Beyond the Crimson (The Crimson Cycle) (24 page)

I pulled my hair over my left shoulder, running my fingers through it trying to calm myself as an
xiety took flight in my stomach. “Aren’t you afraid?” I asked quietly. He seemed awfully calm for someone who was under the bond of black magic, even Elenora seemed afraid, and she knew magic.

He snorted,
as he walked towards the horses. “Hardly, I am just angry that she delayed me a whole day.”

“You were also talking in your sleep…”

He turned to face me so quickly it almost took me by surprise. His eyes darkened, as he lowered an eyebrow. “What did I say?” he demanded, his tone somewhere between angry and worried.

“Something about a sword that was yours and you will never give it to someone.” I decided to leave out the part about him moaning and shouting to not touch him again, maybe that was too personal.

“It is mine,” he growled defensively, then his face softened and he looked past me, eyes averting around.

“You’re keeping your something from me,” I accused.

His face was void of all playfulness now. Instead, I could see another eternal debate going on in his eyes. He pushed his palm over his eye, dropping it as he let out a little groan. “Morgaina wanted my sword,” he finally admitted. “She wanted to control me. I was going to destroy her for deceiving me, but I did not know she would use her black magic on me like that.” He clenched his fist at the memory.

“What is so special about the sword?” I asked.

He crossed his arms. “It belongs to me; I won it.” He seemed different; possessed.

“You
won
it?”

His eyes went wide. H
e turned away from me, head downwards as he scratched the back of his head. “I sort of remember being championed at Cadvic’s tournament now, and I won the sword there,” he said quietly, but I wasn’t entirely convinced that he didn’t remember this earlier.

“I thought you said you never compete?”

He turned back to me frowning. “I never have before.”

“Then why would you now?”

“For the sword…” he said slowly, looking off, trance-like again. “It was the most beautiful sword I have ever seen, forged with black steel…”

“You are fighting against black magic just for a sword? Do you really think it is worth all the trouble?” I asked incredulously.

The breeze blew a few strands of his short hair across part of his eyes, giving him an unscrupulous look as he grinned wickedly, the grin I was use to but did not favor. “It would appear so, Katarina.” He walked to his horse. “And I know exactly where it is.”

I followed him to the horses.
“Where?”

He pushed his hair out of his eyes, flopping back to its usual perfect place at the side of his face, “At William Cole’s castle of course, and we had better hurry because if Merlin arrives before we do, he will have Arthur after us.”

“That’s why the bracelet freed you from the curse?” I asked him, quickly following as he slung himself up on his horse. “Because she wanted the sword, and you hid it there?”

He shrugged his shoulders, looking annoyed as he pulled back on
the reins, steadying his horse. “I know nothing of the curse, Katarina, but I know Morgaina wanted the sword, the sword is at Cole Castle, and it was a stone from Cole Castle that freed me. It is pretty clear, is it not?”

He gave his horse a swift kick in the side, lowering his head as he took off with the cloak flapping behind him before I could even reply to his rude remark.

“What do you mean you are his protector,” she spat out disgustedly. “You are the High King!”Her pet raven, which he was certain, was meant to be a mockery to him, squawked condescendingly beside her, and he glared at it wanting nothing more than to break its neck.

“No,” he said firmly, moving his eyes to meet hers
. “Arthur is the High King.”

“What have they done to you?” she asked mortified.

He stared at her blankly.

“You incompetent
, pathetic waste!” she screeched; the raven echoing her. “I should have let your father take your life when he had the chance, before you were deceived into being some… some serving boy!” she continued to rant. “You have always been a failure. You are not worthy to be the blood of a Pendragon!”

“I am not a Pendragon,” he said darkly.

“You are not even worthy to be a Beaumont,” she seethed.

He turned to walk away from her, but she gripped his forearm hard, digging her long pointed nails deep into his skin. He looked down at the trickles of blood now beginning to surface and lifted his head to face her
, as she reached back and slapped him hard across his face. “You disrespectful, disobedient brat!”

“Do not touch me again,” he growled, yanking his arm from her grasp.

Her beautiful face twisted. “And you wonder why it was impossible to love you,” she hissed. “I am your mother! Do you have any idea what I had to endure? You will obey me, do you understand?” 

He laughed disgustedly; his eyes were on fire, no longer wide with fear and longing the way she had remembered.

“You know nothing of being a mother, and I am not a little boy,” he snarled towering over her, gripping her slender arms between his strong hands so tightly she could feel bruises already begin to form, and for the first time she noticed how much he was like his father. “You cannot watch my skull get crushed into a wall anymore,” he continued, getting angrier by the moment. “You do not get to tell me what to do anymore, understand that!” he roared.

She gulped in disbelief that he would treat her so.

