Daughter of Darkness & Light

by Shannon Drake

  Perhaps he felt the same.

  Or perhaps they were both just young and healthy, and there were natural things that raced through both the body and the mind...

  Then he seemed to give himself a shake, or perhaps he just blinked.

  “Soon it begins,” he said softly.

  “Soon it begins,” she agreed.

  “I will see you on the wall,” he told her.

  She nodded.

  He turned and left, and the door closed behind him.

  She held the gift in her hands and lay on the pallet, holding it. She had been so tempted to step closer, to touch him. She wanted to feel his hair, the contours of his face.

  She was, to all, a farmer’s daughter. With some special talent, yes. A touch of magic.

  And still...

  She was a farmer’s daughter.

  Who wanted to touch something else.

  A different kind of magic.

  Chapter 5

  Rowan did sleep. Deeply. But he dreamed, and his dreams were not nightmares. He walked through a soft and pleasant mist, hearing a sweet voice, and he longed to reach the voice. There was someone ahead, a woman, lithe and beautiful and part of the mist, and he could feel her as he felt the mist embracing him...

  “Sire!”

  The minute Haman spoke, he was fully awake.

  “Col has sent word. They are coming from the forest,” Haman told him. “They are bringing the catapults, but those are far to the rear; warriors on horseback and foot are forming a line.”

  “I am awake!” Rowan said.

  He followed Haman, hurrying from the main tower across the courtyard and up the stairs to the wall. He thought about his guest as he ran up wooden steps, but it did not matter he had not made sure to wake her.

  She was already there.

  She stood by Col, watching as he watched.

  Rowan called out his orders.

  “Hold! Archers, prepare but hold. Matthew, have the men ready at the gate and the bridge ready to lower. Horsemen, ready to ride. Foot soldiers, to follow!”

  He waited. The enemy often counted on the men within a fortress to see the strength coming at them and to fire too quickly. The best archers could only send an arrow flying so far. Better to wait; fewer arrows wasted.

  “Tar!” he ordered.

  Brogan’s men had assembled this side of the forest and amassed across the open plain. The great war machines were at the rear, but the men and beasts dragging them along were with the assembled forces.

  Tar bearers rushed by, allowing the arches to dip their arrows.

  Brogan raced in front of his men, urging them to battle. Then, the movement began.

  Closer, closer.

  “Light arrows!” he ordered.

  Down the line, torches were used to light the arrows for the men who would send the first volley of flying death out to the enemy.

  “Fire!” he shouted.

  It was an oddly beautiful sight. The arrows, aflame, flying high up into the breaking blue of the sky, arching, sweeping down...

  They could hear the screams of those who had fallen all way to the wall.

  Death never pleased Rowan. Nor had he ever enjoyed battle for the sake of it; human beings were fragile. Bleeding flesh turned to putrid flesh; even those who survived a battle often died in the days to follow. Mercy was a strength his father had said. But now, here, watching the forces of a man who wanted to annihilate them all, he knew there could be only so much mercy.

  “Second line!” he shouted.

  Tar bearers hurried along the ramparts again. Torches lit the arrows more quickly now.

  “Prepare, fire!” Rowan shouted.

  Again, that wave. Arrows beautiful in their flight, in the glittering cascade they created beneath the sky, just breaking into day.

  Then the screams again, men falling, tripping upon one another.

  “The gates; the bridge!” he ordered. He turned to Padraic, who had stood silently by him.

  “Your archers with the greatest talent at distance...order them to attack the men upon the catapults just as we reach center field!”

  “Aye, Lord of Kenzie,” Padraic said gravely. “I will give the order. Then I, too, will be on the field.”

  Rowan nodded and hurried down the stairs. A boy waited with Xander. The horse was restless, snorting, fighting the hold.

  Rowan nodded to the lad and took the reins and raced out onto the field, urging Xander through to the front of the line.

  Brogan’s men were bearing down, screaming, and raging out battle cries.

  The fight was on.

  The sound of swords striking swords was almost deafening. He knew, too, he was a target.

  He had worn his colors; red and gold, with the insignia of a great falcon.

  Some of his men had argued against him wearing attire that showed him for who he was, knowing he would become a target for all the men in Brogan’s command who wished to please him, who wished to be the hero of the assault who had taken down the Lord of Kenzie.

  But he would never lead a man into a fight he did not mean to take on himself.

  Col, Matthew, and Lucas fought near him, determined as any man, they would protect him. They were fierce and excellent fighters.

  He did not know how long they fought. It was impossible to think about time; he had to watch for every enemy, dodge spears, parry sword thrusts, and engage on all sides. The sun rose higher.

  Warriors on foot were on the field, taking up the battle with determination. His father had learned from Arthur, and from the Romans who had given them all new ways to fight, how to stand against such an onslaught.

  Their shields were mostly of leather and wood, but they were solid and good, and his men knew how to form walls with their shields that deflected arrows and the blows of the enemy before shoving them back. Many fell behind the onslaught of the steady march of men.

  The enemy was coming closer and closer on the field.

