Treasure So Rare (Women of Strength Time Travel Trilogy) (4 page)

A gust of wind surged through the open window, shaking a
wall tapestry loose from its wooden pegs.

Her life tapestry
. Iliana
fingers gently traced the tapestry's magically woven threads. Each day it
presented a new chapter, a new verse in her life. She had long ago given up
questioning how this happened... how a tapestry wove each new day in her life.
Now, she stared at its deeply brilliant colors, saw herself with hands and feet
bound and tethered as she stood in the midst of an open, barren field, exposed,
waiting, helpless.

But she was not helpless. She would not be helpless. She
moved over to the small bed in the corner of her room, gently touched the deep
brown curls. Even as her heart grew heavy with fear for tomorrow, a deep,
radiant warmth filled her. Her child, William, her miracle. Although he was
only eight months old, little William already had his own life tapestry. It
would remain a beautiful though blank tapestry until he reached the age of one
year, but Iliana knew this mission to find the green gem was now focused in
part for her son. Whereas before her success had been for the people and then
herself, now it was all for little William.

She pulled the woolen sheet over his little shoulders as he
slept, and into her spirit came a sense of calm purpose.

She moved to the window embrasure. Her eyes focused on the
dark shadow in the far distance, at the very edge of the forest. An indistinct
blur marching ever closer began to take shape. An army of men.

The betrothed of Iliana of Dutton, the Beast, was come to
claim the prize. Somehow, she had to protect the people from this Beast. She,
who never wished to harm any living thing, knew she must kill Weinroof of
Camdork.

"One in your likeness yet not in your image rises where
past and present join as one. He is blown in by the sea and has been called
forth by ones who would foil your attempts for a controlled kingdom. Be
forewarned his arrival heralds a cycle of rebirth and ultimately death.
Henceforth, you must align with this one. The plot shall be hindered unless you
are clever enough to outwit him. Do not make of him a foe, for therein you
create your own defeat."

Camdork rubbed his ears, for the sorcerer's voice grated on
him immensely.

"Of whom do you speak, Mandrak?" Camdork paced impatiently,
wearing a path on the earthen floor in the small hut. "Outwit him? How
shall I proceed when I do not know who this intruder is or from whence he
comes? You speak in riddles." Angrily, the blond giant dropped closed
fists punishingly on the small table between them, smashing it to fragments.
"I shall return to London and confer with my queen," he growled,
"I was a fool to fall in with you."

Mandrak, cowled head down, never moved from his chair.
"Nay, it is your impatience that will seal your doom," he said
calmly.

"I have been patient! It has been nigh on four years I
have planned this. It has taken me this long to gain the rank and power
necessary. Do you know how many favors I've cast upon the Court? I will not be
deterred!"

"If you have not the heart for this..." Mandrak
paused.

Camdork leaned toward the dark robed figure, but he could
see nothing inside the deep hood. Uneasily, he stepped back and began to pace
anew.

"I'll find him," Camdork snarled. Reaching upward,
he thrust clenched fists against the oak beam supporting the roof. It creaked
ominously. "If he's to be run aground, I shall do it. If he's to be
bought, I will do that also. I'll find him and secure his aid, willingly or no.
Needs be, I'll kill the bastard before he can interfere with my plans."

"You cannot slay this one ere you discover his
weakness. His strength is greater than yours in all respects. Crush him beneath
your heel, and you will be slain before another sun breaks."

"Be silent, Sorcerer! I've planned too long to let another
stop me now. Dutton Keep's lands and the lady shall be mine." Camdork
swept his foot through the logs in the small fire pit, sending embers and
flaming wood onto the floor and against the small table he had smashed. Dry
tinder, it caught in a second and flames began to leap. In the tiny hut's
doorway he turned, snarled, "I will win this!"

The room lay empty as it was consumed by flames.

¤¤

A small army of men stood on the shore, the stark whiteness
of the ground underfoot contrasting sharply with their dark figures. Beside
them was a wooden framed structure which appeared armed for attack. Aimed at
his ship the
Merry Maiden
. Erik shuddered to
think of the damage it would inflict.

