Daughter of Darkness & Light

by Shannon Drake

  And a soft white tunic to wear by night and a pile of long and short tunics, two warm wool mantles, belts, and sashes.

  More than she had ever owned at one time!

  She needed to thank the Astir, whom she had yet to meet.

  She washed and slipped into the soft linen tunic for the night.

  And she laid down.

  She remembered she was exhausted. She could sleep in peace.

  They would come for her when she was needed.

  She closed her eyes, praying for rest. And exhaustion did take over.

  She was dozing. Dreaming, she thought. She heard the voice that had come to her in the forest, that seemed to speak to her through the sword. Perhaps it was the voice of the sword.

  “Rest well; you will rise when you need to rise,” the voice said.

  Something warm and gentle seemed to wrap around her. She smiled, even half asleep. The voice, gentle and soft but also deep and raspy, might have frightened her.

  But it did not.

  It seemed to give her strength.

  ***

  Rowan woke with the first hint of light. He readied himself quickly and headed out, striding to the courtyard.

  Matthew was on the wall and shouted down to him. “He just now appears! The catapults are being drawn out to the edge of the forest!”

  “Have our best archers ready,” Rowan ordered. “Have Lucas see all the horses are in the stables. Men must be ready to put out fires. And the animals and the people must be in the back, by the river. They will succeed at hurtling something over at some point and we must be ready in the courtyard.”

  There was activity around him; food preparation, villagers urging animals to shelters, knights and fighting men sharpening spears and sword blades and fashioning new arrow tips at the forges.

  Those milling about stepped back, allowing him space, acknowledging him, and hurrying about to do as bidden.

  Some moved faster than others. Today, he did not intend to lose a soul.

  “Clear the courtyard!” he ordered in a loud shout. “Take shelter in the towers, keep yourselves free from the missiles Brogan’s catapults will send!”

  People now scurried to do as he had bidden.

  He hurried up the wooden steps to take a stance atop the wall. It was true; Brogan’s forces were coming from the forest. They stopped, formed a line, and then surged forward again.

  “Archers?” Col asked.

  “Soon. He must be within range; we waste no arrows. Let him come; let him come.”

  The sky was still streaked with golds and red. It was going to be an exceptionally beautiful day; the air was cool, not cold. A light breeze wafted.

  Strange that men should make war on so lovely a day.

  He stood his ground atop the wall and waited, just feeling the breeze. Brogan made no move as time marched on.

  Padraic joined him on the wall.

  “He is testing us,” he said.

  “And so, he must,” Rowan agreed. “We hold; he thinks he will draw us out. We hold—until we can make a mark from behind the wall.”

  They waited.

  And then, at last, Brogan tired of the game. His men came. Moving out, closer to the fortress. The great catapults were being dragged by horses and men.

  “Now?” Col murmured.

  “Soon.”

  “Prepare,” Rowan said softly, and the runners hurried along with oil for the archers.

  The catapults moved closer.

  “Light arrows!” he ordered.

  And it was done.

  “Fire!”

  He was pleased to see the first volley hit several men. They screamed and fell from their posts at the catapults.

  But they were quickly replaced.

  And he saw the first burning circle of death that was hurled toward them, flying over their heads, landing in the courtyard.

  A few embers caught the thatch on the roofs of a few of workers’ stalls.

  “Douse the fires!” he shouted.

  Brogan’s missile—a combination of metal shards and earth and lumber—had fallen dead center in the courtyard.

  But the courtyard had been cleared. It was only the fire that could cause them damage. And men were quickly on it to extinguish the flames.

  “Another comes, bigger yet,” Padraic murmured.

  But that ball of death fell short, not even reaching the moat.

  “Archers! Light arrows! Fire!” Rowan ordered again.

  More of the enemy manning the catapult went down.

  But again, they were replaced. Again, he saw Brogan’s weapon fire a huge, burning ball of oil and metal and wood, coming toward them again.

  It might reach the wall. Right where he stood.

  But it did not; it suddenly exploded in the air, raining down before them, touching none, burning grass and earth and shooting sparks from the moat but not reaching the wall.

  Kyleigh was there, close to him, her sword raised high in the air.

  He looked at her, smiled, and acknowledge her prowess. She gave him a weak smile. “It—it takes a great deal of strength. I fear I have not the stamina that will be needed,” she whispered.

  “Whatever you accomplish, it is more than what we have without you,” Rowan told her, and he called forth his own people again.

  “Archers! Prepare—fire!”

  More arrows went out; more men fell. But just as they could quickly douse the fires in the courtyard, the enemy quickly doused those that burned upon the catapults.

  Another massive ball was hurled toward them; it fell short.

  Then, the three catapults fired at once.

  One ball fell short; one crashed into the wall—but as nothing but sand. One nearly fell within, but instead, burst backwards.

  He looked at Kyleigh. She was shaking; white. But her sword was held high to the heavens.

  “Archers!” Rowan ordered again. The catapults had been moved closer.

  Fiery arrows flew, raining death. The screams of those on the catapults could easily be heard at the wall.

  This time, the catapults were drawn back. Brogan’s men faded back into the forest.

