Daughter of Darkness & Light

by Shannon Drake

  Kyleigh was as pale as the moonlight, but she nodded.

  Gareth studied his new Briton friend, Matthew, and the Celt, Arnot. Not long before, none of the three would have trusted either of the other. The invaders had made quick mates of them.

  Gareth looked at Kyleigh and smiled grimly. Rowan noted the exchange, and the fact Gareth spoke to her silently.

  “You will prevail!” he mouthed to her.

  She smiled back at her old friend.

  The three moved on ahead, each disappearing into the trees as if they had never been.

  Rowan, Padraic, and Kyleigh moved along the path, holding back, giving the others time to survey the guards around the catapults.

  “How do we just disappear—when we have set a fire?” Kyleigh asked.

  “Quickly,” Padraic said.

  “We will set the oil without being noted,” Rowan said. “I will hurl a knife that has been set aflame; it will catch the oil and ignite. They will rush to the fire; we will be slipping back into the woods.”

  “They will come after us.”

  “Indeed, but they have to do so on foot; horses cannot move within these narrow trails. We will be faster. When we near Kenzie, the men on the wall will pick off anyone coming in our wake,” Rowan said. “When we are there setting the oil, you will create a distraction.”

  She looked at him with surprise. “I will be a...sacrifice?”

  “Never,” he said, and smiled. “You are a sorceress; by distraction, I believe you can create a mist with that sword.”

  “I hope!” she murmured.

  “You know how to wield it, if a battle ensues?” Padraic asked her.

  “No. But it knows how to wield me.”

  Rowan and Padraic looked at one another grimly. Rowan realized he was envious of the man’s easy way with Kyleigh.

  But Rowan liked Padraic, too. They had formed a strange bond when the old world had decreed they should be enemies. It was strange to like the man, and feel such an envy for him, too—an envy for something that was not even tangible, that could not be touched.”

  The earth was soft and damp beneath their feet as they walked. The night was cool; the day’s gentle breeze had picked up. Leaves, soft and green, created a strange and eerie music in the night.

  Rowan watched Kyleigh. She was wary and careful. He thought she had never scouted as Gareth had done; but living in the village with the forest and lake at hand, she had learned to listen to every little sound.

  She was wary, yes, but as they moved along in silence; she also showed determination. Padraic motioned to them. Someone was coming.

  They each stepped behind the trees and brush.

  “It is Gareth,” Padraic said, and they stepped out to meet him.

  He spoke in a hushed whisper, pointing ahead.

  “They had one man stationed this far out,” he told Rowan. “Matthew disposed of him quite silently. He will not be found for some time, I believe, because the brush there is rich. I believe they have such a guard further to the east and to the south, too. Maybe Brogan trusted his own people would all come to join him, since he has laid waste to much of the earth on his rampage through the countryside. I think he has people out further to the south and the east.”

  “What of the catapults? The guards watching over them, and surely over the warriors who will fight in the morning?” Rowan asked.

  “There are eight men around the catapults; others are stationed at the edge of the forest, facing the fortress at Kenzie. Arnot and Matthew have stayed behind and move closer to the catapults, watching for the movement of those guarding the machines there,” Gareth told him. “They will keep a close eye until we reach them. From the little I saw, I believe those men expect no trouble. They are ‘guarding,’ but they do not consider it a serious duty. Of course, before Brogan they would, but in his absence, they are like petulant children.”

  “That will be good for us,” Padraic said.

  “Aye, and we shall move more quickly and reach them,” Rowan said.

  They quickened their pace, still moving as silently as they might.

  Matthew was at the outskirts of those who grouped around the catapults.

  “They have grown lazy; several are asleep,” Matthew said, his words a bare whisper. “But they lean against the catapults and they will waken easily. Perhaps—”

  “Matthew, I will head to the third, the one closest to the south. Padraic will take the second, and you will take the third for us. That will give us more time. See that the oil rests heavy on the back wooden platform of the machine. The fire will catch quickly there. If you can, escape unnoted. If you must—”

  “Take down the guard,” Matthew said. He nodded. “And do so silently,” he added.

  “Padraic, you and I need start the walk around the back. Matthew, give us time to circle round, then slip in there, through the slit in the brush just over there.”

  “Aye,” Matthew told him.

  Rowan knew, looking into his eyes, Matthew did not think either of them would live; and he was looking at him for the last time. But he was a true knight, and he would not say so, nor mourn his own life being lost for the salvation of others.

  He looked at Kyleigh.

  “Can you do it?” he asked her. “Start the fog. Then you and Gareth will join Arnot and start back as swiftly as possible.”

  “Do it?” she asked.

  “Create a rising mist,” he told her, and he smiled. He felt he read her mind.

  She truly had no idea!

  She lifted the sword into the air. “A mist, please, one to cloak these men sweetly. Let them see, but not be seen.”

  A soft mist began to rise. And it performed as she had asked. Rowan could not even see Padraic as he gaged the distance and used the cover of the trees as far as he could to reach the farthest catapult.

  There were two guards watching the catapult there, one facing the south, one between this catapult and the second.

  No one to the rear.

  To the forest.

