The Fire of Merlin (The Return to Camelot #2)

by Donna Hosie

  “They have taken Byron as well,” he gasped, taking me in his arms. “What happened?”

  “Why has your father locked up Guinevere and Byron? We have to get them out, and then we have to leave. You were wrong, Bedivere – we aren’t safe here.”

  “Dark forces are at work, Natasha. I am most grieved to say that Sir Gareth has gone missing. First you must tell me, what happened on the battlements? My brother is playing his part well, but the suspicions of my father will not go unpunished unless we act quickly.”

  “I don’t understand…”

  “Sir Lucan is saying you slipped, nothing more, nothing less,” said Bedivere, and I could hear the rising panic in his voice, “but I know my brother, and I know he is withholding the truth to protect you. The Duke already suspects Byron and Guinevere of dark magic. I fear it is only a matter of time before the shadow of suspicion falls upon you.”

  “But I haven’t done anything.”

  “If I may be permitted to speak, Sir Bedivere,” said Taliesin, walking around us and closing the door, “I would like to offer my counsel.”

  “What is it, my old friend?” replied Bedivere.

  “The burnings come ever closer, and yet the battle has only just started. It will get more dangerous for all in this land with every darkening day. I am too old to change my ways now, and so I will remain in the service of your father, while he still needs me. When the time comes, I believe his ward, Sir Griflet, will also choose the court of Lindsey, but you, Sir Bedivere, you and your brother should leave this place. Gather the ailing dwarf and his sister and leave. Keep Lady Natasha safe. Her kinship to Arthur will be no protection once the terror arrives, and her association with the druids of Gore is already well versed within the court walls.”

  “They kidnapped me,” I cried. “I didn’t choose to go with them.”

  “One man’s choice is another man’s folly,” replied Taliesin. “Corneus will not make the distinction.”

  “My father is a fool.”

  “Your father is the same as any lord of his own castle,” said Taliesin, “and he will protect what is his in any way he deems fit.”

  “Even if that means locking up innocent people and accusing them of witchcraft?”

  “Indeed.”

  Bedivere was grinding his back teeth; he looked away to the door.

  “I’m coming with you,” I said.

  Bedivere nodded once and snatched at my hand.

  “If we come across my cousin, or my father, you must give me your word you will do as I ask, Natasha.”

  He kissed my hand, not waiting for a reply.

  “We will see each other again, Taliesin,” said Bedivere, embracing the old physician with his free arm.

  “I long for that day,” replied Taliesin, digging his claw-like fingers into Bedivere’s shoulders. “Take care, Sir Bedivere.”

  Bedivere guided me along a short corridor. We turned right, and pressed our backs into a narrow gap in the wall.

  “You heard the wizard again?”

  “I didn’t just hear him, I saw him,” I whispered back, “but he was dressed as a soldier on the battlement. Yet he couldn’t have been real, because Lucan walked straight through him.”

  “And my brother saw him not?”

  “I’m not lying,” I replied defensively.

  His face immediately softened. “I would not believe you capable,” whispered Bedivere, kissing my nose. “Come, we must find Byron and Guinevere. We will continue this discussion once you are safe.”

  “What do you think has happened to Gareth? Is Arthur okay?”

  “There was no word, no sign.”

  “Then perhaps he isn’t missing. Perhaps they haven’t had time. After all, we only left them yesterday.”

  Bedivere shook his head. “If there is one knight in Logres I can depend upon above all others, it is Sir Gareth. Something foul has befallen him; I can feel it in my heart. Separating from the others was an act of folly. We must find them as soon as we have secured the release of Byron and Guinevere.”

  “So where are the dungeons?”

  “Below the central tower, and my father will have it guarded. We will also need to get to my brother and have the horses readied to flee.”

  “You find Lucan and release Guinevere and Byron,” I said. “I will find the stables and get the horses ready.”

  Bedivere’s mouth was on mine before I had time to draw another breath. I linked my arms around his neck and let him lift me off the floor. His lips and nose were freezing cold as they pressed against my skin.

