The Prison Of Ice & Shadows (Prophecies Of Fate Book 2)

by T J Mayhew

  And, with that, he felt a blow to the back of his head...

  “Let us out of here!”

  “Kay...”

  “Get off me, Lancelot! We’ve been locked up like dogs and you sit here and do nothing?”

  Cai groaned and struggled to sit up; he rested his weight on his elbows, knowing that, if he tried to move any more, he would throw up. Raising his hand, he winced as he rubbed his head and his fingers caught in a sticky mess of hair and drying blood.

  Slowly looking around the darkness, he realised they had been thrown into a cell. He could barely make out Kay and Lancelot standing by a heavy wooden door; it wasn’t long before Kay resumed his hammering, demanding their freedom.

  Lancelot inclined his head as he leant against the cold stone; Galahad sat opposite Cai, their backs against the wall, watching Kay’s assault on the door.

  Logan, sitting next to Cai, groaned and looked up at the ceiling. “Will someone please get him to stop?” he pleaded, to no one in particular. “He’s giving me a headache!”

  Cai rubbed his eyes and looked around; the light outside was fading fast but there was still enough light coming in the tiny barred window to see that the cell was bare of furniture. “So where are we?” he asked.

  Logan shrugged. “No idea,” he mumbled shifting against the wall in a vain attempt to make himself more comfortable. “They could at least give us something to lie on.”

  Galahad looked at him. “That would rather defeat the point, would it not?”

  “Why are we being held prisoners?” Logan asked.

  “And where is everyone else?” Cai added.

  “We’ve been split up; the rest are in other cells,” Gawain explained.

  “Who were those men that attacked us?” Logan asked. “Were they Mordred’s men?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Lancelot replied, but he never got the chance to say more, as their attention was drawn to the sound of a key in the lock.

  Cai, Logan and Galahad got to their feet warily.

  Kay stood to the right of the door, pressing himself against the wall. It slowly swung open and a man, similar in age to Galahad, stood in the doorway, an evil-looking brown bird on his shoulder. Lancelot and Galahad could only stare as their captor stepped into the room.

  Without hesitating, Kay leapt forward grabbing the man in a headlock, forcing him towards the floor, his injured arm, momentarily, forgotten. Screeching, the bird launched itself into the air, attacking Kay’s back relentlessly; everyone in the room, save Lancelot and the man, recoiled. Eventually, Kay was forced to let him go in order to protect himself.

  The man got to his feet, as his bird continued to attack Kay, a small smile playing around his lips.

  As Cai stepped forward, eager to go to his uncle’s aid, a shrill whistle split the air, calling the bird off. He watched as the creature returned to its master’s shoulder, eagerly snatching the piece of raw meat the man offered it.

  Cai looked away in disgust as the bird ripped into it, tearing strips off the flesh.

  “Are my eyes deceiving me?” Kay asked, slowly getting to his feet, staring at the man.

  The stranger held his hand out to Kay. “I hope not, my old friend; I had rather hoped that, even after all this time, you’d still recognise me.”

  Kay shook his hand fiercely and glanced at Lancelot; for the first time since their imprisonment he was completely speechless.

  “Who is this guy?” Logan demanded moving closer to Cai. Glaring at Kay, he continued, “He sends his men to attack us, locks us up and then you go and shake his hand?”

  Realising Cai and Logan had no idea who he was, the man sank to his knee and bowed his head humbly. “Forgive my impertinence, my Lord; I am Percival, the Red Knight, at your service.”

  After welcoming his old friends, and seeing that their injuries were cleaned and dressed, Percival had wasted no time in releasing Cai and his men, promptly returning their weapons, and inviting them to join him in the Great Hall.

  Cai followed Percival in silence, still struggling to come to terms with the situation he now found himself in; not only had they been attacked on the road and imprisoned, they had also found the man they had been searching for or, rather, he had found them. He tried to listen as Percival talked but the pounding in his head was making that difficult.

  “So… do we trust him?” Logan hissed from beside him.

