Excalibur Rising--Book Four, page 29
part #4 of Four Series
“Did you see her fall?” Hannon was nose to nose with Caerog who had miraculously managed to focus both eyes on Hannon’s face.
“I told you.”
“All the way to the ocean? Did you see her fall into the ocean?”
Caerog shook his head. “No. I didn’t watch. I knew she’d gone. I didn’t want to look.”
“Right,” said Hannon, thrusting Caerog away from him. “We don’t know that she’s gone. She could be on a ledge. She could still be alive.”
Another thunderclap shook the walls.
“How are they doing that?” Caldor asked.
“Cannons,” Hannon said. “We have guns that throw heavy missiles at your walls.”
“Like a trebuchet,” Caldor said. “That’s what Mordred used to take down the walls from the land side, and you using ships instead.”
“I don’t care what he’s using,” Dristan said impatiently. “I want them to stop.”
Hannon held out a hand to Violet. “Please,” he said.
Violet tore a strip from the hem of her dress, revealing slim white ankles. She handed the fabric to Hannon and watched him walk away. Within moments he was scrambling upwards across the tumbled stones of the outer wall.
Dristan turned to leave and Violet held up a hand to stop him. “Look,” she said, “I know this girl is important to both you and Hannon, but there’s a kingdom at stake here and, more importantly, Ryan is risking his life out there. In case you have forgotten, we were supposed to find a way to let him in while Hannon’s fleet distracted the defenders. What’s the plan now?”
Dristan saw fear and anger in her eyes. He had thought only of Meleanore while she had been thinking of Ryan. She was right to think of the man she loved, but he had been wrong. He had thought of Meleanore when he should have been thinking of the kingdom and the knights who had risked all to fight for his inheritance.
He knew what he should do. He should call Hannon back. He should let the fleet destroy Camelot so that Mordred had no place to hide. But the thought still nagged at him. What if Meleanore had not fallen to her death? What if she was still somehow clinging to the cliff face?
“We can still do as planned,” Caldor said, “I will open the portcullis.”
Dristan reached out instinctively. “No, I need—“
He forced himself to stop speaking. He had no right to take Caldor away from the battle.
Violet laid a hand on Caldor’s arm. “Go with Dristan. I’ll go to the gate. You will never be allowed to pass, but I am a Lake Maiden and that gives me protection.” She looked down at her feet. “I would look more imposing if I hadn’t cut the hem off my dress.”
“You have nice ankles,” Dristan said and then he felt a blush suffusing his face. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It might be the last compliment I ever receive. Now go about your business and leave me to mine.”
Caldor took Violet’s hand and Dristan thought that something passed between them; a ripple of energy that stirred the air around them. Violet withdrew her hand hastily with a startled look on her face.
Caldor turned away. “We’ll take a rope from the stable,” he said. His tone was matter-of-fact but Dristan thought he detected something behind Caldor’s eyes; a wisdom that had not been there before.
Dristan followed Caldor to the ruined stable block. He caught sight of a flash of blue and saw Hannon still scaling the crumbling outer wall.
The unseen ships fired another missile and a massive stone fell from the top of the wall, narrowly missing Hannon and landing with a crash in the courtyard. If he and Caldor had not moved, the missile would have put an end to all of his plans. He took that as a good omen. The missile had missed. He was still alive. He was intended to rescue Meleanore. He crossed himself and went into the teetering pile of ruins that had once been the royal stable.
As he entered the building he felt the full confusion of the time warp that had taken away five years of his life. For Caldor the memory of their escape from Camelot had been mellowed by time, but for Dristan the escape was just a few days ago. He remembered vividly the war horses stamping and blowing in their darkened stalls, the whispering voices of the king’s messengers and the heart-stopping exit from the safe ground of the stable to the perilous path that snaked down to the beach.
The door was hanging open on its hinges. Caldor took a coil of rope from the wall and pushed his way through. He stopped abruptly.
“There’s no way down.”
He stepped aside and Dristan looked down at the sheer drop to the beach far below.
The tide was out, revealing a crescent of sandy beach. Dristan’s heart lifted with a faint hope. “She’s not down there.” He held onto the door frame and leaned out. He thought he saw something on a ledge not far below. He turned back to Caldor. “Tie a rope around me and lower me down.”
“You lower me down,” Caldor protested. “You are the heir.”
Dristan shook his head while his heart raced with a painful realization. “If Meleanore is not my queen, I will never be king.”
Again he saw the spark of ancient wisdom in Caldor’s eyes. “The choice will be hard to make,” he said.
“What choice?”
Caldor’s reply was brief and enigmatic. “Her choice.”
He turned his attention to knotting the rope around Dristan’s waist. With a sudden onrush of emotion, Dristan remembered the pit that had appeared outside his house one spring morning. He remembered knotting a rope around his waist and going down into the cool darkness while his mother and father stood above him sharing the news that King Arthur had returned and the war would soon be over. That morning was the beginning of his adventure and this morning could well be the end. With Caldor taking the strain, he lowered himself over the edge.
