She suppressed an enraged scream and locked eyes with Amara through the window, whose cool composure diminished into panic and alarm… just like Morganne’s own hope.
A flash of indigo, a bolt of lightning, thunder charged across the skies deafening the heavens and ripping light from the world.
Find me, free me from my curse, and then I shall be untethered from this place… and your family.
It felt like a half-truth.
The windows smashed, glass shattering like broken dreams, and her sister’s screams pelted toward her. Her mother yelled, “Run, Morganne! Run!”
Morganne shook her head. No, I can’t leave you.
Oh, but you will, the voice said, amusement wrapping around the words. And within a breath, the blue flames engulfed her sisters and mother, embracing them in its cold terror of fears and bad dreams. They will die within the next moon cycle if you do not release me. So listen, and listen closely.
And she did, with terror, knowing there was only one way to save her family. But that meant releasing the cursed witch into the world, and who knew what terrible things she could achieve when her full power returned.
Morganne’s heart thudded with her impossible choice. Leave her family to die, or risk the fate of the entire world to the Immortal One’s whims.
“I shall do it!” Morganne called, hatred and guilt oozing from every word. “I shall release you.”
You’ll do more than that, said the voice in a cruel, taunting tone.
And Morganne turned Angelfire to the west winds and galloped into the unknown.
7
The Hilt of a Sword
Days and nights passed in a blur of sour thoughts and crippling fear, and now, several days on, desperate hunger added itself to a cacophony of complaints. Morganne checked her saddlebag again, just in case, but not a morsel of her already sparse rations remained. She had even eaten the crumbs in the corner of the saddlebag, complete with hair and dirt and dust that also gathered there.
“It’s all right for you,” she said to Angelfire. “At least you can eat grass, there’s plenty of that.”
But it wasn’t okay for Angelfire, not that he could tell her such things. The horse’s heart felt as drained and as pained as her own. And if the thoughts of his friends and comrades locked in the blue flame were not enough, his entire body ached from the relentless pace at which they had covered ground to seek answers… or to ask bigger questions. But now they walked, both lacking the energy to push onwards. They wove their way through the thickening forests and waning paths like lost souls.
“What was that?” Morganne asked, pulling Angelfire to a standstill. The snapping branches underhoof ceased. Silence. And Morganne blessed that beautiful sound—for it meant that Emrysa no longer had the ability to penetrate her mind. The further they moved from the touchstone that was Morganne’s home, the fainter the Immortal One’s voice became. Although in truth, it was a blessing and curse both, for how was she to find this witch cast into the unknown without that taunting voice to guide her? All Morganne had was the three visions from her blue-flamed torture and cryptic whispers from a voice in her mind that made no sense at all.
There it was again. A clang, a clatter. Metal on metal.
Bandits? Morganne shuddered. She wouldn’t allow herself to get caught—not this time.
“Surrender,” a cry demanded. Another clink of metal.
“Never!” yelled another.
Morganne squeezed Angelfire’s side, encouraging him forward, and peered through the trees.
A flash of red and gold, a swirl of a cape. Shafts of evening light broke through the forest canopy, illuminating two young men in chain mail as they fought. She gasped, heart racing, and not just because of the brutal swordplay. She dismounted and tiptoed through the trees, pulling branches away to get a better look.
“You will surrender or die,” the first called again, as he swung his sword downwards, both hands gripping the hilt. One of the visions. The powerful movement caught the second fighter by surprise, and his sword fumbled from his grasp to the forest loam. “Ah! Now you must surrender, Bedivere.”
Bedivere, Morganne silently repeated, feeling the taste of the name in her mind.
But Bedivere did not surrender. In a movement so quick, Morganne could hardly keep up, he spun away from the sword and toward a tree, ripping a large branch off in one swift move. Then, like a dance, the dark-haired fighter, stepped—light and confident—toward the sword-bearer, all the while the branch twisted and turned hand over wrist, whipping the air with its speed.