  Kyleigh started to fall. Rowan hurried to rush forward, but Padraic had been closer. He swept her up before she could land on the hard stone of the wall.

  “She has exhausted herself!” Padraic said.

  Rowan was still for a moment; he wanted to take her from Padraic. He wanted to hold her, assure himself she was all right. He had no right to feel possessive, and yet he did. She was his.

  And he had to remember himself; he was Lord of Kenzie. He ruled fairly. A woman was not his property, anymore than one of his knights.

  He refrained from reaching out. From touching her. From even the assurance that she was all right.

  “She must rest; take her to her room at the main tower,” he said.

  Padraic looked out over the field.

  “He has fallen back for today,” Rowan said. “Tonight...Padraic, we must find a way to destroy the catapults.” He hesitated. “The archers performed admirably; Kyleigh’s magic was strong. But neither can defend us forever from the strength of those weapons. See to it Kyleigh rests.”

  Padraic started from the wall, cradling Kyleigh carefully as he made his way down the wooden stairs to the courtyard.

  “Matthew!” Rowan called out. “Stay on the wall. Lucas, see to the wild stock and what damage we suffered from the fires. See if we have any injured, Col. Darkness will come, far more quickly than we might like. It is time to prepare for what must be done.”

  ***

  Kyleigh awoke slowly.

  Opening her eyes, she almost started.

  She was not alone. Padraic was at her side, watching her. But as her eyes opened, he began to smile.

  “It takes a lot,” he said softly. “I knew you would be all right, that you needed rest.”

  She tried to smile in return. “I wish I understood! I tried so hard to concentrate on the balls being hurled at u
s from the catapults.”

  “You succeeded, Kyleigh,” Padraic said.

  She shook her head. “Well, not really. I was asking they turn to air.”

  “You did well. They did not cause the damage they might have; Brogan ordered the catapults back into the forest.”

  “And tonight, we go out!” she murmured.

  “Perhaps you should not,” he said.

  “I must!”

  “Not if you are not up to it; Rowan will not allow it.”

  “I will be fine.”

  “I believe you. But for now, let yourself recover.”

  She shook her head. “I did not even move! I lifted the sword. I spoke to it. And it does heed me to a degree, but...why did I fall?” she whispered.

  “Because magic requires strength. Even the great Merlin had to rest after many of his incantations. It is the mind that is taxed, and the mind...well, Rowan proves it daily. A battle is not always won by strength. Rowan studies his enemy; he uses his mind. Yesterday, we fought back. They lost men; we lost men. Today, they lost men. We did not have an injury.”

  “I believe these walls would have stood with or without me,” Kyleigh said.

  “Aye, maybe. But there would have been death and injury.” He smiled at her again, gently touching her hair and smoothing it from her forehead. “I am many things; mainly, a Celt. And among my people, magic is embraced. Oh, many have taken on the Roman way and followed the priests and monks who have come. But they do not dispute the power of magic.” He gave her another smile. “We have had among our people a monk who is one of the finest sorcerers I have yet to see. Perhaps the great Christian God allows for magic. Perhaps he knows Rowan hates death—but will not see his people massacred. Perhaps he knows the goodness in you.”

  “I pray so!” Kyleigh said. “I feel...”

  “Weak. You have used great strength. Believe me. I have seen much. You are truly a fine sorceress. And,” he added, “a good and beautiful lass.”

  He stood then; she realized how much she had come to like him. And he liked her. But even as she wondered if there could be more between them, she found herself thinking about Rowan.

  Something that could never be. And it was foolish at this time to think about anything other than the war that must be waged.

  Logic did little.

  When Rowan existed. And Padraic...

  She cared for him so much already. But it was more the way she felt about Gareth or Taryn; like he was indeed a good and beloved friend.

  “I’ll leave you now. Tonight...well, tonight may be all we have.”

  “Yet, you will go.”

  “I will fight for what is mine—my life. My freedom. We are good; Rowan here; me, just north. We have respected our places. We will continue to do so. And so, this Brogan must be sent on his way out of the land—or to hell, which would be much more preferable.” He shrugged. “Even Rowan would feel thus, I believe. So. Rest. The night will come too quickly. And we few will do what must be done.”

  He left her. She lay back, wondering again, despite Padraic’s words, how one could feel so drained—when she had barely moved.

  Rest, just rest.

  She did. She must have dozed.

  There was a tap at her door.

  “Yes?” she said.

  The door opened. Rowan stood there.

  “May I enter?” he asked.

  “Of course!”

  She scrambled to sit up.

  “Are you all right?” he asked her, coming to stand by the bed.

  She nodded gravely.

  “You do not need to come with us tonight,” he told her. He hesitated. “I have stated I believe we will come back. The little group I have moving into the forest tonight is talented at blending into the landscape, at moving in silence, at escaping quickly. Even so, there is no certainty there. But I fear if the catapults are not destroyed, they may well be our downfall. We intend to destroy them, and escape through the forest. But there is every chance no matter what our abilities, we might be taken. You were amazing today. You do not need to come tonight; your strength and abilities are far too valuable to risk.”

