Interpreting Kenric's warning look correctly, Kern grinned. "We will not touch her." He promised. "Yet."
Kenric hesitated, knowing that to hesitate could be death in a normal battle. But this... this was anything but normal. Myrddin's refusal to arm himself stumped him. He'd never struck down an unarmed man before. He wasn't about to start now.
"The prize," with a dark smile, Myrddin tossed out the words casually, as if the outcome were of no importance, "is not the horse, though I am sure Kern will relieve you of the beast regardless. Nay, the prize is the woman."
Like he'd planned it for effect, lightening crashed,
illuminating the gathering darkness. Thunder boomed, reminding Kenric of his sword's ancient name. Somehow, Myrddin knew of Kenric's vow to protect Megan. This was why he had chosen to name as a prize the one thing that would make Kenric fight. No matter what else he was, Kenric was a man of honor.
Forsaking all else, he still had that. He'd clung to it, even as a mercenary warrior, choosing battles that he felt were justified. His honor.
And honor demanded he save Megan. By whatever means at his disposal.
If Myrddin had been waiting for Kenric to agree to his terms, he waited no longer. Pointing his index finger, he muttered a few words. The first blast of energy nearly jolted Kenric from the war horse's back.
Lancelot trumpeted, staggered, then fell to his knees. Kenric had no choice but to dismount.
"Don't hurt the horse." Kern shouted. “I claim it as mine once you’ve finished him off.”
“Agreed.” Myrddin laughed, his face alight with an unholy glee. "Prepare to die, Kenric of Blackstone."
From her place on the rock Kenric saw that Megan watched, her eyes still huge, still hopeful. Trusting. Believing in him.
Kenric cursed. He had no choice. Just this once. He would use his inherent magic just this one time.
He readied himself, gathering his strength and his energy like a tattered cloak around him. For the first time he wished he had paid more attention to his sister's numerous attempts to teach him when he'd been small.
Focus. Ah, better. He felt it building inside of him. Lancelot - no - the war horse staggered to his feet, shaking his massive head.
The wind buffeted them, seeming to try to knock him from his mount. Around them the air became heavy with the promise of rain and... smoke.
Fire.
He felt it crackling around him, licking at his clothes.
Consuming him, as he'd always known it would.
From a far off distance he heard Megan scream.
There was no heat. No stench of burning leather and flesh.
Illusion.
The instant he thought it, knew it for a certainty, the fire vanished.
Desperately, he began again the process of gathering his energy, of focusing the way Rhiannon had tried to teach him as a young boy, so long ago. But he was rusty and long out of practice. The second he felt the raw power of the stirrings of it begin to build in him, he knew he would not be able to control it.
Lightening crackled, the air sizzling with black energy. Summoning his own powers, Myrddin had no intention of allowing
him time to do anything.
Again Kenric concentrated, focused. He could do this. He would do this. For Megan's sake, he had no choice.
All it once it filled him. His power...arriving so
suddenly that Kenric felt out of control. His entire body vibrated as it coursed in him, through him, with him.
Focus, focus. He lifted his hands, gathering it like a shield around him. He could feel his sword, no longer separate, thrumming in tempo with the place inside him.
Desperately he tried to control it, fighting the uneven pressure as it threatened to overwhelm that which was human, making him but an instrument, a vessel for its passage.
Nay - he would not give in to it. The violent tremors of his internal battle shifted his focus inward, so that he no longer saw the mercenaries backing away, their grizzled faces blanched with terror. Nor Myrddin, his eyes mere slits as he summoned up his own dark power to counter the danger.
None of them knew, not even Kenric himself had realized the breadth, the scope, the sheer might of the power within him. As he had feared, despite using all of his strength, his iron clad will, he could not dominate it.
With one last shuddering effort at resistance, he released control.
Violently, it consumed him, erupting outward as he screamed out one last warning before falling, senseless to the ground.
