Daughter of Darkness & Light

by Shannon Drake

  He sat on the floor staring at his captors—and the dungeon torture chair—with fear he tried to hide.

  “An Apega!” Padraic said. “I have only read about such creations!”

  “How intriguing,” Col murmured.

  Rowan let them speak. Gareth murmured he had never used such a thing as a rack; he was curious as to how long it took for limbs to dislocate.

  Then he smiled at the man behind the bars.

  “You have a name?” he asked.

  The man sat in frightened silence.

  “You would have me torture you over something so simple as your name?” he asked.

  “Norvel,” the man said.

  “Ah, Norvel. Well, here we are.”

  The man said nothing. He sat there shivering. Then he burst out with words, half sobbing as he did so. “Will it matter? Your men speak as if they wish to play, as if...”

  “I need to know certain things. I do not wish to use anything you see here. As you might observe, we do not use this room often,” Rowan said.

  “Brogan will come for you.”

  “Yes, he will. Just as I will go for him. But I do not relish the concept of skinning a man, of slicing him bit by bit—of causing anguish. I kill on a battlefield as I must; I take no pleasure in the act. How many of our injured does Brogan hold?”

  “You will torture and kill me anyway!” Norvel said.

  “No. I am not Brogan,” Rowan said. “Your wound has been dressed; you have been given food and clean clothing. Your future good health rests in your words.”

  “Four. There are four more,” Norvel said. He shook his head. “It matters not. It matters not if you kill me. Brogan will send another rider...perhaps more, as he will believe now you killed me rather than send a reply.”

  “Four men. How seriously injured? And was the man you brought to us alive or dead when the torture was begun on him?”

  Norvel shook his head. “I am telling you the truth. I do not know. I was chosen to carry a white flag. Brogan said you would respect the flag, and I would be honored for my duty to him. I knew I dragged a dead man behind me. I did not know the state of his body, nor do I know at what point he became—dead.”

  “What of the men remaining?”

  “One has a broken leg and festering flesh; he was hard hit with a spear. Another has broken ribs; he was trampled in the retreat. Another has a gash in his arm. The last was knocked unconscious and suffered little injury.” He hesitated. “I believe he will be the next sent to you. And I believe—”

  He broke off.

  “You believe Brogan will see to it he suffers terrible agony and comes back to me in pieces?” Rowan asked.

  The man nodded.

  “Where are they kept?”

  Norvel was silent, almost as if the question confused him.

  “Do we take him out now?” Padraic asked softly.

  “Where are they kept?” Rowan repeated.

  “Brogan has created encampments,” Norvel said. “They are shelters, hastily built from the abundance of the forest. They have little substance, just thatch and tar against the rain and cold. There is one that is just behind the catapults. The guards there—many now—watch over the prisoners, though they are tied in such a way they scarce can move.”

  “Now?” Padraic asked.

  “Aye,” Rowan said.

  “You lie! You, too, are a monster, not a man—” Norvel cried, breaking off as Rowan and the three others turned away from him.

  “You are leaving me here! You have a torturer coming!” Norvel cried.

  Rowan turned back to him. “No, Norvel. You will stay here tonight; it is secure. But someone will bring food and water and will see to your wound.”

  “Then you will kill me!”

  “I have said that I will not. I keep my word. However, if it is discovered you have lied to me—”

  “I did not lie. A lie would make no difference! Brogan will do what he will do! There is no help against such a man, do you not see that?”

  “Brogan will do what he will. As will I,” Rowan assured him.

  He headed for the winding stone stairs that led up from the dungeon and to the heavy wooden door that now stood ajar.

  It had not been opened in years.

  Padraic, Gareth, and Col followed him.

  When they closed the door in their wake, Col said, “He is right; Brogan will do what Brogan will do. I fear for you greatly. We thought the men he held had been killed and lost on the battlefield. Risking your life, my lord and my cousin, might be to no avail.”

  “I cannot let Brogan do this to another man,” Rowan said. “I trust you with what is mine, Col. But I believe, as we have before, that we will return.”

  “Three men—and one woman that many accuse of being Brogan’s witch,” Col said softly.

  “Three men who have made the journey before safely. And a sorceress of great power who has helped in an escape—and on a bloody battlefield.”

  “Rowan, I am your kin,” Col said. “I will follow you wherever you lead. But the rider—”

  “His name is Norvel,” Rowan commented.

  “The rider called out that Brogan wanted his sorceress back.”

  “We know—”

  “We know it is a ploy. He wishes you to lose any extra power you have. But there are people within this fortress who are murmuring in fear and worry again—”

  “Then I will speak with them again. When necessary. Right now, I am waiting for darkness. And I will retrieve our people.”

  “We do not even know who they hold!”

  “Someone we presumed dead,” Rowan said. “And it does not matter who they hold; they are our people. They fought with us on the battlefield. We will get them back.”

  Col nodded. He was worried.

  Rowan set an arm on his shoulder. “I am grateful I have a cousin who would be lord here if I were killed and tries so hard to dissuade me from risking my life.”