A small craft pulled up alongside his ship. Warily, Erik
called down to the fellows in the odd looking craft. "What are you about
down there?"

"Weinroof of Camdork has demanded that you come
ashore," one of the men shouted. "If you ignore his warning, he is
prepared to burn you as you sit in the water. You have until midday." The
two men in the odd looking rowboat pulled away from his ship and rowed back to
shore.

Erik leaned his back against the rail, staring at Jock.
"This is a perplexing state of affairs."

"I believe that instrument on the shore is a
mangonel," murmured Jock, squinting against the sun as he rubbed his upper
arm. The wound from last week still nagged at him. "A medieval type of catapult,
as it were."

Erik turned and faced the shore, lifting his spy glass,
deliberating on the odds against them. "And what do you think about that
projectile leveled at our vessel?"

"Some type of fire power apparatus."

Erik nodded, eyes narrowed. "Do you think we are within
firing range?"

Jock nodded glumly. "Well, Cap’n, I would venture they
believe we are."

Erik, eyed the flaming ball visible in the large,
slingshot-like bucket. "The question is, will we survive such a
fireball?"

"If it's lime and it hits on target, it'll take us down
to kindling sticks."

"And here we sit chained in these waters like a fish on
land."

Jock nodded. Despite the crew's best effort, the ship would
not move. Erik feared they had run up on a shoal. The men had checked for holes
in the ship's belly, and he'd even sent a diver below the surface, but nothing
untoward had been found. There appeared to be no damage, nor had they taken on
any water. The wind moved all around them, but their sails would not fill and
thus they were unable to sail away from the threat. It was as if they were
chained to the harbor bottom, through no fault of their own. The damned ship
had betrayed him, betrayed them all by sailing to this spot just off shore,
under its own power.

He squinted into the midday sun, the heat such that he saw
lights dancing across the horizon, then strange shadows. He stared into the sky
above them, seeing something out of the corner of his eye, but when he looked,
the blue sky was empty even of clouds.

"We are disarmed." The starboard cannons had
become lost during their tumultuous passage through the storm. They were as
defenseless as babes.

"I'll be going ashore." Erik buckled a sword to
his hip and hoisted himself over the rail. "My ship and crew are at risk
the longer I deliberate. There is nothing else I can do, not with that army on
shore."

"You'll not go alone." Decisively, Jock also
climbed over the rail.

"This is a risky venture at best," Erik bit out.
"I don't know where we are. If conditions change, you can sail away from
the coast. I cannot let my ship nor my men be taken. I prefer that you stay
aboard."

"I'll not be moving anywhere without my captain,"
Jock said, a mulish cast to his jaw. Erik sighed, knowing that look of old.
Entrenched in his own righteousness, the man would simply pay him no heed even
if he ordered him to stay aboard. Glancing at the shoreline, Erik knew they had
little time. Horses had rolled the contraption on wood planks even closer to
the water's edge.

Erik passed a glance over his crew, his gaze falling upon
each man as they stood in a tight semi-circle on the deck. Now doubt they
understood their grim circumstances.

"Chief mate has his orders. If we do not return within
the week you are to try and set sail from this place." His voice brooked
no argument or discussion. "I know we are mired in this shoreline at this
moment, but you must continue your efforts to set sail and find a safe place to
shelter. As your Captain, I order you not to come ashore."

Erik hesitated. "I'll not lie to you, and perhaps
you'll think I've taken leave of my senses, but somehow we've been blown off
course by a freak of nature and ended up here on the British coast. Those men
threaten the safety of every man on this ship." He knew the men were
baffled, perhaps even frightened, as they had every right to be, but Erik felt
they also deserved the truth. He shrugged his shoulders.

"I admit it is as strange to me as to you. I must go
ashore."

Without further ado, Erik descended the ladder to the small
waiting boat. Markin, who was to row them ashore, sat across from them.

"They look none too friendly I'm thinking," Markin
muttered in a dark, gravelly voice as he gave the oars a steady pull, lift,
pull. "They're just spoiling for a fight, that's what I think. Aye, a
fight they'll have, with their wooden weapons and the like." As they drew
nearer, Erik stared at the younger man. Jock kicked Markin in the shin and he
closed his mouth, his jaw tight. He gave one last heave and their boat brushed
up against the pure white sand.

