Chapter 19

 

“Devil’s warts!” Cedric cursed and rose from the placid water of a pond he’d been staring into. The vision that had appeared after he’d poured the elixir across the surface was enough to transform the meekest warlock into the devil himself!—Sir Jarin and Lady Cristiana rescued from his wolves by lightning! Nay. Lightning would not send his beasts back to hell as these beaming shafts did. ’Twas light from above. Pure light. The enemy’s light.

Grimacing, he grabbed his robe and wheeled about. “How did they do that? How did the enemy know of their plight so quickly?” Anger raged as he returned the bottle of elixir to his pack, his hand touching the leather pouch containing the remainder of the powder that could be turned into wolves.

His poor babies! He sank to the ground in despair. They had so wanted to taste human flesh this day. Grabbing a handful of dirt, he flung it into the air and lifted his fist to the sky. “I will have Lady Cristiana. I will have that heinous Spear of Yours! Darkness always wins!”

Merely saying the words out loud sent a surge of dark power through his cold veins. Rising, he leapt onto Demon and took off at a mad gallop.

♥♥♥

Sir Walter LeGode swallowed hard against his rising fear as he stood before Drago. The warlock seemed to be growing in power of late, along with his disrespect for Sir Walter. A disrespect that ’twas not to be borne, for the man dwelt at Luxley only by Sir Walter’s good grace. Or did he? Sir Walter was beginning to wonder whether ’twas the other way around.

Devil’s blood. He would not allow it! He was the lord and master of Luxley. Ergo, all but the bishop ran in fear to do his bidding. And he would not cower before this vermin. He was but a means to an end, a rather unpleasant means.

The warlock finally looked up from the book he’d been reading since Sir Walter entered his dungeon lair. Another affront to Sir Walter’s station. “How come you here?”

The warlock’s icy stare nearly sent Sir Walter dashing for the door.

“Have you put some hex on me, Drago?” There, he’d said it. And with the force he’d intended. Now to appear unmoved by the warlock’s coming outburst.

Instead, Drago chuckled and set down his book. “A hex, you say? Why, you are a bigger fool than I gave you credit for.” His mirth turned to disdain. “We have a pact, do we not?” he spat out. “Why would I curse you ere our deal is finished?”

That the warlock would be free to do so afterward was not lost on Sir Walter. He diverted his gaze to the greenish ooze bubbling within the black cauldron. Whatever it was, it carried the stench of death. “I am unwell. The physicians know not what ails me. Hence, I make bold to say it must be of a more spiritual nature than physical.”

“You, bold?” The warlock snickered, pointing a long, black fingernail toward Sir Walter. “Mayhap you are going mad. Or worse, you are being drugged, just as you did to that wench, Lady Cristiana.” With a snort, he glanced back at his open book as if either event was of no consequence to him.

Though both reasons had occurred to Sir Walter as of late, neither had enough merit to fear. He was clearly of sound mind when he was hale, and Mistress Anabelle tasted every bit of his food and drink to ensure it contained no poison. The woman was the picture of health and beauty. Hence his question to Drago. But the warlock was being his usual menacing self.

“Should either be the case”—Sir Walter dared advance toward the fiend’s table, upon which all manner of animal parts and tinctures were spread—“’twould not be good tidings for you. For if I am removed from Luxley, and those mewling fustyworts, those Knights of the Eternal Realm, take charge, you will needs find another den of iniquity from which to spew your curses upon the world.”

Drago slowly raised his gaze to Sir Walter, sparks simmering in his coal-like eyes. He spoke not a word but lifted a hand to something above him. A bat dove at Sir Walter. He ducked just as the ghoulish creature swept past him so close, he felt the air move from its wings. Every nerve pinched in terror, but he could not reveal his fear. Not to this man.

“Dare threaten me again, and next time the creature will not miss.” Drago seethed.

Sir Walter attempted to gather his breath. “You forget I still have the power to remove Cedric as your apprentice.”

“I fear ’tis too late for that, Sir Walter.” Drago huffed and moved to stare down at the iron table upon which visions of the unknown oft appeared. “Cedric is growing more and more powerful by the day. Once tasted, such power is not easily forfeited. It may please you to know he has found the girl and that heinous artifact.”

“He has? Good lad! When will he return to Luxley?” Sir Walter’s fear faded at the good news, for it would please the bishop greatly.

“In time.”

