Daughter of Darkness & Light

by Shannon Drake

  “They will not seek to hit it!” Brogan snapped.

  “Keep at it, keep at it! Damp leaves by her feet—she will feel the flames. We would not have the dear girl die too quickly!”

  Brogan set the sword beyond her reach but within her sight, right where a fire would burn the brightest, and smiled.

  “Today, if the thing becomes a fish today...well, I am afraid it would be burned past eating. Pity. Food is always a necessity.”

  He turned away and went on with his further preparations while men attached horses to putt the wagon until their destination was reached.

  She did not think he would care in the least if the horses were set afire, but she knew that they would be freed. Brogan wanted the wagon where it could be easily viewed. He wanted it stationary; when he lit it, he wanted to watch her burn.

  But harnesses and swords clanged and men spoke at their work.

  The sword seemed to whisper softly.

  “I am with you.”

  She smiled.

  “I know.”

  “But you must remember, the greatest magic lies within you.”

  “I remember.”

  “You were brave to chance this. Foolish, perhaps, but only the course of the day will show the valor or the failing.”

  “Merlin, it will depend on the strength of Brogan’s magic. Do you know—”

  “I do not. I would have told you.”

  “Of course.”

  “Remember what you read!” he reminded her.

  “Yes,” she said softly.

  Brogan walked back to the wagon to stand before her, eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “Speaking to the air? Praying?”

  “Perhaps,” she said. “Doe my speaking to myself frighten you, Brogan.”

  “I can still remove a toe.”

  “But you want Rowan to see that I am alive and not permanently harmed, so that he will surrender himself to you.”

  “He must, you know.”

  “Oh?”

  “A true knight must give his life for another.”

  “Perhaps he is not so noble.”

  “When he sees you scream at the kiss of the flames, he will be noble!” Brogan promised.

  “Why do you think I mean so much to him?”

  “You? As you—perhaps you mean nothing. But he bound to a code of honor—lest he lose his people for behaving as a coward. You—as a sorceress—are impressive. Even I think so. If I ever believed that you would serve me, I would spare you your life.”

  “You kill for the thrill of killing.”

  He arched an iron-gray brow. “I seldom kill at all anymore, girl. You are mistaken. I kill because there will be a pup somewhere in the wolf pack who seeks revenge. Women fight for the lives of those pups and the pups they may breed also seek revenge. Kill all, and there are none left to claim that land is theirs, and only then is land theirs.”

  “People keep coming here. Angles come, Jutes, Frisians. They come because they have little where they are, or they just need more. Unless you were to kill every human being in the world, Brogan, someone would still come.”

  “But none are as fierce as those who seek revenge. Revenge is worth dying for,” Brogan said softly. “Those who come seeking riches...when a defense is strong, they are forced to leave. But a pup who lost his family...there is someone who will grow to be dangerous.”

  “Why do you have a right to live if you believe others do not? What right have you to this land?”

  “I am every man; every man fights for his survival. And that is life, young sorceress. The strong prevail.”

  His man, Leif, had shouted something to him. He walked away from her, his arm high in the air, an indication that they were to begin their movement toward the fortress at Kenzie.

  Kyleigh prayed to the Christian God, and to the earth and sky, and whispered to the man, her father, the sorcerer, you might or might not hear her.

  “Give me strength! For I swear, I would not kill but in defense, and in this, I must be strong, and my magic must be strong. For today, what he has said is truth. The strong prevail.”

  Rowan had to be strong, too. He had to find a way to discover a different strength in himself. He had been born and bred to be a man of action.

  Today...

  He would need patience.

  And they would all need faith.

  ***

  Rowan stood on the wall with his eyes trained on the distant edge of the forest.

  Brogan had already begun his march, but his men were just heading out from the forest. Something, a wagon drawn by two horses, was at the forefront, flanked by mounted men on either side. He knew that they were followed by men on foot.

  Brogan was not sending a rider with a white flag this time.