"Just this once, Markin, keep your views to
yourself," Erik advised dryly, his eyes never leaving the line of men.

"Aye, Captain, I can manage that, but I'm a-warning
you, if one of them tries anything, I'll slit his throat." Markin patted
the knife at his side.

Markin was a young hot-head who needed no excuse to begin a
brawl. Looking at the heavily armed soldiers on the beach, Erik knew he would
stand no chance.

Jock's glare warned of retribution. Squirming a bit, Markin
withdrew his hand from the immediate vicinity of the knife.

"Shove off, Markin," Erik said. He and Jock
climbed out of the boat into the one-foot depth of water. "You are not to
come back." Erik turned his back on the seaman.

Reluctantly, the seaman did as he was bid and began to row
back to the ship.

"What the hell have we found, Captain?" Jock
muttered as a group of six men advanced on them. Clad in chain mail and leather
trousers strapped at the ankle -- surely time had stood still for this lot! But
then, since the vortex, nothing was as it should be.

Erik and Jock were met some five feet from where they
stepped onto the sand by the group. One man stepped forward and Erik studied the
man's strange, antiquated style of dress. He was clothed in some type of tunic,
with little metal rings sewn into his clothing-- right out of a history book.

"Why threaten my ship and crew?" Erik asked as
they took each other's measure.

"Why do you not turn tail and run?" countered the
other man, his head and face mostly concealed by a helmet. They were eye level
with each other and Erik met his dark eyes through the metal visor. The man's
mouth widened in a predatory grin, showing teeth slightly yellowed. Abruptly,
his eyes narrowed with a speculative gleam. "Are we long lost
brothers?" the man thundered incredulously, drawing a step nearer. "I
would swear it, another bastard to account for under Camdork."

Erik tensed upon being called a bastard; it still being a
sore point after some thirty-eight years. "I know of no Camdork," he
said curtly, quickly assessing the threat of each of the three men closest to
him.

"I am Camdork," the other man said.

Casually, Erik's hand rested upon the blade at his hip. Permitting
himself a tight grin, he said, "I think you mistake me for someone
else."

The man stepped closer. "You will show respect."
He pulled a wickedly curved dagger from a sheath of the man who stood beside
him, and pointed it toward Erik.

A huge soldier stepped forward with a low grunt, his barrel
of a chest covered with a metal plate bearing a tiger about to pounce. His
black beard and hair spread out on all sides of his head. The man put an arm up
against Camdork's chest.

"Patience," the dark bearded man cautioned in a deep
voice.

For a moment Camdork looked angry, then he laughed, pushing
the man's arm away. "Ulrich, ever the cautious one." He tossed the
blade back to the man he'd taken it from, but the man caught it by the blade
and Erik saw the steel pierce the man's palm. Camdork grinned at the man's
quickly suppressed howl of pain.

The men carried shields, some in hand, some hanging from
their shoulders. Their clothing appeared medieval, and each man's head was
covered by a metal helm. As he surveyed them carefully, his curiosity peaked
even as he was gripped by a strange sense of unreality.

"From where do you hail?" Camdork said.

"Across the sea," Erik replied abruptly. A slight
breeze caught the man's dark tunic, and it was then that Erik saw he concealed
another sword at his back. Erik stepped backwards and his blade sliced the air.

Camdork assumed a similar defensive stance. "Identify
yourself or my men will crush you." They faced each other, a pair well
matched for size.

"I am Erik Remington. Surely force is not necessary,"
Erik kept his weapon steady as he coolly measured the man.

Surprising him, the other man suddenly reached up and drew
off his helm, tossing it contemptuously between them in the sand. The sun
glinted off the gleaming metal. Erik stared at his adversary, a slight feeling
of familiarity taking hold as he realized they were of a similar coloring,
though the man's face was mostly covered by facial hair. Camdork's lips curled
derisively beneath his blond, unkempt beard, eyes brown and hard.