Daughter of Darkness & Light

by Shannon Drake

  They saw the smoke arising from campfires before they reached the camp. The catapults remained to the back of the camp against the defense of the heavily forested land behind them. The hordes of Brogan’s men had made simple beds and structures by fires that dotted the landscape heading from the edge of the catapults and the wood being chopped there for repairing the machines.

  They walked right by two guards who were awake and aware but talking to one another. Then they saw a group of five, another group of six or seven.

  They continued past the catapults. The large number of men created enough shuffling and talk so that they were not noted or heard.

  They passed the catapults and the chopped trees and the axes that lay in wait for the morning’s work.

  And the men who stood guard.

  They came at last to the poor shelter where the injured were kept.

  “Four men,” Rowan breathed to Kyleigh.

  He was not heard. Not a man had so much as looked in their direction.

  Two guards only looked over the wounded. They were bound with rope, not shackled, and all but one man was awake, leaned against the bark of a pole created for the structure that was barely covered with what thatch and branches might be quickly acquired.

  “Now!” he told Kyleigh.

  She still held the sword high in her aching arm. She looked up at it and whispered, “Rain! Like that faced by Noah, rain that starts soft, and quickly becomes a deluge and flood.”

  Her words were noted, but she still was not seen. Both guards stood, walking to the edge of the shelter.

  The rain began.

  “It is always so, in this bloody land!” one of the guards complained.

  The rain grew harder and harder. The ground began to run with it.

  “Bloody, wretched land!” the guard swore.

  But then he did not speak again. Rowan stepped from Kyleigh’s side, catching him quickly with a blade at his throat.

  Even as the other turned, Rowan caught him in a like manner.

  Kyleigh fought the dizziness that seemed to sweep over her with the smell of the fresh blood. She was aware that Padraic and Gareth slipped in.

  “Can you stand?” Rowan demanded one of the men.

  “Aye, that I can,” he said, tripping as he tried to rise on is hobbled legs.

  “Rope, be gone!” Kyleigh said quickly, and the ropes that had held him were gone.

  “I can stand. As can Kellen and Manfred. But Joseph is...I believe dying.”

  Padraic went for the man who appeared to be sleeping—or dead. He hunkered down low and hiked the man over his shoulder.

  “Go. Follow Gareth!” Rowan ordered.

  If they had not known who Gareth was, it made no difference. They followed him out the back of the shelter through the pouring rain, walking, stumbling, barely on their feet.

  They would need more! Kyleigh thought.

  She wished she understood her power! She prayed fervently it would be enough.

  Rowan pushed her ahead of him, determined he would bring up the rear. The guards were all complaining of the rain that now had the added depth of scattered hail.

  But none suspected the enemy of being there—or causing rain in Briton!

  And still, the going was slow, for the men were injured. She did not know if they would make it; she did not know if the one man, called Joseph, was dead or alive.

  And the rain...

  She lifted her sword and said softly, “May the rain slacken where we walk!”

  But they moved.

  And she wondered when someone would discover the dead guards in the shelter.

  And how long it would be before they were pursued.

  Despite the arduous pace they were forced to take, they were halfway back when Rowan caught her arm.

  “They are coming.”

  She turned back.

  The rain continued—or continued over the enemy encampment, and she was pleased to see, kept up with the enemy.

  But they were coming.

  And en masse.

  No matter how noble Rowan, Padraic, and Gareth might be as warriors, there were forty or so men coming in their wake, heedless of noise, crashing their way through the forest and the trees.

  “Lightning!” Kyleigh begged the sword.

  A jagged streak sizzled down from the sky, exploding bits of the forest behind them.

  The men shrieked in agony as branches and limbs of trees became like arrows, pinning them, cutting into them.

  “Run!” Rowan commanded. “Burst out into the open fields. The archers will be ready!”

  Run!

  Run? Padraic could not run with the burden of the man upon his shoulders.

  She turned again and begged the sword, “Lightning again!”

  This time, lightning struck, but she was growing weak. Trees exploded but did not cause as much damage.

  And the men were coming on.

  They burst out onto the plain before the fortress. As Rowan had promised, archers lined the walls.

  The drawbridge was down.

  The injured men stumbled toward the drawbridge. Riders came out to sweep them up with them on their mounts.

  Rowan ran to catch up with Padraic, to take the man Joseph from him and carry the man the distance remaining to the drawbridge and the fortress.

  But Brogan’s men were bursting from the field.

  “Kyleigh!”

  She had not realized that she had stopped; she stood between Rowan and the men of Kenzie and the enemy soldiers making their way toward them.

  She looked at Rowan.

  “Have faith!” she pleaded.

  They were coming hard, almost upon her.

  “Protection!” she called, and she recited the words she had learned.

  “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.”

  They were almost upon her, a thundering group of men with swords raised and furious snarls of hatred on their faces.

  But a thunder seemed to shake the earth.

  And light like nothing she had ever seen seemed to shoot from her, sending the men flying and falling upon their backs.

  She did not wait to see what else might happen.

  She ran.

  But then the light touched her and she fell.