  It was dense here. Trails were all but nonexistent. To reach the closest from-the-rear point, Rowan crawled over heavy tree roots and through thick brush.

  They did not expect an enemy coming from his position, the southeast, especially not through the depth of the forest here. Nor would Brogan expect a small party would venture near their massive encampment.

  It was foolhardy, of course.

  But necessary.

  He left the cover of the trees, carrying his portion of the oil that must be used to create a rich base for the fire to spread.

  Neither man looked his way. They might not have seen him in the thickness of the fog surrounding him if they had.

  He reached his objective; he moved as silently as he could. Neither man moved.

  Dimly, through the mist, he saw movement as Padraic completed his task and moved back, lifting a hand to show Rowan he had seen Matthew. Matthew was also moving back into the trees.

  He had to center himself, and reach into his belt, aware Padraic was there, and he had taken a bit of flint and steel and was prepared to light Rowan’s knives.

  Rowan had retained enough oil to soak three knives, and he did so.

  “Trust me,” Padraic said, staring at him solemnly. “My aim is true. I will take the first catapult, leaving you two. That will give us a wee bit of a start, and then we shall run fast.”

  Rowan nodded; the knives were lit on fire. He threw the first, quickly but with good aim, and then the second. Padraic had spoken the truth; his aim was true as well.

  The oil caught quickly on the dry wood. All three of the catapults began to burn as they escaped deep into the trees.

  The catapults went up in flames with a thunderous burst as the balls of scrap and rock and earth they carried went up into the encampment in a massive explosion.

  Padraic and Rowan were gone before the burning bits fell where they had been standing; before the alarm went up in the camp.

  They had known
men would come after them. Rowan had wanted the others gone by then, and they had obeyed. He and Padraic dodged trees and created jagged patterns as they ran, and still, while the guards might have been dozing as was far too common with men on such duty, they were quick and ready to come after their foe.

  At this point, he and Padraic were not well armed. They had swords; plus Padraic had a dirk in a sheath at his ankle.

  Rowan had thrown his knives. Good knives, but expendable for the result they had achieved.

  They could hear the men in pursuit. But they knew the path they had taken, and they could move faster despite the heavy foliage, and they could even manage a course to create sound in different places and confuse their pursuers.

  The distance seemed longer. Longer than before, and now they ran, heedless of noise, when before they had padded on the earth as furtively as possible.

  For a bit, there was nothing except for the sound of the brush as branches broke and swayed or bent as they ran. They still ran.

  Halfway back, they paused, breathing, listening, looking at one another. Voices could be heard. They were still being followed through the forest.

  “Have they made it out?” Padraic mouthed. “The others...have they made it back, do you think?” he asked Rowan.

  “I pray so,” Rowan returned, mouthing the words. He managed a tight grin. “I pray to all and any gods!”

  Padraic nodded. “Shall we?”

  “I hear someone close,” Rowan said in a hushed tone, moving closer to Padraic.

  “One—or more?”

  They both listened.

  “One,” Padraic said. “Ah, well...shall I let him follow me?”

  “Indeed,” Rowan said.

  Padraic had moved out on the path. He put up a show of moving swiftly and silently.

  Rowan waited.

  One of Brogan’s men went by him; he was a big man, and yet seemed to have the ability to almost slither as a snake might.

  Rowan moved out after him, silently and stealthily.

  And then swiftly.

  The big man turned in time to be met with the hard end of Rowan’s sword on his helmetless head. He fell without a sound.

  Padraic turned. “Are there more, do you think?”

  “I am certain—but they are further behind. Let us move, shall we?”

  They ran then, giving up the concept of stealth. They were closer at last to Kenzie than they were to the enemy encampment.

  They were still being pursued.

  “Head out to the plain—the guards on the tower can pick them off when they leave the cover of the forest!” Rowan called to Padraic

  Padraic crossed his path ahead, doing as Rowan had said—and as Rowan was doing.

  They were out on the open plain; he could see Col had ordered the drawbridge be lowered when he saw the first of their group burst out of the forest. Tonight, speed was of the essence.

  And once on the plain, it was the invaders who were risking the most.

  He was grateful to see Gareth and Kyleigh, hand in hand, racing over the bridge. Arnot and Matthew were right behind them.

  He let out a shout, alerting Col on the wall that he and Padraic were there. He could hear Col shouting; the archers were warned to be at the ready.

  He and Padraic were side by side, running hard. He did not turn; he did not dare. He heard an explosion in the earth behind him.

  He turned at last.

  Kyleigh’s magic. The path he and Padraic had just taken was a wall of earth now.

  “Maybe good magic works for good!” Padraic murmured. He, too, had paused to look back. He shrugged to Rowan and started to trot and then run for the drawbridge again.

  Kyleigh had stopped those few who had been following them. Perhaps she had buried a few. But it would not be wise to keep the drawbridge down for long.

  Padraic knew that and he was hurrying again.

  They raced over the drawbridge together. Padraic took him by the shoulders as they heard the mechanism bringing the bridge back up. They were in the courtyard. People had gathered there in the hundreds; they were all cheering as they raced back.

