Return to Caer Lon Page 6

  “This is the scriptorium. We copy our manuscripts here. You will wait for me here. Visitors are not allowed in the library itself.”

  Sacha looked at her new admirer with reproachful eyes. Her little moue was clearly designed to show her disappointment. Derek would have laughed, but he was too angry with her to do that. Oblivious of their respective turmoil, Friar Johan showed them to another larger table.

  “Please have a seat. We have several documents about the Old City, at least two treaties and some poetry book, I think. The hours of Caer Lon’s court, when the High Kings reigned over Camelot, were certainly a golden age.” He sighed heavily, as if remembering times he was too young to have lived himself. “I think another book…”

  The rest of his sentence rebounded on the closing door when he disappeared into the library. The nice little man, engrossed in his lecture, had probably forgotten he had ordered them to stay put.

  Sacha sat and exhaled slowly, visibly annoyed not to be allowed to venture between the bookshelves herself. Derek ignored her arranging the folds of her skirt to check the documents spread on the table. The two bibles were uninteresting. There was a treaty of some sort. His mother would have loved it. The leaves of various plants were beautifully drawn.

  The young woman started playing her fingers on the hard surface, impatient. Derek jumped on the occasion for a little payback.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself, Sacha. Flirting with a monk, really…”

  “I was not flirting.”

  She frowned while his smile grew.

  “Oh no? What do you call the fluttering of lashes and the simpering?”

  “I certainly did not simper!”

  Boy, he enjoyed seeing her temper rising. Her eyes shone like green gemstones when she was unable to control her emotions and passion overpowered her. Derek dismissed her protest with a flip of his hand.

  “Anything you say. Your little act is providing us the information to get back on the right tracks so I am not complaining.”

  Maybe he was a masochist; he suffered the tantrum, just for the pleasure of cracking that shell of perfection she erected around her like a shield.

  “I know I am right about this Derek! Why do you refuse to believe me?”

  Her voice shattered slightly. That, and her forceful reaction confounded him. Derek took a proper look at her. She was fisting her skirt so hard her knuckles were white. Her eyes glittered with tears more than rage. He bit back a retort and glanced away, vaguely ashamed. He just wanted to tease her. Upsetting each other was never part of their games, as far as he was concerned. He was not that insensible, whatever she thought of him.

  The silence lengthened awkwardly. Derek rolled his shoulders backward, vaguely wondering how long Friar Johan would be. Staying inactive never suited him. Even in the heart of winter, he needed something to do. If there was too much snow to access the training yard, he would use the vast ‘Salle d’armes’ for sparing with Sebastian or Elwyn, or helped the blacksmith to check on the weapons and shields in the armoury.

  Unable to stay still, the young prince was pushing on his feet to visit the other writing desks when Sacha’s clear voice cut through the silent room. Her voice was deadly calm this time.

  “You want to pursue another direction. I understand. You are free to go as you please of course.”

  Derek froze, glancing back at her. Sacha was seated impeccably at her side of the table, her head straight and her hands quietly crossed on her lap. Her impassive mask was into place once more. Her eyes were fixed on an icon on the opposite wall away from him. She dismissed him like a queen relieved a guard from her service. Derek scowled, shaking his head.

  “This is out of question. I gave my word I will come with you. I am not taking it back.”

  If he had not known better, he would have sworn the flash in her eyes was relief when her finally gaze fell on him. Her words were less amiable.

  “You are as stubborn as a mule,” Sacha grumbled.

  So they were back to their usual pestering. Why he was so satisfied about it eluded him. Derek smirked.

  “It takes one to know one, doesn’t it?”

  Friar Johan chose the moment her cheeks were coloring in anger again to finally show up, his arms full of old scrolls. He had a spider web hanging from one ear and perspiration moistened his forehead. His load hit the table with a loud thunk when he let it down.

  “Here. There are two more books, but you can start with that.”

