reality, and I wasn’t sure how long this would last. He had said years could pass and only feel like days. I began considering how much damage it would do to have his horse drag him back to Caerleon. Although, I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to find our way back. I couldn’t stay stuck in the wilderness forever. I’d never survive.
I hugged my knees, watching his motionless form, every once in a while he’d convulse, but the talking stopped. In a twisted way I wished he would continue to talk. It made me feel less lonely, and I was sure his groaning and yelling would scare away on any oncoming predators. I glanced around the dark field. It seemed still but who was I to say.
My eyes remained faithful throughout the night until I finally saw the aurora of the sun peeking up over dark mountains to greet me. The daylight was a relief, a safe haven. I laid on my side, keeping my gaze on Brendelon. Maybe I could sleep; surely we were safer in the daylight.
I closed my eyes for what only felt like a split second until a hand grasped my shoulder and began shaking me.
I screamed and swatted at the hands that held me as my eyes adjusted, finally focusing on green emeralds that stared back at me. I scrambled backwards, unsure if he was still drugged off fairy dust and afraid to be at the center of his fury.
“Brendelon?” I started.
The right side of his mouth curled upward, mocking. He glanced down at himself. “So it would appear…”
I frowned. “Well, you definitely weren’t yourself last night.”
His eyes tightened. “Damned fairies.” He stood up, shooting his brooding look towards the forests trees, little birds chirped in the distance almost as a response. Then he glanced down at me, offering me a hand. “How long was I out?”
I took his hand as he pulled me up. “Just the night.” The sun was high overhead; I must have slept longer than I thought. I still felt exhausted but relieved that he was awake.
“How did we get out of there?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the forest.
“Umm… I had to drag you.” He turned to me with a confused expression. “Well actually, the horse dragged you…”
I expected him to be mad, but instead his face broke out into a grin. Maybe he thought I was joking, but he didn’t question me. He just shook his head.
“Well, that certainly is a first…” He scratched his head, eyes slightly softening. He gave me that adorable half-grin, and I felt my cheeks redden.
“What happened to you?”
“Elenora decided to remind me of her power.” He clenched his fists. “She might as well be a sorceress,” he muttered.
“Elenora?”
“Aye, I saved her life once and this is how she repays me,” he spat out disgustedly. “I knew better than to trust the fairy folk.”
“Wait,” I said suddenly getting my mind clear. “She said she saved your life once and would not do it again. I think she meant to kill you,” I pointed to his wrists, “because she was frightened of the bond you have…” I decided to not mention the part about her claiming he would destroy them all; he already thought he was wicked enough. “Is that the transfer Merlin was talking about?”
His eyes clouded, and his jaw clenched suddenly as he took deep breaths. It seemed as though he were debating on whether or not to tell me the truth. He finally sighed, pushing his hand through his hair. “Aye and there is another bond on my ankle now.” He walked forward a few steps, chewing on his thumbnail.
“Why didn’t you tell anybody?” I asked him.
He turned to me with a bored look on his face. “What can they do besides worry and pity over me as always, treating me as though I were some incompetent child?” He shrugged his shoulders. “I got myself into this mess, and I can get myself out of it.”
I pulled my hair over my left shoulder, running my fingers through it trying to calm myself as anxiety took flight in my stomach. “Aren’t you afraid?” I asked quietly. He seemed awfully calm for someone who was under the bond of black magic, even Elenora seemed afraid, and she knew magic.
He snorted, as he walked towards the horses. “Hardly, I am just angry that she delayed me a whole day.”
“You were also talking in your sleep…”
He turned to face me so quickly it almost took me by surprise. His eyes darkened, as he lowered an eyebrow. “What did I say?” he demanded, his tone somewhere between angry and worried.
“Something about a sword that was yours and you will never give it to someone.” I decided to leave out the part about him moaning and shouting to not touch him again, maybe that was too personal.
“It is mine,” he growled defensively, then his face softened and he looked past me, eyes averting around.
“You’re keeping your something from me,” I accused.
His face was void of all playfulness now. Instead, I could see another eternal debate going on in his eyes. He pushed his palm over his eye, dropping it as he let out a little groan. “Morgaina wanted my sword,” he finally admitted. “She wanted to control me. I was going to destroy her for deceiving me, but I did not know she would use her black magic on me like that.” He clenched his fist at the memory.
“What is so special about the sword?” I asked.
He crossed his arms. “It belongs to me; I won it.” He seemed different; possessed.
“You won it?”
His eyes went wide. He turned away from me, head downwards as he scratched the back of his head. “I sort of remember being championed at Cadvic’s tournament now, and I won the sword there,” he said quietly, but I wasn’t entirely convinced that he didn’t remember this earlier.
“I thought you said you never compete?”
