Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles)

by Ruth Nestvold

  He wondered at her daring to mention Yseult, on their wedding night of all times. "Yes. What does her beauty have to do with yours?"

  She looked back at him again, her smile one-sided, much like her beauty. "Tell me, do you always have the right answer?"

  "I sincerely doubt it. I would be as happy as Gareth else."

  She slung her arms around his neck. "I swear on what is left to me that I hold dear, I will do my best to make you so."

  He took her face in both hands. "Thank you."

  Hunger flared between them, and within moments they were both naked. Ragnell knelt on the bedroll on all fours, the hairs around her cunt glistening with her excitement, beckoning him, as did the sweet, soft moans that filled the reverberating emptiness of the former principia. And then he was taking her hips in both hands and spreading her thighs with one knee.

  He pulled her ass towards his cock and slid in with a gasp. Sweet, so sweet. His cock surrounded by tight, slippery heat, his hands gripping hipbones, his fingers digging into smooth skin, the curve of her back and her rump beneath him, a perfect shape. And he was driving in, forgetting everything — or if not everything, at least some things, for a while.

  * * * *

  The day came slowly, the sun barely fighting its way through clouds and fog and dark skies pregnant with cold winter rain. Shadows were odd, non-existent and omnipresent, shifting and disappearing and taking over. Gawain and his men and the volunteers from the village had taken up strategic positions scattered throughout the ruins, on the lookout for an enemy they were not even sure would come in search for them here.

  But Ragnell had assured him the green warrior would follow her call. There was something very unreal to waiting in the crumbling Roman fort that had once been his home for an enemy who was himself a mystery, with his blank standard and his refusal to name sept or tribe or land.

  And then he heard it, the call of a kestrel from the south, the quick "kee kee kee kee kee."

  There would be fighting this day. He could only hope that with the help of the ruins and Ragnell's magic they would be strong enough.

  The fog was growing thicker. And then a cry came echoing through the stone walls of the Roman garrison and was cut off short — hopefully one of Bertilak's men. Gawain had no way of knowing. Since he and his men were outnumbered, the only advantage they had was in stealth, in taking out individual warriors from places of concealment, in doorways or behind half-ruined walls. If they tried to face their enemy in open combat, they would never have a chance. Unfortunately, with the fog so thick, their enemy was nearly as concealed as they.

  Gawain strained to hear more of what was going on, but it was as if his hearing was as full of fog as his vision, everything muffled in the cloak of mist drifting between the ruins. Then he heard an eerie voice, as if it were speaking into his mind. Find backup and make your way towards the former principia. The green warrior and his men are headed in that direction.

  The voice was Ragnell's. Did he trust the magic? He didn't know. But he did trust Ragnell, in particular her hatred of Bertilak, whom she would not even call by name.

  He crept along the wall in search of Donal and Gareth. Gawain found himself relieved that Gaheris and his skepticism were on the other side of the garrison — he would be much harder to persuade with the argument of magical voices.

  "Gareth!" he whispered when he was close enough.

  Gareth turned. "What is it?"

  "We must make our way to the principia," Gawain murmured under his breath. "Bertilak is headed that way."

  Gareth did not even question from whence he had his information, he simply nodded shortly and followed, motioning Donal to do the same.

  Together they crept towards the center of the garrison. Ragnell continued to talk into his mind, warning him whenever one of the enemy scouts drew near. Nonetheless, the walk through the crumbling and dismantled walls was filled with ghosts stranger than the fog that whispered among the ruins, shifting shadows in the midst of a place Gawain had once called home.

  There, at the corner of the former baths, a fragment of memory took shape, Arthur twenty years younger, his blond-brown hair free of gray but his eyes just as intense, raising his sword to attack.

  Gawain stopped in his tracks. Was he going mad?

  No, Gawain, it is not as you think. It is one of the enemy! They are channeling some magic of illusion to confuse you, the magic I mentioned before. You must attack!

  "We must dispatch him," Gawain said, facing the image of young Arthur.