  Just when he wondered if Padraic could correctly call the timing, a barrage of arrows flew out.

  A truly fine barrage of arrows. Men on the catapults fell from them, screaming as they hit the earth. Others rushed to take their places, but the men from Kenzie were hard into the field of the enemy slaying those who would take on the great weapons of war.

  Brogan was no fool.

  They heard a horn blow; a movement began. Brogan was pulling his great war machines back. He was sounding a retreat. He had started with an assault; Rowan knew he would nurse his wounds that night and begin a new assault, a more subtle assault, come the morning.

  His men were following, forcing the enemy back. He would not let his warriors into the forest, no matter they knew it well. The enemy had been encamped there. A trap could await.

  He never had a chance to call them back.

  Suddenly, above the din of screams and war cries, there was an explosion. A massive explosion, sending earth flying, threatening to snatch his men down into a great crate suddenly created at the forest’s edge.

  A trap, yes! Brogan had come with a sorcerer or a witch, a demon...

  His own magic.

  Rowan’s men would have fallen...

  They did not.

  He heard a cry and looked to the field.

  Kyleigh was there; she was mounted, but he saw she had stayed behind Col and Padraic. They would not have been lost to the crater but were near enough to see the fall of men begin.

  Kyleigh’s sword was high in the sky, glittering in the sun, now cascading down in the west.

  The earth, on its own, in a strange brown mist, returned. Men fell, but not into a pit, simply from the loss of balance. They quickly gained their feet, avoiding the assault of the men who had planned to mow them down where they lay.

  The horn sounded again; Brogan’s men and his great machines were in full retreat.

  Rowan looked about the great field.

  Littered now with bodies. More of the enemy than of his own, but they had lost m
any lives as well. They needed to tend to the wounded. “Col, Matthew, Lucas, Padraic! We return to the fortress! Gather the wounded first; the dead the best that we may. Gather what weapons of war we may from the fallen; many of these men had fine spears.”

  Around him, knights and warriors hurried to do his bidding, the uninjured helping those who had suffered blows, some pausing to see if a friend still breathed and might be brought to the fortress with a prayer for life.

  They had done well; they might have taken the day, might have beaten the enemy before their full retreat...

  Had it not been for the fiery explosion.

  More would have died, had it not been for Kyleigh.

  They had magic.

  But the rumors about Brogan having magic, too, were true.

  And that could well tip the scales.

  Still...

  Kenzie had magic! Kenzie, miraculously, had Kyleigh. If not for her...how many would have been lost to the trench created by Brogan’s witch?

  He was fascinated. Slim, lithe, beautiful, and yet fiery herself with her emerald eyes and flame bright hair. She was humble and yet angry and determined. She was...

  Fascinating, yes. He was fascinated. And he was attracted. Somehow, that was wrong. Not because she was a farmer’s daughter, but...

  Camelot. Arthur had been born out of lust—and magic.

  Lust had brought about the fall of Arthur and Camelot—and no magic had been able to save it.

  Wrong.

  He must not feel the way he did, longing to touch her. He must not like her, her quick smile, or her anger, or indignity, or determination. He must not like the sound of her voice or wonder what the fire of her hair would feel like through his fingers.

  How did a man stop himself from longing for a woman?

  He rode Xander hard to the courtyard, shouting it was imperative the bridge be raised the minute all were through.

  As horses milled in the courtyard and he dismounted, he saw Kyleigh was there.

  She was with Padraic.

  They smiled together.

  She saw him looking at her. She gave him a brilliant smile, pointing to her sword belt. She mouthed the words, “Thank you!”

  He nodded. Then he called out an order.

  “Prepare for siege! Trust me, they will come again at dawn! Knights! To the great hall, as you are able!”

  He headed into the hall, aware as he did so that Alistair and Mary, who had been working in the courtyard running arrows and spears to the wall, greeted Kyleigh and held her close, loved her.

  They were her parents, he thought.

  In truth. No matter her birth.

  They had raised her, to be the woman she had become.

  Magic in her hands would be used for good, no matter where she had come from in truth.

  And what was natural magic...the enchantment a man could feel for a woman...

  He had to fight it. The fight now had to be to stay alive.

  ***

  Kyleigh was with Mary and Alistair when Col came to her. She was exhausted; she was ready to go to the front tower with them where so many were sleeping. She did not know if the room in the main tower had been offered to her for only one night.

  Or for the siege.

  Tonight, it did not matter.

  No snores—nor the passing of any gas--could keep her awake.

  She was frightened by what had happened when the earth had exploded. She was still amazed her power with the sword had filled in the gap. They had not been able to pursue the enemy into the depth of the forest, but they had survived—and they had taken the day.

  But the explosion...

  Brogan had a sorcerer or sorceress in his number. One who might know their own power and might well know what they were doing. And she did not know if she could stand against someone with experience.

  But as they stood in the courtyard with people milling about everywhere, some moving about with food and water, others helping the wounded, Col came to her.

  “Kyleigh, you are wanted in the great hall,” he told her.