  She saw Rowan turn back. She knew the men were almost upon her, and she would never make the drawbridge.

  She saw his face.

  “Go!”

  “Kyleigh—”

  He was going to come back for her. And he would die. No man could be enough against the twenty who were almost upon her.

  “Go!”

  “Kyleigh—”

  She pushed up with her arms and met his eyes. “Faith!” She shouted to him. “Have faith in me!”

  She did not know if she could change the situation or not. But she wondered if she might not be a greater help if she were captured and brought before the man Brogan.

  Because they would not kill her, she knew. They would have their orders.

  Brogan wanted her. And he would probably congratulate himself he had gained her in exchange for four injured men.

  She felt the first man grab her.

  And again, she saw Rowan, and she knew he would die in any attempt to save her, but he would have come after her nonetheless fighting until his last breath.

  Padraic caught Rowan, saying something, and wrenching him around and toward the drawbridge. Padraic looked back at Kyleigh, too.

  And Padraic almost smiled. “Faith!” he called back to her. But she did not hear him because she was being seized roughly by brawny arms.

  But she saw his mouth move.

  Have faith--in yourself!

  Chapter 12

  “I should have been with her, no matter what odds I face. Our archers could have—and did—dispatch many of the enemy. I should have—”

  “
Died?” Padraic asked him. “I am sorry, Rowan. You dead would not have helped Kyleigh or anyone here.”

  “I left her—”

  “You did not leave her; I dragged you away. She asked you to have faith in her. Rowan, she has power we cannot begin to imagine.”

  “But can she imagine it? Can she...save herself?” Rowan asked with anguish.

  “I believe she will rise to any situation,” Padraic said.

  “Then why did she fall now?” Rowan asked softly.

  They were alone at last in the great hall. Col, Matthew, Lucas, and several of Padraic’s top knights—including the young female archer, Caitlin—had come off the wall when the enemy had retreated with their prisoner leaving behind many wounded and dead caught by the archers from the top of the wall.

  They were good, and they had stopped many of the enemy.

  But they had not been able to stop men from dragging Kyleigh away.

  Many had seen Kyleigh’s capture; those who did not had to know they had saved the men being kept prisoner waiting to meet Joseph’s fate.

  There were tears and horror about the loss of Kyleigh. Rowan had difficulty containing his own emotion.

  Padraic spoke.

  “Kyleigh will use this situation for us; I saw her before they took her. I believe she could have saved herself, but chose to discover what Brogan plans next, and will then do so. Tonight, she saved four men who would have been tortured to death. We could not have braved that encampment without her.”

  Gareth was openly sobbing. Rowan had placed a hand on shoulder.

  Alistair, Mary, and Taryn had come to the great hall. Rowan had tried hard to agree to Padraic’s words to them as well.

  Mary had still been in tears; when they left, her husband and nephew had comforted her.

  And now all were gone except for Padraic. And Rowan spoke openly.

  “No matter what; I am lord here. I should have—”

  “No!” Padraic argued. “That is my very point. You are lord here. Your people love you. Even my people admire you and follow you. Col is a good man. He is not the man they believe can bring them through this. Kyleigh would not have you trade yourself. She would have despised herself if that had happened. I honestly believe she could have done more than she did—she might have prevented what happened.” Padraic hesitated. “Rowan, you are going to have to be strong. Do not fall for whatever messages Brogan sends. He will ask that you trade yourself. That you save her life. As a prisoner, you have no power. Kyleigh does.”

  Rowan lowered his head.

  Padraic set a hand on his shoulder.

  “Tonight, men were saved. Even the man Joseph will live, Father Peter said. He was fevered, but he has cooled down already thanks to the good Father’s care.”

  Rowan nodded.

  “She is in love with you,” Padraic said.

  Rowan’s head jerked up. He smiled dryly. “I had long thought she cared for you.”

  “Oh, she does. But note the hair and certain things about her.”

  Rowan frowned.

  “I believe we are related.”

  “Related?”

  Padraic shrugged. “I know more than I should. My mother left me in the care of my father’s uncle for a ‘diplomatic’ journey here.”

  “I remember. I was perhaps ten,” Rowan said. “It was after the great meeting when my father and his men came to your father—and I was brought along as well.”

  Padraic nodded. “My mother told me, on her death bed, to take care. I had a sister.”

  “You think—Kyleigh is your sister?”

  “Born a few years after my father’s death. I bear my mother’s ghost no ill feelings; I believe she loved the man. But she was my guardian, and she would not risk my position by marrying another man.”

  Rowan started to laugh softly. “Your sister?”

  “Aye, and we all have heard tales about Mordred—the result of incest!”

  “Could it be—”

  “I believe that it is true, yes.”

  “Dear God. I believe Alistair is under the impression she was the child Mordred was rumored to have had.”

  “I do not believe that could be so,” Padraic said.

  “Alistair said her sword came from the lake. He believes that while Mordred was her father, Arthur would then have been her grandfather, and there is a Lady of the Lake and she gave the sword to Kyleigh.”

