A moment of whispering followed at her back, and then her heavy chamber door closed. The harbingers of ill news had finally left. Never had she felt so alone in this godforsaken life. Numbly, Iliana walked forward, reached up to draw the heavy iron bolt she had had the smith fashion for her door. Moving back to her window enclosure, Iliana allowed her shoulders to slump. With eyes hot and dry, she stared at the valley below. Her land, her holdings, her people -- a deception to be sure. After all this time, was she destined to let them down? She took in the flat, endless expanse of barren ground which tried in vain to sprout new green grass.
The previous winter months had been an especially hard and desolate time. Mandrak's presence had made it doubly so. People were frightened of the magic he and his clutch of witches conjured. The sorcerer had appeared as if from the air. Attempts by her men-at-arms to capture him and end his campaign of terror had proven fruitless. Perhaps the sorcerer really did know magic, Iliana mused. How else had he managed to continually evade her men? How could one man so effectively poison the soil and cause even the birds in the forest to fall out of the sky to their deaths?
Iliana longed to escape the turmoil ... yet knew her quest was not yet at an end. Her fears could not take precedence over her mission. She must continue her search for the green gem, and once she found it, then and only then would there be freedom. Freedom from the scourge of the like of Mandrak. Personal freedom for herself. Freedom for the people of this realm. Many times she had longed to give up. She had been on this quest for almost four summers, but she knew she couldn't give in to despair; too many depended upon her. If only Sir William, Desryn and Aisyn had survived the battle, perhaps then she could be free of this responsibility. If they were here, there would be no dispute over the land. There would be no queen clutching at the lands in her greed.
Iliana squared her shoulders and shook her head to clear it of such despairing thoughts. Sir William and his sons were long gone, therefore it was up to her to do what was necessary, at almost any cost to herself.
Falling to her knees, Iliana bowed her head and whispered fervently, "Angel of mercy, I pray to thee, show me the way to avert this blow. I vow I cannot fight the queen and the scurrilous beast in the same moment." Iliana lifted her head, trembling fingers thrusting her hair over her shoulders as confusion and fear battled for control. She felt so cold, so bereft, the knowledge of her aloneness seeping through her bones in actual physical pain. "There must be a way," she implored. "I beg of you to help me find it."
A gust of wind surged through the open window, shaking a wall tapestry loose from its wooden pegs.
Her life tapestry. Iliana fingers gently traced the tapestry's magically woven threads. Each day it presented a new chapter, a new verse in her life. She had long ago given up questioning how this happened... how a tapestry wove each new day in her life. Now, she stared at its deeply brilliant colors, saw herself with hands and feet bound and tethered as she stood in the midst of an open, barren field, exposed, waiting, helpless.
But she was not helpless. She would not be helpless. She moved over to the small bed in the corner of her room, gently touched the deep brown curls. Even as her heart grew heavy with fear for tomorrow, a deep, radiant warmth filled her. Her child, William, her miracle. Although he was only eight months old, little William already had his own life tapestry. It would remain a beautiful though blank tapestry until he reached the age of one year, but Iliana knew this mission to find the green gem was now focused in part for her son. Whereas before her success had been for the people and then herself, now it was all for little William.
She pulled the woolen sheet over his little shoulders as he slept, and into her spirit came a sense of calm purpose.
She moved to the window embrasure. Her eyes focused on the dark shadow in the far distance, at the very edge of the forest. An indistinct blur marching ever closer began to take shape. An army of men.
The betrothed of Iliana of Dutton, the Beast, was come to claim the prize. Somehow, she had to protect the people from this Beast. She, who never wished to harm any living thing, knew she must kill Weinroof of Camdork.
Chapter Three
"One in your likeness yet not in your image rises where past and present join as one. He is blown in by the sea and has been called forth by ones who would foil your attempts for a controlled kingdom. Be forewarned his arrival heralds a cycle of rebirth and ultimately death. Henceforth, you must align with this one. The plot shall be hindered unless you are clever enough to outwit him. Do not make of him a foe, for therein you create your own defeat."
Camdork rubbed his ears, for the sorcerer's voice grated on him immensely.