Violet
As she came closer, she saw the full scale of the portcullis, a massive grid of metal and wood with chains to winch it up. She could not do this by herself. She could see that it would take two or maybe even three men to work the winch. Somehow she would have to persuade Mordred to order the gate to be raised.
No one had noticed her. Mordred had fled to the safety of the outer bailey along with Wilneth and the two blacksmiths. Now he was deep in conversation with two of his nobles, shouting and gesticulating above the shuffle of horse hooves, the clanking of armor and the jibes being hurled at them from the other side of the causeway.
Ryan was doing a good job of attracting their attention but she imagined that he was growing impatient. He would be aware that the attack from the sea was already under way and he would expect the portcullis to open.
She could not control Mordred’s soldiers; their minds were closed to her but other minds were open. She gathered her strength and sent a searching thought. Who was out there? Who would respond?
Two horses from the stable at Avilion. She felt their fear. A mist horse. How had he come here? He had been beaten into submission and trained to stand, but he seethed with resentment .
Something else. A dog. No, a pack of dogs. War dogs waiting to be released. Well, she would release them.
Time to show herself. As she walked forward she sent out her commands.
To me! Look at me.
She felt the stirring of their thoughts and saw the turning of their heads.
A black horse lifted his head and looked at her. Her mind sparked with a memory of a green valley and a path from one world to another.
You are far from home. Do you see me?
She felt the pain of his captivity.
I see you.
Two heads, one brown, one grey turned toward her.
I am of Avilion.
We know you.
A scattered, undisciplined thought scampered into her mind.
Run. Want to run. Rabbits.
Rabbits are across the bridge.
Rabbits. Run. We go. We are many.
Yes, you will all go.
She walked forward and she heard a murmur of voices and felt the force of their superstitious fear. The blue dress and all that it meant cleared a path for her until she stood beside the winch.
She sent her first thought to the dogs.
Fire.
Fire. Where?
Coming. Fire is coming.
The hounds assaulted her with a mixture of emotions until the fear of fire overcame their fixation on rabbits. She stood back and watched the war dogs pulling at their leashes and lifting their heads to howl a warning.
The war horse stamped its feet.
Fire?
Yes, fire. Run.
The fear spread through the animals. Violet pressed herself into a corner as panic took over. She pictured fire racing from the inner bailey toward the gate. The only escape was across the causeway. The howling dogs broke free of their handlers and hurled themselves at the bars of the portcullis. The horses plunged and whinnied. Riders fell and were trampled.
Violet trembled with the effort of maintaining the image. Fear spread from the animals to their riders. She drew on the strength that Caldor had given her and found a mind that was open to her. Wilneth!
Open the portcullis.
Who is this? What’s happening?”
Fire. Open the portcullis.
With a last gasp of energy she showed him the image of fire racing toward him. She felt his alarm as he saw what she wanted him to see, and she slipped quietly away as he ran toward the winch.
“With me,” he shouted. “Open the portcullis.”
Mordred’s howl of protest carried above the sound of the clanking chains as the portcullis ascended.
This was not what they had planned. Their plan had been to open the portcullis while Mordred was distracted by the assault from the sea. Ryan was expecting to ride into the castle; Mordred was not supposed to ride out.
She leaned back against the wall. She had done what she could. Mordred’s forces were in disarray, their horses were wild with panic, and their war dogs ran in fear. She wished that she could reach Ryan’s mind and tell him that she had done her best but his mind had been formed in another world. He was not of Albion; his mind was closed to her.
“Take her.”
Before she could bring herself back into the present, she felt rough hands dragging her upward. An arm locked itself around her knees, another around her waist. She was aware of men on foot and a figure on a horse looming above her. She looked up and saw a mocking smile.
“Let’s find out what you’re worth to him,” Mordred said. She gasped for breath as she was lifted roughly from the ground and thrown across Mordred’s saddle.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Dristan
Meleanore’s eyes were closed but her chest rose and fell beneath the squire’s tunic she was wearing. The ledge was narrow, just wide enough for Dristan to kneel beside her. He unknotted the rope from his waist. If he could tie it around her waist, Caldor could pull her to safety. He looked up at the fissured rock of the cliff face. She was unconscious and unable to help herself. Dragging her upward could bring new injuries, but he would have to try.
From his position on the ledge, he could see Hannon’s ships crowded into the bay. The missiles were being fired from the largest of the ships, a hulking black shape emitting a constant cloud of steam from its tall funnels.
Another missile hit the stable wall and the rope in his hand went slack.
“Caldor.”
No reply.
He tugged on the rope and it fell in a sudden rush and landed in a tangle at his feet.
“Caldor!”
Meleanore opened her eyes. Dristan placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “Don’t move.”
“What?”
She made an attempt to sit up and he held her down.
“You fell. You’re on a ledge.”
She looked at him with wide, alarmed eyes. “Why are you here?”
“I came for you. Caerog thought you were dead.”
“He’ll wish I was dead when I get hold of him,” Meleanore muttered. She moved her arms and legs experimentally. “I don’t think anything’s broken. Help me to sit up.”
“I don’t think you should.”
“I want to know where I am.”
“You won’t like it.”