  “Use this,” he murmured, pressing a silver dagger against my stomach. “Do not stop to think if you need to protect yourself from any man. Just do it.”

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  Horses, swords, horses, swords, I repeated over and over in my head as I watched Bedivere run down the corridor. What else would we need? Did I have time to run back up to the bedroom and get our belongings?

  No. I didn’t have time. Horses and swords.

  There were deep voices echoing above me. At least two men were arguing. I didn’t want to run out into the open, but this small castle had been built in such a way it was impossible to hide once you were out in the open. The battlements formed a square around the main tower, and a guard on the opposite side would only have to look down to see me.

  Lost the ability to run after falling down the stairs? You hit your head and bruised your back; you didn’t have your legs amputated.

  My inner voice was alone - for now - and it was also right. It was time to make use of the best skill I had. I knew the way to the stables was out through the corner tower adjacent to the main gates. Arching my head back, I scanned the battlements for signs of life – and ghosts.

  The arguing had stopped. I was alone.

  Three, two, one. My sneakers slipped as I sprinted towards the corner tower. Looking at my feet, I realised too late that the cobbled courtyard was covered in the same glistening, dark green mould that had coated the stonework of the battlements.

  “YOU – STOP THERE.”

  The high cry shattered the silence. Heavy feet started to pound on the ground. The sound of metal swords being drawn awakened the familiar taste of bitter adrenaline.

  I had to keep running. I had to find the horses. We only needed three. Bedivere and I could share like Guinevere and Byron; only Lucan would need one of his own.

  My head was throbbing. Dark shapes, like paint splodges, were floating across my vision. I reached the tower and ran straight through it into another enclosed courtyard. Piles of dirty matted wool were piled alongside some chopped tree trunks. There were several buckets too, which were filled with what looked like blood.

  The horses were gone.

  “Seize the witch.”

  Two guards grabbed at my arms. I swung my body to my right and kicked one in the shins. My sneakers were expensive and the toe was covered in hard leather. The guard fell forward, clutching his leg. I swung my free arm around; I was clutching Bedivere’s blade. It sliced open the cheek of the other guard. If I had been smaller, I would have slit his throat.

  “BY ORDER OF DUKE CORNEUS OF LINDSEY, YOU ARE HEREBY CHARGED WITH HERESEY AND WITCHCRAFT.”

  They had been waiting for me.

  “Get your hands…off ...”

  I attempted to headbutt one guard, who didn’t look older than twelve. My forehead connected with his nose. I heard the crack, but I wasn’t prepared for the pain it inflicted on my injured head. The world duplicated as my watering eyes started to see double. The bandages slipped down and settled around my neck, like a looping scarf.

  “Get away from her.”

  Bedivere and Lucan appeared in the darkened entrance to the stable courtyard. Bedivere came charging towards me with his sword raised in his left hand. I felt the grip on me loosen, and I swung out with the dagger again. This time I sliced through thin air.

  “Are you men, or weak-bellied women? Seize the witch before she place
s a spell on all of us.”

  I ran towards the buckets filled with blood. They were heavy, but I managed to throw the contents of one over the nearest guard. I gagged as the warm blood splashed back.

  “SEIZE THE WITCH.”

  More guards appeared. All had long spears. Bedivere and Lucan were quickly surrounded. Bedivere’s father slowly walked out through the doorway as I was pushed onto my knees. A sword was placed against the back of my neck. Bedivere stopped fighting the five guards that had surrounded him.

  “Do not harm her, I beg you.”

  Corneus walked slowly towards me. Griflet was behind him like a shadow.

  “You have succeeded in bewitching my sons, sorceress.”

  “NO, FATHER, LISTEN TO ME…”

  Corneus did not look at Bedivere, but showed him the hand instead. I heard a heavy thump, and then a muffled sound as something soft hit the ground. I knew without looking that Bedivere had been knocked out.

  The sword was resting on my long hair, tugging it down from my scalp. Two boots were pressing painfully on my calves. Corneus stared down at me with a thin smile.