  He was coming in mass. And the wagon...

  He feared what he would see.

  Padraic stood behind him. “Now?” he asked softly.

  Rowan nodded. It was time; they were going to implement a new plan that he hoped would add to the strength they meant to present. But only Padraic and his chosen men knew what they were doing.

  Alistair and Mary had been brought in; they were going to be with Aileen, watching her every more.

  Matthew would keep be responsible for keeping a way eye on the archer, Caitlin.

  And Col would be watching Gareth.

  He could only pray that if one of the three was in the service of Brogan, a traitor among their ranks, they were quick enough to stop whatever damage they might create. He could not ignore the rumors—not when they had suffered the damage they had with the smithy.

  There had been no physical explanation for what had happened. There were still those who believed that Kyleigh had been responsible.

  “I leave you then,” Padraic told him gravely. But he stayed, looking at Rowan. “You must not bend or break!” he reminded him.

  Rowan nodded. “Padraic, they are coming. You must make haste.”

  “Aye,” Padraic said.

  Rowan managed a crooked and dry smile for him. “Faith!” he said.

  “Faith,” Padraic said, and he left at last, gathering his men.

  Col came to stand by Rowan. He knew the plan, and Padraic’s need to move.

  “What is that? A new war machine of war...small! It is too small to be much of a catapult, unless he knows more of such workings than I had imagined.”

  “It is not a catapult,” Rowan said. “I don’t know what yet, but I believe it will have to do with Kyleigh.”

  Col was silent and then he said quietly. “It is Kyleigh. There is a pole set upon the wagon. I see Kyleigh...I believe it is Kyleigh...at the pole.” He turned to look at Rowan, worry in his eyes. “You believe that she is with us? You don’t believe she is there, ready to work her magic against us?”

  “No, Col,” Rowan said, straining to see across the distance.

  “It is a pole. She is tied to it.”

  “She could break free, surely, she could break free!” Col said.

  “She must act when the time is right, cousin. We cannot keep skirmishing with Brogan; he will come again and again. He cares not that he loses men; he draws on more from the continent. We cannot replace our losses. We are gifted that we have the strength of the Celts.”

  “Do you believe that she let them take her with purpose?”

  “Possibly. But I know she has a plan.”

  “How can you know that? She fell as she raced; she urged you to go and you would have gone back had not Padraic stopped you. I saw it from the wall.”

  Rowan smiled. “She came to me.”

  “She was free? She came back here.”

  Rowan shook his head. “Trust me; a part of her came to me.”

  “You dreamed it, Rowan. You cannot trust what came in your sleep.”

  “I did not dream; I was wide awake.” He turned away from Col. “Archers! Hold, but be prepared.”

  Matthew came running down from the south end of the wall. “It is Kyleigh!” he cried. “R
owan, they have her tied to a stake. That monster is bringing her here—so that we may watch as she is burned alive!”

  “He will ask first that I trade myself,” Rowan said. He shouted. “Be ready but hold! No one fire until the order comes directly from me. He looked down to the courtyard as well. “My friends! I ask that you be ready for when the drawbridge falls. If we engage today, we will end this constant fear. We will send this man back—or to hell!”

  A cheer went up.

  “But hold; do not fall prey to anything you hear, from me, or from others. You will know when we are ready!”

  He turned back. Brogan was coming closer and closer.

  Rowan knew that his archers were restless; the enemy was close enough now to face a wave of arrows.

  And there was Kyleigh. She was tied to the stake. Even so, she appeared regal, beautiful, dignified. Her head was held high. The dawning sun caught the tendrils of her, and they seemed to drift like fire themselves in the breeze. He did not know if she looked for him on the wall or not; the distance did not allow him to see her eyes.

  A shout went out and Brogan’s men—and the wagon that bore Kyleigh and her stake—came to a halt.

  A man—not Brogan, Rogan thought—rode before the wagon, shouting.

  “Rowan! Lord Rowan of Kenzie.”