“And if you ever speak ill of Arthur again, I will rip your throat out myself.” He shoved her backwards out of his grip, nearly toppling her over. She stared up into the emeralds now burnt to coal; the color was hers, but the malevolence was his father’s. 

The castle was much smaller than Arthur’s; in fact, it was more like a large house than the fortress of Caerleon, but it peaceful, surrounded by large grass fields and close to a flowing stream. As we got closer, Brendelon’s face changed, becoming hardened and merciless. I was becoming nervous that he was angrier at William Cole than I thought for leaving him in a nearly thousand year old curse, and I couldn’t help the fear that he would hurt him and that I would be responsible for that.

He jumped off his horse and stormed towards the entrance of the castle.

“Wait! Where are you going?” I called out, swinging myself out of the saddle to chase him, feeling the sudden need to protect William.

Suddenly a man came out of the large wooden doors that led to the front of his castle. He was medium height, fair skin and light hair, with a very nervous face.

“Brendelon,” he stammered, clearly terrified of the implacable knight. He walked down a few steps meeting Brendelon in the open green fields about twenty yards from the entrance.

Brendelon didn
’t speak but his eyes were murky. He grabbed the man by the front of his shirt. “Where is it William?” he demanded, tightening his grip.

The man looked over his shoulder, towards the small cast
le behind him. “Please, allow me to explain,” he said holding out his hands in front of him, as a form of surrender.

Bren
delon dropped his hold, crossed his arms, and kept his face still as stone.

The man widened his eyes and rolled them towards the entrance o
f the castle. He was warning us of something, and Brendelon caught on as he took a slight step back and gripped his sword, suddenly on guard.

“They have been waiting for you,” William said quietly.

Suddenly a group of twenty knights or so dressed in dark long sleeves under metal shoulder plates and a dark blue tunic with silver embroidery of a wolf burst through the entrance door with swords drawn. One grabbed William Cole, holding his arms from behind and pulled him back into the group of warriors.

Out stepped an older man with dark slicked back hair and
slight silver streaks throughout that almost blended in with the shine of his well-greased hair. In his hand was a long beautiful sword but it shined silver, and I knew it couldn’t be the one Brendelon was looking for.

“Bolvyn,” Brendelon sneered, raising his sword, “are you so afraid you feel the need
to ambush me?”

The man
named Bolvyn gave a fake laugh. “Of course not, Brendelon. However, we do all know your very unpredictable behavior and as our majesty has requested us to bring you in alive, the reinforcement was necessary.”

“
Your Majesty?” Brendelon spat, glancing over the man’s shoulder then quickly looked around, taking in the enclosing forces.

A small wind blew, lifting the man’s greased back hair, he smiled as he ran a hand back over his head smoothing it down once more, seeming a
ll too calm and sure of himself. “Aye, I do believe you are well acquainted with her.”

Her.
So they were working with Morgaina.

Brendelon seethed,
shoulders heaving up and down. “You have sided with that evil serpent?”

Bolvyn
laughed again. “Apparently you are not quite as dim-witted as your reputation would imply,” he ridiculed.

Brendelon snarled at him
and suddenly Bolvyn’s eyes shot up, apprehensively focusing on something over Brendelon’s shoulder. Brendelon turned slightly to follow his gaze and a smile crept up to his lips. “I do hope you brought some more men…” he said slowly, turning to face Bolvyn.

Bolvyn gri
maced. He seemed irritated but not quite afraid as he watched the four figures rapidly progressing toward us. He held up a hand to steady his men who began shifting anxiously at the sight of the oncoming knights, close enough to now see the faces of Lancelot, Bedivere, Kay, and Merlin.

With the grace of a gazelle, Lancelot swung off his horse, sword drawn. He spun it around, with a smirk on his face, Bedivere and Kay at his sides. “Are you friend or foe?” he dripped out, brown eyes menacingly staring at Bolvyn.

Bolvyn frowned. “This fight is not with you, Sir Lancelot.”

Merlin’s wh
ite horse galloped up beside me. He flung himself off and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me away from the oncoming battle. “I told that fool to stay put,” he seethed. “He is fortunate we arrived when we did!”

I watched as the knights took a defensive stance, and suddenly I understood Elenora’s “gift.” 

“I beg to differ,” Lancelot retorted, nodding towards Brendelon. “It would seem that you had planned to ambush one of our comrades, a knight of King Arthur, and his cousin at that.”

Bolvyn smirked. “H
e is not
king
yet,” he replied snidely, “and I have orders to bring this one in.”

“Orders
from whom?” Lancelot questioned. “Cadvic?”

“It is none of your concern, knight. I know of your
repute but you are clearly outnumbered. Do not be fool enough to fight against us.” He glanced at Bedivere and Kay as he spoke.

“It is you who would be the fool to go against us, Bolvyn. You w
ill not take him so easy,” Kay snarled.