  “I must go,” she said.

  “You exhausted yourself today; it will not help our effort if you fall,” he said gently.

  “I am rested now.” She thought of Padraic’s words and told him. “Even the great Merlin had to rest after certain incantations,” she said.

  “Yes, I heard a few of his accomplishments—like altering King Uther to look like another man so he might sleep with that man’s wife—were immensely tiring.”

  “Merlin was a great wizard; he saw to it King Arthur was raised to be a good man, a strong man—a king to unite people.”

  “All true. But it does not mean King Uther or Merlin behaved with anything resembling honor. Still, a great king did come of magic. But even for a great king, magic could not suffice when the kingdom crumbled from within and without.”

  She shook her head. “I do not know all my power, nor understand it. But it comes when it is needed. If you do not take me with you, you know I will manage to be with you, nonetheless.”

  “Indeed! You do not take orders from your Lord well.”

  “Ah, well, indeed. I did not meet this Lord until a day or so ago. I have always obeyed my father, Alistair.”

  “Really?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Shall I speak with Alistair?”

  “No!”

  He smiled at her. His smile was quite wonderful. Too often, his face was taut with concern and determination.

  “Please, then, continue to rest. We won’t depart the fortress until the night is deep.”

  She smiled back. She noticed the way he stood, the fine breadth of his shoulders with his mantle tossed over the one side, the straightness of his stature, the contours of his face.

  She must not notice.

  “Rest well,” he said, and he turned and left her.

  One day, she thought, she must touch him. Must feel his flesh...

  She knew about sex, of course. She knew girls who had been married for years by her age. If she did not, if she had not listened to their laughter and their comments on the various aspects of men, she would have still known about sex. The villagers had raised cows and sheep and goats and bred their finest horses for as long as she could remember.

  She knew about sex...

  And it had all seemed like nasty rutting and grunting like the pigs did when...

  Friends had told her it could be amazing. She had not believed them. Amazing for a rutting male animal perhaps, but the female just stood there it seemed and took it.

  Gossip was one thing. She had never wondered about sex as she did now. Maybe it was touching a face that fascinated, feeling tenderness as one touched in return.

  And she suddenly thought she understood the giggling about a man’s size, and the way he looked and laughed and sounded...

  Because she was wondering about a man.

  He was Lord of Kenzie.

  And she...

  Well, she was a weapon of war. Cherished, of course.

  A village girl.

  There could be nothing.

  And yet she wanted something more each time she saw him, and heard his voice, saw the blue fire in his eyes, and felt him near.

  Chapter 6

  Rowan did not want the bridge lowered. The open drawbridge over the moat might be seen; Brogan might have spies out as well. Let them believe that those in Kenzie were entrenched and not about to leave the fortress.

  His men cast ropes over the wall, and they fell the last feet into the water and swam the distance to the land beyond the moat. He and Padraic carried the bulk of their oil for the fires they intended to create, keeping it dry.

  Kyleigh was able and adept, he noted. She had quick smiles for them all, though the mission was dire. And every man—and Kyleigh—knew that they might not return. That was not as important as the success they needed.

  Success in d
estroying the catapults.

  He was leader here, and this was all important. And he led. If he were lost tonight, it would not be until the catapults were destroyed.

  And Col could then keep the hundreds of people at the fortress safe.

  He saw Padraic and Kyleigh walked close together. He was angry with himself that he paid heed to the manner with which the two easily shared soft laughter and words. They did not seem close like lovers; of course, they had just met. But there was something between them. A strange bond. And while Rowan could control his actions, he could not control his feelings.

  He realized his feelings were envy and jealousy.

  Foolish.

  And yet he knew he could recognize such feelings in himself—he was a man. They were natural. It was not necessary to despise himself for the feelings. A feeling could be kept within oneself.

  He could control his actions. And he would.

  Nor was she alone with Padraic. He had spoken with Alistair early; a long and serious discussion. Alistair swore he did not know Kyleigh’s true heritage—she had been brought to him as an infant by a strange old man. She had been a good child. Alistair had also suggested he make use of Gareth, one of the village’s young men, who was almost as adept at slipping into the trees as the Picts who could all but disappear into the day.

  Rowan had noted Gareth on the battlefield. He had done himself proud. He was lithe and agile and could twist himself into almost any position to defend himself and others, and to make a surprise attack upon the enemy.

  Gareth, he decided, was a fine addition to their group.

  Kyleigh walked between Padraic and Gareth as they moved to the south of the fortress and into the heavy cover of the trees.

  The moon was a curved crescent in the sky; it afforded them cover.

  It also afforded cover for the enemy.

  Halfway between the fortress at Kenzie and the enemy encampment, Rowan lifted a hand to call a halt. It was time, he told his small crew softly, to move off the narrow trails and deeply into the trees and brush themselves.

  “Gareth, Matthew, and Arnot will approach first,” he said. “They will be assessing the enemy guarding the machines. We will need numbers and positions. After you report, slip back into the woods. Padraic, you and I will set the things ablaze; and Kyleigh will watch over us and try to save our lives when the enemy realizes our presence and our purpose,” he finished.