"Of whom do you speak, Mandrak?" Camdork paced impatiently, wearing a path on the earthen floor in the small hut. "Outwit him? How shall I proceed when I do not know who this intruder is or from whence he comes? You speak in riddles." Angrily, the blond giant dropped closed fists punishingly on the small table between them, smashing it to fragments. "I shall return to London and confer with my queen," he growled, "I was a fool to fall in with you."
Mandrak, cowled head down, never moved from his chair. "Nay, it is your impatience that will seal your doom," he said calmly.
"I have been patient! It has been nigh on four years I have planned this. It has taken me this long to gain the rank and power necessary. Do you know how many favors I've cast upon the Court? I will not be deterred!"
"If you have not the heart for this..." Mandrak paused.
Camdork leaned toward the dark robed figure, but he could see nothing inside the deep hood. Uneasily, he stepped back and began to pace anew.
"I'll find him," Camdork snarled. Reaching upward, he thrust clenched fists against the oak beam supporting the roof. It creaked ominously. "If he's to be run aground, I shall do it. If he's to be bought, I will do that also. I'll find him and secure his aid, willingly or no. Needs be, I'll kill the bastard before he can interfere with my plans."
"You cannot slay this one ere you discover his weakness. His strength is greater than yours in all respects. Crush him beneath your heel, and you will be slain before another sun breaks."
"Be silent, Sorcerer! I've planned too long to let another stop me now. Dutton Keep's lands and the lady shall be mine." Camdork swept his foot through the logs in the small fire pit, sending embers and flaming wood onto the floor and against the small table he had smashed. Dry tinder, it caught in a second and flames began to leap. In the tiny hut's doorway he turned, snarled, "I will win this!"
The room lay empty as it was consumed by flames.
¤¤
A small army of men stood on the shore, the stark whiteness of the ground underfoot contrasting sharply with their dark figures. Beside them was a wooden framed structure which appeared armed for attack. Aimed at his ship the Merry Maiden. Erik shuddered to think of the damage it would inflict.
A small craft pulled up alongside his ship. Warily, Erik called down to the fellows in the odd looking craft. "What are you about down there?"
"Weinroof of Camdork has demanded that you come ashore," one of the men shouted. "If you ignore his warning, he is prepared to burn you as you sit in the water. You have until midday." The two men in the odd looking rowboat pulled away from his ship and rowed back to shore.
Erik leaned his back against the rail, staring at Jock. "This is a perplexing state of affairs."
"I believe that instrument on the shore is a mangonel," murmured Jock, squinting against the sun as he rubbed his upper arm. The wound from last week still nagged at him. "A medieval type of catapult, as it were."
Erik turned and faced the shore, lifting his spy glass, deliberating on the odds against them. "And what do you think about that projectile leveled at our vessel?"
"Some type of fire power apparatus."
Erik nodded, eyes narrowed. "Do you think we are within firing range?"
Jock nodded glumly. "Well, Cap’n, I would venture they believe we are."
Erik, eyed the f
laming ball visible in the large, slingshot-like bucket. "The question is, will we survive such a fireball?"
"If it's lime and it hits on target, it'll take us down to kindling sticks."
"And here we sit chained in these waters like a fish on land."
Jock nodded. Despite the crew's best effort, the ship would not move. Erik feared they had run up on a shoal. The men had checked for holes in the ship's belly, and he'd even sent a diver below the surface, but nothing untoward had been found. There appeared to be no damage, nor had they taken on any water. The wind moved all around them, but their sails would not fill and thus they were unable to sail away from the threat. It was as if they were chained to the harbor bottom, through no fault of their own. The damned ship had betrayed him, betrayed them all by sailing to this spot just off shore, under its own power.
He squinted into the midday sun, the heat such that he saw lights dancing across the horizon, then strange shadows. He stared into the sky above them, seeing something out of the corner of his eye, but when he looked, the blue sky was empty even of clouds.
"We are disarmed." The starboard cannons had become lost during their tumultuous passage through the storm. They were as defenseless as babes.