  “Burn her. Burn them all.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  A Gory End

  “NO!”

  Kicking and screaming, I struggled for my life as hands groped at my body. Each limb was prised apart, as I was picked up and carried out in a star shape, through the small circular entrance and out into the main courtyard.

  It was now obvious what the three scorched wooden poles were used for.

  The effort of struggling against four men was exhausting, but I continued to fight. The pain I was in didn’t register until I was pushed upright against one of the wooden poles and tied to the stake.

  “We’re not witches,” I cried, as Guinevere and Byron were led out of the circular tower. Guinevere was also struggling like a wildcat, but Byron’s humiliation was gross. They had tied a rope around his neck, and were dragging him across the filthy cobbles like a dog.

  Panic-filled sobs started to choke up my throat. They weren’t seriously going to do this, were they? Dead branches and piles of wool were placed around our feet and legs. I tried to kick out, but my calves had been bound to the pole. I was vertical and unable to move anything but my head. Screaming was hopeless, but it was the only sense of self I had left. My throat was burning with the effort, and yet no one wanted to hear me.

  Lucan was dragged into the courtyard; his nose and lip were bleeding heavily, and his arms were tied behind his back. The Duke walked slowly behind him. Griflet fidgeted nervously at the Duke’s side, not looking at anything but his nails.

  The Duke nodded to his left, and three elderly men, dressed in filthy rags, appeared out of the central tower with burning torches.

  “This is madness, father,” cried Lucan, as Guinevere joined me in screaming for someone to listen. Byron spat repeatedly at the ground while cursing under his breath. He continued to do this, even after a guard slapped him twice around the face.

  I started pleading to the dark, churning sky for help. Why did we separate in the first place? The previous year I had travelled through time to find Arthur, so why had I been so willing to leave him this time? We should have stayed together. All of us.

  The wood around Byron’s little legs was already alight. I could see blood dripping from Guinevere’s wrists as she fought against the rope binding her; it was sawing into her skin.

  “My brother is Arthur,” I cried to the guards, as black smoke started to snake up Byron’s body. “He will kill every single one of you if you do this.”

  “LISTEN TO HER,” roared Lucan. “LADY NATASHA IS THE SISTER OF THE KING.”

  Several of the guards shifted position. They were getting nervous. Their eyes were flicking rapidly for someone to issue orders to release us, but the ragged man nearest to Guinevere didn’t stop. He threw his flaming torch at her feet. The wool immediately ignited with a whooshing sound.

  “Merlin, Merlin, please help me,” I begged under my breath. “If you’re real, if you can hear us, please help. I’ll do anything - anything.”

  The last man in rags approached my pyre. He smiled through blistered lips. I could hear strange moaning from where Byron was now engulfed in flames. Guinevere was still screaming.

  “Don’t do this, please don’t do this.”

  The flaming torch was thrown down. I felt the heat source surge forward.

  I was going to die.

  Just like Guinevere, I started sawing my wrists through the rope. I would dislocate my shoulders if I had to. Byron’s pyre was now roaring with an orange fire that had a pale blue haze at its centre. I could still hear him moaning. Guinevere and I locked eyes as the friction from the rope burns stung into my skin.

  I’m so sorry, I mouthed.

  Tears were cascading down her pretty face. They looked like orange diamonds glistening on her skin. She started gulping in huge amounts of air, and I quickly realised what she was doing. She was going to asphyxiate herself with smoke before the flames burnt her alive.

  It was time for me to choose how to die.

  Not by fire. I couldn’t die that way. The heat was already blistering my skin, and it hadn’t even touched me yet. The fear of the pain to come made my empty stomach heave violently.

  I pushed my head back against the pole and started breathing in. As an athlete, my lung capacity was good. I didn’t know whether that was going to help me now, or make my death take longer. All I knew was that I had to start losing consciousness before my clothes caught fire.