  Alistair stepped forward. “Sir! She went out today at grave risk and fought until the bitter end of the day. The child needs sleep. She should have been here, tending to injuries, seeing to—”

  “Alistair, it is all right,” Kyleigh told him. She smiled weakly. “And I believe I have been given a private room there, a little place usually used by visiting knights or clergy, but it is lovely away from all others!”

  “Away from us,” Mary murmured uneasily.

  “Please, trust in me,” Kyleigh said softly.

  The two nodded. But she knew they watched as she walked toward the great hall with Col.

  “Col, was I presumptive? Is that my room for now?”

  “Aye, girl, it is your room.”

  She found Rowan and Padraic were there along with Haman, Lucas, Matthew, and two more of the Northern knights, Davis and a man named Arnot. They had been seated at the great round table. But they had stood as she entered. They all nodded gravely to her as she joined them, and the men she had not yet met were introduced.

  It felt good, of course, and she nodded in return. But she was afraid.

  “Kyleigh, you showed great power today,” Rowan told her. “We might have lost many if it were not for your abilities. I had heard a rumor Brogan travelled with a sorcerer—”

  “Witch!” Davis muttered. “I have heard he has a true witch, and with the way that the earth exploded, I do not doubt that it is true!”

  “But we have Kyleigh,” Padraic said.

  She sat silent, looking from Padraic to Rowan.

  They had to know she really had no idea of what she was doing!

  “We have fought well together; tonight, we must rest,” Rowan said. “I have brought Kyleigh here because she must know our strategy as well. I believe Brogan’s forces are strong enough to set up the siege I have expected. They will not come at the walls, but they will use their catapults. We have not managed to destroy them, and that must become our objective. But I will not kill men by sending them out against such siege machines. Tomorrow, they will attack with their flying missiles; we will keep the courtyard clear of our people, and we will be quick to put out fires. He will not break down these walls. The Romans built them strong; they have been kept in repair since the days when the Romans left, when Arthur rose to the throne, and ever since. They have protected my family and people for decades.” He looked at Kyleigh and Padraic. “We will take their assault tomorrow. By night, Padraic and I will circle around their forces. Col will stay behind with Lucas, and Matthew will come as we sweep around our enemy. Davis, you lead the northern archers, and you will remain with Col. I believe we will return. Should we not, we have left able commanders. If we can destroy the siege machines, I know the fortress will survive.”

  He looked around the table.

  “We will still have our finest archers on the wall. If Brogan’s men leave the forest, they will be vulnerable,” Padraic said.

  There were solemn nods around the table.

  “Tomorrow, we will allow Brogan to believe he will succeed with a siege. He will think he can starve us out,” Rowan said. “He cannot; every man, woman, and child here brought goods. Our fields are rich and fertile, and all who have come have contributed to our supplies. We have an endless supply of fresh drinking water.”

  Matthew spoke up. “Rowan, we cannot just hold him off. We must rid our land of this man. Others have come from the south and the east and even the west. We have had skirmishes through the years. But most come and stay, and they are absorbed into our peoples and our land. This man seeks nothing but death.”

  “We will do more than hold the fortress,” Rowan said. “But first, we must make our lands and our people safe.”

  “We will fight! Aye, we will fight, and you have seen our kind in battle!” Davis said.

  Kyleigh had seen Davis fight on the field that day, and he was a fierce warrior. He had the ability to step in when a
man was in danger of being caught from the back while facing a foe to the front.

  She had seen him several times that day, and he had defended Rowan’s men as ably as he had defended his own kind.

  “Indeed,” Rowan agreed. “That we have joined forces will give us victory,” he added quietly. “Now, it has been a long day. See that our guards keep a steady watch, Col. The man may always surprise us.”

  “Especially since he has a witch!” Arnot said.

  “We have Kyleigh,” Rowan said.

  She sat silent, not sure what to say. She could not reassure the man; she had no knowledge of who or what she might be up against.

  “Rest!” Rowan said.

  The men stood; they talked among themselves as they left the great hall.

  Kyleigh remained seated.

  Rowan came to sit by her side. “I do not like risking you,” he said softly. “But then again, I often have little choice--you are excellent at risking yourself. Tell me, if you are afraid, if—"

  “Of course, I am afraid!” she said.

  “That shows intelligence,” he said dryly. “But if you do not wish—”

  “No!” she protested with a strange, soft vehemence. “I am afraid of failing you. I am afraid of what I do not know about myself, about what may come.”

  He took her hands and smiled. “I am afraid, too. Afraid of failing the people who look to me for their lives, for their safety. But I trust in the solid stone of this fortress, of the knights and the men who fight for our lives and our freedom. And I trust in you.”

  He was close to her. So close. She almost felt the blue of his eyes, as if there was a caress within them, something that touched her heart, her soul, all that was within her.

  Then he abruptly pulled away.

  “Rest!” he urged softly. “You have the room. A bed of your own, far from others who might awaken you.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “No. Thank you.”

  She tried to smile. Instead, she fled, racing up the stairs.

  Rowan apparently saw to it his guests were tended to. She had been left with water and a soft woolen towel to dry.