  "Who?" Donal said.

  "I see no one," Gareth echoed.

  And then Gawain's sword met that of the memory slipping between him and his enemy. At the sound of clashing blades, the other two warriors were beside him, despite being blind to their opponent. But even with that disadvantage, they soon left the man bleeding his life out at their feet.

  The sound of battle brought other warriors running — in likenesses of Cai, Bedwyr and clanking mist.

  "Do you see any of them this time?" Gawain called out.

  "I see one who looks like you as a boy," Gareth said.

  "Attack him!"

  Donal sliced into what looked to Gawain like a patch of shifting fog in human shape, while he himself fought off the young Bedwyr. He couldn't trust what he saw — or what he remembered either, for that matter.

  If it continued to go this way, they would have no chance against combined illusion and greater numbers. If only there were something Ragnell could do.

  I am trying. But there is powerful magic at work here.

  Try faster, Gawain thought in answer.

  To his relief, no further ghosts or memories came to the aid of those they fought. Slowly the illusion shifted and faded, and they were fighting and defeating youthful warriors in green.

  With three more men dead at their feet, Gawain allowed no time to discuss what they had just experienced. "Come."

  Go right! Two more of the enemy there.

  Gawain could hardly see for the mist, sometimes distorting vision in the normal way of shifting clouds and sometimes turning it into nightmare, but he did as Ragnell said. The magic might be powerful, but whoever was wielding it apparently could not maintain it over time. The next warrior they met appeared to him as Arthur's young son Llacheu. Gawain overcame the reluctance to attack a child, and as he and Gareth fought the specter of their cousin, this illusion too slipped away.

  They left another warrior dead among the ruins.

  "We need to find the others before we face Bertilak and the rest of his men." Gawain led them carefully around the circumference of the fort, collecting the rest of their troops from their hiding places, always listening for warnings from Ragnell.

  When they finally met Gaheris, all Gawain said was: "In this fog, we must face Bertilak in full force. The illusion subverts our strategy."

  Gaheris nodded shortly. "We lost a man but we killed all three of his attackers."

  By the time they were within sight of the central square, they had taken out almost a dozen of Bertilak's warriors, with only one loss of their own. But the warriors in green on the other side of the square were still a larger force — and heading for the principia where Ragnell hid.

  "We must attack before they can enter the building!" Gawain lifted his sword and stormed toward the entrance. "For Ragnell and Caer Camulodon!"

  They engaged Bertilak's troops on the steps of the principia, blocking their access to the building. Luckily, whatever magic playing tricks with their perception did not seem to be capable of laying its spell over two warbands of several dozen men. Bertilak and his warriors were Bertilak and his warriors — not memories Gawain could not trust and could not attack without effort.

  Nonetheless, the mist drifting between the ruins in the gray half-light of morning was almost like its own illusion. Gawain didn't like illusions. He preferred hard contours and physical facts. Like now, with a recognizable enemy that he could hear in the clang of blade on blade, could sme
ll in the stench of sweat and the metallic scent of blood.

  They gained the portico at the top of the steps. They were surrounded on three sides, but they were fighting from above — and from here they could escape into the principia, which was still largely intact.

  As Gawain tried to pick out Bertilak among the helmeted warriors, he realized that Ragnell had gone strangely quiet in his mind. Given how uncomfortable magic and illusion made him, he should have been relieved, but he wasn't. It was almost as if he missed her.

  But then out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of Bertilak's men take advantage of an opening to attack Gareth, and he had more immediate things to be worried about. He blocked a thrust from his own opponent with his shield and swung his sword with all his might at the unprotected spot on the other man's neck between mail and helmet. There was a scream and a crunch of metal meeting bone. Gawain jerked his sword back, and Gareth's attacker slipped to the ground and tumbled down the steps, forcing a number of Bertilak's men to jump out of the way.

  Finally he spied Bertilak in the midst of his warriors.

  "There!" he called to Gareth. "If we take Bertilak, perhaps we can end this!"