"I'll be going ashore." Erik buckled a sword to his hip and hoisted himself over the rail. "My ship and crew are at risk the longer I deliberate. There is nothing else I can do, not with that army on shore."
"You'll not go alone." Decisively, Jock also climbed over the rail.
"This is a risky venture at best," Erik bit out. "I don't know where we are. If conditions change, you can sail away from the coast. I cannot let my ship nor my men be taken. I prefer that you stay aboard."
"I'll not be moving anywhere without my captain," Jock said, a mulish cast to his jaw. Erik sighed, knowing that look of old. Entrenched in his own righteousness, the man would simply pay him no heed even if he ordered him to stay aboard. Glancing at the shoreline, Erik knew they had little time. Horses had rolled the contraption on wood planks even closer to the water's edge.
Erik passed a glance over his crew, his gaze falling upon each man as they stood in a tight semi-circle on the deck. Now doubt they understood their grim circumstances.
"Chief mate has his orders. If we do not return within the week you are to try and set sail from this place." His voice brooked no argument or discussion. "I know we are mired in this shoreline at this moment, but you must continue your efforts to set sail and find a safe place to shelter. As your Captain, I order you not to come ashore."
Erik hesitated. "I'll not lie to you, and perhaps you'll think I've taken leave of my senses, but somehow we've been blown off course by a freak of nature and ended up here on the British coast. Those men threaten the safety of every man on this ship." He knew the men were baffled, perhaps even frightened, as they had every right to be, but Erik felt they also deserved the truth. He shrugged his shoulders.
"I admit it is as strange to me as to you. I must go ashore."
Without further ado, Erik descended the ladder to the small waiting boat. Markin, who was to row them ashore, sat across from them.
"They look none too friendly I'm thinking," Markin muttered in a dark, gravelly voice as he gave the oars a steady pull, lift, pull. "They're just spoiling for a fight, that's what I think. Aye, a fight they'll have, with their wooden weapons and the like." As they drew nearer, Erik stared at the younger man. Jock kicked Markin in the shin and he closed his mouth, his jaw tight. He gave one last heave and their boat brushed up against the pure white sand.
"Just this once, Markin, keep your views to yourself," Erik advised dryly, his eyes never leaving the line of men.
"Aye, Captain, I can manage that, but I'm a-warning you, if one of them tries anything, I'll slit his throat." Markin patted the knife at his side.
Markin was a young hot-head who needed no excuse to begin a brawl. Looking at the heavily armed soldiers on the beach, Erik knew he would stand no chance.
Jock's glare warned of retribution. Squirming a bit, Markin withdrew his hand from the immediate vicinity of the knife.
"Shove off, Markin," Erik said. He and Jock climbed out of the boat into the one-foot depth of water. "You are not to come back." Erik turned his back on the seaman.
Reluctantly, the seaman did as he was bid and began to row back to the ship.
"What the hell have we found, Captain?" Jock muttered as a group of six men advanced on them. Clad in chain mail and leather trousers strapped at the ankle -- surely time had stood still for this lot! But then, since the vortex, nothing was as it should be.
Erik and Jock were met some five feet from where they stepped onto the sand by the group. One man stepped forward and Erik studied the man's strange, antiquated style of dress. He was clothed in some type of tunic, with little metal rings sewn into his clothing-- right out of a history book.
"Why threaten my ship and crew?" Erik asked as they took each other's measure.
"Why do you not turn tail and run?" countered the other man, his head and face mostly concealed by a helmet. They were eye level with each other and Erik met his dark eyes through the metal visor. The man's mouth widened in a predatory grin, showing teeth slightly yellowed. Abruptly, his eyes narrowed with a speculative gleam. "Are we long lost brothers?" the man thundered incredulously, drawing a step nearer. "I would swear it, another bastard to account for under Camdork."
Erik tensed upon being called a bastard; it still being a sore point after some thirty-eight years. "I know of no Camdork," he said curtly, quickly assessing the threat of each of the three men closest to him.
"I am Camdork," the other man said.
Casually, Erik's hand rested upon the blade at his hip. Permitting himself a tight grin, he said, "I think you mistake me for someone else."
