Return to Caer Lon Read online

  “The name Pendragon evolves from 'kin of dragon,' the son of the dragon. One of my ancestors served with the XXIV legion, the ‘Draco’ Roman legion. He settled in the country after the war and married the daughter of a local warlord. Their son was nicknamed that, ‘kin of dragon’. His first name was Acturus; Arthur.”

  Sacha glanced back at Derek, genuinely surprised by his long explanation. She was used to his haughty tone and sullen attitude. Curiosity and pride sparkled in his voice, unsettling. She answered softly, “I did not know that.”

  Derek shook his head.

  “Neither did I.”

  His answer was tainted with regret. Sacha wished she knew the words he needed to hear. Maybe there were none.

  A gush of chilly wind whipped the floor around them and she closed her arms around her, quivering slightly. The air still hadto warm up, especially in late afternoons. April was fools’ spring; she should have remembered that before leaving her cloak inside. Sacha swiveled around to protect herself from the cold breeze, the gesture conveniently hiding her trouble.

  The prince drained his cup and pushed onto his feet, his forbidding mask back into place.

  “It is interesting, but irrelevant. We need information, not old tales. Let’s go back inside.”

  Sacha noticed this time he had not protested against finding the City. She followed him inside the scriptorium and they retook their places on each side of the table. Derek delayed taking back his book, so she presented him with her own pensum.

  “This treaty is a tax-payment list. The collector wrote down the amounts he retrieved from each village, and how far it was from Caer Lon. I do not recognize the names, though. It was a long time ago and they probably changed.”

  “I will have a look.”

  Sacha scowled. He had little chance to know the forgotten names better than she did. Derek was peeking at every piece on the table except the book telling about his family’s history and he had yet to make a move to take hers. He seemed torn between curiosity and the need to distance himself from the emotions it arose inside him. His hand lay on the open book in front of him, immobile.

  “May I peruse yours?”

  Sacha’s query seemed to awake him. His answer came out as frosty as the wind outside.

  “Be my guest.”

  Derek motioned her to take the book and picked up hers in exchange. Sacha grimaced at the top of his head and pulled the heavy volume toward her.

  The writing was neat; the ink had reddened with the passing years. Talent copyists or the author himself had decorated the margins with beautiful bestiaries, flowers and landscapes. Sacha marked Derek’s page with her index, and turned the pages to discover more delicate drawings.

  Running water was a recurrent topic with the illustration: fountains and lakes were drawn every few pages. The few waterfalls were incredibly vivid. She was admiring an exquisite and strange fish with a long beak and a hole on its forehead when Derek interrupted her thoughts.

  “I know that name.”

  Sacha lifted her head up.

  “Gwel Caer; that’s where my mother comes from.”

  “Gwel Caer? Are you sure?”

  The young woman was quite certain Ylianor had never used that name. Yet the queen rarely talked about her past. Derek nodded impatiently.

  “Yes. It is called Gwelgaer now. I have to talk to Friar Johan.”

  “Derek, this is not enough to… We need to… Derek, wait!”

  He was already marching toward the Library door. Sacha stood up rashly, pushing on the table (and the book) for leverage. Her palm rubbed on the fragile surface and the unmistakeable noise of paper tearing up filled the room. She jumped with a little cry of despair. Derek turned his head swiftly, horror written on his face.

  Mortified, Sacha looked down to assess the disaster. The pages she was examining had been severed by the middle. The wax-binding had partly cracked to reveal old yellow wires.

  She sat back down with a sorry shadow on her face. She caressed the wounded book slightly, hating herself for the damages. How would Friar Johan react to the news? He had trusted them with his precious volumes and…

  Her fingers froze and she moved her nose inches from the binding for a closer look.

  “Derek, can you give me your dagger?”

  “What? Why?”

  He stared at her blankly. Sacha held out her hand.

  “I need something sharp. Hand me your dagger please.”

  He walked to the table and presented her with the blade. The bell rang the first call to Evening Mass.

  “Watch the door.”

  Sacha did not wait for him to protest and use the sharp tip of the knife to clear the remaining wax, opening completely the binding between the pages. The opening revealed a small scroll tightly rolled, no longer than her palm. A swift flick of the blade dislodged it from its hiding place and it landed on the table without a sound.

  She was about to pick it up when the knob of the door turned. Derek pushed her aside and murmured “Smile,” before he retrieved his knife and flipped the enormous book closed, just as their guardian appeared in the frame.

  “Friar Johan, I want you to make a copy of that book for me. It is absolutely fascinating.”

  Derek shoved the heavy volume into the stunned monk’s stomach, winding him on the spot. The poor man tried to catch his breath and grunted, “Well my lord… It will take time to-”

  The prince gave him no time to recover before he cut in.

  “I will pay generously for it of course. I will see you tomorrow about the details. Sacha, we have to go now.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Derek saluted the librarian and offered his arm to Sacha, urging her to take it with a meaningful glare. Speechless, she was left with no other choice but to let him guide her out. She flashed a quick smile above her shoulder to Friar Johan before exiting the room, using the second he closed his eyes and bowed his head in return to risk one glimpse toward the table. The mysterious scroll was gone.

  oOo

  “Can I try?”