  Gareth nodded, and they began to fight their way into the enemy's midst. The stones of the portico and the steps leading up to it were slippery with blood, but at their attack, the enemy began falling back.

  Then suddenly a voice called out in the middle of the fighting. "Peace! Throw down your weapons, men!"

  Bertilak threw down his sword, and the surviving men at his command followed suit, steel clattering against stone and thudding in dirt.

  "Hold!" Gawain called out. His men lowered their weapons but, wary, did not sheathe them.

  Bertilak elbowed between his men and came forward, empty palms outstretched to prove he was unarmed. "Spare my men," he said. "I offer single combat."

  Ragnell's voice finally called out in his head again: No, Gawain, don't! I beg you!

  Didn't she know that such an offer could not be turned down by a self-respecting warrior? Ragnell, I cannot refuse to fight him.

  There was no answer in his mind, and he stalled for time. "Why would you do such a thing? With the troops at your back, you have the advantage over us."

  "Not much longer. My sister's spell is no longer strong enough. When we set out for the old Roman fort this morning, we had a least double your numbers. Now —" He gestured at Gawain's men on the steps above him. "Now a dozen of my men lie somewhere in the streets among these ruins, and you and your monks have taken the steps of the principia where Ragnell hides."

  Gawain shook his head. "She is not there," he lied.

  "So I felt no more than illusion?"

  "She was here last night, but we brought her to safety before you and your men were halfway to the garrison."

  "And who are you?"

  "Her husband."

  The green warrior stood straighter, and his weaponless hands clenched at his sides. "If that is the case, you have no choice but to accept my challenge."

  It was true, he did not.

  Gawain, no! He is not what he seems!

  Nothing here was what it seemed, including his newly wedded wife Ragnell — a woman who could speak into his mind and lure the enemy into a trap.

  "Tell me first who you are and why you became an outlaw," Gawain said. "What magic is this you wield?"

  Bertilak shook his head. "Not I — my dishonored sister. I am no more than a Rheged warrior whose family and inheritance was taken from him by a prince of Elmet."

  Don't listen to him. He killed my family and raped me!

  But Gawain wanted to know, difficult as it might be. "Of Ragnell's clan?"

  "Yes. Her youngest brother. He torched our home in a border dispute."

  "You would not have had to make rape part of your revenge."

  "Oh yes I did. I raped his sister as he raped mine — and I made him watch before we killed him."

  The thought made Gawain's stomach muscles clench and his hand clasp tighter around the hilt of his sword. While he could understand the need for revenge, Bertilak had not only forced Ragnell, he had multiplied the pain beyond anything Gawain could imagine by including her condemned brother as witness.

  "Then let us fight," Gawain said, his voice low.

  "Gladly."

  The warriors on both sides moved back to the edges of the small square, making room for Gawain and Bertilak to do battle.

  "Take up your sword," Gawain said.

  Bertilak bent to retrieve his weapon — and when he rose, he was a young Arthur again, slim and blond as he had been when Gawain entered his uncle's service.

  But no, he was not Arthur. He was a rapist, a particularly cruel rapist.

  Gawain attacked, concentrating on the green shield, doing his best to ignore the beloved face. Unnatural mist swirled around their ankles and snaked up between them, but Gawain focused on his adversary's helmet; he would not allow Bertilak's magic to take the victory.

  Dawn crept along the ruins, and in the distance the twitter of birds announced the coming of day. Otherwise the only sound was blades meeting and sliding away and the grunts of the opponents. Bertilak was strong, but Gawain was stronger, and gradually it became clear that he was wearing the other man down. Bertilak's attacks had become non-existent, and his side of the duel was reduced to defending himself with shield and sword.

  Finally the green warrior fell for a clever feint, and Gawain responded with a twisting thrust that ripped the sword out of his hand and sent it flying.

  Bertilak knelt down in front of Gawain and laid his shield at his feet. "I am defeated. There is no longer any chance for me to gain revenge or hill-fort, so I beg you to cut off my head."