  “I am here!” Rowan shouted back.

  “Before the blood begins to run, the great Lord Brogan offers you a chance to prove the strength of your nobility. Trade yourself—and Kyleigh of the village will be returned to the fortress. Yourself—for the girl.”

  “Myself? Given over to...Brogan? If Brogan wishes hand to hand combat between the two of us, I will gladly oblige him.”

  “There are others who can lead at your fortress, Lord Rowan. Your life for hers!”

  He could hear the collective gasp and the murmuring that went on among his people.

  This was what she had meant. He had to be strong.

  He heard bits of conversation.

  “He must. He has no choice.”

  “He cannot. He is our leader!”

  “Set Kyleigh free. Then I will come out,” Rowan said.

  “You know that Brogan cannot and will not do that. You wish for her to live? Please note that her sword lies well out of her reach and that a fire is set to burn.”

  The horse the man rode was growing restless. The animal pranced on the land before fortress, anxious for movement.

  “You must come!”

  “Brogan is a liar and a murderer!” Rowan called. “I’m afraid that unless he is willing to meet me face to face on the field of battle, I cannot trust that, even if I were to give myself over, he would keep his word and set Kyleigh free.”

  Rowan had never seen Brogan, but at last the man appeared on the field himself, riding a giant black horse and reining in next to the man he’d had doing his speaking.

  “Rowan of Kenzie! I had expected someone older, more noble, and with dignity!” Brogan shouted to him. “Stop playing these games. Save your people the agony of what you know I can do! Come out here, now. Save this woman!”

  “I am afraid that you must do what you must do,” Rowan said. He was not sure how he got the words out; he longed to throw himself from the wall and miraculously reach Kyleigh, hold her in his arms, swear that fire would never touch her...

  Faith!

  “Unless, of course, you are ready and willing yourself to engage with just me, hand to hand, Brogan, or do you make your men fight all your battles for you?” Rowan demanded.

  “I am here. Come down, Lord of Kenzie. I will engage you!”

  Rowan turned from the wall. Col was there. “The drawbridge—”

  “No!” Rowan said. “Drop the rope ladder. He wants the drawbridge opened.”

  “But you will be alone out there with his men—”

  “I will not be alone; Kyleigh is out there.”

  “Tied to a stake, ready to burn!”

  “Col, I will be well!” Rowan swore. “But this man is capable of much—archers, knights, and our warriors at the ready.”

  He could see the trepidation in the eyes of those ready to fight from the wall as the ladder was cast down. Trepidation, and...

  Perhaps even approval. He was not ordering the drawbridge lowered; he was not giving an order that could allow the enemy to pour into the safety of the fortress—or risk giving the wall of their strength over to the invaders.

  He dropped into the moat and swam to the plain, wondering what plan Brogan had.

  He would not allow himself to lose to Rowan in a fair fight.

  He could see Kyleigh’s eyes at last. He was dripping wet and had to clear his hair and water from his own, but then he saw the emerald glint of her eyes, and he wondered if she had known that he would call Brogan to battle.

  She did know that Brogan would never fight fairly; if he began to lose, he would call on his men to attack Rowan in mass.

  She nodded to him, a movement barely perceptible, and he knew that she was ready for whatever Brogan might do.

  She could have freed herself before.

  But that would have prolonged the fight; more would have died. She had risked herself to cause this meeting today. She had risked herself with faith in him and in herself.

  Only one thing nagged at him.

  Who was the traitor?

  And when would they show themselves?

  Brogan dismounted from his horse and drew his sword. Rowan kept his eye on his immediate combatant then, and when Brogan went to make the first strike, he was ready to block the blow. The thunderous clash of their steel was all that could be heard.

  It seemed the world had gone silent, even the breeze was still.

  He whirled, and only the metal breast plate Brogan wore saved him.

  But he fell back.

  The man was no warrior now, though he thought himself one.