  Derek mumbled under his breath when Sacha chose the heavier volume and pushed it toward him with an angelic smile.

  Chapter 9

  Elwyn blinked and groaned. The swell around his eye had deflated enough for him to see properly, but it was still painful. He guessed the contusions made him look like a raccoon. After being in and out all afternoon, waking up each time to feel his body hurt, he totally understood the animal's irascible mood.

  He rubbed the last vestige of sleep from his face, hissing when the movement of his arms stretched the bandage around his chest. Fillin had his ribcage strapped so tightly he could barely breathe. He didn’t feel like complaining too much about it. The wrap held his broken bones into place so the pain was almost bearable when he moved.

  Elwyn straightened up stiffly, testing his strength, and sat. The canopy stayed over his head instead of reeling sideways, which was a good thing. Feeling no vertigo, he balanced his legs off the mattress precociously. So far, so good. The young man stood slowly. His knees buckled dangerously under him. He clenched his jaw as cold sweat ran down his back, but remained on his feet. His body protested, forcing him to grab the bed pole before he fell forward.

  After a long minute, his muscles stopped screaming and reluctantly accepted the torture of functioning again, so he let go of his support, savouring the little victory. Carefully stepping away from the bed, and ready to take hold on the furniture if needed be, he approached the window on wobbly legs and took in the lands surrounding the place.

  A grey mist covered miles of dense, dark green forest. Daylight was dim, though he could not tell if it was due to the weather or upcoming dusk. Save for the endless carpet of trees, he saw absolutely nothing. No clearing, no villages, no road. He barely distinguished the sky from the foggy earth.

  The young man pressed his face to the glass to look down. The drop was vertiginous. Unless he grew wings, he had little chances to escape this way. Vaguely depressed by the sight, he tumbled back to his bed and sat again with a relieved sigh.

  Fillin had left a pitcher of her strange beverage on the nightstand and he poured himself a cup. The bittersweet liquid calmed his thirst. Elwyn wondered once again why the taste was so familiar. It reminded him of lemonade, but it was not that, not exactly. The light acidity was something he was unable to place though he thought he should. The memory floated in the back of his mind, heavy, like a tight knot refusing to untangle and threatening to turn into another headache. He drained the last of his cup and clicked his tongue. Whatever it was, the drink was refreshing.

  The young man lied back on the pillows, trying to figure out a course of action. Fillin was very sweet but he guessed her influence on his gaoler was limited. She had not been able to help Sebastian and he doubted she was more than a maid herself. Maybe she was a prisoner, just like him, and the Enemy granted her a little freedom so she could serve the household. He wished he could put a name on that faceless menace, a shadow hidden behind in pain and screams. At the same time, he was not in such a hurry to confront the foe. His arching body still held the marks from their previous encounter.

  Elwyn closed his eyes. Sacha would know what to do. She always did, or at least she knew how to dragoon him into finding a solution to his problems. He missed his sister, and his friends. He certainly did not want Sacha anywhere near him at the moment, but he missed her nonetheless. At least she was in Haven, protected by the fortress walls and his father's guards; and Derek. He could count on Derek to keep her safe, even if he grouched to no end ab
out doing so.

  But were they cautious enough? No one but Sebastian and he seemed to have survived the raid. If so, by the time the duke got wind of the attack, the Enemy would be stronger and could benefit the surprise effect again… Elwyn straightened up looking toward the window again. He needed to find a way out of here, and some way to contact Sacha…

  oOo

  The liquid started to darken and solidify, until it reached the sombre grey color of tarnished tin. Satisfied, Wolfryth bent over the basin and murmured some words in a language Fillin didn’t understand. Suddenly, the now-hard surface began to glow, and the young woman felt heat rising from the metal-like matter.

  Her father rarely allow her to assist him and she held her tongue instead of asking the multitude of questions she had, keeping her mouth firmly shut while she observed the powerful magic at work. He had yet to explain what that precise spell was for, though she suspected it had to do with his obsession with Derek Pendragon.