  Padraic shook his head. “I do not believe she is Arthur’s grandchild.”

  “Then—”

  “I trust we will keep these words between us?” Padraic asked.

  “Of course!” Rowan told him.

  “She has great power. She knew nothing of it until someone she loved was threatened. You knew my mother; she was gracious, kind, and noble in every way.”

  “Yes, I agree.”

  Padraic hesitated.

  “Padraic, please!”

  “I think she might Merlin’s child.”

  “How would they have met, your mother and Merlin?”

  “That I do not know. But there was a battle once—a horde of seafarer’s descended upon our shore and they were out for our blood and our land. We might have been outnumbered, for we were taken by surprise. There was a swirl of mist, much like I have seen Kyleigh use.”

  “And you believe it was Merlin?”

  “I do,” Padraic said. “We knew the land; the invaders did not. My father was gone, and I was considered laird though still a lad. My mother had seen to it—along with my uncles and other elders—that we were fair and just. Perhaps Merlin saw that; perhaps he longed for a return to Camelot, and those who came to kill could not conquer. They were beaten back to the sea.”

  “If she has his power...” Rowan murmured.

  “Have faith in her,” Padraic said. “Well, I will leave you, and we will both get what rest we can. I know one thing will come in the future; Brogan will make use of his prisoner.”

  Rowan nodded.

  Padraic left the great hall.

  Rowan remained by the great hearth.

  The hall had never seemed so empty.

  He turned and forced himself up the stairs and to his bed chamber, divested himself of his weapons, and laid down. He closed his eyes.

  But when he did, all he saw was Kyleigh—lying on the ground, looking at him, not frightened, but determined.

  And the men behind her; Brogan’s burly creatures, one on each side of her, dragging her up by her arms.

  And Brogan...

  Kyleigh was not his sorceress, not his witch! The rumor persisted Brogan had his own magician, and the smithy had exploded...

  But no worse damage had befallen them.

  And that, he determined, meant Kyleigh was the stronger of the two. And that, of course, was why Brogan wanted her so badly.

  He suddenly heard a soft whisper.

  “He thinks my power is all in my sword! Brogan believes that magic sword is everything, and he is angry because he cannot use it himself.”

  Rowan’s eyes flew open.

  “Kyleigh?” he whispered aloud, hopefully.

  “You hear me?” she whispered.

  “I hear you!”

  He sprang up, searching the room.

  There was no one there.

  “I am not with you,” she said softly. “But our hearts and minds are strong. Rowan, I beg you, promise me this. Do not fall to his threats. He will make you long to give yourself to him. You must not. I know you are a knight, sworn to protect the innocent, and ready to die in defense of others. But as you begged of me, it will be so difficult. But you must have faith.”

  “But—”

  “If you see him walk toward me with a sword, be strong.”

  “Kyleigh—”

  “Act as if you care nothing for what he may do.”

  “Kyleigh, I cannot—”

  “You must!”

  The whisper was fading. But he heard Kyleigh’s voice one more time.

  “Rowan?”

&nb
sp; “Aye, Kyleigh?”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you,” he said in return. “Kyleigh, please—”

  “You would give your life for me; you would give your life for others. But I can defend myself, Rowan. You must believe.”

  There was nothing more. The voice had faded to less than air.

  She was gone. Whatever magic had allowed him to hear her words, it was gone.

  But she was alive. And well.

  He had to pray he could do as she asked. She was strong, he realized.

  Stronger than he was. But tomorrow, he had to find the strength to pretend she meant little to him...

  And pretend he had no honor, he was no true knight, he was nothing but a coward.

  Yes. Somehow, he had to let her lead on this.

  And he was going to have to follow.

  ***

  “Watch your tongue! I could cut it out,” Brogan warned Kyleigh.

  Even on a battlefield, he had set himself up as a king.

  While most of his men slept on horse blankets or their mantles by campfires, Brogan had created a shelter for himself with walls created of fine fabric. He had carried with him a great, carved chair with a cushion and he used that chair to listen to reports from his men.

  And it was where he sat as he talked to her.

  She was chained before him, forced down to her knees.

  And, of course, he had taken her sword.

  “I had imagined more,” Kyleigh said. “Would you have me speak other than the truth? I had expected a giant of a man.”

  “Would you test my sword arm?” he demanded angrily.

  “If I had my sword, yes.”

  “You will teach me the power of that sword!” he raged.

  “You are an old man. Ah, you keep in shape. But I did not see you on the battlefield. You mount your horse and watch from afar. You command without engaging.”

  “A commander must preserve himself!” he snapped.

  “You are gray and wrinkled; I understand you fear an honest fight.”

  He was gray and wrinkled, yes. But he had powerful shoulders. When standing, he was a tall man with sharp blue eyes and a nose that seemed like a hawk’s beak over the cruel slash of his mouth. She could easily see that a look from him could quell many a man.

  He was angry, she knew. Perhaps she should not bait him so. He meant to destroy her in front of Rowan if Rowan did not surrender to him, but he could break her first if he so chose. Break her limbs—or cut out her tongue.