  Cai glanced at him. “I don’t see as we have a choice,” he admitted. “We need him; Merlin’s prophecy said so.”

  Logan nodded, his gaze fixed on Percival as he spoke to Galahad. “I guess you’re right…”

  Further conversation between them ceased as Percival pushed open the wooden doors leading to his Great Hall. Following him inside, Cai looked around, marvelling at the sight. Although was smaller than Camelot’s Hall, the high, vaulted ceiling gave it a beauty and grandeur all of its own; fires burned in braziers and torches burned steadily, lending it a dark, brooding atmosphere matched only by the thick, heavy clouds beyond the castle walls.

  Men and women filled the hall, awaiting their leader’s arrival and, as Cai looked around, he suddenly recognised the man who had taunted him standing amongst a large group of warriors at the front of the crowd.

  Instinctively reaching for the now throbbing lump at the back of his head, he was pleased to see the man could barely bring himself to look at him as he approached the dais behind Percival.

  Ascending the stairs, Percival wasted no time in calling for his people’s attention. “These times have us doubting so many things… so many people,” he began, his voice strong and firm. He turned to look at Cai, standing beside him, before letting his gaze sweep over Lancelot, Kay and the rest of Cai’s men, who stood to one side of the hall. “But these men… these men are to be trusted.” His gaze lingered on his old friends as he continued, “I have fought beside most of them; they are good men, one and all.”

  On hearing these words, Lancelot and Galahad bowed their heads, their respect for Percival evident.

  Turning his attention back to his men, Percival continued, “Here before you, stands Cai Pendragon, the son of the great King Arthur and grandson of Uther Pendragon!” He turned to Cai, his demeanour suddenly stiff and formal. “My Lord, it is my honour to pledge my allegiance to you…”

  Cai could only stare as Percival pulled his sword free and, with a flourish, knelt before him, presenting his sword, so that the flat of the blade now rested on his left forearm; behind him, everyone sank to one knee, their heads bowed.

  “My sword, and those of my men, are yours,” Percival declared.

  Cai cleared his throat, suddenly feeling awkward. “That’s good to know,” he murmured, grateful for their allegiance. “Your men have proven to be strong warriors…” he added, touching the back of his head as his gaze landed once more on the group of men responsible.

  Percival followed Cai’s gaze and, rising to his feet, said, “That is true but, I must apologise…”

  Suddenly, a man stepped forward, pushing his way to the front and coming to stand before Cai. “No, it is I who should apologise, for it was I who gave the order to attack.” He paused as he shifted from one foot to another, clearly uncomfortable. “My Lord, we did not know…” he insisted, his sincerity evident in his voice. “If we had, we would never…”

  Cai held up a hand, eager to put the man out of his misery. “It’s OK… I realise you didn’t know who we were.” He gestured at Percival. “And Percival’s right; these times have made us doubt each other…” He let his gaze sweep over the hall. “But not anymore; we must learn to trust each other if we are to have any hope of victory.”

  Percival grinned. “Well said, my Lord.” He glanced at Lancelot, before adding, “Now that our forces are combined, you will stay here this night and share a meal with us to celebrate!”

  Cai glanced at Lancelot and Kay uncertainly; he hadn’t come here with the expectation of wasting time; they needed to return to Camelot…

>   Seeing Cai’s discomfort, Lancelot climbed the steps, coming to stand between Percival and Cai. Placing an arm around Percival’s shoulders, he grinned. “We would be honoured to sit with you,” he declared.

  Clearly satisfied, Percival began calling orders, his bird swooping down, seemingly out of nowhere, to land on his shoulder.

  Cai looked to Lancelot. “Why did you agree to that?” he demanded, keeping his voice low.

  Lancelot subtly manoeuvred him to the furthest side of the dais, well out of earshot. “Cai, it is rude to refuse a man’s hospitality; Percival is offering, not only his hearth and home, but his men and arms. We have a lot to be grateful to him for,” he added, glancing thoughtfully at his friend. Turning back to Cai, once more, he continued, “We cannot risk leaving now; it grows dark and there is danger in the darkness. Besides, too much has to be done here before these men can depart safely.” He smiled at Cai. “Patience is a virtue in times such as these, my Lord.”

