The Lord of Obsidian [Quest for Earthlight Trilogy Book 2]

by Laraine Anne Barker

  "But how long can you keep him out?"

  The complacency of her smile broadened. “Oh, long enough. Certainly long enough for my purpose."

  Peter's heart thumped even faster at this threat as he wondered what her purpose might be. It must have something to do with Dreyfus and Cerberus, and that huge pack of wolves. The prophecy says ´the horde of menacing eyes must cower before he reaches his height of power'. Is Dreyfus ready yet to force hundreds—thousands—of wolves to retreat? And what have wolves got to do with the Evil One?

  His throat was so dry he had to swallow before repeating his first question.

  "Where is Dreyfus? What have you done with him?"

  Morgause's smile sweetened. Her voice dripped with honey. “Please believe me, sweet child, I haven't got your dog. I don't know where he is. I wouldn't dream of taking a boy's dog from him. But you yourself, now, well that's a different matter, because you are the Chosen One of the Earthlight. I just might have thought of kidnapping you if you hadn't saved me the trouble by so kindly dropping in."

  Peter's heart dropped like a stone. He knew she could see the despair in his eyes. He hadn't the guile to veil them as Morgause would have done with the exquisite dark gold of her thick long lashes.

  She moved a hard straight-backed chair to face him and gracefully seated herself. Her eyes surveyed him critically. “I really am sorry that I can't help you find your dog, but I'll tell you what I can do. I'm to be married shortly—"

  "But Jadus is with his father!” Peter exclaimed before he could stop himself. Oh now I've done it. That will probably put her in a temper.

  To his surprise, Morgause smiled with amusement. “Oh dear! You are very naive. What makes you think I would marry someone like Jadus Castirio? I am a princess, remember, daughter of King Uther no less. Jadus is handsome and amusing, but he's a serf, and the son of a serf, for all that I've given them their freedom. His father might be Lord of Obsidian where you come from, but what's that to me? I'm a great sorceress as well as a princess. You must surely agree that only a king is a suitable husband for someone like me? I'm to marry Lot, King of Lothian and Orkney."

  "Oh!” For a moment Peter could think of nothing suitable to say. Then, very deliberately, “What will Sujad the Great, Lord of Obsidian, have to say about that? You've jilted his son."

  Her eyes glittered. “Should he be foolish enough to come back I can deal with him. As for Jadus—well, I should like to see him again. In my own way I'm very fond of him."

  "So fond of him you've sent him to his doom."

  This time his shaft hit home. She flushed. “You're very insolent for a mere boy. If you're to be a page in my new court you'll have to learn better manners."

  "Who said anything about being your page?"

  "That's what I was about to tell you when you interrupted me with talk of the Lord of Obsidian and his ... base-born son."

  Peter thought rapidly. “Thank you for the offer; I'm very appreciative of the honor, but would rather return to my own time,” he said with careful formality.

  Morgause laughed with genuine amusement. “Ah! So you do have a modicum of manners. However, who said anything about giving you a choice?” She looked at him thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose you do have a choice, really—between being my page or my prisoner. As my page you will have a certain amount of ... shall we say freedom? As my prisoner, you'll be permanently locked up."

  "What will King Lot say about that?"

  The green eyes flashed. “King Lot will know nothing! It will be a simple matter to keep it from him. I could, for instance, turn you into a pet bird, or rabbit or tortoise, maybe even a frog."

  Peter's thoughts raced. Not if I can help it, he thought. “In that case I think I'd rather be a page."

  She beamed at him. “I knew you'd see sense.” She rose from her chair and pulled at a silken cord. A bell rang somewhere in the heart of the castle. “We'll get you fitted out right now. We leave for Orkney tomorrow and I'm to be married as soon as we arrive."

  In no time at all Peter was dressed in the spring green and gold colors that Morgause favored. They looked dreadful on him, he mused. His hair appeared even mousier than he had thought and his pale skin looked almost sallow.

