Daughter of Darkness & Light

by Shannon Drake

  “And?”

  “He is blue and green. He and his people paint themselves. Quite clever, really. They blend right in with the forest and the trees.”

  “Aye, well, I heard tell their fierceness was not worth the Roman effort. The Romans thought them little better than animals. And perhaps they hated the cold snows that could come in the north, too. They built two great walls against them! Was he...did he have claws? Fangs like a bear’s for teeth?”

  Kyleigh smiled. “No, Mary. He stands quite tall and his hair is yellow and long. I saw him painted, but it seemed he had a face like any other man.”

  “Ah, well, if he can fight like a bear, the better for us now. These invaders will come here; they are preparing to attack and lay siege. A great bear fighting for our cause on the field will not be a bad thing. And then we must pray Lord Rowan is as clever as he seems. For now, come with me. We’ll get the last of the wounded tended to and see to the meal.”

  Kyleigh nodded, ready to accompany Mary. But she paused to look back.

  Rowan and Padraic were heading up the steps to a tower in the rear that was taller than the others; it held the advantage point with a view north and south along the river and west to the great expanse of land before the wall.

  The lord’s tower, she thought. The two men were speaking, their manner serious but friendly, she thought.

  Battle strategy would be planned. She wished that...

  That they had asked her to join them? She knew nothing of sieges, or battle on a great field, or of war machines, catapults, or boiling oil.

  She winced. A battle was to be fought. A great battle. And yet it seemed the one that raged within her was just as fierce.

  ***

  Rowan had not known what he expected of Padraic, Laird of the North.

  Rumors abounded about the man.

  But it was true that through the years, Rowan had not encroached on the northern lands, nor had any of Padraic’s men come seeking to create havoc on his.

  He had seen him once before; they had both been children. The language spoken by them was different; it was strangely soft and guttural at the same time.

  He had thought he would have difficulty communicating; it was said the northern peoples were savages, living just above the animals. But Padraic clearly spoke the Saxon tongue that had become the language known and understood here along with Latin, for those who had embraced Christianity.

  He remembered years ago when his father had gone to meet with Padraic’s father.

  They had met in a clearing, and the laird and the lord had embraced. The visit had been convivial. They had brought presents of jewelry, brooches for capes, medallions, and more. They had come home with beautiful garments, capes of wool and a dozen or more shaggy cows.

  The Celts, he knew, were many tribes. Long before the Romans had come, people had moved to these islands north of the continent. They had come from the east and from the south, many different tribes blending over the hundreds of years before and since the Romans had come.

  They were like the Britons in that. Saxons had come in great numbers as had Angles. The Britons had been there, and both peace and warfare had ensued. The Romans had, in truth, left bit by bit through many years. Some thought they had deserted the people they had conquered; others were glad to see them go. For his part, Rowan was grateful for the fortress that was his birthright—Roman ingenuity. He was grateful for the water system they had left behind.

  An enemy could not cause them to die of thirst.

  “A fine fortress,” Padraic told him.

  “Indeed. I have thought today of possible weaknesses. I have been told Brogan has come with three great catapults. He has taken down Roman walls before. He will assault us first to test how strong we are. Then I believe he will fall back. And while I believe we have exceptional archers—I’ve heard tell of the prowess of your people—this man is a fierce commander and he has instilled his determination in his men.”

  Rowan led Padraic to wooden chairs that faced the great hearth of the tower. He had parchment stretched out there with the design of the fortress upon it.

  He took a minute to look at Padraic.

  “There are those who would say I should not share my defense with a man who could well be an enemy.”

  “Do you see me as your enemy?” Padraic asked him, frowning. “As our fathers held peace, I had always embraced that intent between our people.”

  Rowan shook his head. “No, quite I evidently, I do not. These are the fortress plans. I am going on faith.”

  “Your faith will be rewarded,” Padraic assured him.

  Rowan nodded. “Here is how we will defend. We will have the archers scattered thus,” he said. “While the first man steps forward, the next man steps back. He is ready to fire after the first man. They will be stationed along the wall thus. My knights will be ready at the gate and out after that.”

  “The archery plan is good. That will bring a prolonged volley they will not be expecting. May I add to it? I have a few men who are excellent with the crossbow. If we station them thus—” Padraic paused to show three vantage points for crossbows, “—they will aid in the first line of defense when the enemy first appears. Also, one of our women is excellent with the bow. I’d like to station her here, near the gate. It is possible she may hit the men working the catapults, and thus cause greater confusion and a chance for the knights and the foot soldiers to lessen their many.”

  Rowan nodded. “Yes. That will work.”

  “Our mounted force is small but fierce, as are our foot soldiers. Our swords we make, and each man knows his life depends upon the strength of his sword—they all carry dirks as well. Some work best with spears. They will join your men. Two cannot command an army; I have assured my people you have listened to me. They will follow you.” Patrick said.

  “I will have you at my side.”

  Padraic stared at him with a small smile. “Tomorrow, you shall. Tonight, I will slip over the walls.”