  Elwyn tried not to grumble and pushed the bowl toward his ‘apprentice’. He hoped the snort that escaped his lips sounded more charitable than he truly felt. He had never missed with that spell before. Stirring water was a basic spell, he had done it for years. Water was his element. How could he have missed?

  He probably was more exhausted than he thought, that was all. He needed some rest, and this whole ‘lesson’ thing was a very bad idea.

  A childish chuckle erupted in the air, just before fish-shaped water splashed him in the face. Beginner's luck. Elwyn wiped his face with his sleeve and frowned, letting his annoyance show for the first time.

  “Try not to dampen my bed, at least.”

  Fillin laughed and clapped. Elwyn’s frustration evaporated. Her smile was contagious; it was next to impossible to stay annoyed with her when she looked so pleased.

  “Teach me another one!”

  Elwyn sighed.

  “You know, there is not much you can do with only a bowl of water…”

  The pretty blond sulked then plunged her incredible bronze stare into his.

  “Please Elwyn…”

  His mind started to gallop, racing to find something that could amuse her. Her hand slightly caressing the blankets between them was distracting. He gulped. What spell did he know that required only a bowl of water? Fillin really had fascinating eyes, that golden gleam… Ah yes! Elwyn smiled broadly.

  “Well, there is the mirror’s spell. It is advanced magic so…”

  “Let’s do it!”

  He sighed again and began to teach her the ancient words to create an image of other people in the water. Sacha called it the ‘spy’ spell because it allowed a magician to see other people’s actions, without them knowing. He preferred to refer to it as a ‘mirror’.

  While Fillin repeated the formula by herself to master it without tumbling on the complicated syllables, Elwyn closed his eyes briefly, falling back into hi
s pillow as tiredness finally got to him.

  If only his powers had not been exhausted, he would have been able to see his sister, and make sure she was alright; maybe he would have witnessed a silent argument between her and whoever contradicted her today, their father or Derek... It had to be something, to enjoy the tempest without being caught in the middle…

  “Are you tired?”

  Fillin’s question brought him back to reality, Sacha’s image lingering in the back of his mind.

  “Just a little.”

  He nearly expected her to withdraw and suggest they tried it some other time. Fillin flicked her hair, playing with the long blond strands expectantly. She eyed the bowl, eager to test her new knowledge. Elwyn forced himself up again and grinned.

  “All right. Concentrate on what you want to see. Form a picture in your mind. Then imagine you see it in the water.”

  “Uri deite arostand hudar skivat.”

  The magical words blew on the water. Elwyn’s eyes widened when he recognized the figures forming in the bowl.

  Chapter 11

  To Sacha’s credit, her usually so expressive mouth stayed mute, though her full lips parted slightly either in surprise or guilt. Derek silently appreciated her reaction, or rather the lack of it while he dragged more than escorted her out.

  The young woman freed her arm as soon as they reached the now empty square in front of the church. The doors of the monastery banged closed behind them. Even then, it took her a full second to find her speech.

  “How did you…-”

  The prince shut her up instantly.

  “Mind if we discuss our businesses elsewhere?”

  From the shadow that covered her delicate features, he could tell the exact moment in which her temper chased away amazement. Derek ignored her glare, and started walking back toward the inn without waiting. Surely she could see the danger of talking about their findings in the middle of the street. He was not going to lose time to reformulate just to soothe her offended feathers.

  Surprisingly, the proud lady held her tongue again and followed him quietly. Derek nearly shook his head in bewilderment. Women, particularly this one, were a mystery to him.

  The sun had just set and the buzzing activity of the market was long gone. The shops were closed, save for a shoemaker who was clearing his stale and farther, a potter leaning against the doorframe of his shop. The man yawned with boredom, probably waiting for his last batch to harden. The few people still remaining outside were already hurrying either to church for mass, or to the peace of their homes.

  As they progressed up the street, Derek noticed the quietness growing as the darkness slowly invaded the space between the tall buildings. He regretted that his jacket did not conceal his movements as a cloak would have. Walking with his hand on the hilt of his sword was ridiculous or very likely to bring up suspicion in the peaceful neighborhood. But his hand kept coming back to his belt, over and over again. He wished he could associate the feeling of prickling on his neck with the tiny scroll he had removed from the library, now safely hidden in his pocket.

  A door squealed nearby. Derek automatically reached for his weapon again, his pulse racing. The impression of being watched grew, disturbingly acute. Derek knew if he turned, he would face only shadows and mist. Yet he could not shake the feeling.

  Sacha tugged at his sleeve, “Can we walk faster?” She paused, visibly looking for an excuse to disguise her own discomfort “I’m cold.”

  Derek instantly accelerated his pace, yet instead of taking the lead again, he fell into steps with her. When his hand touched the cold metal of his sword again, it rested there.

  Minutes later, the door of the ‘Wild Boar’ inn opened to offer them shelter against the blackness. Sacha almost welcomed the appreciative stares that followed her graceful walk, as she crossed the main room toward the stairs, Derek on her heels.