“I may not have a sword, but I have fury, Kay!” bellowed Bedivere as he swung the leafy weapon at his foe.
Kay, fair-haired with sharp features that somehow reminded Morganne of a fox, almost laughed. “You do not have fury, you moron. You have a twig,” and he sliced upward in a lazy one-handed swing, chopping through the branch as if it were nothing more than kindling. Morganne’s heart beat faster. She couldn’t peel her eyes away from the fight… away from the dark-haired and dark-skinned boy. Bedivere, she repeated. Her fingers shot to her lips as he stumbled backwards, falling to the floor.
I should run. She knew better than to get involved in a fight like this, who knew what would happen if they realized she was there. I should run…but she watched the sun glint on the sharp blade poised for a killing blow, and further forward she stepped.
“Surrender or die,” Kay threatened again, all humor replaced with a promise. He aimed the blade at Bedivere sprawled on his back on the ground. Morganne looked away, she had never seen a man killed before but… she looked back, back at Bedivere’s stoic eyes staring at his killer without fear. Kay stepped forward again, the point of his blade pin-pricking the boy’s neck.
Oh surrender, you fool! Morganne, breathless, noticed a dot of red forming around the point of the blade.
“Never,” the stupid boy confirmed, and Morganne took a deep breath, cursing both the boy and herself.
“Stop!” she screamed, jumping from behind the trees and Kay turned, pointing the sword directly at her heart.
8
A Low Blow
“What on Arthur’s crown?” Kay said, staring at Morganne. He looked back, incredulous, at the boy on the floor, dropped his sword and smiled—his face less sharp when his lips parted as wide as they did, squishing his blue eyes closed. “You know, convincing beautiful young maidens to save your life is not only cheating, Bedivere, but it’s also some low cunning.”
He bent down, offering a hand to Bedivere who accepted it with a sheepish grin that almost took Morganne’s breath away. The boys embraced, the gesture familiar despite the awkwardness caused by their chain mail and gauntleted hands.
Morganne scowled, looking at both boys in turn, her eyes lingering just a little longer on Bedivere. “I thought you were fighting to the death?!” she said, angered and exposed.
Kay laughed and Bedivere dug him in the ribs with his elbow.
“What?” Kay asked, shrugging.
Bedivere shook his head. “I apologize for my half-witted friend here laughing at you,” he said, stepping forward and removing his gauntlet to take Morganne’s hand. “Let me introduce myself. I am—”
“A fool!” Morganne interrupted with such force he stepped backwards. “If that were a real fight, if you were not playing your silly sparring games, your pride and refusal to surrender would have got you killed!”
“But—”
“No buts, and then I probably would have got killed trying to stop you from getting killed, when I can manage getting killed all by myself, thank you very much.”
“But—” Bedivere half laughed and turned to Kay with an incredulous shrug.
“And no, I will not accept your apology, before you waste your breath. And neither you,” she cast her eyes at Kay whose face looked like it would split in two from the smile that continued expanding. “Nor you, shall stop me, or question me, or even look at me as I continue on my way. Thank you, and good day!�
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She stopped, taking a much-needed breath, and smoothed down her cloak—as if that made the matter final. Her cheeks stung with heat as her embarrassment spread across her face, made worse by the two warriors staring at her in utter disbelief and, even worse, amusement.
Bedivere put both hands up in supplication and turned to Kay before continuing. “I’ll take your sword fight any day over this maiden’s sharp tongue. I fear the blade of her words could slice me into ribbons far quicker than your steel.” And though he addressed Kay, he did not take his eyes from Morganne.
“Ah, my friend,” Kay began, mirth brimming from his smile. “I fear she has already dealt a fatal wound to your heart by the way your doleful eyes pine at her.”
“That’s a low blow, Kay.” Bedivere smirked.
“So too was attacking me with your twig of doom!”
Morganne turned on her heel, shaking her head as the boys continued sparring, this time with their witless words.