  The amber and blue roar from Byron’s pyre bled into my ears. He hadn’t screamed once. How brave was he, and how sick was I for thanking him for that silent death? I was disgusting and selfish because I had caused all of this. I should have been locked up after Patrick’s death. Then I wouldn’t have been able to hurt anyone else.

  I was sobbing so hard I couldn’t inhale properly. The screams from Guinevere had risen sharply. She was on fire, I was sure of it, but I didn’t have the courage to look.

  People were moving on the battlements, shadowy black figures obscured by the smoke. Had they seen enough fear? Smelt enough burning flesh for one day? I started banging my head back against the pole, begging for darkness. The flames were licking at my feet.

  I needed to die now.

  Blue flames shot down from the battlements. Cries and shouts erupted all around us, as the guards of the court of Lindsey were attacked from above. Men skimmed down ropes tied to the stone merlons.

  “Aqualente magisium.”

  I had heard that voice before. I recognised the language as well.

  Mordred was here.

  The fire around my pole was extinguished first. The smoke thickened, blocking everything in my sight, as the flames hissed and spat as they tried to fight against the water that was rising up through the cobbles.

  “Guinevere, Guinevere.”

  “What is happening?”

  I couldn’t see anything except swirling, black smoke. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the sounds that were now bellowing from all directions. A warm yet vicious wind was gusting all around us, like a tornado.

  “Keep talking to me, Guinevere. I can’t see anything. Is Byron still next to you? Can he speak?”

  I started coughing as the smoke filtered into my throat. I could taste flesh, I was sure of it. I gagged.

  “BYRON, BYRON.”

  “Natasha,” called out a gruff voice: my Bedivere’s voice.

  “Bedivere, we’re over here,” I cried, but the screams and cries of the courtyard battle were being distorted by the castle walls, which bounced everything back in one continuous echo.

  Then I felt a tugging on the ropes binding my hands. I fell forward as my legs were freed as well. My hands were scalded by hot water as I tried to balance myself on the wet ground.

  “Bedivere.” I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him, then pulled away quickly and spat into the smoke as I felt the smooth skin of a
stranger, and not the rough stubble of my knight.

  “I must say, Lady Natasha, I prefer this welcome to that which you placed upon me the last time we saw each other,” drawled Mordred. His arms grabbed at my waist as he pulled me towards his body.

  “Get your bloody hands off me, or you’ll get the same welcome.”

  “I have just saved your life, fair maiden of Avalon. I deserve a token or favour of your gratitude.”

  Mordred tried to kiss me again. I placed my hands over his face and pushed it away.

  “NATASHA,” roared Bedivere. His voice was further away than before.

  “I’M HERE,” I screamed back, “AND SO IS MORDRED, AND HE’S TRYING TO KISS ME.”

  Mordred found this highly amusing as Bedivere cursed aloud. Then I felt another figure bump into me. It was Guinevere, but she was being held up by two black-cloaked figures.

  “You and your beautiful companion are coming with me,” said Mordred.

  “Byron – where’s Byron?” I cried, trying to prise Mordred’s hand away from my waist, but his grip was too strong.

  “That traitorous scullion has been burnt to ashes. Let the wind claim him,” replied Mordred viciously.

  “No,” moaned Guinevere, and I felt her body go limp.

  “BYRON, BYRON,” I screamed.

  “Natasha,” cried Bedivere again. “Where are you?”

  “Over here. I’m still on the pyre.”

  My body was pulled forward, and in one swoop, I was picked up by Mordred and thrown over his shoulder.

  “Get off me.”

  “Lady Natasha,” puffed Mordred, as he held on tightly to my legs. “I have no wish to use the dark arts on you so soon after our reacquaintance, but do not labour under the falsehood that I won’t if you continue to struggle like a pig going to slaughter.”

  “You murdering bastard,” I cried, as we started to move through the smoke. “Go back and help Byron.”

  “The dwarf is dead.”

  Thumping Mordred’s back with my fists was having no effect whatsoever. He was wearing chain mail which rattled with every punch.

  “Guard the exits,” called a nearby voice. “Do not let the prisoners escape.”