He turned back to me frowning. “I never have before.”
“Then why would you now?”
“For the sword…” he said slowly, looking off, trance-like again. “It was the most beautiful sword I have ever seen, forged with black steel…”
“You are fighting against black magic just for a sword? Do you really think it is worth all the trouble?” I asked incredulously.
The breeze blew a few strands of his short hair across part of his eyes, giving him an unscrupulous look as he grinned wickedly, the grin I was use to but did not favor. “It would appear so, Katarina.” He walked to his horse. “And I know exactly where it is.”
I followed him to the horses. “Where?”
He pushed his hair out of his eyes, flopping back to its usual perfect place at the side of his face, “At William Cole’s castle of course, and we had better hurry because if Merlin arrives before we do, he will have Arthur after us.”
“That’s why the bracelet freed you from the curse?” I asked him, quickly following as he slung himself up on his horse. “Because she wanted the sword, and you hid it there?”
He shrugged his shoulders, looking annoyed as he pulled back on the reins, steadying his horse. “I know nothing of the curse, Katarina, but I know Morgaina wanted the sword, the sword is at Cole Castle, and it was a stone from Cole Castle that freed me. It is pretty clear, is it not?”
He gave his horse a swift kick in the side, lowering his head as he took off with the cloak flapping behind him before I could even reply to his rude remark.
Chapter Fifteen: Stone of the Well
“What do you mean you are his protector,” she spat out disgustedly. “You are the High King!”Her pet raven, which he was certain, was meant to be a mockery to him, squawked condescendingly beside her, and he glared at it wanting nothing more than to break its neck.
“No,” he said firmly, moving his eyes to meet hers. “Arthur is the High King.”
“What have they done to you?” she asked mortified.
He stared at her blankly.
“You incompetent, pathetic waste!” she screeched; the raven echoing her. “I should have let your father take your life when he had the chance, before you were deceived into being some… some serving boy!” she continued to rant. “You have always been a failure. You are not worthy to be the blood of a Pendragon!”
“I am not a Pendragon,” he said darkly.
“You are not even worthy to be a Beaumont,” she seethed.
He turned to walk away from her, but she gripped his forearm hard, digging her long pointed nails deep into his skin. He looked down at the trickles of blood now beginning to surface and lifted his head to face her, as she reached back and slapped him hard across his face. “You disrespectful, disobedient brat!”
“Do not touch me again,” he growled, yanking his arm from her grasp.
Her beautiful face twisted. “And you wonder why it was impossible to love you,” she hissed. “I am your mother! Do you have any idea what I had to endure? You will obey me, do you understand?”
He laughed disgustedly; his eyes were on fire, no longer wide with fear and longing the way she had remembered.
“You know nothing of being a mother, and I am not a little boy,” he snarled towering over her, gripping her slender arms between his strong hands so tightly she could feel bruises already begin to form, and for the first time she noticed how much he was like his father. “You cannot watch my skull get crushed into a wall anymore,” he continued, getting angrier by the moment. “You do not get to tell me what to do anymore, understand that!” he roared.
She gulped in disbelief that he would treat her so.
“And if you ever speak ill of Arthur again, I will rip your throat out myself.” He shoved her backwards out of his grip, nearly toppling her over. She stared up into the emeralds now burnt to coal; the color was hers, but the malevolence was his father’s.
The castle was much smaller than Arthur’s; in fact, it was more like a large house than the fortress of Caerleon, but it peaceful, surrounded by large grass fields and close to a flowing stream. As we got closer, Brendelon’s face changed, becoming hardened and merciless. I was becoming nervous that he was angrier at William Cole than I thought for leaving him in a nearly thousand year old curse, and I couldn’t help the fear that he would hurt him and that I would be responsible for that.
He jumped off his horse and stormed towards the entrance of the castle.
“Wait! Where are you going?” I called out, swinging myself out of the saddle to chase him, feeling the sudden need to protect William.
Suddenly a man came out of the large wooden doors that led to the front of his castle. He was medium height, fair skin and light hair, with a very nervous face.
“Brendelon,” he stammered, clearly terrified of the implacable knight. He walked down a few steps meeting Brendelon in the open green fields about twenty yards from the entrance.
Brendelon didn’t speak but his eyes were murky. He grabbed the man by the front of his shirt. “Where is it William?” he demanded, tightening his grip.
The man looked over his shoulder, towards the small castle behind him. “Please, allow me to explain,” he said holding out his hands in front of him, as a form of surrender.
Brendelon dropped his hold, crossed his arms, and kept his face still as stone.
The man widened his eyes and rolled them towards the entrance of the castle. He was warning us of something, and Brendelon caught on as he took a slight step back and gripped his sword, suddenly on guard.
“They have been waiting for you,” William said quietly.
