Return to Caer Lon (31 page)

Concern and war
iness
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, whisper
ing
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 li
v
e
s
, 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.
H
e 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 his shirt.
His clenched
jaw spoke volume
s
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 in
to
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.
M
ost survived, thanks to the communion of talents.

When spring left its place to summer, a new leader arose; a
R
oman 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.
J
ewellers encrusted
the hilt with
precious gemstones: diamonds for strength and purity; topaz
es
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.

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 burn
ed
; 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
. H
er warning got stuck in her throat. The Throne was his by birthright. Power sang in his blood
. T
he sword was his, it would obey to his command
. W
as 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
. H
er 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
.
I
ts 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 understood.

‘Svic af kiom e kiom af svic.’
‘Heart is blood and blood is heart.’