Legend of the Sorcerer (8 page)

“W
ell, now, wasn’t that interesting,” Alfred observed.

Interesting? Rude was more like it. Jordy couldn’t decide what to make of Cai. Hot one second—really hot—then cold the next.

Alfred turned back to her, a smile creasing his face. His eyes were a remarkable shade of blue. She thought of the book jacket for
Dark Pearl
and felt that little shiver again.

“Welcome and good afternoon, my dear young lady. We won’t waste time discussing my grandson’s abominable behavior. Too fine a day for it. I thought we’d take tea on the lanai, overlooking the water. We can take a leisurely stroll through the garden afterward, if you’re not tired of my company by then.”

“Sounds lovely. And I’m sure I could never tire of listening to your voice.” Her cheeks warmed when he winked.

“Shall we then? Dilys’ teacakes are best had fresh from the oven. The things that woman can do with marmalade.”

He used a cane, a gorgeous one with a beautifully carved griffin on the knob. She hoped to take a closer look at it later. He wore brilliant white duck pants and a sharply pressed blue pinstriped shirt that provided the perfect contrast to his bright eyes. His white hair gleamed as it lay
softly on his shoulders. His goatee and mustache were trimmed to perfection. Elegant, yet a bit unconventional.

Jordy took the arm he offered, comfortable with him already. “Tell me about Dilys, she sounds like a wonder.”

Three hours later they finally finished tea, and she knew little more about Dilys, except that she was Alfred’s rock in life. She’d come from Wales with him to care for Cai when he was quite young. His parents had been killed when their light plane crash-landed off Key West. Alfred and Dilys become instant parents to Cai.

Alfred was outspoken to say the least, sharing his opinions on everything, ranging from the marmalade tarts to the state of the union. Dilys was reserved to the point of being taciturn, though in no way subservient. The woman had an amazing ability to communicate volumes with nothing more than a slight rearrangement of her eyebrows. Jordy thought she’d have made a great dowager duchess in an old historical novel.

Alfred rose after Dilys removed the tea tray and held his arm out to Jordy. “Would you like to take that stroll, or should you be heading back? I’m sure a young woman such as yourself has better things to do than listen to an old man natter on about things of little consequence.”

Her heart softened further. “You promised me a stroll. I’m holding you to it.”

He nodded approvingly. “Onward and upward, then.” He guided her to the wide plank steps at the back of the deck that terraced down to the ground. A path wound into a dense stand of palmettos.

Oddly enough, they hadn’t talked about art at all. Cai’s name had come up now and again, but other than his parents’ deaths, she hadn’t learned much there, either. But,
she’d enjoyed every moment of her conversation with Alfred.

“I started this garden a number of years back. Some of the statuary is a reflection of my dedication to the Dark Age and the world of Arthur Pendragon, Merlin, and the others. I think you’ll find some pieces most amusing.”

“I don’t know much of Arthurian legend, I’m afraid,” Jordy said. “Although I love the romanticism of the Knights of the Round Table.”

“Nothing romantic about it,” Alfred snorted. “The knights were an uneducated lot mostly. More in demand for their brawn than their brains. An ungainly crew, but useful enough for their stated purpose.”

She was surprised at Alfred’s suddenly harsh tone.

“Well, I suppose much of the past has been softened over the years, with the romantic aspect played up for its appeal.”

“Wars have long been romanticized.” He released her arm and waved an impatient hand in the air. “Could never understand that and told Arthur so. What is to be gained by making something, that is by its very nature destructive and violent, out to be anything different than it is? Yes, war is a glorious and, at times, necessary evil, a brash campaign of man’s spirit and desire to conquer, to control, but romantic? Bah.”

Told Arthur so?
He’d spent so many years writing about Arthur and his life and times, she supposed it wasn’t unusual for him to speak as if he’d known the man. Perhaps this was why Cai had been concerned about her visit.

Well if the man wanted to rant on about centuries-old injustices as if he’d witnessed them firsthand, it was fine by her. He did it so vividly, she felt as if she were there right alongside him. She made a mental note to look for his books.

Alfred continued to lecture as they wandered down the
path. “Arthur was a great king, but he was no hero, not in the romantic sense. That was the work of those like Monmouth, Malory, and Chrétien de Troyes, spinning yarns of what they wanted Arthur to be. They came centuries upon centuries too late, more concerned with telling a good tale, than relating the truth of history.”

“But he did exist.”

“Aye, that he did. But their tales, from which Arthurian legend as you know it was born, do not describe the real man. The fifth century was a dark time and little of what was recorded survived. Blaise faithfully transcribed everything, but it vanished. Nennius made a good attempt, but it was the ninth century, and already much of Arthur’s role in history was lost. I don’t deny them their lore, but it has forever diffused the real truth of him. The real Arthur had charm and leadership in abundance but his heart was merely that of a mortal man and, as such, susceptible to the very same things that plague all men. Lust, greed, power. He was better at managing some more than others.”

She wanted to ask how he knew the truth but she was too caught up in his passionate defense to question him. “Well, there is romance in that. Some of the best heroes, the ones that are the easiest to romanticize, are the ones that are the most flawed, the most human. Maybe it was because Arthur made decisions, both wise and unwise, not simply as a king, but as a man, that made him so memorable.”

Alfred stopped and turned to her, his blue eyes ablaze with an inner fire. She was a little alarmed that perhaps she’d pushed too far.

“Young lady, as fine a mind as you possess, you know naught of which you speak. Arthur was a king, no less and no more. He made great decisions and abominably poor ones. As have leaders all around the world for thousands of years. His flaws are nothing to exemplify nor worship, nor
is his position as leader enough to warrant such rampant idolization. He was only as worthy as the men he commanded.”