  He removed his helmet and bent his head, but Gawain was so surprised at this request that he could only stare at the bare neck of the warrior in green. He might be sorely tempted to do as Bertilak requested, but the principles of fairness followed by Arthur's companions dictated otherwise — and Pabius, Gaheris, and Gareth were watching. "But if you yield, there is no reason for me to kill you."

  Bertilak raised his head again to look into Gawain's eyes. "If you cut off my head, the warriors under my command will be set free. Then perhaps there will be some mercy for me in another life. This is not their fight."

  "Are they not your men?"

  "Not all. My sister bound them to me before we left on this campaign. I would not have had enough men at my command to carry out her revenge; many of them are enchanted and under her power."

  Gawain gazed at his opponent, undecided. If Bertilak realized the wrongs he had done, Gawain was honor bound to grant mercy.

  Then there was a commotion just past the warriors lining the square, and men were moving to the side to make room for Ragnell, striding through their midst. The scar tissue on the right half of her face was livid, and she clutched a rust-red cloak the color of blood to her neck as she approached.

  "Ragnell!" both he and Bertilak called out at the same time.

  Without responding, she hastened up to them. Before either saw what she was about, she pulled a heavy sword out from under her cloak and swung it high and down. The blade connected with Bertilak's neck, struck bone, and slid away. Blood spurted out of the deep wound, spraying their calves and thighs and drenching the stones and dirt at their feet.

  Bertilak screamed and clutched the wound. Ragnell swung again, with both hands this time, putting her whole body into it, shrieking like a fiend from the Otherworld. The splat of flesh and blood was followed by the crunch of bone and steel and another long drawn-out screech, which finally ended when Bertilak's head fell away, his mouth and eyes still wide, silently echoing the scream that had gone before.

  The men who had been watching stepped away as one, while Ragnell's sword clattered to the ground at her feet. Then silence, thick as the mist swirling between them and the ruins of the former Roman garrison.

  A shaft of sunlight cut through the milky winter atmosphere, reflecting
on the bloody sword at Ragnell's feet.

  "There. It is done."

  At her words, the fog began to lift. Before their actions could become desertion in the light of day, Bertilak's men began to slip along stone walls and down side streets and alleys away from the square and out of the garrison walls.

  In profile, the beautiful half of Ragnell's face was stark and unforgiving, like some ancient war goddess, Cymidei or Morrigu. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gareth raising his arm and pointing. "Ragnell! What —?"

  Slowly she turned and faced Gawain. Her beauty was as complete as he had ever imagined, the scarred half of her face smooth and perfect. He blinked and stared, unsure if he should feel elated — or perhaps even betrayed. He had accepted her as she was, had even learned to find her disfigurement beautiful in its own way.

  Only to discover now that it had been a game all along.

  She stepped around the body and took his bloody sword hand in her own, cupping the fingers that still clenched the hilt. "Not a game, Gawain," she murmured so that only he could hear. "Merely a way to survive. Besides, how are you to know that this is not the illusion?"

  He found the corners of his mouth twitching up in a smile at the words of his clever wife.

  "We can let them think it was a spell of the sorceress sister, yet another facet of her revenge," Ragnell continued. "Will you help me?"

  He nodded shortly. Dropping his shield, he lifted his free hand to the now scarless cheek. "Ragnell," he said loud enough for all the men remaining in the square to hear. "You are whole!"

  Her eyes widened, and he had to keep a smile of amusement from springing to his lips, despite all that had just transpired. She was a consummate actress — perhaps too much so.

  She brought her own hand to her cheek, tracing the smooth skin as he had, and laughed out loud. "The spell is lifted!"

  Any of Bertilak's men who still lingered dashed off at these words.

  "Verily it is, my dear wife." Gawain leaned forward to kiss her smooth cheek. "You have quite a bit of explaining to do yet," he whispered in her ear.

  "Is it not enough to know that I love you, but I needed to test you?" she whispered back.