The room spun, and Sir Walter squeezed the bridge of his nose. He hoped ’twas true, for his malady grew worse.

Of a sudden, Drago gazed up into the tower above him, a noticeable shiver shaking his white robe. “You have not stopped the light from entering Luxley.”

“Me? What can I do against these knights when they do not reveal themselves?” He blew out a sigh. “What harm can they do anyway?”

“Apparently much. For you do look unwell.” This seemed to please Drago immensely, for an uncharacteristic grin lifted his chapped lips.

“Can you not stop them? Are you not the most powerful warlock? Or should I seek another?” Sir Walter regretted the words instantly, bracing for the warlock’s retort. Or worse, another bat.

But the man’s attention remained above, as if he feared something far more than a challenge of his power. “They have power as well. Great power.” He snapped his gaze to Sir Walter. “I do all I can.”

“Do more, Drago.”

The warlock tossed what looked like a lizard into his cauldron, causing a burst of steam to rise. “Leave me, Sir Walter, ere I do more than fling a bat your way.”

Sir Walter knew better than to stay in his presence. Up the winding stairs he labored until his breathing came hard and fast. The sound of music, clank of dishes, and gay voices made him stop and utter a grunt. The evening meal already? Faith! He’d not heard the announcing horn, and no doubt the bishop would be displeased with his absence.

Trudging down the grand staircase, he forced a smile as he made his way through the crowd to his seat at the high table, thankful the evening meal was not as grand an affair as the one at noon, for mayhap he could slip away without notice. He was also thankful the bishop was otherwise engaged in the seduction of one of the serving maids. A servant arrived with a basin of water, and Sir Walter quickly washed his hands as a trencher full of stewed pheasant, cheese, and grapes was set before him and wine was poured into his cup.

His gaze sought Anabelle, and upon finding her serving bread to a table of knights, he motioned her over. She sampled each of the foods on his trencher with a smile, then took a sip of his wine ere she curtsied and returned to her duties.

The bishop leaned into him, reeking of sour wine. “By my troth, do you still believe you are important enough to be poisoned, sir?”

Sir Walter gave a tight smile. “Nay, but I take every precaution, withal, Your Grace.” Should he tell him the good news about Cedric? Nay, ’twould merely give the man more to complain about should events not occur quickly enough. He sipped his wine, then broke off a piece of pheasant and popped it into his mouth.

“Humph. You would do well to learn from my example, Sir Walter, for I have no fear of those beneath me wishing me dead.”

But what of those beside you? Sir Walter smiled.

Yet the pompous dizzard continued. “How do I achieve such a thing when ’tis I who wield power over them? Respect, my good sir. Respect, fear, and adoration.”

Sir Walter wanted to vomit. If the man made him kiss his ring one more time, he just might.

“I shall take that into account, Your Excellency.” Thankfully, another maiden drew the bishop’s attention.

Sir Walter continued his meal, happy some of his appetite had returned. Below the high table, laymen of rank sat at white-clothed trencher tables, squabbling about some inane doctrine. Beyond them, knights regaled each other with tales of their bravery. Minstrels began plucking harps and tuning fiddles as they prepared to entertain. But Sir Walter had no interest in any of these things this night. He wanted Lady Cristiana and her Spear found. He wanted the bishop gone. He wanted to take his rightful place as lord of Luxley.

A minstrel began her song. A singular sweet voice that soon was accompanied by harp, fiddle, and pipe.

Nay! It cannot be!

A boulder landed in his brain, crushing all lucid thought. The banners above him twirled. Chatter became muted and hollow. Yet that voice. He forced his gaze to the minstrel. And found a lady clothed in a green cloak with a single braid of hair peeking from beneath her hood. Red hair! Nay!

She finished the song. He rubbed his eyes, and when he opened them, she was gone. He was seeing things again. Begad, it could not be that witch Alexia D’Clere. God’s truth! She would not be so foolish as to appear in plain view of all. Still, he would know that voice anywhere.

Pushing from the table, he struggled to rise, but his legs gave way, and he plunged back to his seat.

“Egad, sir. Control your drink,” the bishop said with disgust. “’Tis most unseemly for one of your station to make such a spectacle.”

“I’ve imbibed but half a glass, Your Grace.” Sir Walter managed to mutter as the minstrels thrummed out another tune. The great hall before him blurred, then came into focus, then blurred again. A lady floated across the room, her white tunic shimmering in the candlelight. A circlet and veil hid her face, but her hair, the color of morning snow drifted about her as she moved.

