Enchantress (Medieval Trilogy 1)

The moon was rising, offering light that filtered through the forest and guided him onward through the ferns, brambles, and vines to the meadow overlooking the point whereon the first castle of Abergwynn had been started. Through the trees he stared past the field to the old fortress that had never been fully constructed. Blocks of stone and huge timbers were still stacked near the steep-sided motte that was now covered with bracken and grass. The base of a tower jutted upward into the night, and crumbling walls littered the ground. If he remembered from his youth, when he oft went exploring while he should have been hunting, underground rooms and passageways still existed wherein he and Cadell could hide.

He motioned to the boy, and when he was close enough, whispered into his ear. “We can stay here in the forest or hide in the ruins of that unfinished castle.”

Cadell’s eyes sparked with interest. “What think you?”

“The forest offers a means of escape, but ’tis impossible to hide here without fear of being seen. The ruins will hide us and our horses well, but if we are found, there will be no easy way out. We could be trapped.”

Cadell hesitated and Ware heard the snap of a branch behind them. They glanced at each other and knew they had no choice. Quickly mounting, they kicked their horses and raced along the edge of the cliff and downward toward the ruins.

Somewhere behind them a man shouted, and Ware’s heart nearly stopped beating. “Come on, come on!” he urged his tired courser. “Move, will you?”

Cadell was near, his horse panting. The shouts followed them, and soon the army of men broke from the forest, huge looming shadows riding as fast as the wind. Down the hill toward the ruins Ware sped, holding his breath each time his nag stumbled, quietly cursing the rabbit holes and burrows in the uneven ground.

“Halt!” a voice yelled.

Ware kicked his horse.

“Halt, I say. Damn you!”

An arrow whizzed past his head, and Ware tucked his body low against the mare’s neck. “Run, you bloody mule, run!” he yelled, whipping the poor animal as it sped forward. Another arrow sliced through the air, nipping the horse’s flank before being deflected. “Bloody Christ!”

“Ware!” Cadell screamed. “Christ, Ware—”

Ware wheeled his horse around, and in an instant he saw Cadell, one arrow lodged in his shoulder, begin to fall from his mount. “Hang on.” He guided his horse close to Cadell’s and reached over to grab the boy. Cadell’s hands clawed at his arm, but as he yanked him from his mount, a hot pain sliced through his thighs. Still he held on as the mare raced along the edge of the cliff. Riders seemed to come from every direction — across the grassland, from the forest — huge men with quivers and crossbows at ready.

“Holy Mother,” Ware swore as Cadell’s horse stumbled and fell. The boy swung free, all his weight on Ware. He let go of the reins, pulled Cadell with both hands, but the mare broke stride and Cadell lost his grip.

“No!” Ware cried.

The boy fell away from him, pulling him off the horse. Ware hit the ground with a thud and rolled toward the cliff. The shaft of the arrow in his thigh broke and drove the steel-tipped point even deeper into his leg. Ware ignored the pain. He reached forward, lunging toward Cadell.

Cadell slid toward the edge, but caught his balance. Foolishly he stood up on unsteady legs. A final arrow pierced his chest, and he screamed in pain as he fell backward. His feet scrambled in the soft dirt, and suddenly he pitched over the embankment.

“No!” Ware screamed, crawling rapidly toward the edge of the cliff. Cadell couldn’t die. He couldn’t! Not after all they’d been through.

“Halt or die!” a voice commanded.

Ware disregarded the warning and reached the edge. He stared down at the rocks and sea below, but nowhere did he see Cadell’s crumpled body. Hot tears streamed from his eyes and his fingers curled into tight fists in the wet earth. “Cadell!” he yelled, his body racked with sobs, the pain in his leg blistering.

“He’s gone.”

Ware looked over his shoulder to find a huntsman astride a big war-horse, his bow taut, an arrow pointed at the middle of Ware’s back. The man kicked his mount and moved steadily closer to Ware. “Do you wish to join him?”

“I care not,” Ware snarled, spitting at the horse’s hooves.

“Don’t! Strahan wants this one alive,” another rider called from the growing darkness.

“Strahan be damned!” Ware scrambled to his feet, drew himself up straight, and boldly faced the men’s dark faces. His thigh burned, and his eyes were bright with defiance. “I’ll not ride with you.”

“You have no choice.”

A strange smile split Ware’s boyish face. “There are always choices,” he said, his chin tilting mutinously upward. “I’ll never bow to Strahan, nor will I be bound in his chains.”

“Come, Ware—”

“Give my brother my best and tell Strahan … I’ll meet him in hell!” He spun around and jumped. His body soared over the rocky surf below. Closing his eyes to the fear that froze his heart, he hurtled downward into the swirling darkness.

Chapter Twenty Four