When he awoke, all was quiet. No breeze chilled his
overheated skin. The landscape once again looked pastoral; bright sunlight, azure sky, the sheer simplicity of a peaceful
spring day.
As it had been before.
Off in the distance, he heard the rumble of far away thunder.
Kern and his ragged band of followers were gone. As was Myrddin, the evil one, whose name Kenric felt like he should know.
Behind him, the war horse heaved a sigh. Kenric's heartbeat steadied. He wiped the sweat from his brow and, with one final glance around him, sheathed his sword.
All was as it should be. And magic - if that blast of raw energy could be called such a thing - was no more.
Megan. With a curse, Kenric recalled the woman he had put from him, meaning to keep her safe.
It appeared he had failed, as the rock she had stood on was empty. Somehow, whatever his magic had done to the others had happened to her as well.
Megan had vanished.
#
This was ridiculous. Megan couldn't believe it. Traveling through time was one thing, meeting a Faerie Queen and traveling to the land of faeries was another, but an evil wizard? She was beginning to feel she was living in some skewed video game.
As heros went however, Kenric couldn't be beat.
Once the battle had begun, she couldn't tear her eyes away from him. Despite all his protestations against magic, the man positively seemed to resonate with it.
She'd been impressed, despite herself, when this Myrddin character changed the weather. His dark visage seemed so blatantly evil that she supposed she ought to be glad that all he had done to her was knock her from Lancelot's back. And even then, he'd thought she was a boy.
Rhiannon had warned her against this man. Evidently, Kenric was not aware that Myrddin had been the one who had led the dark Faeries against his human family.
Megan shivered, hugging her arms tight around her middle. Now Myrddin meant to kill Kenric.
And for a moment, it looked like Kenric had meant to let him. He had sat frozen, indecision clouding his eyes. Then he'd thrown his head back, his handsome face contorted like he was in agony, and she'd seen the power course through him.
There'd been a blast of white heat and she'd seen nothing more.
Gradually, Megan became aware of her surroundings. The light had changed. She was no longer on the broad plain where the battle had been waged. Instead, surrounding her were grey stone walls, the rock weathered and rough. No fragrant grass lay under her feet; she stood on dirt, damp and moldy. The stench was horrendous - bringing to mind years of filth and neglect and somehow, human sorrow. She bit her bottom lip. It appeared she was deep in the bowels of some castle. In the dungeon. The heavily rusted bars that surrounded her gave that away rather quickly.
Great. Could things get any worse? Hastily she erased the thought, knowing they certainly could. To think she'd once thought she'd had an ordinary, boring life.
Maybe no one knew she was here. Her heart leapt. If she wasn't locked in, all she had to do was get out of this castle and figure out a way to find Kenric.
Or could he find her with his magic?
Since she had no idea, she couldn't just stay in this dank dungeon and wait for him.
Walking gingerly, she tried the metal door. With a hiss and a moan, the door gave way.
#
Once he'd decided to use his magic to save their lives, Kenric saw no reason
why he couldn't use it again to find Megan. She couldn't have gone far, even if Myrddin had sent her somewhere.
Closing his eyes, he focused inward, searching. He saw only darkness. Darkness and the unyielding, cold finality of lichen covered stone. He smelled a fetid odor like rotten earth and heard in his mind a horrible moan. Megan's moan, Megan's voice.
His eyes snapped open as he scanned the empty plains. Danger. His heart thudded once, hard within his chest, then began to pound. Megan was in some sort of danger. And, since he'd somehow put her there, he had to find a way to save her.
The war horse, sensing his urgency, surged forward.
#
Megan found herself in a long corridor. On the walls, torches flickered in the drafty air. Praying that no one would chance upon her, she hurried along the passageway. When she came to the narrow staircase, she climbed it without hesitation. Her luck held; no one appeared to challenge her.
When she reached the top of the stairs, she realized she was on the main floor of the castle. This would be where the greatest danger lay, for the castle inhabitants would roam this area freely.