  Rowan accepted Padraic’s jubilant embrace, and then the touch of half of the people around him.

  But he spoke quickly.

  “We injured their great machines; this does not mean they will stop. Tonight, it is not a bad thing for all to celebrate a small victory. But remember, we are far from safe from this enemy. We must stay tight; united. And we stay alert, ever on guard. They will come at us again. I have heard about men like this Brogan; he will sacrifice many of his own in his quest to conquer and dominate. We remain ever vigilant!”

  Shouts of joy went up despite his words. To the people, they had been victorious that day.

  Their leaders had severely injured the enemy.

  Maybe they did not need to spend their every waking moment in fear of what was to come.

  And maybe there was more he could do which would allow an even greater feeling of good, if only for the night.

  And unity. Unity would be important in the days to come.

  “First! I, Rowan, Lord of Kenzie, applaud the prowess of our ally, Padraic, Laird of the Celts!”

  Roars of approval went up.

  “His knight, Arnot, and Sir Matthew!”

  More cheers went up.

  “Our beautiful young Kyleigh, who has done so much!”

  Once again, cheers, loud and continuous. People had blocked Kyleigh; they moved away, allowing a path between her and Rowan.

  He inclined his head toward her. She did so in return.

  He thought his next words would make her happier than any honor bestowed on her.

  “And Gareth of the Village of the Lake! Come to me, Gareth, and kneel.”

  Confused, as if he feared he had done something wrong, Gareth came toward him.

  Rowan unsheathed his sword. The poor lad probably thought he was about to lose his head for an unknown infraction.

  He touched both Gareth’s shoulders with the blade.

  “I, Rowan of Kenzie, before God and this gathering, do hereby honor you with the title of knight. Rise, Sir Gareth!”

  Gareth stared at Rowan with disbelief. Rowan had to reach up to help the young man to his feet.

  But as he came to his feet, a roar like no other went through the crowded courtyard. It echoed and echoed...

  As the sun began to rise.

  ***

  Kyleigh crawled into bed after congratulating Gareth—who, quite annoyingly, could not stop praising Rowan of Kenzie—and awkwardly accepting the praise and thanks of both friends and strangers and being held tenderly—and worriedly--by both Mary and Alistair. She knew they deeply loved her.

  But that love had probably been easier for them before she had become a warring sorceress. Now, love was haunted by worry. Yet, if the magic had not arisen from the lake—turning her fish into a sword—Mary would be mourning the loss of them both, if she had she survived the attack on the village.

  Kyleigh was still so conflicted herself. She should be grateful for the gift she had, but she had yet to understand it, and she never knew if her words to the sword would be answered or not. She could only be grateful that, so far, the sword had listened to her.

  If not fully comprehending all her pleas.

  She tossed and turned and found herself thinking how happy she was for Gareth, how she cared for Padraic and his charming sense of humor—even at the worst moments—and how she still found herself fascinated and drawn to Rowan.

  She was important to him; she knew that.

  Sleep!

  She was exhausted again. Perhaps far beyond exhausted. And still, the sun had come up; it was day. She needed to rest, but she tossed and turned.

  There was a tap at her door. She sat up quickly, drawing her blanket around her.

  “Yes?”

  Her heart was beating too fast; she knew it was Rowan.

  He entered but stayed in the doorway.

 
“I thought you might still be awake.”

  “I am. I mean, obviously, I am.”

  “Try to sleep when I leave. I will do so, too. I believe the next days will be equally trying; we now have a moment’s peace. Brogan will be struggling to see if he can repair the damage done, determining if he should retreat—and come back.” He was quiet a minute and then said softly, “You are an amazing warrior in this. What you created for us in the enemy camp was just what was needed. We were able to reach the catapults without being seen. If the guards had seen us...we might well have bested them, but the camp would have awakened, and...” he paused, giving her a rueful smile, “and while I believe both Padraic and I have faith in our abilities with swords, we would not have survived the camp.”

  “I am grateful the mist arose,” Kyleigh said.

  He smiled. “I cannot help but wonder what incredible magic created you!”

  She swallowed hard. She hugged her arms tightly to her chest and found herself feeling a flush on her skin, and despite all, wondering what it would be like if such a man came to her and held her and touched her.

  “All I know is Mary and Alistair adopted me. I am their child.”

  “And that is well, for they are good people. So, try to sleep. We will meet again when all have had a chance to at least try for a few hours of rest.”

  He stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  Her heart was still beating too fast. But it seemed to be sinking as well. What would he think—if he knew the “magic” that had created her was none other than the hatred Mordred?

  She could not accept it herself.

  At last, Kyleigh dozed, despite the rush of emotions filling her mind. When she woke up, she was disoriented at first. She never slept once the sun had come up.

  She quickly washed and dressed and went down to the great hall; she could hear voices there.

  Knights—including the recently honored Sir Gareth—were seated around the table. Rowan was with them, of course, with Padraic at his side.

  But a young woman was with them, too. Kyleigh knew her; she was Aileen. She had been in the village since her family had been caught up in a skirmish with invaders from the east. The invaders had eventually been beaten back, but Aileen’s village had been destroyed.