She sat up and looked cautiously around. After she had surveyed the ships in the bay and the beach far below, her eyes alighted on the rope.
“We seem to have both ends,” she said quietly.
“Something’s happened to Caldor.”
“Is he dead?”
“I don’t know.”
“Great.”
“Hannon’s trying to signal the fleet and tell them to stop throwing stuff at us.’
“Does he know I’m here?”
“No one knows.”
Meleanore looked down at the ships below. “They’re firing another one,” she said.
“How do you know?”
“I can see them loading the cannon.”
Another explosion split the air. Dristan caught hold of Meleanore’s hand. If they fell, they would fall together. This time the missile was aimed at the outer wall and not the stable.
A shower of stones marked the missile’s path through the ramparts. A section of wall collapsed and crashed down onto the beach. As the echo of the explosion died away something blue floated on the air and made a long lingering descent to the beach.
“What is that?” Meleanore asked.
“A piece of Lady Violet’s dress. Hannon was using it as a signal to the fleet.”
Before Dristan could read the expression on Meleanore’s face, a voice called down to him.
“I have another rope.”
He saw Caldor’s face peering down at him from the cliff top. “I had to tie knots,” Caldor called. “I hope they hold.”
The rope descended into his hands and he turned to Meleanore. “You go first.”
He knotted the rope around her waist. “Use your feet to keep you clear of cliff face.”
She held the rope in her hands and leaned out to look at the beach. The blue cloth stood out brightly against the rubble.
Caldor
Caldor stood just inside the doorway to nowhere and pulled on the rope that snaked over the cliff and disappeared from view. It was slow, hard work. His head ached from the fall that had snagged the rope from his hands. He began to doubt that he would succeed. The voice in his head overcame the headache and whispered encouragement.
“Hold fast and someone will come.”
He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see the dust-covered figure of Hannon hurrying toward him. He breathed a sigh of relief as the big man planted his feet firmly and took hold of the rope. The muscles of his arms and legs bulged as he took the strain.
“Who are we pulling up?” he asked.
“Lady Meleanore.”
Hannon’s face was split by a wide grin and he exerted even more effort.
“Did you signal the ships?” Caldor panted.
“They saw me,” Hannon replied. “They damned near killed me, and I dropped the signal flag, but they got the message. The bombardment has stopped. Now stop talking and pull. If I know anything about the Lady of the Far Isles, she won’t be happy to be left dangling on the end of a rope.”
Meleanore’s head came into sight and soon she was over the edge and on her feet. She greeted Hannon with a wide smile of relief.
“I saw your signal flag on the beach. We thought you were…”
Meleanore seemed unable to speak the rest of the words and Hannon’s face was twisted with an emotion Caldor was unable to read. The cryptic voice that had taken up residence in the back of his mind was as enigmatic as ever.
There is still a choice to be made.
Not by me, Caldor replied.
No, not by you.
Caldor silenced the voice by throwing the end of the rope down to Dristan. Enough time had been wasted on Meleanore and Hannon and the people of the Far Isles. His task was to serve the king of Albion, and the best way to serve him was to take his mind off the troublesome Lady of the Far Isles and focus it on defeating Mordred.
With Hannon’s help, Dristan was soon standing on his feet in the center of the ruined courtyard.
“Where is everyone?”
“Mordred rode out.”
“No, that wasn’t the plan! Ryan was supposed to ride in. What’s happening? Where’s the battle?”
Caldor shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve been busy.”
Dristan clapped him on the shoulder. “Yes, I know. Thank you.” He turned to Hannon. “Thank you, Captain.”
Hannon bowed his head slightly. “We have agreed to help you win your kingdom in return for your protection of my fleet. We are ready. What can we do?”
“You can find me a horse,” Dristan said.
“Two horses,” Hannon said.
Dristan turned to him. “There’s no need. This is not the way that you fight.”
“We are allies. Your fight is my fight. Lady Meleanore will wait here.”
Meleanore’s response was exactly what Caldor expected. “I will not.”
Hannon spoke to her with slow determination. “A balloon will come for you. Take it and survey the battlefield. Keep well clear of their archers, these people are deadly with their arrows. You are the Lady of the Far Isles. The battle command is yours. I will go with Dristan.”
“But…”
“You cannot command the rebellion if you cannot command this battle,” Hannon said. He looked at Dristan. “I believe you have a battle cry. What was it?”
“We ride,” Dristan replied.
“Then let us ride. I see loose horses out there by the gate. Let’s find us a couple.”
Caldor groaned inwardly. Neither Dristan nor Hannon could be trusted to stay in the saddle.
“Caldor!” Meleanore was at his side pulling on his arm. “Where’s Violet?”
“She was the one who opened the portcullis,” Caldor said. “I don’t know what happened to her after that.”
“Shouldn’t you find out?”
“She’s not dead,” Caldor said. “I would know if a sister of Avilion had passed.”
Meleanore stared at him. “Is that all you can say?”
Caldor experienced a moment of complete clarity. “Yes, that is all can say. My duty is to my king and I must ride with him. Lady Violet’s fate is in the hands of another.”
