Return to Caer Lon (35 page)

“Good luck.”

Chapter 36

The
next hours disappeared in the clap of iron shoes on the road. Derek let his mind empty with the ride, making one with his mount so doubts and regrets kept quiet.

He had considered stopping in Lann Stefan when he reached it barely an hour before dusk, then decided against it to finally stop in the clearing Gaul had indicated a few days before. Mistress Marion would ask too many questions if he appeared at her door fully clasped in armour, and without Sacha.

The named lady had probably started listing unpleasant ways to make him pay for leaving her behind the moment his horse disappeared from view, if not earlier. Derek didn’t doubt her list counted more than a hundred ideas by now, from sharpening her dagger on his rib-bones to disdainful cold glares. He played with a stick to shake the embers. If he pulled through, he’d even bless public humiliation.

The fire sparkled, the noise sending his heart in
to a
frenzy. The night was quiet around him, not an owl squeaking, not a lea
f
moving. The forest was completely silent. Too silent?

Derek fidgeted to find a more comfortable position against the boulder, his frustration growing. He needed to rest. A tired man made a sloppy fighter. He had to rest but the more he tried to relax, the more his mind brought up random images, which either made him smile or disturbed him: his mother
,
bent o
ver
her little cauldron preparing a new remedy that would smell heavenly and taste foul
,
Elwyn
,
crouched against the wall in the dungeon
,
Sacha
,
surrendered
in his arms while she slept
,
Geraint’
s
hand squeezing his shoulder after the council the previous morning
,
Wolfryth’s mask of rage when they escaped.

The young man changed position again to play with the tokens at his wrist. Sacha’s comb was twisted with her ribbon to keep it in place against his skin. He wasn’t sure why he had taken it. An impulse. Superstition. The holly wood was soft under his fingers, not warm but not really cold either. The magic he could feel around wasn’t a treat. Yet. Derek closed his hand around the comb, and finally decided to push on
to
his feet.
Since
sleep eluded him, he
might just as well
get into the High City.

He tracked crushed leaves and combed grass, footprints, every tangible sign they had left walking the very same path three days ago, but his efforts were useless. The trail scintillated softly, its irregularity familiar in the moonlight. The same low energy reeled under his boots, welcoming him back or daring him to approach.

The weapon at his waist became heavier.  Derek paused to gather his bearings, his breath short. Had the climb been so strenuous the last time? The lump in his throat didn’t feel like exhaustion.

Branches above his head sprang to life. His blood boiled through the block of ice his forearm had become under the comb’s impulse. Derek gr
it
ted his teeth preventing a yowl of pain. The wind swirling around him seemed to scorch him alive. The roll was more of a pulse now, similar to primeval battle drums. His heart throbbed to mimic their rhythm. Eyes were watching in the dark.

Yellow flared, and the trees changed into columns of stone, the canopy into a ceiling with thick beams. Tiles replaced leaves at his feet. Derek fetched Excalibur, pushing its point forward.

“Do you think your toy impress
es
me?”

A clap of fingers, and dozens of torches fired on the walls to chase the shadows away. The young man kept his eyes on his adversary, immobile.

“Hand me the sword.”

“Never.”

Derek lunged forward, meeting only air.

“You’re laughable.
Szarik
.”

Derek felt his boots slide on the floor while an invisible hand pulled him forward, crushing his chest until breathing became an impossible luxury. Cold racked the t
o
p of his neck. He tilted his blade up to ease the
non-
existent grip in desperation for air. The stifling grip disappeared instantly. Wolfryth’s hiss reminded him of a wounded animal. Derek sneered but kept his mouth shut, circling his adversary with his sword pointing forward, the blade parallel to the ground and the pommel up his shoulder
. H
is eyes trained on the sorcerer. The giant in front of him wore only a wolf skin for protection. One quick thrust and he could…

The torches on the walls roared in warning.

“Brann angrep.”

Flames exploded all around Derek, dashing, fencing, trying to r
i
p his chest and back apart. Excalibur swirled widely
,
cutting the angry tongues. Sweat glided along the young man’s spine. As soon as he destroyed one, two or more whips sparkled to life and attacked him. His shoulders burn
ed
as
never before. Raising the sword again and again became difficult, then next to impossible. Fog came out of his mouth when he panted, the sharpened teeth of frost biting in his heart. He felt so cold…

Suddenly the brands retreated to solidify into their master’s hands. Derek stumbled back
,
gulping air, his head heavy. His armor slowed his movements, making him easier prey. The comb now bit into his flesh to undermine his strength. How stupid he had been to take it with him. Derek fought with his gauntlet to get rid of it and access the purple lace around his wrist. His fingers were numb with cold, forbidding him to tear away Sacha’s tight knot.

Wolfryth smirked. The sword in his hand was completely formed now, twice as large as
Excalibur
and several inches longer. With only one gauntlet on
,
the weight of the weapon felt wrong and Derek shook his other hand bare for a better grip.

Excalibur buzzed in his naked hands, the enchanted sword nearly singing its impatience to fight. Derek grabbed it more tightly, resuming his stance just in time to parry Wolfryth’s next blow. The clash echoed in the room, bouncing on the ancient walls until it was joined by another and another. Tendrils of
a
blizzard circled his temples, the cold emanating from the comb no longer contained
on
his body.

Derek almost welcomed the heat from the fire sword of the sorcerer when it approached his forehead. He blocked the cut with the hilt and riposted, aiming for the massive neck. Wolfryth broke his step, fire blade pointing up. His passing back was too slow, and Derek lunged in the opening. The attack
at
the sorcerer
let hi
s upper body unguarded one second too long and
fire
bit in
to
his pauldron.
But he found his mark.