  Morgause glanced over his shoulder at his reflection in the mirror and she seemed to know what he was thinking. “What a drab little cockbird you are, to be sure! I almost regret my decision to make you a page. I like to surround myself with people who have at least a modicum of good looks. You didn't even get your fair share, you poor mite. Goodness knows what King Lot will make of you."

  * * * *

  PETER QUICKLY found that life as a page to Morgause was little short of that of slave and prisoner anyway. He slept that night in her dressing room. The only door to and from this room was the one leading to her own bedroom. The window was too high to jump from and the castle walls were such as to allow no footholds. Morgause even made a great show of locking the door leading to the corridor and tucking the key into her nightshift before they retired.

  The following morning he was roused from sleep before it was even light. A young man who he later discovered was one of Morgause's squires conducted him down to the kitchens, where he helped to prepare breakfast for Morgause. The squire accompanied him as he staggered back to Morgause's apartments under the weight of the laden tray. Morgause's personal maid took the tray from him at the door and conducted Peter down to the hall where he was to break his own fast.

  The pages and squires with whom he breakfasted were all from wealthy and sometimes titled households. He gathered they were in the castle to learn the skills of knighthood. There were two pages wearing Morgause's colors. They were both extremely good-looking lads, although one, like himself, had unsuitable complexion and hair coloring for spring green and gold. He was a little older than Peter and the moment his eyes rested on the new page his expression turned suspicious.

  "Where did you come from—and when did you arrive?” was his greeting.

  "From Merlin,” Peter said, unable to think of anything else. When the other looked incredulous, he added quickly, “Mor—the princess spirited me away from him—yesterday it was."

  "What would she want to do that for? You look more suited to becoming a mouse than a knight.” He laughed uproariously at his own joke. “You weren't in the pages’ dormitory last night. Where did you sleep?"

  "In M—the princess's dressing room.” The older boy's mouth fell open. Several expressions chased themselves across his face. Peter recognized the uppermost as envy so he added quickly, “It's nothing to do with favoritism. She hates me almost as much as she does Merlin. I'm her prisoner."

  The other boy's face split into a wide, spiteful grin. “Ooh! Then I'm sure that, as her loyal pages, Hughie here and I can be of great service to her.” He returned his attention to his breakfast. “You have a peculiar accent,” he said, just when Peter thought he was going to get some peace. “I haven't heard it before. Maybe it's just because you're obviously not high-born."

  Peter refused to be baited. “I'm sure you'll hear many different accents once you become a knight and travel a bit more,” he said equably, tackling the food on his plate with surprisingly good appetite considering his predicament.

  "Oh? And I suppose you have traveled a bit?"

  "Wellll, I suppose I've traveled more than most. Wherever Merlin goes I go."

  The older boy sniggered. “Not any more. Now my fine lady's got her claws into you she'll put a stop to that."

  Peter swallowed his last mouthful of bread. He pushed back his chair.

  "I have to help the princess with the last of her packing,” he said by way of excusing himself.

  He turned to leave, only to find the squire at his elbow again. He was burly for his age and this time Peter noticed he wore Morgause's colors on his sleeve. “I'll take you up."

  Peter suffered himself to be shepherded from the room and up to Morgause's apartments where her ladies were already scurrying
around.

  The squire looked down his nose at Peter as they stopped outside the door of Morgause's apartment. “Apprenticed to Merlin were you?"

  "In a manner of speaking."

  "Well, if my lady wants to keep you I reckon she'll have to put you under guard night and day. Whatever she might say, she knows her powers will never equal Merlin's. All I know is I'd rather not have the guarding of you, but I expect I'll have to do my bit."

  He gave two loud knocks on the door. Almost instantly it was opened by a harassed-looking maidservant who said nothing but merely held the door while Peter went inside. She then locked it and took the key to her mistress. Morgause put it down the front of her gown.