The man stepped closer. "You will show respect." He pulled a wickedly curved dagger from a sheath of the man who stood beside him, and pointed it toward Erik.
A huge soldier stepped forward with a low grunt, his barrel of a chest covered with a metal plate bearing a tiger about to pounce. His black beard and hair spread out on all sides of his head. The man put an arm up against Camdork's chest.
"Patience," the dark bearded man cautioned in a deep voice.
For a moment Camdork looked angry, then he laughed, pushing the man's arm away. "Ulrich, ever the cautious one." He tossed the blade back to the man he'd taken it from, but the man caught it by the blade and Erik saw the steel pierce the man's palm. Camdork grinned at the man's quickly suppressed howl of pain.
The men carried shields, some in hand, some hanging from their shoulders. Their clothing appeared medieval, and each man's head was covered by a metal helm. As he surveyed them carefully, his curiosity peaked even as he was gripped by a strange sense of unreality.
"From where do you hail?" Camdork said.
"Across the sea," Erik replied abruptly. A slight breeze caught the man's dark tunic, and it was then that Erik saw he concealed another sword at his back. Erik stepped backwards and his blade sliced the air.
Camdork assumed a similar defensive stance. "Identify yourself or my men will crush you." They faced each other, a pair well matched for size.
"I am Erik Remington. Surely force is not necessary," Erik kept his weapon steady as he coolly measured the man.
Surprising him, the other man suddenly reached up and drew off his helm, tossing it contemptuously between them in the sand. The sun glinted off the gleaming metal. Erik stared at his adversary, a slight feeling of familiarity taking hold as he realized they were of a similar coloring, though the man's face was mostly covered by facial hair. Camdork's lips curled derisively beneath his blond, unkempt beard, eyes brown and hard.
Erik watched the other man's eyes, saw them shift from side to side. He had fought enough men to know Camdork thought to disarm him with trickery.
When Camdork sidestepped and then lunged toward him, Erik easily evaded him.
"Stop," Erik demanded. "I have done
you no harm."
Hurling curses, the man recovered himself, waving his men back when they moved forward. He glared at Erik, his face twisting as he brandished the shining blade before him.
"It would be so easy to kill you," he taunted.
"You are welcome to try," Erik said. "I've come a long way, and now to be confronted by your army -- for what purpose?"
Camdork snarled, "Mandrak told me you would come. You've come for her. You think to steal the lands I have worked toward all these years." He seemed overcome with a furious anger. "I would not have believed it, but Mandrak's prophecy is proven once more. We have awaited your arrival a month in this place. And here you are."
Erik's eyes narrowed. "We are here upon the whim of the sea. My ship was pulled through a tempest to this harbor --"
Shaking his head, a small measure of control seemed to return to the other man. "I was forewarned of your coming." He shook his head like a dog would shake. "I was warned, but I did not fully believe it." He glared at Erik. "I will not allow you to decide my fate. I will prevent that which is destined. My queen will surely agree."
"Let me meet with your queen. Surely she will see my ship and I are no threat."
Camdork continued as if he had not spoken. "The Lady Iliana is not worth one's life. I will change Fate's course -- erase the destiny which is written. I am a man with many years and many plans, and yet your arrival will disrupt all I have worked for." The feverish light in Camdork's gaze intensified. Suddenly, he smiled. "It is you who will play out this child's game." He threw back his head and laughed. "Yes!" Pushing his sword point into the fine white sand, he leaned heavily against the jeweled hilt. He nodded. "Aye, 'ere from this day on you will go in my stead, 'tis you who will bear the brunt of the fates and I will take care of more important concerns."
"All I hear is riddles," Erik said.
The other man stood upright. "You know!" he accused, mottled color rising in his cheeks and the edges of his blond beard. "You've come for her, is that not so? Are you not man enough to admit it is she whom you seek?" He untied long leather thongs which held a shield against his right shoulder. A dragon reared against a royal blue background on the battered shield. The man thrust it toward Erik.
Treasure So Rare (Women of Strength Time Travel Trilogy) Page 3