  “The bridges will be drawn up; the gates will be closed through the night. We dare take no chances; we have hundreds of lives within these walls.”

  Padraic smiled. “There is not a wall I cannot descend or climb with a good rope. Trust in me; I can slide through the forest and see their encampment.”

  Rowan stood stoic. He was glad the command had been granted to him by the new ally with whom he would fight—and glad he would not be battling a northern enemy along with the cruel Saxon invader. Padraic’s men would help him mount a strong defense—and offense when it came to chasing the invaders from their land.

  He decided not to argue the point.

  “Do not get yourself killed,” he said. “Your men will not follow me so willingly if you are dead by night’s end.”

  “No worries; I will not get myself killed,” Padraic assured him. He hesitated. “We have both been just rulers and commanders, Rowan of Kenzie. We have kept our peace. An alliance here may well be essential to us both. I have seen your strategy and your use of the great fortress; you are good at what you do. I am also good at what I do. I will be back.”

  “I will let them know on the wall that you will be leaving and returning before dawn. Shifts will change; I want the men to be fresh. Col will be there to see our forces work together through the night. May the Christian God go with you—and all other gods as well,” Rowan said.

  “I will take them all!” Padraic assured him.

  “You will go alone?”

  “Possibly with one other. No more. To be part of the night itself, one often needs to be alone.”

  Rowan nodded.

  If he tried to stop the man, he risked the alliance they were forming.

  And yet...

  What if the Saxon leader had found Padraic ahead of this? What if this friendship was nothing but a perfect bid for betrayal?

  He weighed his feelings toward the man along with logical thought. Yes, he could be about to betray them. But to what end? His people were here. />
  He had long fought and ruled. He had been groomed his entire life by his father; he had now been Lord of Kenzie several years. He was always careful in his judgment of men.

  Padraic was laird of his people. He would go.

  Rowan would watch his actions come the morning. And he would speak with Col and Matthew and a few others. They would keep their eye out for any action within the fortress by the northern peoples.

  “I will go to the wall myself now. And leave you to your plans and preparations.” He smiled grimly at Padraic. “And come tomorrow, may the one great God and every god of the sea, earth, and sky be with us here!” He offered the man a sincere smile. “All of us here!” he said.

  And that was it. Now, it was time to wait and watch.

  ***

  Kyleigh should have been exhausted. She was not.

  She had tried lying down with Mary in the crowded hall. Several hundred men, women, and children had made beds of what they had and were sleeping in the hall of the south-westernmost tower.

  She lay there for an hour.

  Near her, she saw Gareth, Taryn, and Alistair were curled into blankets and their mantles or capes, sound asleep.

  She had met many people that evening while preparing food, handing out food, and finally eating. She was fascinated by the northern women she met; they were not the savages she had often heard them made out to be. They created beautiful garments and wore artistic jewelry. Some were painted in handsome designs, and all cared for the same things that most cared about—home, family, children, the sweetness of a cool stream...warmth on a cold day. Friendships, the ease after a long day’s work.

  Odd, how she had thought them to be so different! Clothing, the language of one’s birth...and yet, in the end, they sought the same things—survival, family, sustenance, life, and life with those one loved.

  She had met nice people, smart people, kind people. Of course, she had worked side by side with those she had known all her life, too.

  All those people!

  But there seemed to be no one awake. If there was no one to talk to...

  She did not want to keep tossing and turning, keeping others awake.

  She carefully stood, laid her blanket over Mary, picked up her sword as silently as possible, and tiptoed around the many sleeping bodies to exit the tower hall into the courtyard.

  Most was quiet now. Sconces burned here and there, and a full moon rose high in the sky. A few men still sharpened their swords, leaned against the buildings. A few were in groups, talking.

  But then she noted someone moving quickly and quietly, almost hidden as a cloud slipped over the moon. She followed, carefully, hugging the tower. He was moving for the wall at a place where wooden stairs led up to the walk.

  She followed, wondering what the man was about.

  Padraic? Stealthy by night? Where was he going?

  Most importantly, was he...

  Truly a friend?

  Or was he out to ensure that the invading army knew all about their plans and the fortifications here?

  “It is Laird Padraic!” someone called. “He passes!”

  He was going out, she thought. And it was known and accepted that he was going out. Scouting the enemy encampment?

  Or seeking out the enemy?

  She hurried to the stairs; she was learning the power of her sword. And she was not taking a chance the northern laird was intent on betrayal.

  Chapter 4

  Rowan stood by the great hearth, staring into the fire.

  Kenzie could and would stand, he was determined. The Romans had been exceptional builders, and with the northern tribes ever a presence, they had built the walls strong.

  It was from within that the fortress could fall. He knew he was taking a chance.

  He called a meeting with Haman, Col, Matthew, and Lucas. They would quietly inform the men they had to watch the combined tribes that were the Celtic forces. They would be prepared to act if the alliance was subterfuge.