  Cai scowled at Lancelot’s retreating figure as he made his way back to Percival; he knew he was right but that didn’t make it any easier to accept.

  26

  Hours had passed and, with each second, Cai’s impatience grew; he wanted to be on the road, heading back to Camelot, but instead he was here, in Percival’s castle watching the men around him celebrate.

  “Well, my friends? What do you think?” Percival’s voice rose above the noise of the boisterous celebrations taking place around them, his eyes practically dancing with anticipation. “Is Cartomek not a place of beauty?”

  Logan raised his eyebrows at this, clearly not seeing the same level of beauty that Percival saw in the stone walls and vaulted ceilings.

  “It is indeed beautiful,” Galahad agreed. “You have done yourself proud.”

  Kay shook his head. “I still cannot believe you have achieved all of this…” he murmured, awe evident in his voice.

  Percival was silent as he pulled a chunk of meat from the bone on his plate and offered it to his bird who, as always, was perched on his shoulder. He barely flinched as the bird took flight, her prize clutched in her talons, coming to land upon one of the perches that had been set around the room for her.

  Cai watched with bated breath for Percival to answer; he was dying to know what had happened to make him leave Camelot and couldn’t help thinking it strange that no one had even tried to broach the subject yet.

  “Not a day has gone by when I didn’t regret my decision,” he said quietly, the smile that had been plastered across his face since being reunited with his friends quickly fading. He let his gaze linger on each man in turn. “I was not proud of my behaviour… and to make Galahad a part of it…” He looked at the knight in question. “I was wrong in that, too, my friend.”

  Galahad smiled, lifting his head proudly. “Think nothing of it; I was honoured you trusted me enough.”

  Seeing a brief flash of resentment pass across Kay’s face, Cai stepped in before he could say something he would regret. “So what happened?” he asked, unwilling to remain ignorant any longer. “Why did you let everyone think you’d died?”

  Percival dropped his gaze but not before Cai saw the shame in his eyes. Recovering quickly, he cast his gaze over the faces of those around the table. “Let me start from the beginning,” he said, collecting his thoughts. He took a sip of wine before continuing. “I loved your father, Cai; he was like a father to me and I served him well. But... I was not ready to be a Knight of the Round Table; I was too young and ignorant of the ways of the world.” He paused as he took another sip of wine. “I did, indeed, accompany the Knights on quests,” he added, glancing around at his old comrades, “But on our most important quest, the one for the Grail, I failed; when I was needed the most, I failed my friends.”

  “What happened?” Logan asked eagerly through a mouthful of food, obviously hoping for a bit of dirt on the knight.

  Percival swallowed nervously. “I failed to ask the right question, at the right time.”

  Logan snorted clearly disappointed. “So? I don’t see how that’s so bad.”

  Percival shook his head. “You do not understand; you are but a boy.”

  Logan shrugged and, turning his attention back to his food, continued to listen.

  “On my return to Camelot I was ashamed and repentant; how could I hope to be a Knight of the Round Table when I had failed so spectacularly?” He looked round at his audience. “I wanted to leave then and there, but Arthur convinced me to remain in Camelot. But... after your father’s death,” he continued, glancing at Cai, “I knew my time there had come to an end. So, I did the only thing I could… I left.”

  “Just like that?” Cai asked, shocked at the sudden end to his story.

  Percival nodded. “I was not worthy of that life; I needed to find my own way in the world so that, one day, I might return a better man.”

  “Well, you seem to have done that,” Kay said, looking around in admiration.

  “It was not easy,” Percival commented drily. “But Mordred’s reign has sent men running from their hearths, looking for new homes and new leaders.”

  “And that was you?” Kay asked, grinning.

  “Desperate times make us all do things we thought ourselves incapable of,” Percival replied mysteriously. “It was not without difficulties, I assure you; men did not naturally follow me. Challenges came thick and fast but I proved myself and now, here I am.”

