Chapter 11
Darin could hear the steady drip of water as he stepped over the threshold; it came from somewhere in the dark recesses of the cave. The air in his nostrils was cold and dank.
In the main body of the cavern, which was far wider than the opening in the cliff and roughly circular in shape, it was lighter than he had expected. In addition to the daylight from the entrance, a narrow beam came from a chink in the rock somewhere high above. Pillars of limestone rose from the cavern floor or hung down from the high, vaulted ceiling. Standing almost at the centre of the cave, the biggest of these was a good twelve feet in height and thicker than a man. To this pillar, the prisoner was bound fast with tough vines twisted and woven into stout ropes.
He was dressed in a loose shirt. His long, matted hair and beard spilled wild over his shoulders and down his chest. Although he wore no armour, both his figure and his strong-featured countenance seemed to confirm the Black Corbie’s words, that this had indeed once been a noble knight. He stood motionless, his head tilted back, his face turned towards the point high above where the narrow beam of light entered the cave. Only his eyes moved, rolling distractedly in their sockets.
“He feels no hunger, thirst or cold,” said Stella. “But he sees and hears, and he is aware of the passage of time. He knows he is a prisoner here.”
Darin felt a wave of pity for the wretched knight. His heart warmed to him. “Go then and stand before him,” he said. “I can’t believe he could feel no love for one as fair as you. Surely you can break the spell!”
“No, I told you, I am not the one. I think his heart is true to some other love.” Stella turned and took both his hands in hers. “Our quest is almost ended. I am asking you to do one last thing for me to see if I am right in my conjectures.”
Her eyes, gleaming in the dim light of the cave, made Darin think suddenly of the rock-pool; the shock of what it had revealed to him that day now made him giddy.
“Sir, will you take off your helmet and show your face to this poor knight?”
His giddiness increased as he realized what she was asking of him. His head was filled with a chattering sound, as of racing waters drumming over rocks and pebbles. “Ah, lady, I cannot, I cannot! I have sworn a vow.”
“I know all about your vow—you will not show your face until you have won great honour.” Stella smiled. “By defeating the Black Corbie just now you have won honour enough.”
Darin’s mind was in turmoil. He would not, he could not show his face! And what good could it possibly do if he did? He fell back on his last excuse.
“I must return to the place where I made the vow. Only then can I open this visor.”
The sound of the racing stream was like a thousand voices chiming in his ear. He realized one of the voices was Stella’s.
“I know that too,” she was saying. “I was there that day, by the stream, I heard everything you said. Understand this—I am no mortal girl, I am the Spirit of the Stream. When you are in my presence, you are in the presence of the Stream itself. You have returned to me and you have won much honour. Now you are free of your vow!”
As she spoke, it seemed to Darin that the walls of the cave wavered and grew insubstantial. Behind them, he could see dimly the grassy hillside, the trees of the forest. The image grew brighter, then darker, then brighter again, flickering in and out to a pulsating rhythm, the beating of his heart. He felt faint.
Why was she asking this of him? If she had been by the stream, she must know his awful secret. How could she think the sight of such a frightful monster could possibly help the enchanted knight? Did she want to add to the tortured man’s suffering? No, he could not believe Stella was capable of such cruelty.
And, oh, if she is no mortal girl, then what am I to do with these feelings in my heart? I can refuse her no longer; I must do as she asks.
It took far more courage than it had taken to face the gigantic knight with the crimson shield, but he raised his hands to his helmet and lifted it from his head.
There was no sign of horror or repugnance in her eyes, but he could not tell what she was thinking. She was gazing at him seriously. Taking him by the hand again, she led him to where the man stood, bound to the great stalagmite. She left him there and withdrew a few paces.
As he watched, he fancied the prisoner’s wildly rolling eyes became less agitated. Slowly, the knight turned his face towards him. His lips moved, but no sound escaped them.
And then Darin heard.
“Etaine!” whispered the enchanted knight. “Etaine!”
Darin stared at him in disbelief. His mother’s name! Abruptly, the man’s eyes snapped into focus.
“How can this be?” The knight’s voice was now clear and vibrant. “Have so many years gone by? Is it my son? My precious Darin? It can only be you!”
“Father? Are you—are you Karman, my father?”
“Yes, I am Karman of the Western Forest!” said the knight. The bonds that bound him to the pillar fell away as if they had been nothing and he rushed to embrace his son.
After a few moments, filled for both of them with indescribable emotions, father and son took a step back and stood looking at each other. They both had tears in their eyes and broad grins on their faces. Karman’s hands were on his son’s shoulders.
Stella broke the silence. “My lord, your son has acquitted himself well today. Young as he is, he defeated Morgan’s champion, a strong and experienced knight who has guarded this cave for years.”
“Ah, that was well done, son! But you are not hurt, I hope?”
“Just a bruise or two that I got falling off my horse!” Darin laughed. “And my shield, an old buckler I found in the castle, got almost cut in two! I’ll not use that again.”
“Then you shall have mine,” said his father. “You must bear the family arms now, the crest of the Western Forest. There will be no more fighting for me for a while. I must find your mother and see my home once more—please tell me she has come to no harm!”
“No, no! All these years she has waited for you! She alone in the whole world believed you were still alive. You will find her in the old cottage by the castle gates. She sees no one. Brogan has secretly watched over us for years.”
“My lord!” Stella’s voice came from deep in the cave. “Your arms are all here. I have the shield.”
Darin turned and saw her emerging from the darkness, carrying a great shield. At its centre, a single oak tree was emblazoned, the symbol of the Keepers of the Western Forest. The rest of the shield’s surface was plain silver, polished until it was like a mirror. The light reflected from it danced over the rough walls of the cavern. As he watched its shifting patterns, he seemed to hear the sound of the stream again, although less loudly this time. As in a dream, he saw himself standing beside the rocky pool, his foot at the reed-grown edge. He watched himself lean forward to look at his own reflection in the clear water.
Then he was back in the cave, holding the shield Stella had handed him. He looked down into the mirrored surface. A young man was looking back at him with clear, bright eyes. Golden curls fell over a broad, white brow. His curved red mouth was finely etched, the jaw resolute and well modelled. A great feeling of joy and relief swept over him as he recognized in that face the little boy he had seen long ago in his mother’s looking glass.
Keepers of the Western Forest Page 11