  “I do not covet your title!” Col assured him. “It has its pleasantries, but the mantle of responsibility is a heavy one, and I do not relish it.”

  “Then I will be doubly sure to come back,” Rowan promised.

  ***

  Kyleigh knew Padraic had been with Rowan. She bided her time, watching the men come across the courtyard and return to the main tower. When they reached it, they briefly spoke to one another, and then Col left for the wall. Kyleigh waited anxiously, not sure why she did not want to tell anyone else she was asking Padraic for a book of spells.

  She was afraid Padraic could still be suspect. He was laird of the Celts, and while things seemed to have gone well between peoples in the fortress, she had seen how easily minds could be swayed when a crowd began to think in one way.

  She hoped Rowan would return to his room.

  He did. Gareth was still there speaking with Padraic.

  Then he left, and she had her opportunity. Padraic remained, looking into the fire that burned in the great hearth.

  She hurried down to him.

  “Padraic!”

  He turned, as if surprised she was not sleeping or resting.

  “Aye, Kyleigh, what is it?”

  “I need the book you spoke of.”

  “Ah,” he murmured. “Of course. I meant to bring it before.”

  “And I should have asked before,” she said. “But could you bring it now, quickly?”

  “Indeed. Get back to your room. I will leave it at your door and knock when it is there.”

  “Thank you!”

  “I hope it helps,” he said, and she wondered if he believed they were enough to carry out the rescue Rowan was so determined must take place.

  Perhaps he was right; she had not seen what had been done to the body of the man that had been delivered by the rider. She had only seen him wrapped in a shroud. She could only imagine the horrors.

  She paced the room, unable to rest, until she heard the soft knock at her door. She opened it quickly; Padraic was already head
ed down the stairs. She murmured a thank you that he could not hear, collected the book, and returned to her room closing the door.

  She curled up on her bed and opened the book and began reading. There were spells for healing, spells for rain, and spells for women who could not conceive. She bit her lip, feeling a little desperate.

  The book was all for good.

  And she was going to war.

  But then she found a section entitled “Protection.”

  She quickly began to read, grateful for the time she had spent with Father Peter and grateful she could read and read well. The book had been written in the Celtic language, the old language spoken still in north that once been a major language in Briton, too. But time had brought so many Saxons and Angles to the island most people spoke a language somewhat combined of the two and those who adhered to Christianity spoke Latin as well.

  Thankfully, Alistair had seen she had every opportunity.

  “Protection!” she said aloud.

  And there were the spells she needed.

  She read aloud to herself from the book.

  “Freedom from an evil hold

  Let the prisoner be bold,

  Speak of freedom and thus it will be,

  Harm to the enemy where he holds thee.”

  She was not sure what that harm might prove to be, but she would memorize the spell!

  Another keenly caught her interest and she hoped she understood it completely.

  “To tease the senses, there’s the spell,

  And sleeps a man, yet he will not see hell,

  Call upon the earth that heals,

  Then nothing, there is nothing he feels.”

  She read and read and read, fascinated. There were spells she hoped she had memorized, and those she could pass by. She became so immersed in the book, she did not feel the passage of time; and she jumped up when she heard a knock at her door.

  Rowan was there. He held still for a minute, then pulled her into his arms and stepped into the room.

  He just held her.

  She wished for more.

  “Is it time, then?” she asked.

  “Nearly,” he said.

  She looked up at his face. He appeared so conflicted. And she knew he had come early to be with her, and she smiled, reached up and stroked his face, and said, “We will use what we have, for no one has promised us tomorrow.”

  He was dressed, of course, for the night’s work, dark linen tunic and hose, his black mantle, sword, and several knives.

  They were quickly removed and set down. Kyleigh eased the mantle and tunic from him while stripping off her clothing and entangling them both so they did manage to smile and laugh, and then fall quickly into one another’s arms.

  Their play upon one another was almost urgent, for the time they had was short. But the feel of his mouth upon her was no less sweet, the touch of his fingers no less seductive. They joined as one quickly; the fever of their movements seemed like the greatest magic. And while the time he held her after was brief, almost fleeting, no less loved.

  “We must go,” he said, rising and dressing quickly as Kyleigh did the same.

  He held her briefly at the door, held her tightly.

  Then he drew himself to arms’ length and said, “You do not have to come. I am torn between needing you and fearing what will happen to you if I am a fool.”

  She smiled. “I do not believe any man would call you a fool.”

  He returned her smile and held her again for one precious moment. “A wise man may do a foolish thing.”

  She found herself thinking about Merlin’s—her father’s—words. He had cared deeply for Uther and thus, he had done foolish magic for the man. And yet from that union had come King Arthur, a man and a legend, and the hero that kept others going when they faced insurmountable odds.

  “There is no choice,” Kyleigh said. “And I am thankful I do not have to bide my time, slip from the fortress, and follow after you—against your orders.”

  “And you would do so,” he said. “So, the time has come.”

  They exited her room; she wondered what the people would think if they did not come back and found the book Padraic had given her, now stuffed beneath the white linen gown she wore to sleep.

  If she did not return, would she be labeled a martyr—or a traitor?