“Come on, Angelfire,” she said, gathering the reins and swinging up into the saddle. “We have no time for this.”
They had walked several paces before the warriors noticed and stopped squabbling.
“Wait!” cried Bedivere. “I’m afraid, no matter your warning, we cannot let a young maiden travel the thick of the woods alone. We will accompany you on your journey. Where are you going?”
“I am not telling you,” Morganne said, not even turning her head to address him, though it took all her restraint.
“Well then, in that case we shall follow until you reach your destination safe and sound. Kay, fetch the horses.”
From behind, Bedivere’s quick footsteps crunched on forest loam and dead leaves to catch up with her. Angelfire spooked, shuffling forwards, but Bedivere caught up, grabbing the reins and stopping them both. She looked down at him, and he half smiled. “Look, there are bandits and even worse out here. These are dangerous times—you know, several innocent young maidens, like your beautiful self, were recently captured and trialed as witches. Killed! For nothing more than a few golden coins. We are out here protecting young helpless damsels like yourself.”
Morganne’s jaw slackened. “Helpless damsels?”
He smiled, as if to confirm her words and to comfort her in the truth of it. Perhaps even awaiting her admiration. But Morganne shook her head, gritted her teeth, and kicked her foot forward in her stirrup, smashing Bedivere in the face with a cold metal twang and knocking him out in an instant. He fell to the floor with a thump and a slow clap commenced behind her.
“That is quite something. You know, usually, it’s young maidens who faint and pass out to the floor in front his magnificent good looks, not the other way around.” Kay laughed, though his face betrayed a flickering emotion he tried hard to suppress. “He’ll never live this down. Quite the ladies’ man is our Bedivere… within the realms of Camelot at least.”
“Yes, well not in my realm, thank you very much. And you'll find the only protection I need from you, or he, is to ensure that your witlessness does not contaminate me.”
Kay said nothing, and just smiled a ridiculously large smile. He flicked a lock of golden hair from his eyes and raised an eyebrow, daring her to continue before he turned and picked his fallen comrade from the floor and flung him over a magnificent white steed.
Morganne huffed aloud and turned Angelfire away. “Good day,” she called over her shoulder.
“Tut, tut, tut,” Kay replied in a heartbeat, now sitting on the majestic white horse, several hands taller than Angelfire. “You do know it is a criminal offense to assault the king’s men, madam?”
Morganne rolled her eyes, and Kay smiled with mischief. “So it’s off to the Camelot Court for you, Missy.”
“Oh dear goddess,” she cursed as Kay lassoed a rope that flung over her torso, locking her arms close to her body.
He tugged on the rope. “Here, kitty, kitty!” he cooed, pulling her along like a dog on a lead, and whistling out of tune as if he were enjoying a perfectly normal country ride.
9
An Amber Eye
Evening spread its darkness like a cloak across the land, and though pockets of light filtered through trees here and there, the forest succumbed to the night.
“We won’t make Camelot for another day, at least,” Kay said, breaking the hour-long silence that had passed. Morganne had long given up her useless cries of protest and avoided Bedivere’s ice-cold stare at all costs—much to Kay’s amusement. He shook his head, chuckling to himself as he watched Morganne and Bedivere strain to ignore one another as they rode side-by-side. “There’s a clearing ahead,” Kay said. “We should stop for rest and food.”
The king’s men dismounted and Morganne struggled to do the same with her arms bound.
“Here, let me,” Bedivere said with a scowl as he reached for the knot in the thick rope. He paused, “I’m assuming you are not stupid enough to run off into the night if I untie you.”
Morganne scowled, and Bedivere loosened the ropes, avoiding her gaze. His fingers brushed against her own, slowing to a stop. She gulped, blush rising to her cheeks, and she dared a glance into his deep black eyes. Her heart pounded, a stirring like magic in the hollow of her stomach. Then he turned away, breaking the spell, and Morganne chastised herself for allowing such thoughts to pass the canvas of her mind while her family suffered under the Immortal One’s blue flame.