  It was barely light when Morgause and her retinue set out. By the standards of her time it was, Peter supposed, an impressive set-up. Great lumbering wagons pulled by heavily muscled horses carried all Morgause's household and personal goods. Morgause rode in the best wagon with the greater portion of her staff on horseback around her. Peter had the dubious honor of sharing her wagon along with her favorite servants. Whenever Morgause wanted anything done or brought to her it was nearly always Peter she called upon, so long as he was able to serve her without leaving the wagon.

  For Peter, used to the comparative comfort of twentieth-century travel, it was a very arduous journey. He felt almost sorry for those who had nothing to do, for at least Morgause's demands broke the monotony of the slow journey and helped to take his mind off the fact that the jolting was beginning to make him feel sick.

  Much to his discomfit, Morgause quickly divined how he felt. Her maids had made up a thickly cushioned feather bed for her, where she reclined in relative comfort, well wrapped against the cold. She smiled sweetly as she threw aside her wrappings and patted the feather mattress beside her. “Come and join me. Come!"

  Peter stared, aghast, but had no option but to obey. She pulled the blankets around him and before he knew what was happening she had taken a small bottle hidden somewhere in her gown, unstoppered it and pressed it to his lips.

  "Drink this. I use it myself for travel sickness. It will make you feel much better.” Peter stared helplessly into the green eyes laughing maliciously down at him. “It won't poison you.” And she forced the liquid into his mouth.

  Peter swallowed reluctantly. The sugar and alcohol in the mixture made him think of the cough medicines used in his own century. There was obviously some lemon in the mixture as well and this, together with the sugar and alcohol, gave it a pleasant warming taste. He tired not to wonder what else might be in it. Instead, he lay back on the pillow that Morgause placed at his head and made himself as comfortable as possible. The queasiness quickly abated. In no time at all he was asleep.

  Morgause smiled complacently. Now she too could get some rest.

  * * * *

  TO PETER'S surprise, he seemed to have fallen asleep on his pony. What am I doing sprawled across Argent's back? Then his heart started pounding as he remembered the last thing he had seen. The wolves! The wolves! I must wake up or they'll get us both! He tried to move, but something seemed to be weighing his limbs down. He dragged his eyelids open, but all he could see was a blur of ground and grass. He thought he saw human feet passing over the ground but was unable to turn his head to check. Like his limbs, his head felt extremely heavy.

  All at once everything went dark. Then a great babble of voices hit his ears and light slowly returned. He heard the crackle of flames. It's the forest—the forest is on fire! Then the pony seemed to be climbing. He kept banging against her sides.

  Suddenly he was falling—falling. It felt almost as though someone had thrown him from Argent's back. He tried to brace himself for the impact and stop his head hitting the ground but was unable even to protect his face. He hit the ground face down—and whatever he had fallen on was not only soft but also invitingly warm. Something came down on top of him. It was soft and warm; he snuggled into it.

  Where was he? His heart jerked suddenly and he dragged his eyes open to make out his surroundings. A face was bending over him, so blurred he could only see that it was broad and must belong to a woman, for a cloud of untidy brown hair surrounded it.

  The face bent closer and its owner spoke. As she did so Peter's vision cleared and he realised she must be a servant.

  "You poor dear lad,” she said soothingly, smoothing his hair back from his face. “You's'll be better after a good night's sleep. You be lucky to have such a kind mistress. She'm most concerned about you."

  Peter opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come. All he could get out was an inarticulate croaking sound. He groaned at his helplessness. He appeared unable to move either; even his thinking must be clouded, for he was having trouble working out what was happening and where he was. Involuntarily water sprang to his eyes and a strangled sob of frustration escaped his lips.

  "There now. You'm goin’ to be all right. I be the landlady ´ere. My lady says as I's to take special care of you—you bein’ ´er favorite like. I got your medicines all ´andy. I's made you some chicken broth seein’ as you'm not up to eatin’ solids."

  The woman's strength surprised Peter as she hauled him to a sitting position and propped a pile of pillows at his head. She then pulled the blankets as tightly around him as she could, for the room was very cold. He saw her pick up a bowl of steaming liquid and before he could protest she had pushed a spoon full of hot soup into his mouth. He swallowed. It was surprisingly good and he suddenly realised how hungry he was. How many meals have I missed? he wondered as he gulped at the soup like a starving baby.