Black
birds circled above and as if on cue, gloomy gray clouds rolled across the blue sky—darkening the scene and setting the mood—and though the sun disappeared, the air stayed warm and suddenly muggy. Thunder cracked against the sky and my eyes shot to Brendelon expecting him to be hunched over in pain, but he stood straight and motionless with sinister eyes focused forward, sword ready. Thunder roared again and buckets of water tipped over the battle field.

Bolvyn squint
ed up in the rain, and as if taking in its tone, suddenly bellowed out an order, but it was as though the earth took one deep breath, pausing as the threat echoed in the darkness, and in the next instant, both sides sprinted forward. It was like a movie, happening too fast, yet somehow, I was able to see it all. Steel clashed against steel, shields clanked against blows, and men ducked and rolled under the life-threatening hack of the sword. Lancelot and Bedivere moved with grace, as they struck down on the oncoming enemies. Kay was strong, standing his ground, but Brendelon was quick and ferocious. He moved with ease, driven by rage, and his face was as terrifying as the deadly weapon he swung through the air. He blocked every blow with his shield and continued to move forward, rage centered on Bolvyn, who had slithered his way to the entrance of the castle with the one knight who held William Cole by the neck.

At that moment
, I suddenly became very weak, as though I was falling, and yet I felt nothing. Merlin’s blue eyes widened into panic and then I saw it too, my hands were translucent; I was fading!

“William,” Merlin whispered, looking over my shoulder. I whipped around and there was William struggling against the knight who had gripped him by his throat with both hands
, and I realized what was happening: if he died, I would fail to exist.

“Come!
” Merlin shouted, leading me towards the castle entrance. He frantically moved his eyes across the battlefield. “Bran!” he roared. “Bran!”

Br
endelon turned, and suddenly his face mirrored Merlin’s previous expression as he got a look at me. He stepped toward us, but a knight jumped in front of him swinging his sword at his head. Brendelon ducked and thrust his sword forward into the belly of the knight who then crumbled forward as he yanked the blood-soaked sword from the fallen knight’s body.

“Save William!” Merlin shouted, pointing at the knight who was trying to take his life.

Brendelon moved with speed through the few knights left. He slid on his knees across the muddy fields, ducking under the hew of a silver falling bridge, blocking the rest of the blow with his shield. He swung his sword around in a flat arc piercing through the back of the knight that meant to kill him. The knight fell forward and Brendelon stood, finishing him off with a quick thrust before continued towards William, dodging a blow on the left and swinging his sword to the right. In no time, he was moving up to the entrance of the castle where William Cole was crouched under the weight of the knight. The knight saw him, suddenly panicked, and released his grip. I felt my strength begin to return as William crawled out of the way and the knight scrambled to find a sword. Brendelon pulled his sword back, but the steel was met by Bolvyn’s sword instead.

They twisted around as they fought, blade to blade. Brendelon pushed his weight forward, throwing Bolvyn off balance. He came across the right as to sl
ice him but Bolvyn jumped back, and the sword only cut a gash in his leg. Bolvyn took advantage of the higher positioning and hacked his sword down towards Brendelon’s neck but Brendelon moved left out of the way, blocking him with his shield, and then I saw it: the knight who had been strangling William came up behind Brendelon.

“Behind you!”
I screamed. He turned around wide-eyed as the blade was about to come down on him, ducking as he held his shield above him, now surrounded from both sides, but then suddenly the knight crumbled to the ground and behind him stood William Cole with a blood-soaked sword in his hand. Brendelon didn’t pause a moment watching the scene; he turned still holding the shield out, now blocking Bolvyn who hadn’t wasted his opportunity to catch Brendelon off guard.

Brendelon kicked Bolvyn in the stomach as he came at him with his sword high over his head. Bolvyn hunched forward in one swift slice, his head rolled to the ground.

I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the acid rise in my throat. Merlin grabbed me into a hug, but it meant nothing. I choked down the bile I felt rising as tears welled in my eyes. I had never been so disturbed in my life. It was one thing with the dragon and the troll; they had hardly seemed real, but this bloodbath was with human lives. I finally peeked over his shoulder to the now blood-soaked fields. The rain stopped, calling the four knights and one man—with a panic stricken face that I was certain matched mine—the victors.

Brendelon dropped his red stained sw
ord into the sheath, exhausted, but keeping his black eyes on William. “Where is it?” he breathed heavily.

             
William held up his hands in defeat. “She took it.”

             
“What!” he roared. I flinched at his behavior, but it was nothing to what he did next. He stomped towards William, picked him up by the shirt and pounded his body against the castle wall.

             
“Put him down!” Merlin roared. 

             
He didn’t look back at us, but he dropped William, who slumped to the ground, not even bothering to stand on his feet. “You told her where it was?” he growled.