  Col entered the great hall as he stood there. Rowan looked to his cousin quickly, frowning. He’d ordered Col to get sleep and report back to the wall before first light.

  “It there something amiss?” he asked.

  Col shook his head. “No, all remains quiet. But I talked to one of the young Celts. A Christian lad, name of Davis. He told me his grandfather talked about such an army of Saxons coming before. Not a migration; we have had waves of Saxons come before—and we are Saxon in our mix. It is a Saxon language we speak. Greedy men have come before; they will come again. But few are like this man; he cares not about those who are his own people who have settled here. Not many are determined on conquest and destruction like this man Brogan. But such an army was here before. They were beaten back. But Davis heard rumors then that they had among their number a sorcerer of surprising power.” Col hesitated. “All I know about Merlin, Morgana, and Mordred and others has been in the stories passed down to us. I don’t know what is true and what is not. But I wanted to warn you the Northern lad, Davis, spoke about Brogan having a sorcerer or sorceress, demon, or witch. It seems when the force was beaten back before, they claimed that magic had kept them from victory. They were the power; the Britons had magic. They would not come again without stronger magic.”

  “That may be nothing more than a story.”

  Col nodded but wanted to say more. He stood awkwardly silent.

  “You’re a knight, and my cousin. Speak up.”

  “You are still liege lord,” Col reminded him.

  “And nothing without the support of my people, my knights, and my family most of all.”

  Col lowered his eyes and nodded again. “Do we have magic? The girl, Kyleigh. Is she—magic?”

  “I don’t know; I saw her move with the wind. I know she has—something.”

  “Pray God that’s true! And pray God that...”

  “Aye?”

  “That Padraic does not tell Brogan everything he learned here.”

  “Don’t be disturbed by what we do not—and cannot—know, Col. There has never been a rumor that Padraic is anything other than honorable.”

  “And yet you have warned us to take care; we have plans should our new friends prove to be enemies.”

  “Because it is foolish not to be prepared for what we do not know.”

  “The girl. She is young and beautiful.”

  “She?”

  “The girl, Kyleigh.”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps she has been sent to...to be here among us. To take us by surprise. Perhaps she is the weapon Brogan would use against us.”

  Rowan smiled. “I can tell you that is not true. Kyleigh has been raised by Alistair and Mary; they are good people. They have had her since she was a wee babe. She could not know Brogan.”

  “Ah. And you know this?”

  “I do. My father and Alistair knew one another. They were friends. My father is gone, but everything he ever taught me turns out to be true. Alistair is a true friend; and even for the girl, he would not lie to me.”

  Col let out a sigh of relief. “She is powerful, I am certain. There is something in her eyes. They are the color of gems. And her hair...that is a shade most often found in the Celts.”

  “Col, among us, we are dark and light and every shade in between. But I know she is loved by Alistair and Mary, and she has been with them since birth. That is enough for me.”

  “They do not know about her magic?”

  “The magic—if it is magic—is new to the girl.”

  “I hope she is magic. Good magic. Magic that can be used against evil.”

  “We can hope for magic. But we will have strength—good strength against those who come to harm us.”

  “I will be on the wall before first light. Our men, our women, the Celts and the Celtic women—many who are excellent with their arrows—will be ready.”

  “Sleep, cousin. Rest.”

  “You should sleep, too.”

  “I will lie down. And I
will hope for sleep. I know we will need to be our best.”

  Col started out. He hesitated and came back again.

  “Cousin?” Rowan said.

  “I wanted to say...you are a good man to follow. You are my blood, but I would be honored to be in your service were I not.”

  “Thank you, Col,” Rowan told him. “Life is sacred; our people are the life we must live. We cannot fail, not against this enemy.”

  “We will not!” Col promised.

  He left the great hall. Rowan stared at the fire again. He needed to sleep. He was afraid he would do nothing but stare at the ceiling, praying his strategy for the morning would be successful.

  Praying his judgement of men was as good as he had led Col to believe.

  It had to be.

  He did not really believe much in magic. If Merlin had been great and wise, why had Camelot fallen?

  There were things magic could not combat.

  Things that came from within.

  He was prepared. And...

  He believed Col was right.

  Kyleigh, daughter of Alistair and Mary, was a true beauty—young and lithe and proud. He believed she found courage against her fear because those she loved had been threatened.

  Because an enemy had come up on her family and friends.

  Many had died.

  And she had risen to the fight.

  He had seen fear in her eyes. But more. Determination against that fear.

  And it would have been there with—or without—magic.

  He turned from the fire and climbed up the stairs for his chambers and his bed.

  Even if he stared at the ceiling, he would do his best to sleep.

  He needed his strength come the morning. And here, within these walls, hundreds of people lay resting, some sleeping, some not.

  For them, he must succeed.

  She was among them. Kyleigh. Did she have true magic?

  Only time would tell.

  He tried to rest.

  No, he was not going to rest. But while he would trust his own life to his judgement, hundreds of lives were dependent on him.

  He realized there was something he could do that might prove better than hopelessly seeking sleep.