Sir Walter drew a breath and slammed his eyes shut. ’Twas whatever illness plagued him that brought forth these visions. When he opened them, the lady glanced his way, lifted her veil and smiled. Mistress Seraphina de Mowbray!

He shook his head and rose to his feet once again, this time remaining. “I cry pardon, Your Grace, but I shall retire early.”

“Wise, sir. Very wise.” Bishop Montruse snorted and twisted his lips in repugnance ere returning to imbibe his second trencher of food.

The small trek to Sir Walter’s chamber was a blur of dizziness, nausea, and weakness. His chamberlain aided him in removing his tunic and donning his nightshirt.

“Will there be anything else, my lord?” the man asked, but Sir Walter could only shake his head ere he crawled beneath the wool coverlet.

♥♥♥

“I don’t like it.” Damien announced for the fourth time since they left Emerald Forest and entered the tunnels of Luxley.

Alexia could only smile at the fear in the large knight’s eyes, enhanced by the torches they held as they made their way to Sir Walter’s chamber.

Seraphina halted and faced him. “I shall be fine, Sir Damien. Was I not perfectly safe in the great hall?”

Ronar, who brought up the rear, exchanged a look of annoyance with Alexia, for Damien’s infatuation drove him to distraction. Alas, how soon he forgot love’s blind obsession! Had his passions for her cooled so quickly? Nay. Not from the love she saw in his eyes.

Damien frowned. “Aye, but in Sir Walter’s chamber? Where you could be trapped?” He glanced at Ronar. “Put by this mad scheme.”

Seraphina arched a delicate brow. “How could I be in any danger with you right on the other side of the wall?”

“Indeed, Damien. Sir Walter will be in no condition to do anything save sign this document.” Alexia patted the pocket of her tunic. She’d discarded her green cloak, revealing a white gown beneath, covered in a layer of shimmering gauze. With her hair braided and drawn back, she’d once been told by a servant that she was the exact image of her mother. If so, their ploy this night would bring success.

A damp chill drew a shiver from her as the scent of mold and age and stagnant air surrounded her.

“’Tis not in my nature to send women to battle,” Damien grumbled. “But to fight for them instead.”

“I am not going into battle,” Seraphina announced with nary a speck of fear in her voice. “I am merely pleased to finally be of service.”

“My friend.” Ronar clutched Damien’s arm. “We shall be but a step away should our plans go awry.”

Thunder shook the tunnel walls, sending down a spray of dust and pebbles.

“Are we quite safe in here?” Seraphina’s bravery fled her as she gazed up.

“Aye.” Alexia pressed a hand to the stone surrounding them. “These tunnels have been here since Luxley was first built. Come, let us make haste. Our presence in the hall, along with the potion in his food, has sent Sir Walter straight to his bed. Right where we want him.”

Ronar brushed past Damien and Seraphina and took Alexia’s hand in his. “You make no doubt that you can be heard clearly through the wall?”

“Aye, you worry overmuch, Sir Knight. My sister and I oft listened through this very wall to my mother and father arguing in their chamber.”

He chuckled. “Little imps, the both of ye.”

Smiling, Alexia led the way around another corner, then up a steep ascent that grew narrower with each step. Finally, they halted before a stone wall.

“Here we are.” Alexia slipped a gauze veil over her face and patted her pocket to ensure the document, quill pen, and ink were inside. Seraphina pushed past Ronar and drew a deep breath.

Thunder growled its displeasure once again.

Alexia handed the torch to Ronar. “We cannot open this door from inside the chamber without great difficulty. Ergo, should trouble befall us, I will utter the word, Penance.”

“My destrier’s name?” Ronar laughed.

“Aye. When you hear it, push on this wall, as we do now.”

“I don’t like it.” Damien growled.

Taking the torch from her, Ronar kissed her cheek, the stubble on his chin tickling her skin. “I beg you to take care, though I know ’tis not in your nature.”

“I am pleased to see you finally know me, my love.”

“You as well, dear lady.” Damien took Seraphina’s hand and placed a kiss upon it.

Smiling, she exchanged a glance with Alexia and nodded for her to proceed.

Ronar pushed the stone door, and a blast of air smelling of tallow and something quite foul struck them as Alexia and Seraphina squeezed into Sir Walter’s chamber.