The Nightingale Legacy (Legacy 2)

“Let’s go back down and I’ll show you everything, including the sword. It was magic, North. It’s true, Rafael, it was made just for me, just for my hand. It’s huge, all strong glittering steel, at least four feet long, and its handle is covered with jewels, and it was embedded in this huge slab of rock but I pulled it out easily. I could lift it just as easily with one hand.”

“Sword?” North shook his head. “Listen to me, Caroline. You’re not going anywhere. I want you to stay here and try to keep warm. Rafael and I will—”

She just smiled up at him. “No,” she said very calmly, very gently, and he looked at her long and hard. There was something different about her, perhaps it was the quiet look of determination in her eyes that he’d never seen there before, perhaps it was the vibrant intensity he felt coming from her, a new sense of strength, of knowledge. It was deep and full, this new force in her, and he realized it was now a part of her. It was her right to see this to the end.

A magic sword?

It was Rafael Carstairs who eased both North and Caroline back down the cliff wall, a rope tied beneath their arms.

When North eased down through the collapsed opening into the chamber, he couldn’t at first believe his eyes. Then he strode quickly to where Coombe lay, shivering with shock and cold, but awake.

“My lord, she fetched you, didn’t she?”

“I told you I would, Coombe. You should learn to believe me.”

“She saved me, my lord.”

“You will tell me all about it very soon now. I’m going to ease this rope beneath your arms and Rafael Carstairs will haul you to the top. Then he’ll take you to see Dr. Treath.”

Coombe shivered at the name. Caroline didn’t blame him.

Both North and Caroline leaned out of the collapsed cliff wall to watch Rafael pull Coombe to the top. When he eased Coombe over the edge, they both breathed more easily.

North looked down at Bess Treath, lying there in a pool of blood, her face smoothed out and calm. She didn’t look like a madwoman. “It is ridiculous, you know,” he said.

“Yes. She told me many things, North, how she loved her brother, how she killed his first wife, then seduced him. Do you think he knows?”

“How could he not have suspected? We will see.”

Caroline pulled up short. “Oh goodness, where is the sword? I pulled it out of her and carefully laid it on the ground beside her. What happened to it? No one could have taken it.”

He was right on her heels as she ran back into the cliff. When he saw the flat stone that looked like some sort of ancient shrine, its top piled with jewels and gold and chalices, he sucked in his breath.

“King Mark,” he said.

“Yes, but he doesn’t seem to be buried here. This just seems to be some sort of hidden shrine. There’s just his treasure, just like your great-grandfather and grandfather believed, North, just like your father believed.” Suddenly, she gasped and took a step back.

“What is it? Are you all right, Caroline?”

She raised her arm and pointed. “No, it can’t be.” But there it was, the sword, embedded deeply, just as it had been, in the stone once again, its steel blade shimmering in the dim light, the jewel-encrusted handle glittering with mad color. She walked forward, her voice vague, utterly blank. “But how did it get back here? I don’t understand, North. I left the sword beside Bess Treath’s body. Where’s the blood on the blade? It looks as though it’s been polished. It looks just like it looked when I first saw it.”

She reached out her hand and tentatively touched the handle. She tried to fit her hand around it but couldn’t. It was massive, much too large for her woman’s hand. She wrapped both hands around the handle and pulled. The sword didn’t move. It was firmly planted in the stone. She pulled again, harder, with all her strength. Nothing happened.

North gently placed his hands over hers and pulled them away from the handle. He wanted to tell her it didn’t matter, that somehow it had been Coombe who saved her, that her fear, her terror had changed things about in her mind, but he said nothing. What was there to say? Even though Coombe had said she’d saved him, how could that be? Was he to believe that the damned sword was magic? He saw the bewilderment in her eyes, saw the myriad questions squirreling through her mind.

He just held her hands, remaining still. Then she shook herself and there was this strange smile on her mouth. She turned from him then and once again touched the massive sword. She said, “North, there’s something written on it here, just where the handle fits to the blade. Can you make it out?”

He stepped closer and squinted at the vague lettering. He said aloud, “I believe it says something like Excalibur.” He stared at the sword and said again, “Excalibur. No, my God, that’s legend, ancient myth. It’s not real, it can’t be real. It’s simply not possible. I won’t believe it. We’re in this strange buried chamber and our minds aren’t functioning properly. No, I won’t believe it.”

“King Arthur’s sword,” Caroline said slowly. She traced her fingertips over the etched lettering. “His sword. Malory wrote all about it. King Mark has nothing to do with anything here. He never did. All along, it was King Arthur and the magic sword that came loose from the stone only for him. But it came loose for me as well. That sword came free in my hand so easily, why, I lifted it effortlessly and swun

g it. Why? Because I was in danger? I don’t know, but what other explanation could there be? And now it’s back where it belongs again. The sword must remain here, North, it must.”

“I don’t believe we could pull it out in any case.” But North nonetheless, simply because he had to try, grasped the sword between his hands and pulled with all his strength. It didn’t even quiver.

“It will stay here,” he said, “since no one could pull it free, except for you.”

“When I desperately needed it or I would have died.”