Glad she wore the boyish disguise Kenric had given her, Megan hoped she would come across a large crowd and blend into it. In all the movies she'd seen, medieval castles appeared crowded. But in this one, utter silence reigned. The silence seemed so pervasive that she wondered if everyone was asleep.
Or dead. She shivered, remembering those same movies and the savage butchery of the people of these times.
Surely not. Shaking off her trepidation, she forced herself to continue down the hall.
Where was Kenric? Why had he sent her here?
She reached the end of the hall. Now she could either go right or left. Listening, she heard nothing. No sounds of servants bustling, of children playing, of people. No sounds at all. Maybe, just maybe, she might make it out of here undetected.
Taking a deep breath, Megan closed her eyes, counted to ten, and plunged ahead to the right.
Smack dab into the biggest man she'd ever seen.
She reeled back, heart in her throat. Gulped in air and spun on her heel to run.
Hairy arms the size of tree trucks came up to grab her.
"What have we here?" The giant boomed.
Quickly she figured out that she couldn't get away. There was no way. Even if she kicked this man in the shins, it would only anger him. Defeated, she let her shoulders slump.
He had wavy red hair that went past his shoulders, and a thick beard to match. His pale blue eyes were narrowed, though the corners of his mouth quirked up in the beginning of a smile.
Remembering her disguise, Megan took a deep breath.
"I need to look for my…" Frantically she tried to remember the proper term, "Liege lord." Good night, that sounded phony even to her. And for all she knew there were no other lords in this monstrous castle other than the man who had his humongous hands clamped around her forearms. And wasn't liege a French word?
If she could have brought her hands together, she would have twisted them.
His eyes narrowed to mere slits. "Really." He boomed in a silky voice. "Which Lord might that be?"
"You're hurting me." Instead of answering, she tried for a distraction. That, at least, was no lie. No doubt she would have bruises on her arms from this big lug's hands.
He made no move to release her. Instead, he chuckled low in his throat. "A soft lad you are."
She knew a real boy would have bristled at that, but she was tired and hungry and really, truly frightened. She wanted Kenric. Odd how a man she'd known only a few days could make her feel so safe, so protected.
Megan hung her head. "I'm sorry." She murmured.
At that he released her, setting her on her feet with a thump. Men. Who could ever figure them out?
The giant continued to regard her with suspicion. "I have never seen you before."
"Do you notice every boy, er steward, in the castle?" His thick brows winged up. "Why shouldn't I, since it is my keep?"
Keep. Right. She should have remembered that. Keep, not castle.
Slowly, she began sidling past him. One foot, then
another.
"Hold."
Megan froze. Even though he'd spoken quietly, the command in his tone was unmistakable.
She raised her head, peering up at him with what she hoped was an entirely innocent expression.
"I will have the name."
For a moment she drew a blank. Then she remembered he'd asked the name of her liege Lord. Well, there was no help for it. She only knew the name of one man in this strange place, if you didn't count Kern the bandit or Myrddin the evil wizard.
"Kenric of Blackstone." She said proudly, hoping he would not notice how her voice trembled.
His eyes narrowed and his huge hand came down, clamping on her shoulder. "Come with me, boy."
Apparently, using Kenric's name had been the wrong thing to do. Since she had no choice, she trotted along beside him, two of her steps to each one of his.
After what seemed an endless walk down the echoing stone halls, they came to a great hall filled with people of every size and shape. Megan immediately brightened. He wouldn't dare to hurt her now, not with so many witnesses.
"Good morning, Lord Brighton." Every person they passed hailed the giant.
So he was a Lord. Megan tried to remember the hierarchy of the monarchy. If she remembered right, it went King, Duke, Earl, and Baron. Maybe. Anyway, this Lord Brighton wasn't a king, since no one called him your highness. That was good, she supposed, since kings seemed to have a way of doing whatever they pleased without any consequences. Including disposing of one insignificant boy.