  Candles had been lit in their room. The soft glow and the balmy air comforted her immediately. Sacha took off her cloak and used the extra time to compose herself, before she turned to face Derek, one eyebrow up in a mute question.

  He grinned and that complicit smile achieved to settle her nerves. Derek plunged one hand inside his jacket and extracted the tiny scroll from it, before he discarded the garment.

  The young woman lifted their prize carefully in her hands.

  “I never saw you steal it.”

  Derek corrected her instinctively, looking at her kneeling on the floor in front of her bed, using the flat surface to unroll the precious document.

  “I just borrowed it; just as you borrowed my mother’s potions. What does it say?”

  The old parchment was covered with a very small writing. Sacha frowned in concentration, narrowing her eyes to decipher it.

  “This word is ‘prayers’ I think. And this one is ‘guide’. It is written in a very old form of the language.”

  “Fascinating. But can you read it?”

  She neglected to answer his sarcasm, giving all her attention to the illegible words. The handwriting was incredibly twisted and she had trouble making out the letters, especially since she did not understand the meaning of the words they formed. The first line seemed to be half finished, a title maybe. After a while, she announced: “I think this means ‘prayers from the truthful hearts.’”

  The wood comb holding her hair felt heavy on her neck and she took it off, letting her long curls fall in her back. Derek pushed away and unsheathed his sword, swirling it in the air in front of him.

  “Do you think you can unravel it fully?”

  Sacha sat on her cot and pushed some rebel strands of hair off her shoulder. The abandoned scroll rolled up with a soft noise.

  “I suppose. But it is going to take time.”

  The young man shrugged and finally put his sword away with a sigh. Silence fell between them once again. Sacha fiddled with her skirt. Her desire to talk with Derek unsettled her. Usually, she welcomed silence more than pointless chatter. She shook her head. Why did she feel so uncomfortable near Derek these days? They had grown up together; surely she should be able to remain serene around him, or if she desired to chat, to think of something else than their current quest to start a conversation. She did not feel that agitated with Elwyn or Sebastian or the rest of their friends. Of course, Elwyn was her twin and Sebastian her cousin, and neither treated her as carelessly as Derek did, but…

  Sacha looked up to find him examining their bags and asked, “Is anything missing?”

  He finished his task and stood up before he answered, “No; I don’t think so. I am going down. I will have something brought up for you, unless you feel like coming?”

  Sacha failed to assess if his sentence held an invitation, or a warning to stay put. She chose the latter and glanced back at the mysterious parchment. Derek took the hint, and walked out of the room without another word.

  He chose the same table near the wall, which allowed him to scan the entire room at once, without having to guard his back. The waitress that had welcomed them in the morning hurried to serve him. Derek returned her smile absently.

  “May I help you with anything else, Sire?”

  Her slippery tone came with a peep toward the bar. Their hostess was watching her clients, her brows frowning from time to time, when men became too familiar with the servants. Derek returned his attention to the smiling woman in front of him.

  “What is your name?”

  “Gisela, Sire.”

  Her smile grew and she bent down a little, offering an impeccable view into her bosom. Sacha would bristle like an angry cat at the display. The prince went on without acknowledging her bow.

  “Gisela, you have to be careful about the services you offer. You have a good job here; make sure to keep it.”

  Surprised, she blinked and straightened up. Derek pressed one coin in her hand.

  “I have letters to write. Bring me some paper, quills and ink.”

  Gratitude painted on the maid’s face before she
bowed deeply again, and went on to carry his orders. He pushed back against the wall, and took a mouthful of mead, looking at the eclectic crowd above his cup.

  His nervousness had faded as soon as the door had closed behind them, but the feeling was still there, lurking in the back of his mind. Derek wished he knew where the impression came from, and then dismissed the thought. He was better off enjoying the calm while it lasted. Sacha attracted trouble like a magnet. With her around, he would have his share soon enough.

  The waitress came back with the writing material he had requested. She nodded at him graciously and asked if he needed a meal to be taken up for his lady. She insisted on the last two words. Derek agreed and ordered his own diner, repressing a smile. The named lady was probably going to flog the poor girl if she dared to address her that way.

  He pulled the paper toward him and started writing. His smile stayed in place. For once, he would not be the one to be dashed.

  oOo

  Aetynan se onhæle bemeldian se door to Caer

  O Hlæfdige

  Gehlystan mín bén

  Gif I ge cwyctan, gedælan tear

  Ond forelæ me turh mín óht

  Gif I áfeallan ahlepan me astandan

  Ond en ur rihthand álæccan mín

  Me cleanheort; me sorthword

  Éadmédian to u

  O Hlæfdige gehlystan mín bén

  Ond aweglætan en Caer Lon

  oOo

  The young woman woke up in alarm, her breath laboured and her heart thudding. Air hissed through her lips as she tried to calm down. She could not tell if it was still dark, or if dawn had broken already. She felt queasy.

  Sacha wanted to push onto her feet, and she realized she was lying on the floor. Standing asked too much out of her, and she fell back on her knees with a little cry.

  Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she started noticing her surroundings. She crawled on her knees and hands, unable to straighten up, and reached the facing wall, and the body crouched against it.