  The landlady beamed at him. “It be nice to see you's gettin’ some appetite back. Would you like some more or could you take sommat solid p'raps?"

  Peter tried to speak but failed. All that came out was another croak. What's the matter with me? She might just as well have turned me into a frog. By now his mind was beginning to clear and he had untangled the mystery of what was happening to him. I think she must have put some sort of spell on me as well as drugged me. Surely there can't be any drug in the dark ages that can paralyze people and make them dumb as well as sending them to sleep.

  "Oh dear.” The landlady now seemed to realise that she had phrased her question so that it was difficult for her patient to answer. “More soup?” This time Peter was able to give a small nod. “Like some bread sopped in it?"

  "Please.” Even to his own ears his croak was unintelligible.

  When she could get no more soup and bread into him, the landlady poured something into a small glass and thrust it into his mouth. Recognizing it as the same mixture Morgause had forced on him in the wagon, Peter tried to refuse it.

  "My lady says as you was stubborn about takin’ t'medicine.” Such was the woman's strength and dexterity that Peter found himself again swallowing against his will. “There, m'dear. That be to make you sleep comf'table."

  Tears welled into Peter's eyes again. If only he could make himself understood! If only he could make her see how evil the woman she kept referring to really was! As she took away the pillows that propped him up in bed and settled him down again, Peter realised that she was now aware of his intense frustration.

  "Never mind, dearie. You is on the mend and ull be able to speak soon. It ull be all right in the mornin', you marks my words."

  Peter didn't hear her leave the room. He sank into unconsciousness as though someone had thrown a switch in his brain.

  When he awoke next morning it was to someone roughly shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes and it was still dark. The light of a candle close to his eyes momentarily blocked out anything else. Then the candle was put on the table at the bedside and the light from its flame illuminated the figure bending over him. It was Morgause. The candlelight turned her hair into a halo of pure gold. Her eyes shone green in the dark like a cat's. She was fully dressed for traveling.

  "How are you feeling? We have to leave now."

  Peter sat up.

  "All right,” he said
in surprise. “No thanks to you, though."

  "Good. We'll eat on the way. The landlady has made us up something to take with us. Come on, up you get.” Mercilessly she dragged the bedclothes from him.

  Shivering violently and with chattering teeth, Peter climbed out of bed. He was still dressed in the hated page's uniform—nobody had bothered to undress him—and all he had to do was struggle into his boots and cloak. Morgause waited, impatiently tapping her foot on the floor.

  That day was very much like the previous one, as were others that followed. Peter found that if he refused to take the drugged potion he had to suffer the indignity of being held down by one of the squires and the page who had taunted him at breakfast. No matter how hard he fought they managed to get it into him, even if they did spill some in the process—and no matter how much they spilled Morgause never ran out of it.

  It filled his sleep—if such drugged unconsciousness could be called sleep—with dreams that were like waking nightmares, so real did they seem even in their confusion. In the short periods of lucidity that he was allowed, he called upon Merlin and the Lady with all his might. Several times he noticed Morgause watching him as he waited for the answer that did not come. Her mouth was twisted into a speculative half-smile while her green eyes mocked him. She always seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

  One day they were still on the road as dusk fell. One of the wagons had broken a shaft and the wagoners were busy mending it. Peter was unaware, however, that the convoy had even stopped. He was still lying in his drugged stupor.

  Peter lifted his head as all sound and motion ceased.

  "Why have we stopped?” he asked Merlin—and suddenly realised he was lying on a bank of snow and snowflakes were falling all around him. He tried struggling to a sitting position but found he was unable to move.

  "My horse has gone lame,” he heard the sorcerer reply. “I'll have to ride with you on yours."

  "Argent can't take both of us. She's too small.” Peter looked around, trying to find Merlin, but all he could see was a stretch of white ground no matter what direction he looked. It was getting dark, too. “Where are we?"