Suddenly a group of twenty knights or so dressed in dark long sleeves under metal shoulder plates and a dark blue tunic with silver embroidery of a wolf burst through the entrance door with swords drawn. One grabbed William Cole, holding his arms from behind and pulled him back into the group of warriors.
Out stepped an older man with dark slicked back hair and slight silver streaks throughout that almost blended in with the shine of his well-greased hair. In his hand was a long beautiful sword but it shined silver, and I knew it couldn’t be the one Brendelon was looking for.
“Bolvyn,” Brendelon sneered, raising his sword, “are you so afraid you feel the need to ambush me?”
The man named Bolvyn gave a fake laugh. “Of course not, Brendelon. However, we do all know your very unpredictable behavior and as our majesty has requested us to bring you in alive, the reinforcement was necessary.”
“Your Majesty?” Brendelon spat, glancing over the man’s shoulder then quickly looked around, taking in the enclosing forces.
A small wind blew, lifting the man’s greased back hair, he smiled as he ran a hand back over his head smoothing it down once more, seeming all too calm and sure of himself. “Aye, I do believe you are well acquainted with her.”
Her. So they were working with Morgaina.
Brendelon seethed, shoulders heaving up and down. “You have sided with that evil serpent?”
Bolvyn laughed again. “Apparently you are not quite as dim-witted as your reputation would imply,” he ridiculed.
Brendelon snarled at him and suddenly Bolvyn’s eyes shot up, apprehensively focusing on something over Brendelon’s shoulder. Brendelon turned slightly to follow his gaze and a smile crept up to his lips. “I do hope you brought some more men…” he said slowly, turning to face Bolvyn.
Bolvyn grimaced. He seemed irritated but not quite afraid as he watched the four figures rapidly progressing toward us. He held up a hand to steady his men who began shifting anxiously at the sight of the oncoming knights, close enough to now see the faces of Lancelot, Bedivere, Kay, and Merlin.
With the grace of a gazelle, Lancelot swung off his horse, sword drawn. He spun it around, with a smirk on his face, Bedivere and Kay at his sides. “Are you friend or foe?” he dripped out, brown eyes menacingly staring at Bolvyn.
Bolvyn frowned. “This fight is not with you, Sir Lancelot.”
Merlin’s white horse galloped up beside me. He flung himself off and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me away from the oncoming battle. “I told that fool to stay put,” he seethed. “He is fortunate we arrived when we did!”
I watched as the knights took a defensive stance, and suddenly I understood Elenora’s “gift.”
“I beg to differ,” Lancelot retorted, nodding towards Brendelon. “It would seem that you had planned to ambush one of our comrades, a knight of King Arthur, and his cousin at that.”
Bolvyn smirked. “He is not king yet,” he replied snidely, “and I have orders to bring this one in.”
“Orders from whom?”
Lancelot questioned. “Cadvic?”
“It is none of your concern, knight. I know of your repute but you are clearly outnumbered. Do not be fool enough to fight against us.” He glanced at Bedivere and Kay as he spoke.
“It is you who would be the fool to go against us, Bolvyn. You will not take him so easy,” Kay snarled.
Black birds circled above and as if on cue, gloomy gray clouds rolled across the blue sky—darkening the scene and setting the mood—and though the sun disappeared, the air stayed warm and suddenly muggy. Thunder cracked against the sky and my eyes shot to Brendelon expecting him to be hunched over in pain, but he stood straight and motionless with sinister eyes focused forward, sword ready. Thunder roared again and buckets of water tipped over the battle field.
Bolvyn squinted up in the rain, and as if taking in its tone, suddenly bellowed out an order, but it was as though the earth took one deep breath, pausing as the threat echoed in the darkness, and in the next instant, both sides sprinted forward. It was like a movie, happening too fast, yet somehow, I was able to see it all. Steel clashed against steel, shields clanked against blows, and men ducked and rolled under the life-threatening hack of the sword. Lancelot and Bedivere moved with grace, as they struck down on the oncoming enemies. Kay was strong, standing his ground, but Brendelon was quick and ferocious. He moved with ease, driven by rage, and his face was as terrifying as the deadly weapon he swung through the air. He blocked every blow with his shield and continued to move forward, rage centered on Bolvyn, who had slithered his way to the entrance of the castle with the one knight who held William Cole by the neck.
At that moment, I suddenly became very weak, as though I was falling, and yet I felt nothing. Merlin’s blue eyes widened into panic and then I saw it too, my hands were translucent; I was fading!
“William,” Merlin whispered, looking over my shoulder. I whipped around and there was William struggling against the knight who had gripped him by his throat with both hands, and I realized what was happening: if he died, I would fail to exist.
Beyond the Crimson (The Crimson Cycle) Page 21