  Padraic and Gareth waited for them by the hearth. No one spoke; they all nodded to one another and started out across the courtyard.

  The hour had grown late. Few were about.

  Those on duty at the wall now knew they were leaving to seek to free the injured Brogan had taken. The ladder was cast down and one by one they climbed into the moat, sank into the water and swam the distance to the shore.

  The expanse of the field stretched out before them and the rich forest to the south, with scattered trees and farmland to the north.

  They quickly made their way into the trees.

  As they walked, Rowan murmured, “No talking tonight from here; they know we come in the wee hours. Brogan will have sent men to intercept us.”

  “I will move ahead in the trees; my specialty,” Gareth said dryly.

  They moved in silence. It was a long way, and with no words at all, the journey seemed exceptionally long.

  They had come halfway when Rowan stopped, lifting a hand in warning. Someone was near them ahead on the trail like a branch among the trees.

  One of Brogan’s men.

  He had not encountered Gareth; if he had, they would know.

  But even as Rowan paused, Kyleigh’s sixth sense kicked in. She nodded to Rowan and indicated a group of oaks to her right. He glanced at Padraic, who quickly back-tracked around and behind the clump of bushes. Rowan looked at Kyleigh and she nodded, understanding his silent directive. She started down the path again. He did not.

  In a matter of minutes, she heard rustling from the foliage, and then a thud on the earth as Brogan’s man leapt from his hiding position to follow behind her.

  She did not know how close she came to a blow from the man’s sword. But the weapon never touched her. She heard a gasp of pain and a gurgling sound and when she spun around, both Padraic and Rowan were there.

  “I wonder how many more,” Padraic said.

  “We must keep a careful watch,” Rowan said.

  “You two must proceed; I will bring up the rear,” Padraic said. “Gareth is hidden within the trees and foliage to the south; that man was in the clump to the north of us. I will be looking to the north.”

  Rowan nodded.

  Kyleigh could not help herself. She asked Rowan softly, “You believe Gareth is all right, do you not?”

  “Have faith!” he returned, his words just a whisper, his smile tender.

  She nodded and they moved forward.

  He was right, of course. Gareth was practiced and able at the art of spying. He let out a soft call, like that of an owl, before appearing on the road before them.

  “I encountered one man; he is in the brush,” Gareth said.

  “And we found one of Brogan’s men as well,” Rowan said.

  Gareth winced. “I should have—”

  “You cannot be everywhere,” Rowan said flatly. “There will be more; you keep to the south side and ahead. Padraic is to the north.”

  Gareth nodded. “We go forth,” he said.

  And they did. But the next time they came upon Brogan’s men, there were two. Gareth was engaged when Rowan hurried forward to fight with him. Padraic was close behind. The two men were dragged into the brush as well.

  “More?” Padraic asked Rowan.

  Rowan nodded. “But they will be closer to the camp and three at least, I think. He knows we come in small numbers. He has infinite confidence in his men—and he considers the lives of his men to be expendable. There will be three.”

  “Then--?” Gareth began.

  “As we have done. You to the south; Padraic to the north. Kyleigh and I will hold the main path.” He smiled at her. “Invisible?
” he asked.

  She lifted the sword. “Invisible.”

  Neither Gareth nor Padraic said a word. Gareth shrugged at Padraic as the two of them disappeared.

  It worked, and Rowan was right.

  As they moved along, they heard a whispered voice. “They are coming; I hear the footsteps.”

  There was a movement in the brush ahead. They continued onward.

  “I can feel them!”

  They could just hear the whisper.

  Then a man appeared, but as he did so, Rowan let go of Kyleigh, lunging toward him, his sword swinging. The first man went down as another appeared, enraged, and thundering at Rowan who turned in time to block the sword coming down on him. Another stepped from the brush, ready to sound a horn in warning and alarm, but he never managed to get the horn to his lips. Padraic was there, dispatching him swiftly.

  Kyleigh looked at the dead man and felt ill; she was grateful to be alive. Grateful the men of Kenzie had been fleet and wise, and they had survived while those who had meant to kill them had died instead.

  But she had not seen blood and death like this before. And it was horrible. She could not imagine a man like Brogan who would seek to live like this, killing with cruelty and dispassion.

  “Around in a great sweep, both to the south,” Rowan said then. “I believe the rider told us the truth. The captives will be in a poor shelter just to the south side of the catapults. There are many men now on the catapults, and they will not be quick to doze off and find their duty tedious as they did before.”

  “And what will you do?” Padraic asked.

  Rowan smiled and looked at Kyleigh. “We will be invisible. We will assess the injuries and how best to slip the men into the woods, and then Kyleigh will cause...”

  “Protection,” Kyleigh murmured.

  “What?” Padraic said.

  “Protection!” she repeated. “We tried fire; they will know if we seek to create an explosion again. Rain. It is not so uncommon,” she said, grimacing “But it will be a hard rain, a flooding rain. It will cause confusion. I hope.”

  “Then we do this,” Padraic said, and he turned to quickly disappear into the trees. Gareth joined him.

  “Kyleigh?”

  She raised her sword. “Invisible!” she said.

  And again, they were.