“So, are you saying that no one man should stand above another, or no one station in life should be more revered? Then is there no figure worthy of idolizing, of putting on a pedestal, of romanticizing?”

“I said no such thing!” he thundered and Jordy took a step back despite herself. “There are hundreds upon thousands of men who, during their time on this earth, have led lives that would need no inaccurate folklore, no foolish tales of great deeds passed down, to lift them to the level of hero. Arthur may have been one of them, but not in the manner he is portrayed to be.” His eyes took on a faraway look. “Merlin worked his magic as best as he could, but not even one as great as he could get through to Arthur when he was being stubborn. Merlin was frustration in its purest form, I tell you. It was a difficult time and Arthur refused to see the end as we did. Had he listened, had he acted as Merlin instructed, perhaps I would be building that pedestal myself instead of spending a lifetime demystifying what never should have been. It is only by exposing the truths behind the myths and legends that we can hope to alter the tragedy that will otherwise be our destiny.”

He raised a rigid, bony finger and aimed it at her. “Be warned,” he said gravely, his blue eyes piercing into her so sharply she could almost feel the point of entry. “There are those who would go to lengths you cannot foresee to harm the true heroes of this world, just as there are those who would sacrifice everything to protect them. The difficulty comes in deciding who is playing which role.”

He shifted his hand and cupped her chin. “Decide which role you will play, Jordalyn. Will you be protector? Or destroyer.”

J
ordalyn. Her full name, spoken in his mellifluous tones, shook her badly. How had he known that? She’d been named for her father, Jordan Decker, who’d died when Jordy was a baby. Only her mother had ever called her that and she had passed away long ago.

“I have done much to ensure his safety,” Alfred continued. “You will play a role here. But be warned, I will be watching.” He released her chin and turned away, using his cane heavily as he moved on down the path.

Jordy didn’t know whether to run, or follow the old man and ask him what in the hell he was talking about. Was he simply senile, living in some imaginary world of his creation? But those eyes …

Alfred turned just at the bend in the path. Gone was the fierce expression. He was once again her kindly tea companion. Poor Cai, she thought. How hard it must be for him to love his grandfather so much and have to watch over him as his mind deteriorated.

“Come along,” he bade her, “there is much to be seen. I want your opinion on one of my favorite pieces.”

She put on a smile and moved to catch up with him. She’d wondered about their reclusive lifestyle, but now she understood that Cai was simply protecting his once-famous
grandfather from the prying eyes of the world.
Protector, or destroyer?
One thing was clear. Cai was a protector.

Alfred took her arm when the path ended at a set of terraced stairs curving upward. At the top, she stopped with a gasp. “Oh my.” She absorbed the magical world Alfred had created in his garden. “A paradise in paradise. You did all this yourself?”

He all but preened. “Aye, that I did. It’s a labor of unconditional love.”

“It shows. I’m amazed you could grow all this.”

“Cai and I have developed some watering systems along with soil protection units. Many of the garden plots are actually planted in movable beds that are inset into the ground. The palms, pines, and dense foliage provide protection from the winds. I have hothouses on the far side of the house. It allows me to move things about, change things. I quite enjoy it.” He motioned behind her. “With the house being raised as it is, most of the rear bedrooms look out over the garden.”

“You do understand romanticism.”

Alfred responded with a knowing chuckle.

The garden was laid out in the old English style, entirely encased in hedgerows, with more decorative hedges shaped in curving, geometrical lines inside the large square. There were tidy flower beds, some circular, some rectangular, set in the small courtyards formed by the hedges. Yet the flowers weren’t all tidy or formal. He had roses and lilies and the like, but he also had exotic island flowers, all blended together in exquisite patterns, a wild riot of color and textures.

Alfred led her down several stairs and along the inlaid path to the central courtyard.

She didn’t notice the sculptures at first. They didn’t stand on carefully placed pedestals as the formality of the garden would suggest. They were tucked here and there,
peeking from hedgerows and underneath lush blossoms, overseeing pathways and tending to some of the flowers. “They are delightful. I love this.”

“Go, explore.” Alfred gave her a soft push to the elbow. “I’ll sit here and enjoy your adventure.”

There were gnomes, elves, and other mystical creatures she couldn’t identify. Jordy followed the sound of a small, trickling stream to find a burbling water fountain in the center of a pond filled with water lilies. And floating on them were tiny marble fairies. She knelt down and marveled over the intricate detail carved into each one.

“They are each different, to my exact specifications.”

Alfred stood at the entrance to this particular quadrant, looking at her like a father would a child of whom he was particularly fond. She wanted to bask in the warmth of his smile.

She’d enjoyed her solitude, her focus on her work, but in that moment she realized what she’d forfeited. The wealth of emotion, the rich reward, that came from truly connecting with another human being. She wouldn’t make that sacrifice again. She couldn’t, now that she’d felt this sense of belonging. She thought of Cai and the tense moments they’d shared on the boat. Belonging … longing …

“This is a wonderland, Alfred. I hope you’re as proud of this as any other achievement you’ve made.” She turned a slow circle, surveying what she could see in this area, and found several more sculptures she’d missed. “It’s magical. I feel as if I’ve been transported to some other realm, where things aren’t what they seem, but exactly what you want them to be. That sounds silly.” She grinned at him. “But maybe you of all people would understand.”

“Your heart is a pure one, Jordalyn.”

Like a sharp pin, that name burst the bubble.

“Come now, don’t let the magic go.” He stepped closer
to her and she saw, behind the caring grandfatherly gaze, a deeper fire there, pulling at her.

She stepped back without really understanding why. She didn’t feel at risk. Or did she? But it was a risk that tantalized, challenged. Just as his grandson had tantalized and challenged her earlier. “How do you know my full name?”