  “Look carefully. Influencing dreams is one of the most advanced spells when one controls the Spirits.”

  Fillin knitted her brows in concentration. She had yet to control the different elements, Air least of all. She was a natural with Water, but of course her father refused to acknowledge that. She glimpsed at the basin, wondering if she was to finally discover what the infamous prince looked like. But the surface was just reflecting light from the spell at work, and nothing else.

  “Fillin.”

  The blonde stepped back quickly. The one condition for her to observe while her father worked was to avoid interfering. She was interested in Magic. The consequences were of little concern. Once she mastered the spells herself, she would have plenty of time to play with the results.

  Wolfryth touched the surface again, visibly displeased. Fillin tiptoed to watch at the tin-like material from afar. It had stopped glowing and the color was clearing again. Her father’s thumb pressed against the substance left a mark into it. She dared a question:

  “It was solid gold, last time, wasn’t it?”

  The frown on the large forehead deepened. The man grabbed the basin with both hands and moved his face toward the mellowing surface. His hair slipped forward, nearly touching it, and he jerked backward.

  “Father?”

  She recognized the dangerous growl and was already retreating to the door when Wolfryth ordered “Leave me.”

  The door closed behind her and he concentrated on the recipient again. The large bowl of stone was filled with some silvery liquid once more. He cleared his mind to reach the power within him and bade the sorceress to yield to him: “Pantswa nekem marzenia.”

  The liquid gurgled and greyed quickly, densifying.

  “Pantswa nekem marzenia.”

  The boils turned more violent as he focused on the spell. Wolfryth repeated his incantation a third time, forcefully:

  “pantswa plon nekem marzenia Dine to!”

  The effervescence ceased abruptly. The petrified matter began to glow again, the lead color giving way to copper and radiating. Wolfryth grinned, satisfaction twisting his scar into a horrible grin. Then the light vanished completely and he retained a cry of rage.

  The sorcerer raised one hand over the basin and the liquid transformed into pure water. The image reflecting showed a young blond man, his elbow set on a table and his chin pressed on his wrist, reading. Pendragon. The shadow in front of him was blurred. With a new flip of his hand, the water turned back into silver goo.

  His magic was not to blame. The controlling spell had rebounded on the other side. Somehow, the seer blocked his intrusion into her mind. Wolfryth snorted. With or without his help, her visions would push her forward. He could not fail.

  oOo

  The mirror was not doing her justice. Fillin pouted. The old surface refused to reflect the shine of her blond hair, and the incredible blue of her eyes. Her skin looked wan, instead of young and attractive.

  She took a handkerchief and tried for the hundredth time to wipe out the stain. The reflecting surface gleamed for a second, and darkened again. She scolded. This place was impossible. Mirrors withheld fair play, some doors remained stubbornly closed. If by some miracle she managed to convince (coerced) the staff into cleaning one room, it was dusty and grim again the next day.

  She sighed. Her father insisted they stayed here until he had found ‘the Source’, as he called it. And given only the blood of the dragon could open the way to that source, she had to wait for that stupid witch to bring Derek Pendragon to Caer Lon.

  The blonde arranged her hair, smiling at her deformed image, unable to decide what smile suited her best. If only that stupid mirror could work properly…

  How a girl with such powers could be that naïve? Her father manipulated her dreams for weeks now, and the seer had not doubted her visions once. She was too eager to prove her friends she knew. Predictable idiot.

  The gold and blue dress fitted her perfectly, Fillin decided. It flattered her hourglass figure and enhanced the color of her eyes. It didn’t matter if the spell had not worked today; the seer was already doomed. It was probably that despicable place playing tricks on them again. She could not wait to be back in Camelot’s Court, with a crowd of efficient servants instead of those frightful natives or those halfwits guards her father called Jutes. This place was horrible. Waiting for an idle sorceress, barely able to control her powers, to bring her lover to them was excruciating. She stamped her foot. She hated this!

