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  Excalibur buzzed in his naked hands, the enchanted sword nearly singing its impatience to fight. Derek grabbed it more tightly, resuming his stance just in time to parry Wolfryth’s next blow. The clash echoed in the room, bouncing on the ancient walls until it was joined by another and another. Tendrils of a blizzard circled his temples, the cold emanating from the comb no longer contained on his body.

  Derek almost welcomed the heat from the fire sword of the sorcerer when it approached his forehead. He blocked the cut with the hilt and riposted, aiming for the massive neck. Wolfryth broke his step, fire blade pointing up. His passing back was too slow, and Derek lunged in the opening. The attack at the sorcerer let his upper body unguarded one second too long and fire bit into his pauldron. But he found his mark.

  Pain shot through Wolfryth instantly, right before the eager sword vanished in a greyish puff of smoke and he bawled in rage and hurt.

  “Legi skjold. Legi skjold!”

  The acrid cloud its weapon had been convulsed, failing to obey his command.

  Half blinded with sweat and pain, Derek jabbed forward. The vibration of steel piercing flesh shook the bones of his arms up to his neck. Wolfish eyes assaulted him, too close, and he pressed harder. Hands as large as hams tried to circle his throat. The prince tilted Excalibur up and pulled. The greedy claws went limb. The fire in the wild stare died, and the enormous man collapsed on the ground.

  Derek tore out his sword from the lifeless body, gasping. In a daze, he pulled away the wolf skin to grab the hair clasped in the leather bond, exposing his enemy's neck, and slashed. Pandemonium erupted in the empty room. He jumped back, tottering to keep his balance, while black and green flames engulfed the beheaded corpse to consume it. Finally the only thing left of the sorcerer was the wolf skin at Derek’s feet.

  His legs wobbled. The young man controlled his trembling just long enough to wipe the blade of Excalibur finding only brown ashes staining the steel rather than blood. He fell on his knees, shattered, as dawn brought three majestic thrones back to life, coated with gold and crimson, bringing...

  Epilogue

  The crowd murmured as the young man walked along the red carpet, his walking stick clanging in rhythm above the whispers. The sun poured from the enormous windows washed over the coats of arms on the massive shields hanged on the opposite wall. A golden dragon spewed out flames on a crimson bed on the one closer to the thrones. Next to it, on the second, a large yellow cross cut through azure. The last one, which had been hanged during the night, invited a beautiful black swan to sing, its wings wide open on silver.

  Finally, Sebastian reached the two-step stage, where three people were waiting for him. Ylianor bowed her head and he returned her salute before offering a quick smile to Sacha, ethereal in her blue dress, a fine crown circling her head. Derek stepped forward and the knight-to-be forgot about the oversized thrones in front of him.

  “Sebastian, son of Connor of Kernow, why are you before me this day?”

  Despite the solemn question, Derek’s grin warmed his voice.

  “I, Sebastian, last son of Connor, am kneeling in front of my king to swear an oath.”

  “Then speak loud, so those present hear you and report your words to others.”

  Sebastian closed his eyes, and spoke up.

  “I will honour my suzerain and bravely defend anyone who needs my arm. My mouth will speak only the truth I know and I won’t fear the truths I don’t. Such is my oath, shall it please God and the High King.”

  Excalibur gleamed in the sunlight.

  A gasp escaped the crowd when the large blade fell hard on Sebastian’s left shoulder. The young man winced when it ripped on his chainmail toward the swan embroidered on his collar, before it rose again. Bending his head in acceptance, the young man caught a glimpse of a pale hand clasped on blue skirts right before a moan froze Derek’s gesture in mid-air.

  oOo

  A feminine hand smoothed some of the tension in his back so unclenching his hands became easier. His best friend-advisor-new knight-self-appointed-godfather had picked up the baby, expertly putting one hand under its fragile head. The feelings rioting in the pit of the father’s stomach felt like jealousy, protectiveness and panic merged together.

  “He is not going to break, Derek. Sebastian is doing just fine.”

  He reacted instantly.

  “You should not be up.”

  Sacha gave a little smile, one she offered more and more often now, which made him wonder if marriage and motherhood had increased her powers so that she read him like an open book. Did she know about the day before? Did she know about the pacing? Or his yelling at each servant who entered and exited the room without telling him anything? Or how agony smashed his bones to dust every time she bawled her pain through the door?

  He pushed the memories away and forced air into his lungs, as Sebastian cradled his baby ward. Next to him, Elwyn bent over his nephew and beamed.

  “He frowns exactly like you do, Sacha.”

  She pulled a face at her brother whilst securing her son in her arms again. Her face illuminated when the tiny fingers curled around hers. The funny feeling inside Derek’s chest shifted to balance between amazement and pride. Sacha settled their son in the ornamented cradle, the dark wood glowing in the late afternoon light.

  “Sacha doesn’t frown.”

  Surprised that her husband defended her, she looked up. “She pouts.”

  Sebastian and Elwyn laughed. The sea-green eyes narrowed on the tall blond man in front of the bed.

  “At least, I’m neither stubborn nor impatient.”

  “I am not.”

  “Really? Then who broke into my chambers fully armed and smelling like dirty stables to drag me to my father in the middle of the night?”

  The memory was happy, but he just could not let her have the last word.

  “And who decided to cut our betrothal down to two months?”

  “You got me with child!”

  Elwyn growled and covered the baby’s ears with both hands. Sebastian shook his head.

  “And you told me about it in the middle of the crowning ceremony!”

  The rising voices finally disturbed the infant who whined, the cry growing alarmingly quickly. Sacha was near him in an instant, soothing his discomfort with small caresses and light words. The baby squeaked and calmed down. Sebastian rocked the crib gently.

  “He is more reasonable than the two of you.”

  She blushed. Derek wrapped his arms around her, kissing her temper away. Sebastian overlooked Elwyn’s protest to ask: “Have you finally decided on a name?”

  The royal couple stared at each other, ruffled feathers forgotten. Sacha gave that small smile again and nodded. The new High King cleared his throat: “Arthur.”

  The end is only the beginning

  November 2011

  Also by Claude Dancourt

  Second Chances

  oOo

  Claude Dancourt lives in Montreal, and wherever her job as an engineer takes her. She is fascinated by books and museums. To discover more about RETURN TO CAER LON, Claude Dancourt’s work or simply drop a word, visit her website: www.claudedancourt.webs.com