Pain shot through Wolfryth instantly, right before the eager sword vanished in a greyish puff of smoke and he bawled in rage and hurt.

“Legi skjold. Legi skjold!”

The acrid cloud its weapon had been convulsed, failing to obey his command.

Half
blinded with sweat and pain, Derek jabbed forward. The vibration of steel piercing flesh shook the bones of his arms up to his neck. Wolfish eyes assaulted him, too close, and he pressed harder. Hands
as
large as hams tried to circle his throat. The prince tilted Excalibur up and pulled. The greedy claws went limb
. T
he fire in the wild stare died, and the enormous man collapsed on the ground.

Derek tore out his sword from the lifeless body, gasping. In a daze, he pulled away the wolf skin to grab the hair clasped in the leather bond, exposing his enemy
's
neck, and slashed.
P
andemonium erupted in the empty room. He jumped back, tottering to keep his balance
,
while black and green flames engulfed the beheaded corpse to consume it. Finally the only thing left of the sorcerer was the wolf skin at Derek’s feet.

His legs wobbled. The young man controlled his trembling just long enough to wipe the blade of Excalibur finding only brown ashes staining the steel rather than blood. He fell on his knees, shattered, as dawn
brought three majestic thrones back to life, c
oated with
gold and crimson, bringing
...

Epilogue

The
crowd murmured as the young man walked along the red carpet, his walking stick clanging in rhythm above the whispers. The sun poured from the enormous windows washed over the coats of arms on the massive shields hanged on the opposite wall. A golden dragon spewed out flames on a crimson bed on the one closer to the thrones. Next to it, on the second, a large yellow cross cut through azure. The last one, which had been hanged during the night, invited a beautiful black swan to sing, its wings wide open on silver.

Finally, Sebastian reached the two-step stage, where three people were waiting for him. Ylianor bowed her head and he returned her salute before offering a quick smile to Sacha, ethereal in her blue dress, a fine crown circling her head. Derek stepped forward and the knight-to-be forgot about the oversized thrones in front of him.

“Sebastian, son of Connor of Kernow, why are you before me this day?”

Despite the solemn question, Derek’s grin warmed his voice.

“I, Sebastian, last son of Connor, am kneeling in front of my king to swear an oath.”

“Then speak loud, so those present hear you and report your words to others.”

Sebastian closed his eyes, and spoke up.

“I will honour my suzerain and bravely defend anyone who needs my arm. My mouth will speak only the truth I know and I won’t fear the truths I don’t. Such is my oath, shall it please God and the High King.”

Excalibur gleamed in the sunlight.

A gasp escaped the crowd when the large blade fell hard on Sebastian’s left shoulder. The young man winced when it ripped on his chainmail toward the swan embroidered on his collar, before it rose again. Bending his head in acceptance, the young man caught a glimpse of a pale hand c
la
sped on blue skirts right before a moan froze Derek’s gesture in mid-air.

oOo

A feminine hand smoothed some of the tension in his back so unclenching his hands became easier. His best
friend-advisor-new
knight-self-appointed
-
godfather had picked up the baby, expertly putting one hand under its fragile head. The feelings rioting in the pit of the father’s stomach felt like jealousy, protectiveness and panic merged together.

“He is not going to break, Derek. Sebastian is doing just fine.”

He reacted instantly.

“You should not be up.”

Sacha
gave
a little smile, one she offered more and more often now, which made him wonder if marriage and motherhood had increased her powers so that she read him like an open book. Did she know about the day before? Did she know about the pacing? Or his yelling at each servant who entered and exited the room without telling him anything? Or how agony smashed his bones to dust every time
she bawled
her pain through the door?

He pushed the memories away and forced air into his lungs, as Sebastian cradled his baby
ward. Next to him, Elwyn bent over his nephew and beamed.

“He frowns exactly like you do, Sacha.”

She pulled a face at her brother whilst securing her son in her arms again. Her face illuminated when the tiny fingers curled around hers. The funny feeling inside Derek’s chest shifted to balance between amazement and pride. Sacha settled their son in the ornamented cradle, the dark wood glowing in the late afternoon light.

“Sacha doesn’t frown.”

Surprised that her husband defended her, she looked up
.
“She pout
s
.”

Sebastian and Elwyn laughed. The sea-green eyes narrowed on the tall blond man in front of the bed.

“At least, I’m neither stubborn nor impatient.”

“I am not.”

“Really? Then who broke into my chambers fully armed and smelling like dirty stables to drag me to my father in the middle of the night?”

The memory was happy, but he just could not let her have the last word.

“And who decided to cut our betrothal down to two months?”

“You got me with child!”

Elwyn growled and covered the baby’s ears with both hands. Sebastian shook his head.

“And
you
told me about it in the middle of the crowning ceremony!”

The rising voices finally disturbed the infant who whined, the cry growing alarmingly quick
ly
. Sacha was near him in an instant, soothing his discomfort with small caresses and light words. The baby squeaked and calmed down. Sebastian rocked the crib gently
.

“He is more reasonable than the two of you.”

She blushed
.
Derek wrapped his arms around her, kissing her temper away. Sebastian overlooked Elwyn’s protest to ask:
“Have you finally decided on a name?”

The royal couple stared at each other, ruffled feathers forgotten. Sacha gave that small smile again and nodded. The new High King cleared his throat: “Arthur.”

The end is only the beginning

November 2011