“I’m going to hunt for supper,” Bedivere said as he stalked away, and Morganne’s stomach clawed at itself and she salivated at the thought of eating. So when the warriors set up camp, complete with rabbits cooking on a crackling campfire, she clutched her hollow stomach and rocked at the painful aroma caused by fresh meat sizzling.
Eventually, Bedivere went about carving the meat with his gold-gilded dagger before handing a crispy skinned leg to Morganne. She snatched it from him, pausing for a heartbeat as the flames highlighted his bruised face. A deep purple stain crawled across his cheek and Morganne turned away with the guilt. But with hunger far outweighing her pity, she tore at the meat with her teeth and a ravenous fury, hardly chewing before swallowing the food down in hungry gulps.
“That’s a heck of an appetite for a young maiden,” Kay said, arching an eyebrow. He stopped chewing and watched, half in awe and half in disgust. He laughed lightly as he tucked into his own meager rations, talking with his mouth full. “Seen better table manners from the breeding sow! Haven’t you?”
Kay turned to Bedivere, who had not much been in the mood for conversation since he woke up to find himself slung sideways upon his horse, and a headache to match any ale-made stupor. So instead, Bedivere ignored Kay and watched Morganne devour her food with caution and anger both.
“How long have you been on the road?” Bedivere asked. No more humor. No more lightheartedness or doleful eyes.
She shrugged, and ripped another mouthful of meat from the bone. “Days…” she said between chews. “Three, maybe four.”
“Where are you going?” Bedivere’s question more an interrogation.
She held his cold stare, and shrugged again. “I’ve already told you, I don’t know.”
Bedivere stood, looming over her like a tower. “Where. Are. You. Going?” he demanded; his hand reached for the hilt of his sword.
Morganne stopped chewing, and Kay shot up, placing his own hand over Bedivere’s sword-clutched fist.
“Arthur’s arse, Bedivere,” he said, incredulous. “Stand down, for goodness’ sake. You’ll give me indigestion.”
But Bedivere would not. “I will not stand down until this maiden tells us who she is and what she’s doing. Who are you?” His hand grappled the sword in a tighter hold, his knuckles turning white.
“It matters not who am I, but what I am doing here. I am trying to save my family, and I will tell you again for the umpteenth time since you bound me, you must let me go—”
“Or what?” Bedivere said.
They stared at each other, seething, until rattli
ng wheels and hoof beats sounded toward them. “What now?” Bedivere growled.
His eyes left her own, and Morganne realized she had been holding her breath. Bedivere stalked away from her into the darkness beyond the firelight to investigate.
Kay placed a hand on Morganne’s shoulder. His sharp features pinching though his blue eyes still glinted. “Sorry about that,” he jerked his head several times in Bedivere’s direction. “He can be an idiot sometimes, but mostly you’ll find he’s great… at least, a great idiot. And about the sword thing, I don’t think he would have killed you…” he smiled, “… much.”
And despite herself, Morganne laughed along with him.
“Who goes there?” Bedivere called into the darkness ahead of them and the hoof beats, the creaking wood of a cart, and the whirl of wheels halted beside him. In the same moment, Morganne felt a pull at the deepest part of her soul, a clawing around the edges as if a raven’s talons tried to strip her soul away.
Her oath stirred.
She paled, sweat rising to her temples and the merest of whispers filled her mind.
Closer, it said like a ghost of a thought, disappearing before the words fully formed. And Morganne was compelled to follow the sound of the voice that now croaked into the night upon a rotten cart.
“I am but an old gypsy traveler,” a voice older than the forest rasped.
Morganne joined Bedivere’s side, and he cast her an angry look, side-stepping away. The old woman pulled her hood down and erupted into a wheezing laugh that morphed into a coughing fit.
“Yes, you are right to fear her,” the old woman said, glancing at Bedivere, then fixing a heavy stare at Morganne.
Fire Heart (Magic and Mage Series Book 2) Page 3