  “You’ve done well,” Lancelot agreed. “Far better than we have,” he added quietly.

  “How is Camelot?”

  Lancelot sighed. “A shadow of what she once was; you would hardly recognise her.”

  Percival’s gaze landed on Cai. “But you have Arthur’s son to lead you now.”

  “And not a moment too soon,” Lancelot declared.

  Percival smiled. “You must know, by now, that I sent a messenger to Camelot; I sent him to offer my allegiance.”

  “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, Percival, but... he died of his wounds shortly after he arrived,” Galahad said quietly.

  Percival was silent for a moment, taking in the news. “I thought as much; when he did not return, I guessed he had been injured or worse.”

  “How did you know that we’d be coming to find you?” Cai asked.

  “The truth is, I didn’t; I’d hoped it was the case, but I couldn’t be sure.” He leaned forward resting his elbows on the table. “I had hoped that Cadeyrn had made it to you and that you were on your way. But knowing Mordred was mobilising against you, I sent sentries to lay in wait; unfortunately, my men mistook you for them.”

  “So you did all that, without even knowing we were actually coming?” Cai asked in disbelief.

  Percival nodded. “I’ve also sent men to serve Camelot; to add numbers to those already there.”

  A wave of gratitude washed over Cai but before he could voice this, the door of the hall opened and a servant approached the table; he bowed, his eyes meeting Percival’s gaze.

  “Sir, Morcant has returned; he brings news from Camelot. He requests an audience with you, immediately.”

  At these words, Cai felt his blood turn to ice; something bad must have happened if one of Percival’s men had returned. He glanced at Lancelot and Kay, his own fears reflected in their eyes.

  Percival nodded and the servant left, returning almost immediately with a young man, not much older than Cai and Logan. He looked tired, dirty and sweaty and was breathing heavily; he had obviously come straight to Percival without resting. As he approached his master, he fell to one knee, head bowed in respect.

  The hall fell silent as everyone looked on expectantly.

  “What news?” Percival demanded.

  The man rose to his feet, his gaze still fixed on the ground; it was almost as if he was afraid to look anyone in the eye. “My Lord, I am sorry but...” His voice broke and he fell silent.

  Lancelot brought his fist down hard on the table. “Tell us!” he demanded.

&
nbsp; Morcant flinched at the strength of his tone. “Camelot has been claimed by Mordred,” he declared.

  Cai stared at him in horror. “But...”

  “You let Mordred walk into Camelot with no resistance?” Lancelot growled. He shot up from his chair, knocking it to the ground, as he leapt towards Morcant and, grabbing the younger man by his shirt, shook him roughly.

  Morcant put up no resistance, allowing Lancelot to rage at him.

  Percival, Cai and the knights made to intervene but paused as Morcant lifted his head and sneered at them.

  Percival stared at him, shocked. “Morcant?” he asked bewildered.

  Startled, Cai could only stare as Morcant reached up and, gripping the knight’s wrists, slowly pulled his hands away, his eyes never leaving Lancelot’s. Stepping back from the knight, Morcant began to laugh, his laughter becoming louder, and more maniacal, as it reverberated around the hall.

  “You think your sorry rabble of knights could prevent us from taking what is rightfully ours?” he demanded, his eyes filled with hatred as he continued to glare at Lancelot.

  Suddenly, Morcant screamed in agony, clawing at his face. He fell to his knees, agonised screams filling the hall, as he stiffened and threw his head back. Cai could only stare in horror, frozen to the spot, as Morcant’s face began to… change before his very eyes.

  Around the hall, men reached for their swords, pulling them free of their scabbards but hesitated, uncertain whether to attack… Unsure of what, or who, they were attacking.

  Kay looked to Lancelot. “Lancelot?” he questioned.

  Lancelot either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore his question; instead, he watched as the young knight continued to writhe in pain on the flagstones at his feet.

  Fighting the urge to throw up, Cai watched as the bone structure of Morcant’s face began to shift and twist beneath the skin so that Morcant became something else entirely; no, not something… someone.