  He regained his footing and came at Rowan, his sword held high and lethally, but his strength no longer that of a young man.

  Rowan blocked the blow, spun, and caught Brogan again, this time sending him staggering back. He gained his footing and, enraged, let out a shout and came flying at Rowan.

  Again, Rowan was ready.

  This time, the repercussion of Rowan’s blade sent him to the ground.

  Rowan walked toward him, ready to set his blade at the man’s throat.

  But of course, Brogan had never intended a fair fight.

  “Take him!” he roared.

  A half dozen of Brogan’s men started forward. Rowan spun, ready to meet him.

  “Light the fire!” Brogan, still on the ground, shouted out, “Burn the sorceress, watch as her magic goes up in the flames!”

  “No!”

  Rowan heard the anguished cry from the wall; it was Caitlin, the archer, and she was preparing to fire an arrow at the man heading toward the kindling beneath Kyleigh’s feet.

  Even as the men hurried toward him, fleet but wary, he saw Kyleigh’s eyes again.

  “Hold!” he cried.

  He feared she would not obey; he saw the way that Caitlin looked at him, as if he were the worst coward and most wretched—and stupid--man on earth.

  But in the fleeting time she stared at him in fury, Kyleigh acted.

  He heard her voice, loud and clear, as she shouted, “Sword!”

  Her sword—the plain metal sword that showed no charms or enchantments—flew from its place on the kindling, moving in the air. The ropes binding Kyleigh fell away and the sword flew into her hands. She leapt from the wagon, swinging the weapon.

  She touched no one with it, and yet the men fell back.

  Rowan met her eyes as they stood together, he with his sword still at Brogan’s throat.

  Col, Matthew, Gareth, and others began descending rope ladders to the moat, heading out to take part in any fight. Brogan’s men cried out and found their footing, and cavalry started racing forward.

  “Now!” Rowan shouted up to the archers.

  Ar
rows flew, over their heads, catching Brogan’s men.

  Knights and warriors landed on the ground, ready to battle those riding hard and running forward.

  Then, a piercing scream arose.

  And Brogan, still with a blade at his throat, began to laugh.

  “So quick, both of you to die for one another!” he said. “So, sorceress, you think you have won now? What shall you do here? For I shall show you my power at last, and you tell me then what you will do! Turn—turn to the fortress!”

  Rowan and Kyleigh both looked back.

  And the truth was known.

  It was Aileen. And she stood atop the wall with Mary in her arms and a knife at Mary’s throat, already drawing blood.

  “So, what will you do now? Perhaps turn Lord Rowan’s sword into a fish? Cast that blade out to stop everyone? Or surrender, and spare the good woman who raised you the agony I intend for her?”

  Rowan managed not to falter, not to instantly pull his weapon from Brogan’s throat.

  He saw Kyleigh’s eyes. Saw the horror in them, and the fear.

  She loved Mary. It was one thing to risk herself.

  Even one thing to know that a failed action might mean his death.

  But now, Mary was threatened.

  And too late they knew the traitor. Aileen had taken care; she had waited until the others had been forced to engage in the battle.

  When she could act.

  “Where is Alistair?” Kyleigh demanded.

  Again, it was as if the world had gone still. Her voice rang out, clear and loud.

  “Suffering a bit of a headache!” Aileen called down. “Alas, not dead. Yet!”

  “Let her go!” Kyleigh said. “Let her go now.”

  Rowan could feel the tension in Kyleigh. Like her magic, it seemed to emit from her in waves of darkness and light. And he knew her heart.

  Mary...who was everything good and kind, and who had raised her, and loved her since she had been an infant.

  And...

  The fortress, and the lives of everyone there.

  “Watch her die!” Aileen warned.

  “We will die anyway!” Mary garbled out.

  “Not as you shall die!” Aileen shouted, and she proved it, bringing the knife harder against Mary’s throat, causing a great flow of blood.

  “Sword! Protection for Mary!” Kyleigh shouted.