  Everything was that so-called Sacha’s fault. Her father had finally conceded to teach her, and because of Sacha, she had been cast out of the room and she had no idea when he would grant her a new lesson.

  A gush of air made her skirt swirled beautifully, and Fillin chuckled as if the wheeze had cleared her mind. Even under the citraurantia’s effects, Elwyn could explain how to use spells. He had magic too. She pirouetted happily. Yes, Elwyn was going to help with her magical education. All she needed was her book of spells, and to accept a kiss or two.

  Chapter 10

  The scroll she was painfully going through listed every single village in Camelot’s kingdom, down to the smallest farm. Sacha repressed a yawn of boredom. Some notes about Caer Lon were made here and there in the text, mostly as travel length references. Unfortunately she had never heard about the other places. She covered her mouth again, her eyes burning under the effort. It was fair and good to know it took three days to go from the capital to Eld Leigh, as long as you knew where Eld Leigh was in the first place…

  Abandoning the useless scroll, Sacha sighed and glimpsed at Derek on the other side of the table. She half-expected him to be fast asleep given that no groan or other loud sigh of impatience had escaped him since she had pushed the biggest book toward him more than two hours ago. Incredibly, he was wide awake and totally engrossed in his reading. He turned one page, one hand fisting in his hair to make it spike between his fingers. His nose crinkled in concentration.

  Sacha gave a small smile. He looked like a cautious rabbit coming out of its burrow. She could nearly see bristles shivering.

  “Did you find anything?”

  In the quiet room, the monk’s voice echoed loudly and she jumped, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

  “Unfortunately not yet, Friar Johan.”

  “I am sorry to hear that. I brought you some tea, but I have to ask you to take it outside. Accidents, you know…”

  The tray was on an empty desk near the door, with two cups and a plate of honey cakes. Sacha gently bowed her head and smiled in gratitude.

  “Yes, of course. You are very thoughtful. Thank you very much.”

  “You are most welcome. I will come back for you before Vespers.”

  The monk grinned back and then disappeared into the library again. She guessed their plump little friend meant they were to leave with his next visit. The young woman sighed again. She needed a break; and honey cake was definitely tempting…

  “Derek, do you want some tea?”

 
; “Sorry, what?”

  Her exchange with the friar librarian obviously had gone completely unnoticed. It intrigued her. Derek was constantly alert, vigilant like a sentinel on everlasting duty, and the last person she expected to fall into a book. That was more Sebastian’s style…

  Now that she had the prince’s attention, Sacha repeated, “Do you want some tea? Friar Johan brought us some, with cakes.”

  “Yes, please.”

  The answer was polite, and definitely absent-minded. She insisted, “We cannot eat or drink in here, Derek.”

  “Hum hum…”

  He wasn’t listening to her, still deeply involved in his reading. Sacha reached over the table and put the taps of her fingers on the book, pressing it down gently. Her companion’s expression changed into the impatient frown she knew so well, before he pushed away from the table.

  “Very well.”

  She stood and moved to the door, picking up their snack in her way. Derek had no choice but to follow.

  They found a bench in the convent, not far from the door and she settled there, putting the tray by her side to serve the tea.

  The beverage was steaming hot and Sacha blew on its surface before taking a tentative sip, looking for something to say. All a sudden, she felt restless, unable to bear the calm that surrounded them. Making small talk with Derek seemed kind of absurd, however. They never really talked except to argue, until one of them gave up or their friends interfered. The only common ground she could think of was their current search.

  “Your book seemed fascinating.”

  Derek swallowed a bite of cake, before he said curtly.

  “It talks about the High Kings and their lineage.”

  She heard the rebuff, loud and clear, as he looked away. A book about Camelot High Kings had to talk about his family from his father’s side. The topic of William was hurtful for Ylianor, and Derek never mentioned it, least of all to her. Sacha renounced conversing to concentrate on her tea and her piece of cake.