And insignificant might be putting it mildly. As Lord Brighton dragged her through the crowded hall, no one even seemed to notice her.
But from the way people greeted him, Megan surmised he was well liked here in his castle - er, keep. Another good thing, she told herself. Such a man would be less likely to do something rash or evil.
Not once did he release his firm grip on her shoulder.
After what seemed an endless march, they finally reached the other end of the hall. There, Lord Brighton paused before an ornately decorated door. Fascinated despite herself, Megan studied the intricate woodwork. Made of hardwood, the highly polished design seemed mystical, almost holy.
Before she had time to wonder what it all meant, Lord Brighton pulled the door open and pushed her through.
CHAPTER TEN
Kenric vaguely remembered a keep situated to the east. He had never been there, though he'd heard tales about the place ever since he'd been a boy. What he hadn't remembered was how far away the place actually was.
He'd ridden hard all day and still saw no signs of the outlying village that surely would surround such a place. He saw an occasional crofter's hut, a shepherd and his dog guarding sheep, and still the winding road ahead showed him nothing but dust.
The sky remained cloudless and a vibrant blue, and the light breeze was warm. A perfect spring day, if he were not in desperate pursuit of his vanished lady.
He would find her; he had to. Only once in his life had Kenric failed, and that failure was more the result of his not being there than anything else. He'd been absent when his father and his family were butchered, and for that he could never forgive himself.
For this reason, he would not fail again.
He would not fail to find Megan and save her. He would return her to her Roger, collect the reward, and live the rest of his days in peace.
For some reason, on the seemingly endless ride in the middle of nowhere, he found himself wondering for the first time what this Roger was like? What kind of man let his intended bride get lost and then made, for all attempts and purposes, no real effort to find her?
Perhaps this Roger did not want to marry Megan. Mayhap it suited his purposes better if she were to remain lost.
This thought angered him. Surprisingly, not because he would not be r
ewarded with land as Megan had promised, but because he did not want Megan hurt. She had exhibited a strength of character and courage he had never seen in a woman, yet she was feminine and lovely.
If he were her betrothed - Kenric stopped the thought before it could take root. He had no room in his life for emotion, not now. Perhaps later, when he'd established his land and gotten his wife with child. All that mattered was the continuance of the line; he was merely the vessel by which it would continue.
Megan belonged to another. He would find her Lord Roger and claim his reward even if he had to wring the neck of the other man to do it. And, in the process, he would ensure that beautiful, sweet Megan was not hurt.
As he rode, the sun sank lower in the sky. Soon it would be difficult to see and he would have to find a place to stop. But the thought of Megan trapped in some dank and moldering dungeon haunted him.
He decided to press on, trusting his war horse to find the way. After all, they but followed a road.
The moon hung high in the sky when Kenric, exhausted, brought the horse to a halt. He would have to sleep and the animal needed a rest and something to eat.
By the light of the full moon he could make out a silvery sliver of water on the other side of a field. There he went, letting his faithful mount drink his fill. The lush grass served as ample feed and, while the animal was munching contentedly, Kenric made him a pallet and drifted off to sleep, his dreams haunted by the face of a woman who belonged to another.
#
It took a moment for Megan's eyes to adjust to the dim light in the small room. Candles flickered all around it, some sort of incense too. The overpowering, exotic smell made her head swim.
In the back corner, reclining on a long couch, was an ancient man, judging from his deeply lined face and white hair and beard. He appeared to be asleep, though one knarled hand rested on the head of an oversized grey cat.
Lord Brighton pushed her forward, clearing his throat loudly at the same time.
The ancient's eyes slowly opened.
Megan gasped. Totally unexpected in such a wizened face, his eyes were silver, a purple of such brilliance and vibrancy that it humbled her. She had never seen eyes like his. After second thought, she realized she had. Kenric's sister Rhiannon had eyes of the same color.
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